At the Copa, Copacabana- Day1

Arriving at midnight in La Paz gave me just enough time to see how beautiful the nightscape is and to experience firsthand what it´s like to be at the same altitude as the clouds. Stayed in the Adventure Brew Hostel (clearly a gringo abode!) where they brew their own beer. After taking in an excellent view of La Paz and unfortunately getting to the bar just in time for it to close, we found our assigned bunk bed (they actually assign you a number, felt like I was in elementary school getting a locker). I was in the bottom bunk next to a Dutch or German guy (goodnight was not enough information to determine his country of origin) and was interested to see that he felt comfortable sleeping shirtless amongst strangers. I opted to take the high road and sleep in clothes. Sunday morning we took a cab to the bus terminal ´near the cemetery´ and hopped on a public bus headed to Copacabana. With no idea what we were getting ourselves into, we climbed aboard for 20 bolivianos (about $3) and soon discovered that the windows didn´t open and the seats leaned back all the way onto the lap of the person behind you. At least we had our own seats, right? Well, the bus took off through La Paz, got stuck in severe early morning traffic, drove through the bustling markets with Cholita women selling everything from fruits to cell phone covers, and finally ascended up to El Alto.
Here´s the thing about La Paz: the rich people, who make up a very tiny portion of the population, live in the center of the city. As you get further out from the center, and ascend higher up the sides of the crater, the people are poorer. El Alto is at the top of the crater´s edges and is home to the urban working class poor. Many are indigenous people (cholitas and cholos) who wear the traditional Aymara outfit including a bowler hat, big puffed-out ankle-length skirt, sweater, and fabric shawl on the back carrying goods or babies. The cholitas have long black hair parted in the middle and braided down their back. The hair, clothes, shoes, etc. were all dictated to them by the Spanish conquistadores in the 16th century, and the women continue to wear these clothes today even if they no longer live in the campo.
Getting back on the bus to Copacabana... we stopped in El Alto and, despite the fact that we considered the bus to be full (most seats were taken, thus full by american standards), a large group of Cholitas, children, and some men lined up to get on. They started boarding, and just kept on boarding until the aisles were full of people standing together, packed in like sardines. I felt guilty having my own seat until an adorable little 4-year old named Jocelin decided to share it with me. This adorable little person, with dark skin and even darker huge brown eyes, a reddish hue on her cheeks, a rainbow hat, and a sweater with a ´piglet´hood was standing with her Cholita mother who was dressed beautifully in indigenous clothing. I noticed Jocelin staring at me, and then Sumi (who I was sitting next to), pointed out that Jocelin had not stopped looking at me for a solid few minutes. I could picture the cartwheels happening in Jocelin´s head. I´m sure she had never seen anyone like me with fair skin and reddish hair (I even asked her if my skin and hair looked different/funny and she said yes), and she probably thought I was some kind of alien. After making faces at each other, she became quite cuddly and affectionate and soon passed out on my lap.
The bus ride itself was marvelously picturesque. On my right I watched in awe as we drove parallel to the snow-capped Andes, with small towns, cemeteries, and various emaciated animals in the forefront. On my left was the Altiplano, a geographical wonder in Bolivia, and eventually when the view of the Altiplano subsided I was given my first taste of the beauty of Lake Titicaca. I could never decide which direction to look-- to the mountains on my right, the brilliant Lake on my left, or the little child on my lap. Eventually we reached the point in the trip where we (and the bus) had to cross a small portion of Lake Titicaca. We disembarked, paid 1.5 bs, and boarded/packed into a rickety wooden boat with a motor threatening to implode at any moment. Our bus also boarded it´s own version of a boat- a wooden plank without any obvious motor that somehow (and I´d rather not know the details) supports its weight on the excursion to the other side. After watching in horror as the bus rocked back and forth on the crystal blue waters of Lake Titicaca, and picturing the traumatized people who opted to keep their 1.5 bs and stay on the boat, we all made it safely to the other side. I saw the Bolivian version of the navy, which exists only to protect Lake Titicaca since they lost their coast to Chile in the 1850´s during an exceptionally distracting Carnaval celebration. At this point we had to show our passports since Copacabana is a stop-off point for people headed to Peru (Lake Titicaca is bordered by Bolivia on the east side and Peru on the west, so you can just take a boat across the river to peru). Before boarding our bus again, we saw a magnificent display of men and women dancing in traditional Aymara festival attire, which basically consists of the Cholita´s style of dress with much more color, celebration, and sparkle. They were dancing through the streets to a marching band, and through inquiry I learned that we had jumped right into the middle of their Carnaval celebration. This was our 2nd of 3 total Carnaval celebrations in Bolivia... I still have much to say about Carnaval in Santa Cruz.
The long and winding road alongside the mountain gave us a stunning view of Lake Titicaca, and after dropping off a few families at various points on the road (it looked like they were getting off literally in the middle of nowhere, but I assume they were walking somewhere deep into the mountain to get home), we made it to a small city called Copacabana framed by two large hills with a backdrop of Lake Titicaca. I felt obligated to eat trout for lunch since trout has been their pride and joy since it was introduced into the lake in 1939. Apparently the city lives on their trout sales, because they do everything possible to sell you trout. At one point we sat down at a lakeside cafe to order 4 beers and instead got 4 trout. Trout isn´t quite as refreshing as a Pacena beer on a sunny day, but to each his own. After our Trout lunch we explored the city and followed the sounds of crashing drums and people screaming to find our 3rd Carnaval celebration. In the city´s plaza, bordered by a gorgeous 1600´s church, small tiendas selling coca-cola, fruit, and a traditional south american popcorn called Kasanqala (which tastes like stale caramel corn in my opinion) we found hundreds of people dressed elaborately in sparkly indigenous outfits, modified clown/rodeo suits (only a picture will explain this one), and kids running around spraying people with water and foam. Being every kid´s favorite Carnaval target, and in Santa Cruz a perfect canvas for kids and adults alike to cover me in paint and shoe polish, I was again doused with water. We had dinner at a hostel overlooking the city and the lake, and planned for our big day ahead at the Isla del Sol. The day felt like a full weekend, and we ended our day at the Hotel Rosario in the matrimonial suite for only $20 per person. Why not splurge when a hot shower and a big bed costs less than most meals in the states!