Peru and Bolivia Trip...End

Puno, Lake Titicaca, Floating Islands, and Century Old Cultures in Modern Day Life

I left off the last blog in Puno. Puno is the largest Peruvian city on the banks of Lake Titicaca, and it's main port (for the Peruvian side). Puno and by default, Lake Titicaca, are located at approximately 11500 ft above sea level (think of the height at which most sky divers jump from and you'll have an idea of where we were walking). This height makes Lake Titicaca the highest natural body of water in the world.

The town itself is rather unremarkable, containing only one main tourist drag and a handful of other streets where the locals hang out and all but the brave tourists fear to tread. There were though a series of clubs and bars on the tourist’s street that were nice. The first night there we just toured the area, looked for a few remaining souvenirs, and tested out the local cuisine.

We set out early the next morning for the marina to take a four-hour boat ride to the Amantani Islands, which were to be our home for the next 24 hours. Our ride from the hotel to the marina consisted of approximately 10 different man-powered bicycle rickshaws. The guy that was pedaling mine was the slowest and as everyone passed us, we were greeted with numerous "Loser" symbols. The people in my tour group were so nice.

On the way to the Amantani Islands, we stopped off at the floating Uros Islands. These are a series of Islands that are made from layers of tortora reeds. The reeds grow freely in Lake Titicaca and are harvested by the local Indian families that convert the reeds into an island base, use it to build their homes, their boats, fuel the cooking fires, and even eat it (the area near the roots...it tastes kind of like a cucumber and is said to have fluoride like properties).

The inhabitants of these islands are very good at their reed crafts and make excellent boats from it. The boats appear like two smaller canoes with a linked middle platform that hosts a small hut in the fashion of pharaoh chariots. Each of the canoe-like ends contain an animal head. Some islands even had giant fish made from the reeds.

There are only about 600 inhabitants left living on the islands, all of which look like munchkins or omppalumpas. They are short, and the women are very robust and wear bright (neon bright) clothing.

Of the many Uros Islands, only a handful support tourism and only for a few months out of the year. We stopped for a bit on the Khantawi Island, where we were given a short introduction into the lifestyles of the inhabitants. I was then shuffled into one of the resident’s huts where I was layered in their wonderfully bright and festive garb. Em vehemently resisted all attempts to be redressed and instead pulled out her camera and took photographs. I wasn’t the only one that had been put into costume, so it was Em that turned out to be the odd man out. Ian, liked the shirt that he was dressed in so much that he bought it from the locals for about $30.

After our tour and fashion show, we got to go on a boat ride atop of the reed boat that is typical of this culture. Ian and Gary decided to prove that they were just as manly as the locals and therefore offered their brawn to row us around the island. It looked like they were doing just fine until you looked to the side and noticed that there was a local woman propelling a smaller version of our boat by herself and at about three times the speed. Now I know that she was the only one in the boat compared to ours that had about 20 people on it, but still that’s got to be a blow to a guy’s self-esteem.

At the conclusion of our trip around the island, we said our goodbyes and headed onward with our journey…next stop…the Amantani Island.

The Amantani Island was to be our home for the next 20 hours or so. This island, like many of the others on Lake Titicaca contains the remnants of societies that have been around for centuries and carry the traditions of their ancestors. We disembarked at the small jetty and climbed a small hill (that felt 20 times it’s size when you factored in the high elevation and my lack of acclimation to it) to come face to face with a handful of locals. The locals race down to the docks every day around the same time (noon to oneish) to see how many new tourists have arrived. Not everyone comes everyday. The families that live here trade off every other day or so, so that all can share in the money and gifts that we bring in exchange for their hosting of us for the day.

Em, Hein, and I were placed with a 25-year-old mother of two that lived with her mother and had a boyfriend that came over in the evenings. Our host, ----, graciously led us up the hill that is the island, across a gully and through a small clearing to arrive at her home. The house consisted of two stories, with a four-bed guests room on the second floor and the single bed family room on the bottom floor. In addition there was another smaller building that was the kitchen/dining room, located perpendicular to the house. Between the two buildings was a small courtyard surrounded by a wooden fence and one side and a rock wall on the other. The restroom was an outhouse about 100 ft away from the main living complex. All in all it was very cute and cozy.

Not really knowing was to do, but not wanting to be completely rude, we all asked Selya if we could help prepare lunch, to which she heartily agreed. We were given a bowl of potatoes and two dull knifes to share between the three of us. So Em and I started peeling and Hein videotaped the fact that we were terrible at it. I think that ---- probably lost half of each potato that we attempted to peel, but she didn’t seem to mind. I think that she was happy we’d asked to help and that we were trying to talk to her. Once we figured out that she spoke Spanish in addition to Quechua, it was a little easier to communicate. With Grandma though we kept repeating the two words of Quechua that we did know, “Thank you” and “That was really good” (said in reference to a meal). Grandma got a kick out of it.

About an hour after we had arrived at the house, Selya‘s, two children arrived home. They were Luz (an 8 year old girl) and Ruy (a 5 year old boy), both adorable and completely hams. Once they realized that we thought they were cute and that we would show them videos and photos of them doing something adorable, they started acting. There were dancing and singing and we taught them how to do jumping photos. It was so cute cause they would do something and then run over to us so that we could show them what they looked like on digital or video. We spent most of the afternoon hanging out with them, until it was time to head to the main square, which turned out to be back across the gully and further up the hill.

It seems that the main daily practice on Amantani (and pretty much everywhere else in Peru and South America) is soccer. The main square was a soccer court (concrete) with stands on either side and filled with all the tourists currently on the island, as well as many of the locals. There was a game going on between the locals and the foreigners. Em and Ian joined in and the rest of us watched from the sidelines cheering them on. Eventually they changed the teams up some and I joined as well as Paul.

While I traded misplaced kicks and bad blocks with the other players, half of our group took off and climbed Pachamama (Mother Earth), one of two hills on the island. The other hill is called Pachatata (Father Earth). Once a year, on February 20th, the 5000 inhabitants split up and half climbs one hill, while the other half climbs the other. Once there they celebrate their heritage and then meet in the middle for dancing and singing.

After dinner, Em, Hein, and I we outfitted in local garb (bright skirts, long sleeve shirts, a cummerbund type center wrap, and what we took to calling our nun habits – a black shawl). We then hiked back up the hill to the main square and joined the party. All the families that are currently hosting gather in the evenings and play music and teach us all how to dance the local way. They then have us move to the sidelines and show us their typical dances. It was a nice night.

All too soon the morning came. After a rushed breakfast and a tearful goodbye, we were hustled back down to the docks where we boarded our boat for the ride back to Puno.

On the way back to Puno, we stopped off at Taquile Island. This island has continuously been occupied for the last 10,000 years, although not continuously by the same people. In 1937 though, the decedents of the original Indians that inhabited, were able to buy it back. There are only about 1200 people that live here and it is considered one of the safest places out there mainly due to the fact that the penalty for anything as minor as theft is a swift beating and then exile for the island and the community. Talk about harsh.

After a nice hike up, across, and then back down the other side of the island, we re-boarded our boat and completely the journey to Puno.

This being our last day in Puno and ultimately our last 24 hours in Peru, we decided to have some fun that evening. Hein had been bugging Em and I to go dancing with her since Cusco and we finally caved in. We spent our last night first at this bar that was fond of black light and writing on walls. It was neat to read the different notes and drawings that people from all over the world had tacked to the walls and ceilings. The music there was pretty good too with a mix of American rock and reggae. We moved on from the bar to a salsa club/bar. A couple of the other people in our group had found this place a few nights previous and Hein was determined to spend our last night in town dancing until the sun came up (we obliged her until about 1 am and then called it quits).

At the salsa club, Em and I both ended up making friends that were not eager to let us sit and be boring. I went out dancing and the barkeep took a fancy to me seeing as I had a better grasp of salsa than some of the others (or more likely I didn't care that I looked so stupid trying to pretend I knew what I was doing). We ended up dancing on and off for most of the night. When I was going to leave for the night I forgot to go say bye and this resulted in my new friend throwing a lemon at me from all the way across the dance floor (a really good shot considering that lemon wedges aren't very aerodynamic) and then hiding under the bar.

Far from awake, everyone stumbled down the hotel stairs the next morning at 7 am to board the bus for Bolivia. Jamie, Ian, Gary, and Joyce said their goodbyes here at they were headed via plane back to Lima and would not be continuing on with the rest of the group.

If anyone tells you that crossing a border in a giant yellow bus on market day is a good idea, hope that you have a bus driver half as skilled as ours was (he was a Tucan driver). Fridays, there is a border market where the Bolivians and the Peruvians meet to trade and sell their wares. They set up all over the roads and sidewalks and the actual street is filled to brimming with buyers, sellers, and the completely out of depth tourists. It’s pretty cool actually and I wish that we’d actually been able to spend some time touring it, but we were on a mission to get through customs and the borders as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Em and I, being the only Americans, were forced to pay for and obtain a visa. We just found out about this the previous week and went to the Bolivian consulate when we were in Puno to try to get it there, but they were closed for the day and would only supply us with a list of what we needed (photos, application, copies of passports and yellow fever vaccination papers, money). The internet, and the Bolivian consulate told us that the fee for the 5-year visa was $100 (gotta love pay back…the Americans imposed a visa on the Bolivians so they returned the favor times a few), so we amicably turned over the funds to the man in charge. This is where Em went crazy and I got irate. The borders guards were very nice and calmly asked for the additional $35 each. When we asked what the hell they were talking about we were informed that as of July 1st, the fee had gone up. At this point Em marched out and started yelling to anyone that would listen (although considering none of them could understand English they probably just thought she was a crazy person) that they’re lying and that they need to communicate with their people cause everyone else said that the fee was only $100. While Em was tempting fate and itchy trigger fingers I was pulling out the extra cash I had trying to cover the extra money, the whole time trying to convey in broken Spanish that I was pissed and the guard should stopped smirking and acting so happy. Seriously I was ready to take a swing at him. The final straw was after we paid and they stamped our passports they took them, with us trailing behind, to photocopy and then had the audacity to ask us to pay for it. Considering that they’d rejected everything that we’d given them (including photocopies of our passports, pre-filled out applications, and photos) and made us do it all again, I refused to pay the 1 Boliviano (about 12 cents) on principle. Petty I know, but it felt good to say “fuck you” to something. Needless to say, Em and I were not fun to be around for a little bit after that.

The last ruin visited by Em and I on the trip, and one of the two main reasons that we decided to go to Bolivia (the other being the Witches Market in La Paz), was Tiahuanaco, also known as Tiwanka. This is the largest and most well known archaeological site in Bolivia and is located about 15 miles from Lake Titicaca and at an elevation of 12,500 ft above sea level. The site is shrouded in mystery like many over sites around the world. Some researchers believe that it was build as the capital of the Pre-Inca Civilization, the Aymara, while others believe that it was created by the same extraterrestrials that created the Nazca lines.

Regardless of who created the complex, it is unique in it’s own right. The site is continuously being excavated and conserve, with archaeologists unearthing new discoveries at the same time that they reproducing in situ those that they’ve already found.

We spent a few hours exploring the site and its museum before continuing to La Paz, the final destination of this trip.

La Paz used to be called Nuestra Senora de La Paz, meaning Our Lady of Peace. Seems like a pretty cool name for a city, but kind of at odds with the times seeing as the county was currently in a civil world with the highlands (the poor) fighting the lowlands (the rich) to keep the rights that were afforded to them by the current ruling party. Gotta love the rich upper class that believes everyone below them is dirt.

La Paz is the highest capital city in the world, and is home to the world's highest golf course, soccer stadium, velodrome (where the world record currently stands), and landing strip. This landing strip is also the longest in the world and the 3rd location for space landing, after the two American locations. In terms of tourism, if you forget the multitude of museums, most travelers here come for the Witches’ Market, The Valley of the Moon, and the Death Road to Coroico.

The distance between Coroico and La Paz is only 70km, but the road to Coroico starts on a summit near La Paz, 4633 meters above sea level, and heads down to 1700 meters above sea level, A 3300 meters descent. Not only that the road is extremely steep, but it is also narrow, muddy, and has steep drops of over 1000 meters instead of margins. A recipe for disaster! And disasters indeed occur - and that is why the road got its name - the Death Road. Each year, tens of thousands of brave souls flocks here to try their luck bike down this path so that they can get the adrenalin pumping and receive their “I survived” t-shirt upon completion. As tempting as trying this out, time prevented Em, Hein, and I from doing more than contemplating our eminent demises should we have taken up the challenge.

So with time not on our side, we set out to see the few sites that we knew we could do within our given timeframe, a little over 36 hours. We set out first for The Valley of the Moon, with all of the remaining Brits and one of the Aussie couples. The Valley of the Moon is a series of geological rock formations that someone decided looked like the surface of the moon. Seeing as I’ve never been to the moon (or maybe I have and have just blocked out the event), I can’t refute or verify this assessment, but I can say that the site is interesting in and of itself. The rocks are similar to the sandstone that the Peruvian pyramids of Tucume are made of and are decaying similarly as well. It seems that wind and water erosion has created many protrusion that appear to be melting. We walked among the different outcroppings and made those with us take silly pictures. There was a resting place with logs and I made everyone stand on them, imitating the Karate Kid movies with the phoenix stance. Em made everyone pose weird at one section where we were all on different outcroppings. It was fun.

From the Valley of the Moon, we all loaded back into our crawling taxis (they were being paid by time and trying to stretch it as far as possible) at took off for the Witches' Market. The Witches' Market is located within and among the tourists market and sells mainly herbs and folk remedies, but also a variety of ingredients intended to manipulate and supplicate the various helpful and harmful spirits that populate the Aymara world.

The most prominent product available in the Witches' Market are dried llama fetuses, which are always buried in the foundations of new constructions or businesses as a cha'lla (offering) to Pachamama. The llama sacrifice encourages the goddess to protect the workers from accidents and bring good luck to the business. The fetuses are only used by the poor; wealthier Bolivians are expected to sacrifice a live llama to Pachamama. In addition, we were told that when really large buildings were being put up, they would offer a drifter or tourist cheap liquor until the died of alcohol poisoning and then burying them under the foundations. Whether there is any truth in this or more likely, it is meant as a tale to frighten tourist, we didn't inquire further.

Other common products are colorful herbs, seeds and various parts of frogs and insects for Aymara rituals that help with a variety of problems from illness to bothersome sprits. Commonly circulating through the area are yatiri (witch doctors), who wear dark hats and cary coca pouches, and offer fortune-telling services. Also they have many different idol and spirit statues that can be purchases to provide love, health, riches, etc. to the purchaser.

All to soon, the moment to leave arrived. Em and I bundled our gear and ourselves into a taxi at 3:30 am in an effort to arrive at the airport the required 3 hours before our scheduled flight. This turned out to be completely un-necessary considering that the only people in the airport at this time of morning happened to be the other tourists that believed they needed to be there early. The actual people that worked in the airport didn't arrive until 5 am. So it was wait in one line till the open so that you can move on to the next line and wait for them to open and so forth. The good thing though is that we found out we were on the first American Airlines flight that was leaving the country in a week. Everyone for the previous week had been canceled. it's nice when things work out in the end.

And here ends my epic novel detailing the interesting and the mundane tidbits from the Adventures of the Scholarly Professor and the Raunchy Truck Driver through Peru and into Bolivia. I hope that you all enjoyed the ride and that you'll drop me a line so that i know that i didn't just write this for my own peace of mind. Writers always love to know that some one out there is actually reading the crap that the put down on paper (or in this case, electronic space). Until next time....