We had planned to go to Lake Titicaca but, of course, the place we wanted to stay was fully booked. I suspect a global conspiracy; it does not really exists. How can it? Lake Titty Caca, indeed. Instead, we took a tour to ancient Tiahuanaco. On route, we stopped for a photo break at nearly 4,000 metres, where our guide pointed out the lake in the distance. I was not falling for it, that smudge could have been anything.
The site of Tiahuanaco is on the plateau; as it was a clear day, the view was amazing, if the ruins were largely underwhelming. Our guide was a walking fountain, who spouted streams of facts and figures, which we were required to pay attention to. Feeling increasingly sheep-like and slack-jawed, I sloped off to explore on my own.
My strongest memory was sitting on the Akapana pyramid and being awe-struck by the majesty of the sky, streaks of whitest cloud accentuating the deep azure. I drifted into reverie, until a siren went off and a loud hailer bellowed—I was sitting in a protected area and had to move.
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