Titicaca Lake & Isla del sol

The route from Cusco to Copacabana on Lake Titicaca in Bolivia, 530 kilometres away, is a real road trip. It wouldn’t be a problem at night, you’d only need one bus. But I still want to see something of Peru.

Early in the morning with Uber to the Cruz Del Sur spaceship. The route to Puno always follows the railway. Peru Rail is a private company licenced by the state, and the Peruvian state doesn’t seem to care about its own citizens.

Peru Rail only serves rich gringos, all other services have been cancelled. The journey from Cusco to Puno costs €12.50 by bus – at least 20 times as much by train.

I travel for hours through an infinitely wide, flat and dry high valley at over 3,500 metres in bitterly poor southern Peru. Even the otherwise ubiquitous wall paint sponsorships in the form of election adverts rarely embellish the poor rammed earth huts.

Lots of plastic rubbish decorates the pampas grass and sparse greenery, where sheep, llamas, donkeys and cattle graze chained to ropes. Fat indigenous women with melons and colourful skirts sit on the ground in between. The farmers cultivate their fields by hand, a few rich people with oxen. Twice I see a tractor.

There are no more buses in Puno, so I take a tuk-tuk to the minivan terminal and a two-hour sardine can to the Peruvian border town of Yunguyo. Another tuk-tuk to the nearby Bolivian border, a stress-free crossing just before closing time, one last taxi, and after just 12 hours and six carriages I reach my destination.

The sun sets in a firework display over Lake Titicaca. The hostel is alternative, the food vegan and very good. Beer and fags are even banned outside. The only thing missing from Straight Edge are “No fucking” signs on the village beds.

I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night for days and lying awake for hours with a headache and dry mouth, gasping for air. As soon as I fall asleep, the “Attention! Choking death!” alarm goes off again. 50 times, hardly any sleep, for days.

At first I suspect a 30-year-old virus imported from home, as the gasping for air stops as soon as I write anything. Then a dear Argentinian gives me his pills for altitude sickness. Even with them, I can’t get up the 150 metre high mountain overlooking Copacabana. But at least I can sleep for five hours again.

During the night, a heavy thunderstorm passes over Lake Titicaca at an altitude of 3,850 metres. I work on some homepages. In the morning, the mountains up to 200 metres above the lake are covered in icing sugar. In the rain, it’s an hour and a half on a boat dubbed the “vomit swing” by travel guides to Isla del Sol. The authors were country bumpkins. The breath condenses in small clouds.

My kitebag stays at the harbour of Isla del Sol. The 150 metres in altitude up to my accommodation at almost 4,000 m is simply not feasible with 35 kg and altitude sickness. Once I reach the Yumani village, the rain stops and the mountains in the east of Lake Titicaca, which are up to 7,000 metres high, appear through the clouds for a few hours.

The Yumani have terraced the entire island over hundreds of years of backbreaking labour in order to reclaim something from the barren soil. The rice terraces in Banaue in the Philippines seem modest in comparison. There are no cars, only donkeys and footpaths. I walk across the island and am stopped by a post in the centre. This is where the territory of the North Yumani begins. They have fallen out with the South Yumani over money. Almost all the boats arrive in the south, and that’s where the island customs duty is collected. I make my way to the 4,050 metre high summit of the island. At sunset, small white waves form on Lake Titicaca, but I’m guaranteed not to make it 150 metres down to kite in 10°C today – and then back up again.

In the evening, we have a good drink around a fire on the edge of the abyss with good travellers. The wind picks up to over 25 knots. Lightning flashes in the night on the western shore of the lake. It is raining again. The hostel shaman offers a San Pedro ceremony. But I’m already running out of breath without it, both physically and mentally. I spend an entire rainy day freezing under three blankets in my room with a panoramic view of the lake.