A week and a half; nothing more. It was all coming to an end. With the emotional low of leaving PSF still occasionally hanging over me and the thought of going home ever so promptly looming over me it was hard to keep an upbeat tempo at times. But with a little bit of help and encouragement from my travelling entourage I managed to keep my eye on the bigger picture.
After battling the toilet for a couple of days (nothing out of the ordinary by this stage) I managed to come out on top and get myself onto a bus Bolivia bound. The next stop was a little place reserved for the Gods in paradise; Copacabana, Bolivia. But getting there wasn’t as easy as originally planned. It is at this moment that I disclose my disobedience of Peruvian immigration laws when I admit to overstaying for visa by 2 months. However at only a $1 a day for the extra stays it only cost me $60 odd dollars and I was back on the road. My times of being an illegal immigrant were over, and I was off to Copacabana.
This touristy, yet extremely cultural, town sits just inside Bolivia on the Bolivia-Peru border and is positioned on the famous Lake Titicaca; the world’s highest altitude lake at 3,800m above sea level and the biggest lake in South America. The lake is just amazing! Fairly populated with a constant influx of tourism, but that’s what I was there to do. I was running out of time to see things so it was rush, rush, rush. After spending a night in Copacabana and checking out the little coastal town it was time to make a visit out to Isla del Sol. A sneaky little island in the sun, this pearl in the ocean is located an hour’s boat ride out of Copacabana and is completely surrounded by the crystal blue lake and breath taking views. From standing on the top of the highest peak at sun down you are blessed with an array of colours that look like an explosion in a paint store. On the one side you have the splash of yellows, pinks, oranges and purples as the sun goes down over the horizon of the lake and lights up the sky. In the distance, to the left of the sun set, you see dark clouds forming and the splintery cracks of white lightning that ignite the horizon below. Then on the other side of the sunset you get the shimmering rays of the sun dancing on the lake and shining off the distant snow capped Alps that are now poking out across the horizon through the clouds. A breathtaking panoramic view of a beautiful country.
That night was spent relatively quietly as the whole town shuts down its electricity at 6pm and there are no lights around town. A candle lit dinner, not by choice, was then followed by an early night in a smelly hostel room. In the morning I awoke to another amazing view of the lake and Alps and then it was off to explore.
On the island there is a path that leads east to west straight across the diverse landscape and gives you a really good exploring track. With a light breakfast we took off along the path and within a couple of hours made our way to the end. The views and picturesque landscapes were amazing and it was during this casual walk that we got to experience the true beauties of Lake Titicaca and its surrounding features. At the top of one of the peaks we found some little rock statues that had been organised in neat piles and resembled some form of religious or spiritual significance. The further we went along the more rock piles we came across and our theories began to wander as we tried to make sense of the random placement of these carefully constructed statues. In the end, tired of racking our brains, we came to our own undoubtedly false conclusion that they were probably built by tourists and so we decided to make one of our own. Not quite replicating the craft of these possibly ancient relics I was pretty happy in the end with our efforts, and now we leave the theory open.
After a quick snack it was back on the boat and then a cruisey trip back to the main land. The pristine translucent water and intangible beauty on the way back really instilled the realisation of the amazing sights the world has to offer.
The next stop on my fading adventure was La Paz, capital city of Bolivia. The bus ride there wasn’t as bad as some have been in the past and by nightfall we were in La Paz. After a quick accommodation stop it was bed and then early to rise the next day. I had 6 days and still needed to make the epic journey down to Buenos Aires. Originally I planned on catching a bus down there, but after discovering it would take days I was quickly looking at alternative options. Besides, I didn’t really feel like spending the last three days of a year away sitting on a bus that may or may not make it there in time. Instead I decided to shop around for the cheapest flight that would then leave me with extra days to spend. Eventually I found one that basically destroyed the last part of my funds.
I was in a very mixed mind at this point. With the reality of returning home becoming more apparent it was hard not to feel upset at times that it was really coming to an end. I battled hard to contain this, but at times it got the better of me. I had a few things I wanted to do before I left so I just put my head down and persevered.
The two biggest things that were on my list were descending the infamous Death Road and finally being able to indulge in some purchases of the incredible arts, crafts, clothing and souvenirs that South America is in abundance of at almost criminally cheap prices. With the wide selection of knits and woven garments lining not only streets, but whole suburbs, it was a drawn out process doing my best to bargain down to the appropriate prices and find exactly what I was after. After virtually spending a whole day shopping I was somewhat satisfied with my assortment of purchases. I made sure to buy a few things for my family, but apart from that I didn’t know what I was running out of faster; money or bag space. Upon returning home, and then a couple of days later packing, I had to make some tough choices and throw out some of my old clothes just to bring home the new stuff, however after wearing the same clothes for a year it wasn’t that much of a hassle.
At was also at this point of my shopping that we came across an old volunteering buddy randomly in the streets of La Paz. Good old Aussie Jeff who I hadn’t seen in about a month was spotted across the road from us in the busy city centre of the city. In fact the only reason we first noticed him was because of his PSF t-shirt that will forever have the distinct colour code of ‘PSF blue’ when referring to anything that resembles a sky blue. Just one of the small memories that will continue to stick with me that I hope I never forget.
After a brief catch up we arranged to have a quality night out together and then the next day to hit up Death Road. We got onto organising a tour and were pumped to check out what all the fuss was about cycling down the world’s most dangerous road. Starting at 4,600m above sea level you make your way down one of the sketchiest ‘roads’ ever cycling down 60 odd kilometres to the town at the bottom at 1,200m above sea level. The road, if you’d call a gravel path only 3m wide a road, has been cut straight into the mountains, and so as a result it has sheer cliff drops on the sides that at times plummet as deep as 600m below. Falling off the side of this track as you hurtle along at crazy speeds on your decked out mountain bike would clearly end in tragedy. Originally the road was reported as being responsible for between 200-300 deaths per year, but since a new road has opened up, this number has been reduced dramatically. The major operation of the road these days is for tourism purposes because people find it too dodgy to use, and this is coming from Bolivian standards. You can only imagine how this would go if it had to comply with Australian road safety standards; the TAC would lose their shit.
We’d hit the gravel by this stage and there were varying degrees of anticipation. I on the one hand was extremely pumped to hit this as fast as I could. The adrenaline really kicked in and I smashed the first part of the track trailing the first guide who went first. At one stage I actually took a corner too wide and came dangerously close to the cliff face as I just managed to balance myself and stay on track. It was from that point that I took a little more precaution, and I definitely didn’t tell mum about that one.
The next couple of days in Bolivia were just tying up a few loose ends. I got out to see the latest instalment of Harry Potter, did a little bit more shopping, finalised my bag and got ready to head home. The morning I was set to fly to Argentina was a sad day as I said goodbye to some friends and headed to the airport in the back of a cab with my headphones on and making no conversation, just simply letting the memories rush over me. I got onto the plane ok and with a quick domestic stopover in Southern Bolivia I was landing safely in Argentina. Little did I realise that upon arriving through the international airport I was required to pay a tax of $100 that I did not have. In fact I had zero money at this stage, and only a little bit of Bolivano’s left which remarkably I couldn’t exchange at the airport. Luckily because I was only in Argentina for less than 24 hours so I was able to avoid spending my last night in an airport like my Tom Hanks times in Colorado. However I still confronted a problem because I had no Argentinean money and needed to get a bus into the city centre. Once again the good luck gods were on my side, or perhaps it was the Incan condor statue I was travelling with that represents safe travel, because I found a lovely Aussie lady who bought me a busy ticket out of her good will and generosity. We were catching the same flight home to Australia the next day so I had the opportunity to pay her back, even though she insisted on the donation.
Needless to say it was going to be a rough 24 hours as I scrounged around until heading home. The rest of the day was spent settling into a hostel for the last time in a while. I did a little lap of the city centre and immediately became quite frustrated that I wasn’t able to spend more time in Buenos Aires. A truly spectacular city that has a real colonial European feel to it. Quite classy and different to the rest of the South American capital cities that I had explored. Rather than get out and see all the things that I wasn’t able to do in my limited time I decided on plan B; which was to just head back to the hostel and go out of this trip just like the way I went in. I positioned myself at a nice spot by the hostel bar, struck up a conversation with the girl who worked at the hostel and spent the rest of the afternoon/night having a chat with people from the hostel and calling it a night when I passed out.
The next morning happened all so fast. I hit up a cab with another girl who was headed Down Under as well and we got to the airport, got our tickets and boarded the plane. After a year on the road it was my first experience of Australian culture again when I stepped onto that Qantas plane and replaced stewards Jose and Ramira for Darren and Sharon. The trip back was a blast and I got some royalty treatment from a particular stewardess who took an interest in my story of volunteering and such. After I cracked my 5th VB tinnie she informed me that the beers were getting warm so she’s popped them in the ice tray. Next beer I get comes with ice particles on it and a big smile. I then smashed all the free food I could and enjoyed some quality films I’d missed during my time away.
One special mention goes to the trip home when we bypassed Antarctica and I got a fantastic aerial view during the day of this icy wonderland. I then touched down in Sydney and made a quick domestic change to Melbourne, smashed out a 45min power nap lying across three empty seats and then returned home once more to Melbourne. Luke was generous enough to come and pick me up at 1am and I was back on the Tulla, back into the real world and the rest is history!
351 days, 9 countries, countless friends, indescribable memories, life experiences and an even bigger desire to get out and see all the world has to offer.
I hope you’ve enjoyed reading my blogs as much as I have enjoyed writing them. This will not be the last of my travel writings, but for now it will do.
Cheers,
Jules Pedro Hatfield
