At The Copa, Copacabana

Once arrived in La Paz, we went back to the Wild Rover to sneak some showers and a breakfast.  The chance to recharge both our physical and literal batteries and also to sort out our next steps was much appreciated.
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The plan evolved to take us towards the border town of Copacabana via local bus.  We were crammed into with 22 others, as the only foreigners.  It was a bit tight but a good experience.  Along the way our boat needed to cross Lake Titicaca, and so we paid the Indian to ferry it across, on a 15hp raft.
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When we arrived, Parker claimed to be dying, and insisted on going to a clinic.  We weren’t really sure how far we would get, but this meant that we were going to spend the night here.  After nursing his misery and passing out, dad and I set out to explore the small town.  We stopped by the church and also a restaurant.  Their sign advertised the pizza that we were both very much in the mood for, but seemed surprised when we ordered it.  We were disappointed to have some default soup coming our way.  The ol’ bait and switch…
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The next stop was down to the water’s edge.  We took the long way, which afforded us the chance to see a conch shell house.  At the beach we just looked out at a body of wager that rivaled the Great Lakes of home.  We had to meet Parker at the hostel so we bid it adieu.
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That evening it was decided that we weren’t really up for much more than a decent dinner, so we set out into the rain to find a place.  I asked the worker at the hostel where she recommended going, but she was pretty worthless.  The three of us wound up at the busiest looking establishment and kept a stream of food coming.  It had some good atmosphere and the bartender Tony said they were open from 8 to 4.  We did finally get that pizza we were craving, and were intrigued to see trout as a topping choice.  Who could ask for more?
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The only thing left for us in this quiet town was sleep.  We thought that we needed to be up in the morning a bit earlier to catch a bus, but bailed on that option in favor of another local van with more flexible times and a much lower price tag.  After a short cab to the Peruvian border, and Parker’s balking under the pressure to pay a bribe, we had come to the end of Bolivia.  These two threw up every tourist red card possible.
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