The high altitude lake shimmers on a vast plateau within the long chain of the Andes mountains. Currently the lake serves as an arbitrary boarder between Bolivia and Peru. The indigenous cultures floating on their islands of reed grass survivied the Incas, the Conquistadores, and the struggle to stay afloat with the advent of tourism. I continue to feel guilty for taking their pictures. My solace is in the little solar panels that passively take energy from the sun, implicitly saying techinology is an alright addition; this works for me.
The contemplative moment between a father and son listening to the gentle rhythms nature links generations, culture and change. These two were taking a respite from the celebration at the nearby church in Copacabana. The festivities brought pilgrams from all of Bolivia to gain blessing for the longevity of their various modes of transportation. Flowers, toy trucks, saints and beers seemed to converge cultural, Catholic and modern traditions. Interestingly, there is a similar holiday on the opposite side of the world in the Hindu nation of Nepal.
As the sun rose I climbed out of bed, put on some long johns and a hat to take away the chill, shouldered a small pack with water and set out to circumnavigate the Isla del Sol. With no automobiles, only foot paths meander up, down and around the hilly, terraced farmland, I relished in breath-taking vistas at each turn. In my seven hours of touring, I was alone ducking through stone doorways of Inca ruins, hired a canoe and local for a jount in the water, drank coca tea with a elpaca herder and reveled in my aloneness in nature.
