Peruvian Lake Titicaca: Puno & Taquile (10/9-10/13)

We arrived in Puno at 12:30am, and it was cold. Truly, painfully cold. We had few choices as we wandered the frozen, empty, dark streets than to beg lodging of the first hostel we found, although the room turned out to be cold (surprise) and bare, and we slept in our clothes.

Line outside a bank (Puno is the folklore capital of Peru)

The next day, we found out that Puno has no breakfast restaurants, so we ate steak (Scott) and trout (me) at 8am. We spent the rest of the day wandering, eating delicious salteñas (baked empanada-like meat and veggie pie, far superior to the ever disappointingly-empty empanada), and getting information on how to visit the various islands of Lago Titicaca (described by Lonely Planet alternately as ¨the world´s highest navigable lake¨ and ¨often wrongfully described as the world´s highest navigable lake). We´d also heard (via Mr. Planet - who else?) that there were ancient Ayamara and Incan ruins of funereal towers nearby, accessible by colectivo (which people were starting to call ¨combis¨- must be the Bolivian influence). One of the ruins was called Cutimbo, and a long walk across Puno led us to the colectivo dispatch point.

Cutimbo

Funerary towers against a stormy sky at Cutimbo

We were dropped at the side of the road around 4:30pm, and the driver indicated a foreboding flat-topped mountain to the left of the road. Against the overcast sky, we could see the dark outlines of the funeral towers, and we were reminded yet again of Lord of the Rings - this time of the fight at Weathertop. The hike up the hill wasn´t strenuous, but the fluttering of small birds, cryptic signs, and the fact that we were completely alone added a sense of suspense to the climb. Once at the top, Scott and I could see the plains for miles, and noticed that the sun was already dipping dangerous low to the horizon. We investigated the four chullpas, which featured tiny holes through which we thought we saw glimpses of bones, and old relief carvings of Andean squirrels, monkeys, pumas, and snakes on the exterior. The towers were built of enormous blocks, and it was impossible to imagine the Ayamara or later, the Inca, dragging them atop this barren mountain...

Mordor?

As the last of the sun drained from the sky, we snapped some of the best photos we´ve had on this trip. Distant lightning became almost constant as the sun nestled into far-off mountains, and we began to make our way back down towards the highway. We had no flashlights. Just before we left the top of the eerie plateau, a fox darted past me, scaring me terribly. If ghosts exist anywhere in the world, they definitely exist at twilight near the funerary towers of Cutimbo.
We sat in the total darkness and gathering rain at the edge of the deserted highway for perhaps 20 minutes before anything but a semi truck whizzed by, and the colectivo that stopped brought us out of the Twilight Zone and into reality.

Uros & Taquile - Peruvian Islands in Titicaca
The next morning found us at the docks just after dawn, and we were shuttled onto a relatively rickety boat with perhaps 30 other passengers, bound for the famed floating islands of Uros. These islands, which their inhabitants have built for hundreds of years, initially to escape the detection of conquering Ayamara indians, are constructed of tule-like reeds bundled together to create a flooring several feet thick. Cool, right?

Reed huts on reed islands - Uros

In concept, these islands should have been undeniably the coolest thing we´d seen on our trip, but in practice they turned out to be tourist-ridden, Williamsburg-esque replicas. Scott and I aimed our cameras futilely left and right, trying to snap a picture of the islands and matching reed huts without including the sleek white catamarans parked at each flotilla. Useless. What´s more, upon reaching our own island (we had to wait for the previous catamaran to pull away), we were greeted by women in authentic dress selling souvenirs, which are made in nearby Puno. When pressed, not a single of the island´s ¨inhabitants¨ could tell me how the reeds were lashed together, and Scott caught one on her cell phone telling a friend, ¨Ya llegue a mi trabajo¨ - ¨I´m already at work.¨ The undiscerning tourist was being let briefly into the life of an indigenous, ancient people - Scott and I realized we were basically at Floating Island Disneyland. Nevertheless, the craftsmanship was impressive, and the concept unique.

Our private beach on Taquile - that´s me on the sand

From Uros, we continued via our catamaran for almost three hours (during which we spanned only about 30 km) to the island of Taquile, famed for its knitting. We´d been told we could camp on the island, but that the traditional tourist trip included being put up in a family´s home, eating dinner with the family, and by so doing undergo some sort of cultural osmosis. The shorter version was to arrive on the island at 11am, walk through the main township, cross the narrow hills, and catch the 2:30pm bus back to Puno. No cultural osmosis included.

Photo worth a banana?

Afterfighting off most of the extremely pushy Taquile natives - including some children who demanded one Sol for the photo I took of them, and didn´t stop pestering me until I gave them a banana, of which they consumed even the skin (!) - we met a woman who would feed us dinner in her home for a reasonable fee, and who generously invited us to set up our tent in her backyard. We dropped our backpacks, then took off to explore the island, and perhaps to meet some of the 2,000 people who lived there. We followed the beautiful stone walkway, reminiscent of the yellow brick road, towards the far end of the island. When the road disappeared and was replaced by well-worn tracks in the grassy patches between farms, we knew we´d traveled further from the island´s ports than probably 99% of all visitors. The meandering path led through gently rolling hills, between low stone walls, through sheep pastures, and around eucalyptus trees (the only variety we saw on the island), and more than once we reached a crested hill, thinking we´d be looking down on the island´s tip. Over an hour later, we finally crossed the final rolling peak, and a stunning, white-sand beach stretched inexplicably out below us! Since the rest of the island was ringed with rocky outcroppings, we felt we´d stumbled upon a true secret...We could see out across much of the enormous lake, and had an ideal vantage point to see the rumbling, boiling, dark clouds moving across the mirrored water.

Water spirits near sunset on Titicaca

Back in the town, we watched a stunning sunset, then set up our tent, with the aid of four or five children who were part of our dinner family. Embarrassingly, the kids did a better job of setting up the tent than we ever have...they even discovered additional components we hadn´t yet used, which made the tent about 5% bigger. Whoops! When I suggested Scott take a picture of them - though I was worried I may be required to distribute more bananas - the kids turned into regular REI tent models.

Wanna buy a tent? ...how bout NOW?!

Dinner was soup, fish, rice, and a wonderful tea made from one of the island´s local plants. We sat around a table in an earthen-walled room with the woman with whom we´d arranged dinner, her husband, and two younger female cousins, while the children ate in a different room. The conversation centered mostly around their solar panel (provided in exchange for knit garments by a wealthy American traveler), the husband´s three-month stint in Aspen, CO a decade ago, and making fun of Scott´s beard. The cousins giggled self-consciously throughout; they only spoke Ayamara, and couldn´t understand even our most basic Spanish.
The next day we visited the beach again, in the company of an incredibly pale young traveler who dared to brave the freezing waters to be able to say he´d swum in Lake Titicaca. Scott did the same, eagerly rushing into the knee deep water head-first, then (as eagerly) sprinting back to the safety of his towel.

Rickshaw to the bus station - heavier than your average Peruvian

Back in Puno, we´d heard that there was a sister hostel to the one we´d worked at in Cuzco, and there was a rumor we´d be able to stay for free. The rumor proved true, and while it didn´t boast the party atmosphere of its Cuzco counterpart (far from it: we were some of the only guests in the rather-depressing ¨digs¨), it did have several computers, which I used to update the blog, and which Scott used to add music to his iPod (he has downloaded iTunes to approximately 10 computers by now, in order to transfer music). The next morning, it was off to Bolivia, and another attempt at border-crossings!