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Published: October 1st 2008
PUNO
As the bus rounded the final bend of our six hour ride to Puno, Lake Titicaca appeared on the horizon. The deep blue that stretched as far as the eye could see contrasted sharply with the dull, clay-brown mass of buildings clinging to the hillside. It was good to see water again, instead of just dry desert. Puno was never meant to be anything more than a jumping off point for the islands of the lake and our border crossing into Bolivia.
After finding a hotel and dropping off our bags we went to see the myriad of bright markets we saw from the bus and get some food. Markets are never in a permanent place, the stalls can be torn down with little effort and the group moves to a new place like a pack of nomads. So seeing such huge markets in one place we decided to take advantage. I bought a new baseball cap for a dollar and Ammi bought a couple of chullos, the Andean style woven hat.
We have come to love Chifa, Peruvian-Chinese food found everywhere that brought to the South American West coast by Chinese immigrants. Not far from our hotel
we found a Chifa place that was the bomb! We had Lomo Saltado which is alpaca, onions, tomatoes, and french fries stir-fried together and served with chicken fried rice. Yum! Another one of our culinary favorites, Salteñas, which are meat, potatoes and onions wrapped in a football shaped packet of fried dough. They are like Hot Pockets only tastier and cheaper. People hop on long haul buses at various towns to sell these and other snacks before hopping off again. We are happy they do too, otherwise we would starve on a 6 hour bus ride! We've vowed to learn to make all these delicious treats when we get home!
ISLAS FLOTANTES
We booked an inexpensive two day, one night tour of the islands that included a home stay with an local family. We found out later that we could have spent less, but the thing we realized is that even though people charge you more because you're a gringo, the price is still way less than what it's worth to you and you're helping boost the economy, so we don't feel too bad.
We jumped on a nice motor boat and since we love boats we
Flower girls
There are festivals every day, I don´t even know what this is forimmediately wanted to head up top. Sure we would likely get windburned, sunburned, and seasick but we just couldn't help ourselves! We lack discipline. Lonely Planet can't seem to make up its mind whether Lake Titicaca is world's highest navigable lake or not, in one section it says it is and in another section it says there are higher ones elsewhere. Go figure. After a half hour of nothing but open sea (it felt like the ocean because it's so huge) we started to notice dark green reeds sticking out of the water. Then, there were so many that it was literally a maze-like passageway that the boat could barely fit through, the captain having to memorize the twists and turns. Then we had gone back in time and suddenly there was an entirely different world in front of us.
The Islas Flotantes are a group of floating islands (yes floating) that are constructed out of nothing but the same reeds we saw around us. Our guide said there were more than 60 such islands in the lake each home to 5-10 families. The houses were constructed of reeds as well as the boats (that look surprisingly like Viking
ships). We stepped off the boat onto one of the islands and our feet sank about 6 inches, feeling like stepping on a huge floating mattress. You expect at any moment to step in the wrong place and hit water.
“Don't fall in!” Ammi warns me.
“Why?”
“Because no one will save you. I read about it. If you fall in you're officially a sacrifice to Pachamama, the goddess of the lake.”
“Ok. Important safety tip. Thanks.”
Our tour guide sits us down and tells us about the islands. He says that these people haven't changed their lifestyle in thousands of years (although I do notice a few solar panels attached to the small huts). Every so often the reeds used to construct the island become water-logged and they have to put a fresh layer on top, but it's not too much of a hassle. If they get tired of their surroundings, they have a talk, someone pulls up the anchor (a stick attached to a rope), and they can move the entire island wherever they want (although how does someone swim down to the anchor without becoming a sacrifice?) Apparently they live off fishing
and chewing the pulpy innards of the reeds. Sounds tasty. On the bright side our tour guide says something in the reeds protect their teeth so they never have to go to the dentist. One sniff and I decided to stick with Colgate. I do wonder though what they do if there's a fire on the island.
After the talk members of the tribe come up to the tourists and invite us into their home to look around. Inside is a small bed (for the family of four), a small table with tourist souvenirs, and a bunch of wires that seem to be hooked up to one of the solar panels. Someone asks him about it. “Oh yes. I have TV, DVD, and a radio. And soon to have internet!” Where do I sign up to get my own floating island!?!?
When we walk outside we are funneled into a line to look at the overpriced tourist souvenirs. Ammi feels bad and buys a cheapy necklace.
We got on one of the local boats to go see another one of the floating islands. As one of the crewmen pushed off he offered me a sit on one
of the hammock-like protrusions at the back of the boat. Why not? I hopped down without becoming Pachamama's chew toy and rode in style the whole way. The cool thing on the other island was that it had a fish hatchery in the center. Apparently pollution has had a profound effect on the lake's fish population so fish farming has became one of the few ways people can continue to survive on the islands.
ISLA AMANTANI
Afterwards we hop back on our boat for two more hours until we come to Isla Amantani, where we'll be sleeping. The waters around the island are turquoise blue. The soil is light brown with dark green vegetation. Cold wind whips off the lake onto the island, giving flight to the huge number of seagulls. We conclude that if you put Greece and Ireland into a blender this is what it would look like.
At the dock we are met by Monica, one of the members of our host family. She wears the brightly colored indigenous clothing that is typical for girls her age (she is probably 16). After the introductions she leads us up the side of the island
toward her house, winding her way though the maze-like paths that go though people's back yards and farmland. On the way we have to dodge several sheep, cows, and chicken that seem unaffected by our presence.
“How much (cough) further (choke) is it? (wheeze)” Everyone seems out of breath except for Monica who is simultaneously hiking and sewing a hat. I can't walk and chew gum at the same on a flat surface much less a rutted road up a 45°incline. Then I remember that we're at an altitude of roughly 14,000 feet. That's right, blame it on the altitude. That must be the reason our hearts and lungs feel ready to implode. Ammi reassured Monica in Spanish that we will live and we continue our accent.
“Wow look at all the pretty colors!” is all Ammi could gasp after hitting the bed with a definitive thump. I could almost see the stars swimming about her head like some cartoon animal that was just hit with an anvil. I guess the hike took a little more out of her than she was letting on. At least it was a nice house. When we were told we would be
staying with a local family we had no idea what to expect. For all we knew it could have been the two of us sharing a bed with Ma, Pa and Juan-boy in some Peruvian version of Little House on the Ferry...umm, I mean Prairie. Instead we had a nice room with a great view of the lake. Sadly we wouldn't have must time to enjoy it. We only had few minutes to set down our bags and rest before lunch and then it's time for our next hike.
“Hike? You mean that wasn't it?” Ammi says, still trying to catch her breath.
“I guess not.”
So Monica leads us through some more backyards to a main path which leads up the side of the mountain, which is probably a good 40 degree angle for about 1-2 miles. We're doing OK, and I offer to Ammi to turn back whenever she wants, but in typical Ammi fashion as soon as I even imply she can't do something a firm look of resolution comes over her face and she pouts “I can do it!” About a third of the way up, we come to a soccer field where
hosts and tourists are playing soccer on a cement field. Then I thought, “How do these people have the energy to hike and still play soccer, while we are panting with our head between our knees?” Granted, we weren't the only ones but I resolved right then that when we got home I was hitting the gym. We finally get to the top to “see the ruins” which is some kind of courtyard that's been fenced in. At least the view is nice. The guide sits us down to watch the sunset and talks about the different kinds of coca leaves. Part of me can't help but wonder why we couldn't have had this discussion 2 miles, several layers of clothing and many shin-splits ago. I've got to say yes it was friggin' cold up there! We can't even hear what the guy is saying because the wind is blowing and we're too busy putting on every layer of warm clothing we have. The sun sets over the lake, it's pretty, but now we're all starting to want to get back to that warm house and our host mama's home cooking.
I told Ammi, “I wish I would have
known we were going to be walking back in the dark. I would have brought our headlamps.” Instead, all we have is a little keychain LED flashlights attached to our belts which does a so-so job of illuminating our path. I hold Ammi by the arm as we walk down the “stairs”, which are really just big hunks of dirt and rocks dug in the shape of stairs. We're being safe, but slow and the rest of the group is way ahead of us. When we finally get to the beginning point where the hike started we realize nobody's there.
Crap.
“Do you know what the house looks like?” I ask.
“Yeah, when it's light outside, not when it's pitch black,” Ammi replied.
Double crap.
So we spend another hour or so walking down the path trying to find the turn off point.
“I think this rock looks familiar.” I say about every rock we come across. Finally, a woman with a flashlight finds us and leads us to the house. That was good because I was starting to worry that all they would find in the morning was our puma mauled remains.
At dinner our host father comes home from work. Someone asks him what he does and he points to a huge, 200 to 300 pound slab of rock that has been painstakingly chiseled into the shape of a huge sink or table. Apparently after cutting the stone, he carried it from the other side of the mountain on his back. I look down at his feet and see all he has is a pair of dirty leather sandals on. He insists that the rock only weights 10 kilos but neither us nor the other couple staying at the same house with us can even lift it away from the wall it is leaning against. You gotta hand it to Papa. He is one tough dude and all at 5'2” tall.
After dinner we are invited to a Peńa, or local folk dance. Even though we are a little tired we are down to party. As we are getting dressed we hear a knock at the door, our host mother walking in carrying a pile of clothes and plops them on the bed and tells us they are for us to wear. Ammi has no idea how to put all
her stuff on but thankfully I only have a poncho and a hat. Our host mom comes back and gets Ammi dressed up and we are ready to go. As we walk down to the lake, we are surprised at how comfortable and warm the clothes are, better than the best REI has to offer left sitting on our beds back in our room. At the party there in a bonfire and a band and I quickly realized the dancing was going to be done by us. All the other people on the tour were dressed up and we held hands and danced around th fire.
The next morning we handed out a few small presents we had brought for the kids. Ammi gave a bracelet I had made to Monica as a thank you for showing us around. Ammi even made me get rid of my beloved hacky-sack. We all had a big group hug and waved as we walked away.
On the way back to Puno we stopped at another island to do some more hiking and eat lunch. As we sat down to hear the tour guide's speech about the island, a bunch of
little girls came up to us. They couldn't be more that five years old and they were selling colorful bracelets. We kept telling them no but they would just sit there showing us their best puppy dog face. They have been well trained and some say just like sharks can smell one drop of blood in the water this girls can smell gullibility. Our resolve breaks and we ended up buying several before our tour guide to step in to keep us from being devoured like cattle by piranha.
THE BARDO Of BOLIVIA
Ahhh...so after a month it was time to see a new country. We've heard that Bolivia was even less expensive than Peru, so we wanted to maybe take some Spanish lessons and stock up on souvenirs in La Paz. We wanted to visit the lake side town of Copacabana and do some sailing, and visit the salt flats before making our way back to Cuzco in Peru.
Unfortunately this day didn't start off very well. We had gotten to the bus station a half hour before the bus left and realized I still had the key to our room and Ammi forgot her passport
at the hotel. We made a mad dash back, paying the taxi driver extra, just to find out the hotel owner had gone to the bus station to catch us. So we got back to the bus station, tipped the owner for bringing our stuff and got on the bus two minutes before it left. I guess all this bad luck should have told us something.
So about half way to the border one of the guys on the bus looks down at his clipboard. “Americans?” We raise our hands and realize ours are the only two hands in the air. “Can I see your visa?”
I stare at him dumbly and my mouth moves like a fish out of water. “We don't need a visa for Bolivia.” Both our Lonely Planet guide book and a reputable visa information website assured me that we don't need one, but this man in front of us assures us we do. He doesn't think we will get through but says we might be able to get a visa at the border for $135 per person. Our hearts sank. We didn't have that much money on us and there weren't any ATMs
at the border. Plus Bolivia wasn't worth that much to us, that was more than our Brazil visas were going to cost! We didn't want to get off the bus in the middle of nowhere and who knows, maybe this guy was wrong, so we decided to try anyway.
So we finally get to the border and stand inline at immigration. We've been traveling with a German father and daughter we met on the islands and were planning to stay with them in Copacabana. They are inline ahead of us. The border guard takes their passports and says rather loudly in Spanish: “I like Germans, but I hate Americans,” and then laughs expecting people to laugh with him. We are so dazed by this comment that we're still holding our passports in front of us like idiots. He takes our passports and his smile fades. “Americans? Do you have your visa?”
“Uh...no.”
“Come with me.” He sits us down at a small table and informs us that the visa is $135 per person. We tell him that's way to much and we are going to have to go back to Puno. He shrugs his shoulders and we
walk out, mystified.
We say goodbye to the German father and daughter, grab out bags, and spend the next three hours on a rickety bus back to Puno in silence.
We found out later that there's all sorts of weird political stuff going on in Bolivia. The US has put a lot of pressure on Bolivia and other countries, threatening to cut off aid if they don't stop growing the coca plant, which Bolivia claims is not for cocaine but for tea and medicine and for many indigenous people is their only means of income. Also, Bolivia's president has taken control of the country's oil profits to redistribute the wealth to the poorer people in country. Because of this there have been protests where people have been shot, saboteurs have blown up oil pipelines, and hundreds of people have gone “missing.” The American ambassador has been kicked out of the country, the US Embassy might shut down, and American Airlines has canceled all flights to and from La Paz for the time being. Bolivia has allied itself with Venezuela, which is allied with Cuba and has recently had talks with Russia and China, allowing Russian bombers to base
in Venezuela. Scary huh?
So sometimes bad things happen to us for a reason and we realized we were better off and safer staying away from Bolivia for the time being. Oh well, next stop Cusco and Machu Picchu! So long!
***TRAVELERS' TIPS***
-Bring a headlamp if you go to the islands. Some don't have lights. Also bring warm clothing.
-If you stay with a family on the islands bring little cheapy gifts for the kids; crayons, or notebooks. They went nuts for my old hacky sack.
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Sydney
non-member comment
Wherever you go, there's always someone Jewish
Hey Am, Do you have a few Jews in your fire dance audience? It looks like they are trying to do the Hora! :) Shanah Tovah, honey. I hope you have a great new year, filled with more exciting things (and less salmonella).