My bus traversed the strait on a raft, the passengers in a small, rocking boat, to reach the lakeside town of Copacabana. The man below is in the Bolivian navy, stationed at the lake since Bolivia lost its coastline.
At a waterfront stall I ate fried trout with tomato chilli salsa and fresh lime on a bed of giant white corn kernels with black potatoes on the side. At a cafe, I had Inca Cola and coca tea.
A ferry delivered me to Isla del Sol, the island which was the birthplace of the Incan sun god.

I hiked past the ruins of the Temple of the Sun, donkeys, sheep, llamas and Incan agricultural terraces still in use today.
This mud brick thatched home boasts location, location, location!

I turned off the trail at the village which boasts the fountain of youth, but on close inspection, decided that partaking would most likely shorten my life.

I walked down the stairs, flanked by gurgling Incan irrigation channels, with as much dignity as I could muster, given the speed with which this heavily burdened elderly villager overtook me.

The snowcapped Cordillera Real rose above the lake at the dock.
