Copacabana, As Close As Bolivia Comes to the Sea

Yesterday we traveled from Lago Poopó to Lago Titcaca. Awesome, I know. I've been waiting all trip to say that. But all silliness aside, Titcaca is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. It's a vast, sapphire-blue lake, speckled with islands along the shore. You would swear you were in the Mediterranean, save the Andes rising abruptly and icily in the background.

The city at the south of the lake is called Copacabana. While it's not Brazil's playa pilgrimage site, it is the site of serious religious pilgrimages. They have a beautiful black wood virgin, housed in an impressive white cathedral, adorned with elaborate blue tilework and almost Moorish domes. Cars and trucks are often blessed in the plaza outside, in colorful cha'lla rituals those I saw at Alastitas and in the Mercado de Hechiceria. And while the liquor, coca, streamers, firecrackers and trinkets probably aren't as effective as safe driving and auto insurance, they are a hell of a lot more fun.

Above the city looms Cerro Calvario, a hallowed hill. The twelve has the twelve stations of the cross, but in a distinctly pre-Colombian tradition many indigenous people carry stones to the top of the hill, creating Apachetas like those I saw trekking Takesi and on the World's Most Dangerous Road. For me the most sacred thing was sitting on top, watching the sunset over Lago Titcaca and Peru in the distance, burning orange to blood red before engulfing us in total blackness.

It was also wonderful just to be on the water. Growing up in Seattle, I didn't realize how large the Sound looms in my world. Being landlocked is hard on me emotionally. It bothers many Bolivians as well, who had their coastline annexed by Chile in the 19th century and consider access to the ocean a point of pride. We went sailing out a less-than-seaworthy little boat, stranded, and rowing back for a scrumptious trout lasagna dinner, which was a great sea fix.