A First Time for Everything
After a chilly night in Yumani, I think we were both ready to welcome the sun and head for Copacabana. Our hotel manager suggested leaving for the ferry an hour and a half early. (Maybe, since we were the only guests he was trying to clean the rooms early in the day.) So, reasonably bright and early, we headed for the winding trek downhill to the port.
Along the way, we noticed a church yard being put to full use as solar powered brick kiln. The earthen rectangles hinted to the visual of loyal parishioners, seated in pew rows.
Two archeological sites were on the exploration agenda. First, the Escalera del Inca or stair case of the Inca's, which should lead directly to the port.
As we huffed and puffed our morning lungs to life, walking downhill, an elderly native gentleman cruised right past, heading uphill, with complete ease. (See him by the entrance?)
What made the gentleman's trekking ease even more impressive, was that he had just climbed hundreds of steps up the side of the hill on the Escalera del Inca. This stair case is over 500 years old and in very active use each and every day.
Casually enjoying the scenery, there was a rustling noise behind and guess who was washing his hands in the stair case spring water? As it would turn out, this energy packed man would be our vendor of tickets for a return by boat to Copacabana. Note the white piece of cloth used as a backpack. The funny thing was that later he opened his cloth pack and inside was a perfectly kept leather brief case. So he was a living blend of the traditional and modern literally rolled and bound into one.
Never a stranger to a pose, Lipika and I joked about how it could be possible to take an hour and a half to reach the port, when we were practically there in less than fifteen minutes.
The town of Yumani literally sprung into existence because of this fount of water. Uphill, near the top of the stair case, the Fuente del Inca flows directly out of the ground. This natural source of clean spring water has supplied the local villagers for hundreds of years, with little interruption.
The port was very quiet and there was well over an hour to kill after securing tickets.
So, I ventured up the rocky beach to see what could be found and was met by a pair of green eyes. This little one must have thought himself to be well camouflaged and hidden because there was hardly a movement while passing by.
The use of colors, incorporated into the daily life of Bolivia, has been quite a display. Even the care in painting this striped wooden dory green on the outside and a complimentary shade of blue inside provides a color field foundation for the hand-woven red wool blanket secured as an outboard motor cover.
Rounding a corner, a traditional reed boat came into view. So, curiosity pushed footsteps down the trail and across a dodgy wooden plank to the stone dock.
The detail work of the puma head bowsprits were impressive, but on closer inspection really quite modern in construction.
Because each head was hand-made there is individual character to both port and starboard creatures. When sailing across Lake Titicaca they must appear as dueling leviathan, jockeying for lead position.
Returning to the main port, the color display continued. Local women, topped with bowlers, are far more colorful than their male counterparts. Since time is a relative thing in Bolivia, it was a good guess that we were finally approaching departure when the indigenous islanders started to gather.
I love this picture, which Lipika took, for so many reasons. It is a great snap shot of where Bolivia culturally stands or in this case sits, today. Externally, there is much visual tradition, with the added youthful defiance of a modern and practical sun hat. Internally, as in her carrying blanket stuffed with a modern black case, the outlook is respectfully modernizing.
This new mother was gorgeous in her hand embroidered dress, fancy felt bowler hat, and colorful carrying blanket. She was "dressed" for traveling to a destination, as opposed to making a jaunt to the mainland market.
Life is always good for providing moments of humility. While casually baking in the roof deck bench seating, during the two hour trip back to Copacabana, I heard an American accent. Typically, this is ample reason to turn the other way, but this time the tone seemed benign. In chatting with the woman across from me, it turns out that Bolivia is her 95th country to visit over the last 5 years. Wow, 40-something seems pretty meager in comparison. During the months of Oct-Nov-Dec she does medical device "rep-ing", earning enough to basically fund 8 months of travel. Kudos, this Detroit native has successfully figured out how to feed the travel addiction.
Copacabana, what a welcome visual! Typically, I love the water, but the less than 5 mile an hour pace of this overburden, under-powered, glorified skiff was making me anxious to touch earth again.
Time for a few hours of pampering. It was decided to splurge and book a room at the Cupola, a.k.a. the highest rated and most expensive hotel in town... at a whopping $34 USD for the suite.
Our two room spread came with top floor views, ...
... after climbing the laddered stairs and entering through the oddly placed floor/roof hatch (depending on whether one was ascending or descending).
The view, hammock, and hot showers we all overly appreciated. Personally, the extended nap in the hammock was a real winner.
Refreshed, relaxed, and revived for blogging, we headed into town to the only local high-speed internet cafe. By the time I finished, blurry eyed after hours of staring into the screen, it was dark.
The Cupola Cafe is already a favorite and in the perfect location. Unfortunately, given the reputation and appreciation of ex-pats the dining room was entirely full, so we ordered diner to be delivered to the room.
When the waiter arrived, I reached into my back pocket to pay... and there was nothing there. How could I have been so stupid! Today was literally the first and only time in almost two years of travels that I put cash in my back pocket. Lipika had given me about $100 USD in Bolivianos to carry and wearing my new sweater it was much too hot to wear my usual backpacking vest (the chest pocket of which is where I typically keep passport and cash). While ordering dinner at the restaurant's front counter, in a room filled with ex-pats, some guy kept bumping into me and my backpack. At first this was confusing, because there was plenty of room to pass by, but obviously he was doing the classic "bump and grab" as a distraction to lifting the money from my back pocket.
The travel guides actually warned of rampant petty theft in Copacabana, but stated the greatest occurrence is during rowdy festivals. The piece left out of the commentary was that much of the larceny is committed by ex-pats who have stayed too long and are a little short. 20/20 hind sight, the restaurant lobby of the Cupola is the perfect "hit zone" because in a total ex-pat environment people let their guard down, subsequently making things just a little too easy for the motivated pick-pocket.
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