hIt may not have been the Copacabana, but that didn't stop us from singing the song as often as we could during our stay. This, the original Copacabana, is the base for exploring the Bolivian (less touristy) side of Lake Titicaca, but it is also a relaxing holiday destination in its own right. After the pace of the last week and a bit, we were all happy to slow down a gear or two – this was meant to be a holiday for Pete and Claire, after all!

Copacabana used to be a mecca for religious pilgrims, and the cathedral still dominates the town. The Lonely Planet mentioned a daily “Blessing of the Automobiles” held there, but we couldn't find it despite our best efforts. Instead we had a pleasant little wander around the Moorish-influenced building, and Claire and I went to the Candle Chapel, a dark dismal side building when unlit, but which must be spectacular when it's completely filled with candles.

The main purpose of our visit was a day trip to the Isla del Sol, the main island on the Bolivian side of the Lake and the alleged birthplace of the Sun in Inca mythology. So a pretty important place all in all. We were expecting a similar 'tour' to the one we'd already enjoyed (or endured, in James's case) from Puno, but we were to discover that the Bolivian approach to tourism is much more relaxed / half-assed than their Peruvian neighbours. What we'd actually bought was our boat ticket to and from the island: what we did when we got there was up to us. We did nearly get collared by a very enthusiastic local tour guide as we arrived in Cha'llapama, a village to the north of the island. When I tried politely to put him off by saying “Sorry, we don't speak Spanish” his response was admirable “That's ok, I'll go slowly!” He was impressively persistent, but eventually we gave him the slip and headed off on our own.

From Cha'llapama, there was a path running the entire length of the island to the southern port of Yumani. As we had time, and our legs had just about recovered from the Inca Trail, we decided to give it a go. The views were stunning, more reminiscent of holidays to Greek islands than South America, although in the heat of the midday sun, at 3820m above sea level, it was pretty hard going. I also managed to drop my camera into the dirt, ruining the zoom function (albeit only temporarily – amazingly it now works perfectly again. Clearly this is the indestructable camera!)

We arrived in Yumani with just enough time to grab a sandwich from a cafe overlooking the bay before our return boat picked us up. As we ate, we watched a boat being unloaded with goods for the village. Fresh water, gas canisters, and suitcases were all unloaded and then reloaded onto a pack of half a dozen tired-looking mules. Poor things!

We also used Copacabana, as our first stop in Bolivia, to sample the local alcoholic beverages, specifically beer. Unfortunately it seems we have been spoiled by Peruvian Cusqueña. Bolivian beer is on the whole, crap – redeemed only by BOCK, a 7% lager, which tasted a lot like Heineken. The cocktails are rather more palatable – we all tried Chuflay, the local spirit made from grape skins and mixed with Sprite. It's a lot like a slightly sour white wine spritzer. We were introduced to the drink in a delightful bar with a magical 4 hour happy hour. This resulted in Claire inadvertently consuming half a litre of rum in two mojitos, and the boys drinking four Cuba Libres apiece.

Glorious cold. Stepping down from the small plane onto Tasmanian tarmac was like jumping into a cool bath after a hot day. Except our 'hot day' had lasted 3 whole months. Sarah had got off the plane before me and was already halfway to the terminal. She looked back to see where I was and burst out laughing – I was standing still on the runway, arms outstretched, wearing a lunatic's grin and two layers of clothing, manically giggling at the fact that I was NOT SWEATING. Pure joy.

My expectations of Tasmania from somewhat limited research were that it would be a snowy wilderness of dense forests and gloomy port towns, within which mean-looking locals sat hunched over strong ales, spinning tales of Antarctic adventures and escaped convicts.

And this was exactly what Tasmania was like.

...two hundred years ago. Tasmania's heyday was the early 1800s. As one of the furthest outcrops of the English Empire it served as penal colony, a source of timber for furniture and boat production, a key hub for the whaling industry and was also one of the biggest apple exporters in the world. The docks in Hobart were a rolling maul of convicts, sailors, 'timber-getters', prostitutes, local merchants, recent free-men and the odd crusading Jesuit trying to offset the mayhem and moral turpitude.

By the 1850s gold had been discovered in nearby Victoria and the action shifted to the mainland. Wandering around the capital it doesn't feel like Hobart has ever really recovered. 'The Smoke' - as Tasmanians call it (eliciting stifled guffaws from Sarah and myself) – still feels like a small, slightly sleepy market town. Which is amazing really, given that it's one of the best natural ports in the world, is under an hour's drive from several immense national parks, 20 minutes from some great vineyards, and home to such an incredible history. I think that Hobart is simply a victim of its location – at the end of the earth.

At the moment, Hobart's tourist offerings seem to be limited to rely on a scattering of Georgian civic buildings, an art gallery and a number of seafood restaurants. Surrounded by predatory sea-gulls, we enjoyed a fantastic lunch of fish and chips by the Constitution Docks – where the Sydney to Hobart yacht race finishes on New Years Day. (Aside: As we ate, we heard a young American student telling her friends how amazing her meal was with the choice phrase: 'This is tasty as shit!')

Things are changing though. The number of people down-shifting and moving from mainland Australia to Tassie is on the up, as is tourism – mostly from mainlanders, but also from Asians and Europeans. Hobart seems like it's beginning to wake up to the commercial opportunities these off-islanders represent. The swanky cafes and art galleries of the Salamanca redevelopment at the base of Battery Point – the oldest settlement in Hobart – is doing well, as is the new 'Elizabeth Street Pier' complex of restaurants and apartments at the docks. We noticed a couple of other 'luxury lifestyle' projects going up as we strolled around the town.


From our stay, we feel there are still two critical barriers to Hobart's regeneration:

1.Opening hours. Sarah and I went out to find some food at 8 one evening, and every restaurant in town was shut. I know it's the off-season, but what gives?

2.Beer. It's incredibly expensive to drink in Australia, so if you are going to save up some money to buy a whole pint (to our surprise we learned that the standard measure in Oz is a 'Pot' – just over a half pint) you would hope that it would be worth it. Unfortunately the two Tassie local brews are pretty poor. Lusting after a real beer after 4 months of Asian lager, Sarah and I made our way pub-wards within hours of landing in Hobart. Sitting down in 'The Best Pub In Hobart' – Knopwood's Retreat in Salamanca – we therefore had high hopes for 'Cascade', which has been brewed in Hobart since 1832. After our first sip we thought the taps might be off. Cascade tastes like a watery, fizzier version of Budweiser. 'Boag's' from Lanceston in north Tassie wasn't much better. Chatting with some very drunk locals who had clearly been in the pub for some time, they recommended we avoid both of Tassie's home-grown beers completely and stick to James Squire ale (from Victoria) or better still, the wonderful Spanish wine that they had discovered a few hours back. Unfortunately by then we had no money left, so had to leave.