Islands in the (Peruvian) sun

3–4 June 2013

Sadly, it was time to leave Cusco (and Jack's cafe!) and make our way to La Paz via Puno and some floating islands.

The scenery on the way to Puno was mostly sparse and uninspiring. It looked very dry, arid and desolate, with brown fields as far as you could see. In the distance were the occasional snow-capped mountain and glacier, and from time to time we passed through a small, simple village or farming area. But that and the occasional bush, tree or patch of brown grass was as exciting as it got. It was a bit like driving through the outback here, but with more mountains.

Puno itself is a smallish town, with about 200,000 residents. A lot of the buildings look incomplete, with work being done over what seems to be the long, long-term. The architecture isn’t particularly special, decorative or old. Quite ordinary in comparison with the other towns we’ve visited. Puno has a main square with an imposing cathedral, and a large, but not very long, main street with restaurants and shops. Its market has separate rows for fish, beef, cheese, chicken, vegetables, fruit – and potatoes! Like I said before, Peruvians love their potatoes.

Here’s a useless fact for my Irish readers: you can dry potatoes and they’ll last for 10 years or more! They go hard like rocks. Leave them out in the icy winter to keep, then just soak or boil them to rehydrate them. You’ll thank me come the next potato famine.

Surprisingly, we ran into one of the guys from our Lares trek in Puno (I guess most people take a similar route around the area). He’d arrived earlier in the day and was also out exploring.

We ditched the tour group for dinner and spent a quiet night in our hotel room, with bad TV, fried cheese, salad and pizza… and whisky (I’d had my daily Pisco earlier – an interesting mulled wine version). We must be getting old!

After a sumptuous breakfast spread the next morning, we caught tuk tuks to the pier, where we bought some food and toys for the families we were staying with overnight, and got on the boat that took us around the local islands. It was a gorgeous day – sunny and clear and not too warm or cold (even though it had apparently got down to 3 degrees celcius overnight). We sat outside for a lot of the trip, on the roof or out the back of the boat, enjoying the fresh air, view and sunshine.

First stop was one of the floating islands. These islands are manmade, cut from peat and covered in three metres of water reeds/rushes. They are very spongy to walk on – a bit like a trampoline or water bed – and tiny, only around 30 metres by 30 metres. You’d want to get on well with your neighbours! When new ‘land’ is needed, the islanders cut more peat from nearby land and move it to make another island.

The islands are surrounded by water reeds, which are the life blood of the island. Everything is built from them, including the ground, buildings, boats, mats, seats and souvenirs to sell. The islanders even pick and peel the roots of the reeds that grow in the water around their islands and eat the tubers like a banana. We didn’t want to sample any though, considering the water quality probably isn’t top notch because they use it as a toilet and garbage bin. However, some of our tour group were a little more adventurous than us (and survived)! Our guide told us that the reeds filter the water, so the locals can use it for drinking and cooking, despite also using it as a toilet. We weren’t convinced.

Four to five families live on each island, in little huts also made from the water reeds. Despite being so basic, surprisingly the huts had solar panels! But I guess they’re not exactly connected to mains electricity.

Sadly, the island was very quiet that day because most of the families were on the mainland burying a two-year-old girl who had lived on the island and drowned the day before. Apparently it happens sometimes, when the adults aren’t watching the children closely enough. The children usually know how to swim by the time they reach five or six years of age, but that wasn’t soon enough for that little girl.

In addition to the dubious looking weed, islanders eat whatever they can catch from the islands (mostly ducks and fish) or barter for on the mainland (rice, potatoes and other essentials). I imagine it’s a very limited and confined life on such small islands, especially for women. On Saturdays, the women go into town to the markets, but that’s it. The rest of their time is spent on their island. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable it must be in winter. The huts didn’t exactly look weatherproof.

The women and children there had a few stalls set up with various handmade items, including mobiles, pottery, cushion covers, jewellery and other souvenir type things. We bought some little bits of pottery, some pendants and a small rainmaker with the Peruvian trilogy on it (snake, puma and condor). I didn’t barter like I normally would. It didn’t feel right.

Next stop was Taquile, a ‘proper’ island two hours away on our boat. After a very slow, steep climb, we reached the small main town and visited its market, before having lunch in a garden restaurant, which had spectacular views of the lake’s shoreline, the water (a lake that is so big you think it’s the sea), and the Bolivian mountains and glaciers far across the water. We actually thought the glaciers were clouds, because they seemed to float in the sky and were an exquisite, pure white.

Over lunch, our guide told us about the local customs, mostly about relationships and marriage (I guess not a lot else happens around there!). People meet their partners at school or at unchaperoned dances. Courtship is a little aggressive, with boys throwing stones at the girls they fancy or shining torches/lights/flashing mirrors in their faces, as you do. If the girl flashes a mirror or light back, the guy is in luck.

Couples live together for two or three years before getting married (try before you buy!). After the two or three years, the girl cuts off her hair and they both weave it into a belt for the man to wear. He wears it for the rest of his life (and hopefully he washes it from time to time). Then they get wed.

Weddings last for three days and three nights, during which the couple sits apart on opposite sides of the room, looking solemn, to show their patience, while everyone else parties hard.

It’s a very communal/community driven town. The town gathers together to help build the newly married couple’s new home, on land their families gave them when they got married. In turn, the couple will help another young couple build their home later.

There is no divorce here. It’s shameful. As is cheating. (Let’s hope you don’t marry an abusive, cheating, gambling, drug-using drunk!) If you’re caught doing anything unwholesome, you’re kicked out of the community. Your standing in the community is everything, and the threat of ostracism is usually enough to keep people in line. There’s no crime here, no police or judges. People know everyone else and what’s going on and are quick to tell you to toe the line.

Incidentally, single people are viewed as ‘worthless’. You only have any standing in the community if you are married. And only married people and young children can attend normal town functions. Unmarried people and teenagers have their own functions, to encourage them to hook up with someone.

Also, interestingly, boys learn to sew and weave from five years of age, and make themselves a half red, half white hat. This means they’re single. When they get married, they make themselves a red hat. If they have a black hat, they are a town leader. Men do all of their family’s weaving, knitting and embroidery, making all the beautiful shirts, skirts, blouses, hats and vests the locals wear. They’re highly skilled artisans.

We spent the night on the next island, Amantani. After winning a dusk soccer game against the local boys, our tour group was led to the town hall, where we met our host families. Chris’ and my host family was Christiano (maybe around 45 years old) and his wife (whose name I didn’t catch). Then the Peruvians dressed us up in traditional garb – I was fitted out in a fetching heavy, layered, green wool skirt, pretty embroidered white blouse, belt and head scarf, while Chris wore a poncho and beanie with ear flaps. A local band played traditional music, while the people waved flags around in a tribute to Pacha Mama and Pacha Papa, and swung us quickly, almost violently, around the room in different traditional dances. As our photos later showed, it was all a bit of a colourful blur.

Christiano’s house was up a bit of a hill and quite large, with several outbuildings built around a central courtyard, in which they stored vegetables and labouring equipment. This style reminded me of buildings I’d seen in Europe and Africa – protecting residents and belongings against the elements and forming a central meeting and working place for the family. Our room was clean and tidy, and had electricity. It was dark by the time we got into our room, but in the morning light, we could properly appreciate the beautiful landscape and view: past the surrounding rocky fields filled with llamas, sheep, other livestock and the odd scraggy tree, the windy old stone fences and little cottages (again, very European), all the way down to the water, sparkling in the sunlight, and the breathtaking Bolivian mountains and glaciers far in the distance.

The toilet and washing area was down near the vegetable garden and kitchen, towards the back of the property. The kitchen was quite dark but clean and simple, with a wooden bench table and seats, an old wooden dresser for crockery, a radio, a gas cylinder and cooker, and a little wood stove in a little nook. The building, including the floor, was entirely concrete (as were all the buildings there). The lady had dressed up the room a little, with pretty curtains, a tablecloth and cloth on the seats.

We offered to help Christiano’s wife cook tea, but he dismissed us with a laugh, and we sat a little awkwardly at the dinner table, trying to communicate in what little common language we shared. I’m presuming it’s a cultural/manners-related thing, but she ate in the kitchen nook next to the fire, and he came back in to eat after we’d finished. It was a little odd, for us at least.

The food during our homestay was simple but delicious (and apparently all of the host families had fed their respective guests from our tour group the same thing – the host families are trained to look after us tourists, including how to cook and basic English). For dinner, we had soup and bread, carrot, potato and tomato stew and rice, and muna (mint) tea. Breakfast was pancakes, jam, bread and muna tea. Lunch was quinoa and vegetable soup, two types of potato, tomato, cucumber and fried cheese, and muna. We certainly didn’t go hungry, although I’m not sure we’ll opt for the potato option off a menu anytime soon!

Despite the cold (and wearing all our clothes), we slept well and long. We helped pod mountains of dried broad beans (Chris’ favourite!), sitting in the courtyard on stools, under the clear blue morning sky and warm sunlight. The lady showed us where they dry all of the vegetables. She had loads of beans, peas, corn and potatoes out drying on tarps on the ground and roof, and some already prepared and stored inside the outbuildings.

We explored the landscape, winding our way down the hill through the dry, dusty fields to the shoreline. We met stunted sheep that only came to our knees, chatty donkeys, and smiley fishermen and farmers. We followed the shoreline along for a couple of kilometres to the port, and sat for about an hour on a large boulder, watching the waves splash the rocks below us and the water ebb in and out with the tide, the ducks and seagulls floating along with it. A little sparrow-like bird flitted around near us. It was hard to remember that it was actually a lake and not the sea. You seriously can’t see the other side of it.

Our homestay couple saw us off at the port – the lady walking us down to the boat and Christiano coming over on a break from work to hug and kiss us and shake our hands farewell. It was very sweet.

Back in the big smoke, we explored Puno’s bars and restaurants, indulging in cocktails, Pisco sours, wine, nachos, and pizza and salad. Then some more cocktails (dessert ones, of course) and an early night in preparation for our eight-hour bus trip to La Paz, leaving our hotel at 6.50am. (Have I mentioned that sleeping in is so overrated?)