I arrived in Isla del Sol, in the middle of Lake Titicaca, with big plans. Tiny dirt roads criss-cross the island, running between traditional farming villages and ancient Inca ruins. It's a hiker's paradise and I planned two days of trekking. That changed when I encountered the 200 ancient Inca stairs leading from the port to Yumani, the island's only real town. Exactly a week after the Inca Trail, my calves were still sore and my knees ached. My whole body protested with every step. Luckily, Yumani and its immediate surroundings were paradise.

    Exhausted after my long climb, I rented a room from the first hostel I found. The old woman who ran it had exactly two teeth. My room was clean and white with a perfect view of the sparkling lake. Even though I could see the opposite shore, it was hard to believe that I wasn't looking at the ocean. In the bathroom, I got my first surprise: the toilet flushed by pouring water in the bowl -- just like the one on the Salar de Uyuni. Thanks to my view of the lake, I was expecting island paradise, including running water. But I shouldn't have been surprised. Flushing toilets couldn't be terribly common on an island with no cars.

    When I got tired of lying in bed and staring at the lake, I took a short walk from my hostel to a ridge overlooking the island. I found a warm rock, sat in the sun, and spent the afternoon reading Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban in Spanish. The view from here was beautiful -- golden farming terraces descended little by little into the shimmering blue lake. The silence was spoiled only by the braying of donkeys and the barks of a little girl shepard who had learned to make sheepdog noises. The island's inhabitants drove sheep, llamas, goats, and donkeys down the road behind me, each saying a polite "hola, senorita" as they passed.

    Eating in one of Yumani's 4 restaurants always proved an adventure. Many had fashioned tables from rocks and logs. None had a written menu. Customers simply asked what was being served and agreed on a price. Lunch was available starting at 2. Before then, the cooks were making food for their families, who usually lived in a room behind the restaurant. When I asked for dessert, the waiter looked shocked. "We don't have anything sweet, Miss," he told me.

    When I took the ferry back the next morning, I discovered that Copacabana had been transformed. The fiesta was no longer confined to auto blessings in front of the cathedral. Pink, yellow, and green streamers hung everywhere. The market had spread into every corner of the city. I was deeply annoyed to discover a table of beeping Peruvian alarm clocks less than a block away from the port. Near the cathedral were long tables selling plastic houses, cars, buses, trucks, and farm animals. At first, I took them for children's toys, but then I saw people carrying them into the cathedral to be blessed. In between tables of merchandise, old women roasted whole pigs on the street. Each also had a bucket of what looked like deep fried rats with their heads intact and legs splayed. I was (slightly) relieved to hear that they were guinea pigs. I decided to leave that delicacy for the locals.

    I was sorry to leave the celebration behind, but I had to move onto La Paz, the first step in organizing a trip into the jungle. Amazon Rainforest, here I come!

~Meredith