You probably had the same spark if recognition when you read the name “Copacabana” that I had: “I’ve heard of that!”. Well, it’s not “that” Copacabana. In fact, Copacabana in Brazil is not “that” one either. As Wikipedia explains it, the Barry Manilow song was inspired by a conversation in the Copacabana Hotel in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, written about the Copacabana Night Club in New York. Copacabana, Bolivia, on the shores of Lake Titicaca (“that” Lake Titicaca) comes off somewhat less exotic, but is a lovely and special place in its own right.

The road to Copacabana begins as a long and slow ordeal climbing out of La Paz, into the surrounding suburbs — neighborhoods in a constant state of development… or decay… sometimes it seems as if both are happening simultaneously. Every other building seems host to a hardware store, paint store or lumber yard — huge piles of concrete bags line the streets. Many of these building projects seem stalled out, skeletons of brick and rebar, and yet with people clearly living in them, maybe waiting for enough funds to finish, maybe squatting, or maybe they find it suitable as it stands. It’s hard to say. The buildings that are completed are pretty awesome: gradient paint jobs in greens and golds and purples with matching glazing and swerving architectural details. They kind of look like custom 70’s vans.

The road quickly finds and follows the banks of Lake Titicaca to the tiny town of Tiquina. At Tiquina, passengers and busses separate, with busses taking the long flat ferry barges across a narrow lake crossing, passengers piling up in to smaller boats. After reuniting with the bus on the other side, and another hour of winding roads with long and open views of the mighty lake, we finally reach Copacabana.

There’s not a lot to Copacabana, really. A small square presided over by a beautiful basilica with moorish inspired archways, a network of a few streets that all spill inevitably down to the shore of the lake, most of which are encrusted with a thick coating of tourist offices, bus offices, hostels, restaurants with the same menus and vendors rolling out luxuriant layers of alpaca sweaters.

We were really lucky to arrive on a weekend. The little coastline was roiling over with activities — swan boats swarmed the waters, tented kitchens turned out dish after dish of trout lunches, teenaged boys called after you to rent bicycles and motorcycles. We rented a little paddle boat for $2 and watched the bustling coastline from a calm and silent distance out in the vast waters.

We treated ourselves to a stay at the Copacabana Ecolodge, just a mile walk north along the coast. A peaceful, restful stay in our own hobbity cottage, hewn from the very earth itself. We had the property to ourselves, relaxing, and watching all the hulking black and white bumblebees apply their trade to the flora.

Most people come to Copacabana to tour Isla del Sol, an extremely important place for Incan creation mythology, as it is said to be the place the sun was born. I would love to be able to tell you about the remarkable ruins on the north end of the island, and the long views on the day hike south, but unfortunately after buying tickets and arranging a tour, I managed to get sick and spent the day locked in the hotel, munching antibiotics and saltines.

And if it wasn’t for the travelers sickness, there was the crushing, altitude provoked central apnea that left me sleepless and full of frustrating hallucinations… (It’s taken several days and lots of coca tea, but I seem to have adjusted since then)

Uneventful as it was, Copacabana made a nice, accommodating, how-do-you-do with the worlds highest commercially navigable body of water, Lake Titicaca.