#64 Floating Islands - Lake Titicaca & Puno

The good fortune we expected from having a Priest bless our bike lasted all of about half an hour. Crossing the border into Peru we were extorted by the Police for not carrying bike insurance. Having only just entered the country and insurance not being available for sale on the border I would have thought some leniency would be in order but he was not letting us leave without a little sweetner, proudly pointing out in the rule book exactly which law we had broken.

Bargaining started pretty stiff at $200 US, but rapidly decreased after he told him we had no dollars or peruvian soles, only bolivianos. The speed at which he snatched my final offer of 100 bolivianos ($14 US) from my hand suggested we may have escaped for 20. While secretly I had hoped to come across a little bribery, it is part of the true the South American experience after all, the whole event left a sour taste. Perhaps it would have better had we been on guard and able to employ all our planned out tactics: 'No hablo español', fake wallet with very little cash in it etc.

From Puno we set up a trip to explore three islands of Lago Titicaca, opting to go it alone rather than through an organised tour. The first stop was one of the islets made of reeds that make up the floating islands of the Uros people. To escape the Incas the Uros fled to Lake Titicaca setting up house using the abundant totora reeds to survive. Totora is linked with all facets of their survival; they eat it, use it to construct their homes and boats, to fish, and make crafts for tourists. The bottom surface has to be constantly monitored for rotting reeds and the top surface replenished from the lake's abundant stock. As you can imagine it is very soft to walk on, which is part of the islands' charm. All this we learnt from a talk given by the President of the small community (tiny really, only 6 families lived on the island we visited, but they seemingly take their yearly Presidential elections very seriously). 

Reece outside the largest house on the island we visited.

I was expecting an air of exploitation on the floating islands and had even heard that these days no one really lives on them, just travels back and forth from the mainland to put on a show for the tourists. However, we were shown inside one of the houses which was really just a one bedroom straw hut with a bed on one side and with clothes and other bits and bobs hanging from the strawed walls cluttering the edges, but it certainly felt lived in. Yes, every island has a boat moored up outside packed full of gringos but for me it retained its authenticity. At least up until the women sung us some songs supposed to represent each visitor's country. Well the main ones, not New Zealand of course. It was difficult not to cringe while listening to the ladies singing 'Alouette, gentille Alouette'. Fortunately there were no Japanese tourists in our group so we were spared their national song, whatever it may be.

Boat made of Totara reeds

After what must have been the slowest, motorised boat trip in history we arrived four hours (but what seemed like a mere 5 kilometres later) at Isla Amantani for an overnight stay with a local family - an experience that can range from enriching to downright awkward depending on the family. While lunch was very quiet, our roommate's altitude sickness left an opening at the dinner table for the man of the house from whom we learnt what life is like living on Amantani.

There are about 4000 people living in around 10 separate communities. There was no sign of commerce in our community and very little electricity. No street lights, the odd bulb lighting a communal area in each of the houses, and toilets are flushed with bucket water. Visits to the mainland are irregular, a few times per year, as most people can't afford the trip. We hadn't seen very many men during our exploration of the island and were told it is because most men leave to work in Lima and send money back to their families, returning only at fiesta time.

It was a fascinating experience learning about the families basic existence. There was no hospital on the island, nor a police station - just the way locals like it. Likely the level crime is low as everyone knows everyone else, and I can only presume that locals sort out any issues that arise. As for the lack of hospital, it made me wonder where people give birth - probably in their homes, which stay in families for generations. The women of the house prepared us two lovely meals begining with the obligatory entrada of soup, quinoa this time - my favourite, followed by a segundo of rice and vegetables, with the variation of fried cheese for lunch. We learnt that only on special occassions is meat eaten given the challenges of providing sufficient food for livestock during the bone-chilling, winter months. To counter the cold I slept fully thermalled in a sleeping beg under multiple blankets. I was surprisingly cosy!

As the island-hopping tour is a popular excursion for tourists I assumed the family must have the delightful experience of sharing their home with strangers every night. In actual fact the families in the community take turns at receiving guests, which comes around only once a month. Not as remunerative as I had assumed. On return to Puno the next day we stopped in at Isla Taquile, drinking in our last sips of the glistening, tourqiose waters of Lago Titicaca before heading to Cusco and another of Peru's many wonders, Machu Pichu.

Sunset on Isla Amantani