Copacabana Travel Blog› entry 6 of 8 › view all entries
I'd run out of my Bolivian money a while ago, and Olav had kindly paid the boat and bus for me, so I had to find a bank to get some money to pay him back. Olav meanwhile had to find himself a hotel to stay in, as he had reached his destination. So we split up but agreed to meet again for lunch 30 minutes later.
Copacana... what can I say. I've never been to its Brazilian namesake, but I think the name is all the two cities have in common. The Bolivian Copacana has a beautiful cathedral, and is located in a gorgeous setting, but that is about it. The town itself is abolutely... nothing! Sure, the nearby Isla del Sol is supposed to be stunning (and an important ceremonial place as well), and you can have great hiking or sailing trips from here, but the town of Copacana itself, well... no!
Olav and I celebrated the safe arrival to Copacana with an ice cold bear and a sumptuous lunch of true Titicaca trout. The trout of the Titicaca lake are amongst the largest species of trout in the world, and its taste is utterly delicious. Of course the fact that all we had eaten today was some stale buns in that little village changed our perception as to what constitutes as delicious, but even so, we really gorged on this meal.
After lunch I wanted to wonder around town for a while longer, but first I had to ensure myself of transportation to the Peruvian border town of Yunguyo, from where the bus to Puno would leave.
I walked up to a line of taxi vans, but all these turned out to be empty. A lady selling sweets in the street kindly explained to me that there were no taxis running today. “The taxi office is closed, they're sympathising with the strikes, so there is no transportation.”
You have got to be kidding me. I have come all this way today, and I get stranded 10 kilometres from the Peruvian border? I was gutted. In fact, I wouldn't accept it. I would walk those last ten kilometres if I had to. I was leaving this country today, no matter what. I did not come all this way to get told off by a bunch of taxi drivers on strike.
When I walked back to the restaurant where I had stored my luggage I saw an old battered taxi driving by. I stopped him and asked him to take me to the border. The driver was officially on strike, but couldn't resist me waiving my last Bolivianos in front of him, so he agreed, but we would have to leave straight away.