Puno and The 3 Islands

From Arequipa I took a bus to Puno. A small town at the southern end of Peru. The only reason to visit this small dusty city is that it lays on Lake Titicaca, the highest fresh water lake in the world sitting at about 3800 meters. The lake shares its borders with Bolivia. Nothing to do in the city but walk up and down Lima street, the one tourist lane, lined with `tourísta´restaurants, shops, and travel agencies there is nothing authentic or exciting about Lima street. The rest of Puno is a mostly decrepid village, mud brick houses that are crumbling onto the mud streets, the red adobe houses, that show the grass straw that they are mixed with poking out from the walls. Warped wooden doors, and thin pieces of ripped fabric mark doors and windows. I wanted on the Lake quickly.
Happily the next morning I was on my way to a 2 day one night journey to 3 islands on the lake. The first was Uros. These are floating reed islands that the local villagers who inhabit these islands make. In total there are about 40 floating islands, with a few devoted to recieving tourists. On each island lives about 5-7 families, each island having a president. Our recieving islands President was named Alfredo. A popular name in small Peruvian villages I would learn. He explained to us in his native language Quechua, how they made the islands, our guide Javier would then translate.
Alfredo explained how the people would go out to the natrual reeds that grow in the lake, and whose root bases make for shallow areas to walk upon. Using saws, they cut into the reed root base and break off large pieces. These they take back to their islands and tie the chunks together. Using a wooden stake that has to be bought in Puno, they drive the stake into the root base and then tie, with rope made from the reeds, each piece together. They cut the actual reeds from the root base and lie the reeds on top of the root base, covering the stakes and ropes. The reeds are layed in a basket weave type manor to add more stability to the island. Walking upon the island is like walking in a spongy marsh. The houses, boats, and beds are all made from the roots. Now the locals use small wooden motor boats again bought from Puno, and the reed boats serve only for a tourist attraction. Although a bit touristy and forced, the islands rely heavily on the daily tourist visists, so I didnt feel bad being hassled to buy something or ride on one of the reed boats. They suckered me into a boat ride by mentioning the money goes to doctors and medicines needed for the locals....

Next after a very long and slow 3.5 hour journey across the lake we arrived at Anamanti. This is an actual island on the lake. Here we would stay the night with a local family, staying in their home, eating with them the local food they cooked for us. We met our `momma´ Seraphina. She would be letting us into her house and caring for us for the night and next morning. On the boat I had met 3 other single travellers. 2 guys from Australia, Alex who looked not a day over 14, but had just finished a month volunteering on a conservation retreat in the Northern Peruvian Jungle, and Nathan, who had been travelling for 16 months. 9 of which he had lived in Whistler like a true Australian working and skiing the slopes. Also in our little solo group was Mary, a girl from Seattle, who had come to visit a friend in Lima, and was now on her first solo female traveler trip. We all spoke a little bit of broken Spanish. Our Momma only spoke Quechua, except did know how to say "vamos" - lets go. Her husband, spoke a few words of Spanish. All of us together, his basic spanish (which was better than ours) and a translation page someone had kindly written out, was supplemented by a lot of hand gestures and miming. However we were able to communicate quite well.
The family was wonderful and kind. We stayed in a L shaped building, on the second floor. Expecting to be sleeping on dirt floors and given a few blankets this was amazing. We had acual beds, a light and electricty from a solar panle at night, and even a table. Our Momma was kind enough to provide a girl room and a boy room.
The kitchen was behind the house. A mud building with a grass thatched roof. A hole in the roof let out the smoke from the tiny clay stove, buring grass and and leaves, to cook and warm the pots of food. They also had a gas stove, a propane tank attached next to the stove for the gas burners, the actual oven used as storage. She made us local fare which consisted of quinoa soup, rice, and a vegetable and potatoe medely. Usually onion, green beans, fava beans, and carrots. This was the meal I would eat for the next 2 days. If I never see rice and potatoes again it would be okay. However the food was delicious.
Later that afternoon after our meal we gathered with the rest of the group to hike to the two temples on two opposite peaks of the island. First was Pachatata - the temple of father earth "pacha" - earth "tata" - father. The second, Pachamama - mother earth... i let you figure out the translation there...
Every year on July 21 the 10 local villages hike to the temples to present offerings, animal sacrifices, and celebrate the gods, in hopes of good crops for the following year. The 10 villages split into two groups, each group visiting one temple. They slaughter a goat or sheep in offereing, as on the island they do not have llamas or alpacas, and after a big celebration occurs.
Before we left on our journey our Momma and Papa, came and offered us a hand knitted wool hat that our Momma had made for the hike. Utilizing thier translation paper they explained that the hats were for us to borrow. No pressure to buy. They were beautiful and we happily all took one. Our momma was the only one to offer warm hats! We scored the best family.
We hiked to the top of each peak visiting the stone temples. Over looking the rest of the small island, and out onto the lake. From Pachamama we watched a large thunder and lightining storm rolling over the mainland.
After a delicious dinner of rice, potatoes and quinoa soup, and all feeling bloated and full, our Mama arrived to our room with clothes. She dressed Mary and I in the traditional local wear. A embroidered white shirt, then a high waisted wool skirt was cinched on. After the first wool skirt a second heavy layered wool skirt was added. This was cinched on ever tighter with a wide multi-colored embroidered belt. Ensuring I would never take a deep breath again, i felt like i was in a corset! Then a long heavy black piece of fabric that was also ebroidered with bright flowers on either end was worn like a nuns habit, draped over my head. If you must know since I cannot post pictures, i looked fabulous! Mary and I were previously worried about being cold on the island. Not a problem in our layers of wool.
The guys were given wool ponchos, and wore their borrowed hats to add to the look. We looked halarious all together. Our Momma then took us to the dance. A local band of young boys played drums and wooden pipe flutes. Our Momma loved to dance and would not let us sit down. All of the other gringos were also dressed in the local wear, and escorted by thier mommas. Although set up purely for the sake of the tourists, the event was not at all tacky, but instead endearing. It was obvious the Mommas enjoyed the social gathering, and the excuse to dance. As all the villages on the island rotate the tourists groups, this is not a daily occurance.
Our Momma soon had us dancing, refusing to take no for an answer, not that any of us had the heart to turn her down. Dancing includes skipping around in a circle holding hands and waving them back and forth. The local women actually had a series of steps they did, and included skirt waving, but us gringos were just trying to keep up! It was quite funny and in truth fun. You could not look around the circle of dancers with out seeing bright big tooth bearing grins and people laughing. Gringos and locals alike.
After a few dance session, we told our momma we were going to leave. She escorted us home, and it was obvious she was not ready to go, but Mary and I had no idea how to get our of our clothes, a series of knots and ties had us tightly wrapped in our wool. Our momma simply pulled on secret string, and the 2 skirst and belts all fell to the floor... an interesting note I am sure the local men appreciate!
We fell asleep under 10lbs of blankets as the island gets quite cold at night and there is no such thing as a heater! I haven´t slept better on this trip.

The next morning we headed down to breakfast. We all nervously anticipated quinoa soup, potatoes and rice. Happily we were suprised with crepe like pancakes! They were fabulous. A sad departure after breakfast and we left our Momma on the island, knitting a new hat for the next group.
The third island is not worth mentioning. It was called Taquilia (tack-eel-ay), and it was basically used as a half way point for lunch. We walked up to the town, ate (you got it quinoa soup, potatoes, and rice) this time with the addition of lake trout or an omlette; and then walked down to the boat.

Lake Titicaca started out as a task to tick off my "places in the world" list. I thought how could you go to Bolivia and Peru and not go to the highest lake in the world. It ended up being a wonderful memory of a family who live a life that is the exact opposite as my own, and hosted me for a night.

That night our little group shared dinner together in Puno, before we each headed our own ways in the morning. It was nice to have some english speaking friends to chat with for 2 days.