The docks of Puno. Lots of little boats all ready to take tourists out on the lake. We paid an extortionate PNS$45 for this all day affair. That's about a tenner. Magnificent value.
Lake Titikaka is the most beautiful stretch of water I have ever seen. Firstly you remember that you're 3800m above sea level. Then you notice that quite a lot of the lake is only about six feet deep. Then you're told its mostly about 100m-150m deep, and 280m at its deepest. And its pretty cold too. It's like gliding across the top of an icy reservoir in the morning light. You can't tell where lake ends and sky begins. Every so often the surface takes on a strange rippling sheen that you can't account for. It is a glorious, eerie, silent place.
Around the Peruvian enclosed section of the lake are a lot of floating islands of reeds. The roots are bound together and full of gas (nitrogen I imagine) that allows them to float in huge clumps. These root clumps float for around 25-35 years. This photo above is the reeds in their natural, unpicked, environment.
The excitement was too much for Sarah, who slept a lot of the boat journey, which was good cause we did a lot of travelling on this thing for hours on end.
This is one of the inhabited floating reed islands. Above the root-blocks are layers upon layers of reeds, stacked juxtaposed to the previous level. The reeds are constantly rotting and being replaced. The houses have a further foot of reeds under them. Do not be fooled into thinking this is a strictly traditional environment. Look closely. You will see solar panels. Ahem.
We pulled up and landed here. Its soft underfoot but not unsafe. The islands are home to a number of families; four lived on this one. They fish, catch birds and jerk the meat, and make some money from tourism. It's a very fair system. Different tours go to different islands. You learn how the island is made. Then you go for a little tour on what looks like a dragon boat, when you learn how the reeds are cut. The PNS$10 you pay for that boat trip goes to the whole island. When you return you can buy what you like from the individual families and they keep that money themselves. As we saw, it helps to pay for their indoor lighting, generators, and mobile phones. Very traditional. Still, sometimes its nice when it isn't so black and white.
The chap on the right is our guide on the boat. The chap on the left is the president of the island. Every year the presidency changes hands, from one family to the next. Anyone thinking about coming here and setting up your own island, beware : the island communities are perfectly entitled to tell you to feck off. Another nice fact is that the islands are not necessarily anchored to the shore (at this point the lake is a couple of metres deep). One of the islands adjacent to this one had been a couple of dozen feet in the opposite direction a few days ago!
Yes. Solar panels.
Mr. President gave some good demonstrations but can only speak Quechua. The people of the floating islands all speak Quechua, whilst the folk on the big proper island we visit later all speak Aymara (which predates the Inca language).
No hot water in the hostel = me looking a bit beardy.
This is the sort of boat we were on. They have a fancy one with lots of colours too called the Mercedes Benz. It is funny to hear a man speaking Quechua suddenly drop in the expression 'Mercedes Benz'.
Inside a house on the island. Lovely tapestries, plastic sheeting roof, iPhones.
Here is a nice lady off whom we bought some pruck :)
Here is a child selling some of the little model 'Mercedes Benz' boats for a small fortune.
And back on the boat we got before sleeping all the way to Isla Taquile where we had some lunch (freshly caught and grilled trout, mmmmmm, and an omlette for Sarah).
Each gate on the island signifies the start of another community, I think there were 6 different communities on the island. This island is not flat. Two Canadian girls were with us up to this point before returning to the boat suffering desperately from soroche.
It reminded me of some obscure Grecian island, that sort of washed-out-by-the-sun, olive grove edging down to the Mediteranean Sea feel.
The inhabitants all wear sandals that last for eight years. When the sandals are done they use them as hinges for their gates. This is not a one-off.
The clock tower in the Plaza de Armas.
The Boys, chomping away on their coca leaves and having some quare auld banter.
Things we learned today: that hats are very important (and not just because of the outrageous UV levels here). For men, a red hat means married. A red and white hat means single. For the ladies, a dark-coloured shawl or headscarf means they are Quechua. Married status is all about the size of your pompoms, but this usually only matters at fiestas. This, sadly, reminded me of the 'Traffic Light' parties they used to have at Bambu Beach Club.
WILSON! STOP POSING!
And so, twenty minutes up a steep hill and forty minutes slowly descending to the other side of the island, we headed back to our boat.
It was a single Sol to take this girl's photo, and she shamelessly took our money whilst refusing to look directly at anyones' camera. Clever, clever girl.
The boat back from Isla Taquile takes three hours. I sat atop the boat and gazed out at the blue. I don't know if I´ll ever be lucky enough to be on this lake again, but it will haunt me for a long time to come.
We landed at 5pm and a minivan dropped us back at the hostel. We packed, went out and had a mediocre chicken dinner (do not underestimate how much meat is on half a Peruvian chicken, these things are not injected with water that evaporates upon grilling), and went to bed. The Cannonball Run begins tomorrow.
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