Anyway, as I was saying: We crossed the lake in only a few hours time, stopping only at a naval base – which seems an ironically frivolous expenditure for a chronically impoverished, landlocked country – to pass a checkpoint where we suffered only a few delays resulting from minor visa and passport issues. The boat docked on the eastern side of the island, where there is no visible sign of human habitation other than some scattered Incan ruins and a winding trail up the escalating ridges carved into the island´s steep slope. We climbed about half-way to the top, where we spent some time walking through the ruins guided by a Quechuan man and some of the native children who proved quite knowledgeable about ancient Incan religious beliefs and cultural practices. We learned about various superstitions, everything from building shrines to ward off hail to sacred construction techniques, and the fundamentals of Inca sun worship. As the group started up the hill again on their way to the hostel, Dalton and I stayed behind to ask a few questions about what we had learned. The guide was very receptive to our interest and offered us the opportunity to meditate at the ¨heart of stone,¨  a large and sacred boulder at the center of the sun palace (the actual sun temple is supposed to be purely metaphysical, and the ancients believed that one had to transcend space and time to get there, so the ruins that we actually explored were merely those of a few convenient palaces where wise priests could gather to collectively transcend). After our religious detour, we struggled for breath a bit as we ran up the hill to catch up with our group. Once we reached our hostel – named Inti-Kala for the gods of the sun and moon, in honor of the harmony between the Island of the Sun and the neighboring Island of the Moon – we were greeted with steaming cups of coca tea, some blanket-covered chairs, and a magnificent view of the sunset over Lake Titicaca. We spent the rest of the day exploring the island. Ryan, Chelan, and I had fun climbing to the hilltop on the southern side, where we watched what was easily the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen (check the photo album) and played with some of the local children. They were especially curious about our cameras; one of the girls took at least fifty fuzzy pictures of me and the town below. As we tried to make our way down the hill, a few older children tried to stop us and make us pay to take pictures of them and their llama. Ryan ended up tricking the poor girls into letting him run down the hill with the llama, while Chelan and I began negotiating with them (they were willing to sell us the llama for $140Bs - $20 American – and cook it for our diner that night for an extra $10Bs). We eventually settled ¨renting¨ the llama for the night for $20Bs and giving it to Sarah S. as a birthday present, but the kids were still reluctant to let us off the hillside. After we had all but wrestled our way back into town, we presented Sarah with her rather unique birthday gift and settled down for a nice trout dinner and quiet evening spent appreciating the tranquility of the island.

The next morning we woke for a quick breakfast and a brief walk around the island, where we took time to bathe and drink from the ancient fountain of eternal spiritual youth. We then walked down the steep slope to the shore, and took a quick skinny dip in the frigid waters before piling into our boat for the journey back to La Paz. The return trip to La Paz seemed to go much quicker than before, passing through the naval checkpoint and Copacabana without incident. Before we knew it, we were back on Sagarnaga street strolling though the Witches Market on the way back to our hotel for the night. We woke early the next morning for some typical Paceño food before rushing off to the airport to catch our flight to Cochabamba. What began as a one-hour flight delay turned into a 17 hour patience exercise in airport confinement. We passed the time reading, sleeping on the floor, irritating some waiters by loitering in the oxygenated café (which happened to be the only café in the tiny airport), watching our Rotary guide single-handedly start a riot and break Bolivian law by exiting through the terminal security barrier, among other things. Because AeroSur has a monopoly on all domestic flights, it apparently doesn´t have to worry much about the happiness of its customers, as it repeatedly lied to us about various fictional planes being en route and refused to cancel the flight so that we could leave. Finally, bleary-eyed, we made it onto the tarmac at 3:30am, boarded our plane, ate our complimentary cuñapés, landed in Tarija (we had to forfeit our visit to Cochabamba), stumbled onto a bus, stumbled off said bus, and walked into our hostel. After a brief argument with the concierge centering on our refusal to hand over our passports for the night, we finally all tumbled into bed for a little sleep. The next morning we went to some gorgeous waterfalls for a little swim. I was already familiar with the Tarija and the surrounding land from my stay there during the holidays, so I was able share some of what my host family had taught me with the other exchangers. After the waterfalls, we went to a local reservoir where I was able to introduce some of the others to whole crayfish and fried fish heads for the first time. After our little snack, we made our way over to one of the local vineyards, where we all stocked up on wine. We then went to the market in the center of the city for a lunch of traditional saice, scurried back to the hotel, grabbed our bags, and arrived at the airport just in time to catch our flight back to Santa Cruz.

Since my arrival back home, loaded down with about 7 kilos more in wine, wool, and other goods than when I left, I´ve started classes at one of the local universities and begun making plans for the rest of my year. Carnival preparations are underway. I´ve paid my dues to join a comparsa (canival in Santa Cruz is similar to that of Brazil, with various groups called ¨comparsas¨ getting together at this time of year to party. Each comparsa has certain colors and customs, and usually shares the rent on an empty lot space in the center of town with several friendly other comparsas. Each comparsa provides its members with lots of food, alcohol, and a band), now I am just waiting for the delivery of my cossaca - the comparsa´s official robe/shirt that must be worn for all three days of canival, no matter how filthy or disgusting. The whole city has been jazzed up about the coronation of the queens and the little anticipation parades, called precarnavaleras. The actual parade of the comparsas, el corso, which marks the beginning of carnival, will take place on the 21st. That´s about it for now, chau with love.

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