Reflections Upon A Big Lake

WARNING, THE FOLLOWING TEXT IS RIDICULOUSLY SELF INDULGENT AND SHOULD BE APPROACHED WITH EXTREME CAUTION!

At this current moment I am in Puno, Peru; lying in bed trying not to throw up everything and anything that I ingest. I'm not remarkably ill, just feeling crap enough to not want to go wandering round the city. So after reading the best part of a book, I have still been left with a sizeable amount of time for reflection and writing. This, from a writing sense, couldn't really have come at a more appropriate time, as in a few days I will be reaching the four month mark, and, what is loosely to be, the half way point of my travels. Thus, before catching up on my most recent activities I thought I'd lay down some statistics, retrospective thoughts and hopes, wishes and dear-santa-dreams for the future.

Stat time: In the four months of my wayward journey I have:
Slept in 39 beds;
Visiting 25 cities;
Spanning 5 countries;
Travelling by Plane, Bus, Taxi, Car, Boat, Moped, Raft, Tuk-tuk (ish) and Foot;
Reading 15 books;
Narrated in 38 Blogs.

In fact it's definitely been a whirlwind of varied experiences. I've made countless acquaintances, some good mates who I will likely keep in contact with for a long time after my travels (rollcalling Matt, Bobby, Rob, Hannah, Kat, Majo, Andy and Adam in no particular order). In spite of looking back over so many activities, experiences, people, hangovers, sunburns, natural wonders, traces of forgotten empires, stunning landscapes and thousands of miles covered so far, it feels like it's shot by in such a whirr that it contrastingly seems like I have really lived the last four months and also that it has all been an eventful dream devoid of the reality that I've known in my previous 24.92 years. Perhaps this all sounds a little excessive, I don't know, but after a third of a year living out of a backpack and moving every few days, in it's very nature, life itself has been excessive. And what's more, there are around another 4 months, going through at least 10 countries before heading home to take on whatever unseen challenges may appear.

People say that travelling changes you, that your perspective on life changes somewhat and that it will set a new or more clearly defined direction to the way you step forth. I'm not so sure I can say that I have been profoundly affected in the aforementioned ways thus far, but who can say that this will not appear at latter stages. Some things have, however, dramatically changed: I can sleep pretty much anywhere at any time (still, sadly, excluding buses though) in spite of shaggers, talkers, door bangers, barking dogs, flickering lights, shitty mattresses, squeaky beds etc. I can now read anywhere for remarkably long periods of time, I can now play the charanga that I bought in La Paz, speak decent spanish, and pack in ten minutes in the dark while utterly hungover at 6am. Disregarding the trivial and light nature of these I have now fell into a routine state in constantly changing situations and places, everything about travel seems pretty natural to do, with the unexpected becoming the norm.

Who knows what's to come but I look forward to it. I know as a virtual certainty that the latter half will be more challenging in many ways, but hopefully as rewarding in parallel.

So, mind dump out of the way (thank god for that I hear you murmer from your semi-sleeping states), what's been going on of late? Where we left off last I was escaping from La Paz with the gusto of Gordon Brown after his weekly drilling at Prime Minister's question time. Lake Titicaca, sitting at over 4000 meters above sea level and setting part of the border between Bolivia and Peru, would be my last destination in Bolivia and my first of Peru (funnily enough). On the Bolivian side I visited Copacabana, checked into a quiet hotel with the noisiest doors on earth. In my first real feat of exercise for what feels like months I set off to climb one of the massive hills overlooking the bay, which may sound quite simple but feels like a 10km run at 4000m above sea level. The view was spectacular and remarkably photogenic.

The next day I boarded a vessel to the Isle del Sol for a 3km walk along the ridges of the island. Although I had spent the morning with a few people I took the first available opportunity to split so I could don my iPod and powerwalk to the southen port. The views across the lake were beautiful at every twist and turn of the path, and the sun poured down on the island with very little respite leaving me with the beginnings of a rather nice tan. We returned on the boat as the sun dipped below the snow capped mountains in the distance and ate early. I passed the rest of the evening working through a book before turning in for an early night.
The next morning I awoke feeling pretty sick and scoffed down a selection of drugs in hope that I could get to Puno without throwing up or dying. Upon arrival I checked into the first available hotel, threw up, booked a tour for the next day to the floating islands, and retreated to bed to feel sorry for myself (which I did with expertise). The floating islands on the following morning were an interesting experience: around 300 people living on islands made entirely of the reeds that cover much of the lake. They speak an entirely different language (very little spanish) and spend their days hunting ducks, fishing and building various forms of homeware out of reeds. Or at least that's what they used to do before the tourist invasion, nowadays they spend their entire days harassing tourists to buy tat made of reeds and giving boat tours for a few pounds. Not that this is something that they are to blame for, but more than anything to me felt like another distinctly wonderful culture that had been turned into a South American Disneyland by the relentless tourist trail. An interesting day but also rather saddening upon seeing the exploitation that we sometimes bring upon the innocently diverse cultures that we visit around the world. That evening myself and an english guy called Richard went for a stroll around Puno, which to our surprise felt remarkably clean and more affluent than Bolivia despite its proximity. That (being this) evening the sickness returned leaving me with much time to reflect upon the past four months and the next section of my trip: Cuzco and Machu Pichu.