Day 18: Lake Titicaca
With an overnight bag packed, we all met in the lobby for our 8am pick-up for Lake Titicaca. We were introduced to our friendly local guide, Gido, who then led us out the hotel and a short distance to waiting rickshaws. Zipping through the town, weaving though traffic and flying down hills, the rickshaws delivered us to the harbour. There we picked up a few snacks and boarded the boat, a covered vessel with roof deck. Gido gave us a quick lesson in Quechua and Aymara; the two principle languages of the region; before stopping a short while later at the floating islands.
The floating islands are a phenomenon of the north western side of the lake, close to Puno, where the lake is shallow and the necessary reeds grow in abundance. These springy, manmade islands are home to an indigenous people whose very existence centres around the reeds. The reeds form the island (3m deep), their modest yet beautifully crafted huts, their fuel, crafts and even part of their diet. The friendly islanders greeted us and were more than happy to illustrate their way of life, using adorable miniature scale models of themselves and their island. They offered us a boat trip around the island on one of their magnificently crafted and wonderfully, unique looking boats, showing us how they harvest the reeds and fish. The young man who took us out, called Alex, picked up on my ability to speak Spanish and wasted no time asking personal questions. "Are you single?", he asked, "there are a lot of single men around here. One of these islands could be yours..." Haha, I laughed nervously... the directness! You've gotta love it! Instead I tried to pawn off some of my other fellow single travellers!
Back on the island, where we were treated to renditions of a traditional water song in Quechua, Aymara and then English ("Row, Row, Row your Boat") some of us bought some of their hand crafts, while others dressed up in the traditional outfits they offered - more of the touristy nonsense that must be abided and entertained for the pleasure of visiting such places.
These islands are anchored to one spot, but are occasionally ferried around, and for festivals, are joined together to make one unified island - a truly fascinating, and marvellously difficult, way of life.
Back on the boat, our next destination: Taquile Islands, two hours solid on the boat from the floating islands - an indicator of the vastness of Lake Titicaca. We arrived on the island in time for lunch. The options: rainbow trout, or omelette. The fish was beautifully fresh and the views, better still. Here we learned about the local customs and traditions of the Taquile Islanders including their production of knitted crafts - primarily by the men! The skill of which, was a source of competition amongst them.
When choosing a partner, they live together for two years and thereafter wed during a three day ceremony during which bride and groom neither kiss, touch or sit beside each other. They are not even allowed to sleep! Furthermore, they must be married by 25 years of age or else face being a pariah in the community... I'd be in trouble so!!!
After lunch, we traipsed up the hill towards the main square, noticing all the while a sort of white graffiti that covered the island, seemingly part of the recent Corpus Christi festivities. In the square a co-op filled with fine knitted goods filled a hall, was open for business - what small dribble of tourists passed though here to buy their abundance of wares, I've no idea.
We boarded the boat once more and returned another two hours to get to the peninsula of Luquina Chico where we would meet the locals and respective host families.
Off the boat, we were greeted by a small band with a drum, trumpet and flute. They marched behind us towards the football ground where a friendly football match was to be held between the locals and the visitors. A bit short of experienced footballers, I threw my name in the hat for the squad. Julien scored our first goal, which was quickly levelled off by the locals. By some magical stroke of fluke, I managed to score the next goal - no less with my left foot. Not a beautiful goal, but hey! It put us in the lead momentarily. We finished at half time 3 all. But, after a brief break (when Julien kicked the ball into a distant field which had to be retrieved) the locals sealed their victory swiftly. Hey! We put up a good fight!
After the match, and as the sun started to set, the locals performed a traditional dance, which once we'd been dressed up in their wonderful traditional outfits; pink ponchos and cowboy hats for the men; multiple layers of heavy, brightly coloured skirts, jacket, sash and bowler hat for the women; both carrying knitted whips(for some reason) ; we had to reenact. Felt pretty silly, but it was a lot of fun!
Nearly completely dark now, the daughters of our hostess, Lucila, collected Shan, Holly and I to bring us to their home. We walked in near complete darkness through fields and dirt roads for nearly half an hour up hill before arriving at the modest quarters in the dark.
Our room, cheerily decorated with tapestries and the brightly coloured textiles we were so accustomed to in Peru. With no clue as to what we were to be doing, we awkwardly waited in the room until we were called in for dinner. An hour later, we were ushered outside, across the small yard, into the small, smoke filled room: a hearth at one end, burning fire wood that heated the array of well worn pots on top. Everything was very basic and stripped back. A world away from our own lives, we humbly took our seats at the table while Lucila worked at the stove. Two of her children joined us at the table and in painful silence we ate the hearty meal of soup (well, Holly, god love her, did her best!), and vegetable curry with rice. It was an intense experience, and took all my strength to repress my commonly problematic nervous laughter. Knowing that Aymara was their primary language, it was near the end of the meal before I tested a little Spanish. While conversation hardly flowed we managed to learn that our hostess has 7 children, none married, and that her husband Jose, was playing trumpet that night in Puno with a band. Most surprisingly she told us her age. Her hard lifestyle had aged her far beyond her 57 years...
Feeling all the while a sort of awkward inconvenience to be tolerated we were eager to help if we could. Sat on two logs, with a basin each in front of us, we, at the very least, did the washing up before retiring to our self contained accommodation for the night. As was the case on the Lares Trek, with no light, and nothing to entertain us, we were tucked in by 9pm. Island life, eh?
Accommodation: The home of Lucila y Jose
Weather: Hot on the boat - got my first (horrific) sunburn of the trip; well wrapped up in the evening.