I stutter-stepped, planted my left foot, and exploded past the 9-year-old defender to his right, and took the open shot. I hooked it hard and missed– at least the goal part. The ball did hit one of the dining room windows in the small combination house and hotel, shattering it into more pieces than I wanted to count. The game stopped, and we all stood, frozen in place as we tried to determine the next move. Our goalkeeper’s mother had been outside earlier, scolding the kids about being careful not to break anything. And so, I was prepared for her wrath, though I wasn’t sure whether I’d be lumped in with the other soccer players, since they were kids and I was probably older than her.
But she never came out. I girded and tensed my whole body in anticipation of whatever was going to come my way. But after a few minutes passed and nothing like that happened, I felt a sort of guilty relief as I realized that she wasn’t going to verbally tear into me. After my initial surprise, I stood there, motionless and unable to come up with any rational reason why I seemed to be getting away with it. It probably would’ve been less complicated had I just been chewed out and banished somewhere. But since that never happened, I eventually began to think about the actual realities of replacing a broken windowpane out in the boonies. After all, we were at a hostal in the village of Yumani, Bolivia, and on the crest of the Isla del Sol, which is out in the middle of Lake Titicaca. Simply put, I wasn’t in a particularly accessible place.
While the mother never came out, a man did. He just said, “no problema,” glancing in my direction as he walked over to the window. He covered the broken-out area with a piece of old cardboard, stepped back to look at his handiwork, and then turned and walked back through the doorway, without further acknowledging my presence or involvement in the “situation.”
I began speculating about where a replacement pane of glass would even come from. Perhaps, I thought, the people who owned the little hotel had a spare piece of glass sitting around somewhere, or maybe there was some sort of store in Yumani that carried those sorts of things. I was initially hopeful, but after a moment of deep thought, I realized that neither scenario was very likely. On previous trips, I’d hiked all around the southern part of the island and remembered that I hadn’t ever seen much of anything of a commercial nature. So, I began pondering what I soon realized were the realities of fixing the window. It would be a simple process in much of the world. But in this case, they would probably have to bring the glass from Copacabana, which was a 90-minute boat ride away.
Pretty much everything that gets to Yumani (including people) arrives by boat. And most everything arrives at a lakeshore dock located several hundred feet below the village. A well-known rock staircase, known as the Inca Steps, leads from the dock up to the small town. After ascending some 200 of the intricately carved and placed rocks, the “steps” reach the lower parts of the village. From there, the steps run into the dirt city streets and alleys that extend throughout the village.
The island is several miles long and wide, and according to Inca and Aymara lore, it is the birthplace of the Sun. It’s divided into South and North sides, with the smaller village of Challapampa considered the center of activity in the north. The whole place is essentially a mostly barren mountain that rises out of Lake Titicaca, with various high points at around 13,000 feet above sea level, and roughly 1000 feet above the lake. While there is a dirt road network covering the entire landmass, no vehicles are allowed anywhere, so everything is done on foot or, occasionally, on a donkey. Suffice it to say, the island is off the beaten path.
There’s certainly a downside to not having vehicles available to transport people and goods around. But the lack of noise and hustle and bustle creates a delightful, peaceful environment. When that’s combined with amazing sunsets and views of the Peruvian Andes and the high peaks of the Cordillera Real, an intriguing inter-connectedness between humans and land seems to exist.
A few days after the window was broken, it was time for us to leave. As I checked out, I looked over at the cardboard still covering the windowless hole and felt a bit of an empty spot in my gut. I’d been hoping to leave with that situation permanently resolved. But that didn’t seem to be the case, so I resigned myself to leaving without knowing how it would all work out.
I picked up my pack and began the walk down to the dock to catch the early afternoon boat back to Copacabana. As I left, my initial thoughts were mostly about the window issue. I walked a few hundred yards west along the main road, then made an abrupt left turn off the ridge top and began descending toward the lake. Soon after the turn, I began hearing a tune being whistled. It was coming from somewhere off in the distance and down below. It was almost startling how its crispness and lightness contrasted with the expected town noises, and I got it into my mind that it was somehow a sound that I was meant to hear.
Since it kept getting louder as I walked, I knew that I was getting progressively closer to its source. And then suddenly, there it was. I rounded a corner and was passed by a rough-looking younger man, whistling away for all he was worth and with a broad smile on his face. He nodded as he walked by, but he seemed mostly focused on something farther up the road. He had a pronounced bounce in his step and was just whistling away as he walked, and I saw that he was carrying a pane of glass, mostly wrapped in newspaper. And with that, a smile came to my own face, as I realized that he was likely headed for the Hostal. So, my mind eased about the window, and I continued along my way. But at this point, I began doing so with a sort of hop in my step and the big smile on my face, happy to know that all was well and uncomplicated on the Isla del Sol.
