Bolivia

(Pics: 1st, A street in Copacabana, Bolivia. 2nd, View from Isla del Sol. 3rd, Ruins on the island. 4th, View of the Andes. 5th, Inside the hostel. 6th, Sunset.)

April 2, 2009…
It’s already April. I can’t believe how quickly the time here is flying by. It’s not August yet. I haven’t left yet, but I miss being here already. I feel fortunate and yet spoiled and selfish, like a person shouldn’t be allowed to feel happy for this long. Like there should be some kind of penalty.
I have a choice to make. A big one. Sometimes I’m on one side and sometimes I’m on the other; but those occurrences are usually by a toe and then I’m back on the fence. Like right now…should I become TEFL certified and stay in South America, or move to Spain? Or should I go home, go back to school, get my M.A. at San Francisco State and teach creative writing? I am so torn. I feel wracked and yet blessed by being caught between two things I would love.
This beauty that I am surrounded by, even though it is too often blotched with poverty and corruptness, even though it is accompanied too usually by a wind of pee-smell, feels like home to me and has yet to be tainted or ruined by its flaws. Simply, I love it here. In my heart and mind, though California is also threaded through with beautiful landscapes and has what-more-could-you-ask-for amenities, all that I desire and miss there are the people who are dear to me. Oh, if only I could bring you with me. And we could live a storybook life together and home could be wherever we make it. Think about it…the rest of the world is only a matter of hours from here and there is so much yet to be discovered. Do I sound idealistic? You could become the same way…sans skepticism…it’s so close.
I am on an island in Bolivia, sitting on the terrace of our hostel, looking out at the blue water. I am on La Isla del Sol, an hour’s boat ride into Lake Titicaca –which now seems more the size of an ocean than a lake. I can see a vast stretch of the snow-peaked Andes to the east, just below the risen sun. Dark wavelets of this small sea ripple along, cut in the middle by a bright white path of reflection which snakes its way to the horizon, to the base of those great mountains. I hear birds chirping, the wavelets lapping against the shore 300 steep feet below. I hear men laughing while they work, the occasional click-clock of donkeys’ hooves hitting the stone stairway as they climb past, the distant hum of motorboats going to collect more tourists from the mainland.
We arrived in Bolivia two days ago. As you know, the trip was due…Tyler and I had to renew our visas. It seemed a sketchy dealing, arriving at the border. It was a three-hour bus ride there from Puno and I kept feeling this sense of paranoia, like some police officer would invent a bullshit reason to confiscate my money (I read in my guide book that this has been rumoured to happen) so I kept it in my bra. The bus stops 200 meters from the border so you can change your Peruvian Nuevos Soles, or whatever currency, into Bolivian Pesos. It’s seven pesos to the American dollar. I changed two twenty dollar bills and felt like a rich woman.
After the currency exchange you walk those 200 meters, under a stone archway, into Bolivia. On this side you immediately enter the border patrol office, where you get to fill out some paperwork, and then, if you’re from the United States, some more paperwork and if you’re from the United States (or Japan) you get to pay a $135 reparation fee to enter their country. But…I think the consolation for this is that they keep announcing the two “Americanos” while escorting you to a special table with all kinds of flamboyant arm gestures so that you feel like a celebrity. At least I know I did. And not like a celebrity with a drug problem, but like one at the height of her career. Because all their shouting about and pointing at and directing us two “Americanos” wasn’t at all obnoxious.
After we each paid the $135 fee, Tyler was fined an extra ten for not having his vaccination card with him and I was fined an extra ten for not having…ummm, um, uhh…a picture of my face handy. (Oops, I left my picture of me that I regularly carry at home today…wait, isn’t that what the passport is for???) But the officer didn’t have change for my extra twenty dollar bill, so he just took $140 from me, graciously lowering my fine to only five dollars, and let me pass. (In case I haven’t been clear enough, this is my way of describing a gross principle: they can “fine” you for whatever they want and there is nothing you can do about it. My indignation was the immediate result.) We got stamps, visas, and lectures about our entrance rights, got onto another bus, and arrived in Copacabana twenty minutes later.
Copacabana is a tiny lake town with a crappy square, cheap hostels, and trout dinner for $3. And that includes soup, salad, and fries. We stayed one night there, bought some cool bracelets, and I finally found the “Che” shirt I’d been looking for in my size (now aptly coming apart at the seams). The next day we’d head to the famous Isla del Sol, where we’d stay one night in an even cheaper hostel (I think the most expensive things for their value in South America are Snickers Bars and peanut butter), visit some ruins, and stare in wonder at the vistas.
Today it’s back to Cusco. Gotta go back through all the border hassle. Thank goodness Peru welcomes celebrities for free. Due to arrive home at 11:00pm.