Lake Titicaca |
Most
sources agree that “titi” means puma in Aymara and “caca” (“karka” actually) means rock. From that point there is a divergence as to
what “puma rock” means. Is the lake
shaped like a puma? Were pumas
particularly numerous in the region around the lake? Was there a rock in the lake where a puma
once lived? Or could it be that
“Titicaca” sounding like “puma rock” in Aymara is a mere coincidence. One could infer, for example, that
Washington, the US Capitol city refers to the cleansing of a heavy weight
(“washing” “ton”) —which is literally true, but also far-fetched. It is possible that the name “Titicaca” is
more ancient than the Aymara language.
One source I’ve found mentions that “titi” means sun in Puquina, a now
defunct language that was once spoken around Lake Titicaca.
Regardless
of the origin of its name, Lake Titicaca is an amazing lake. It straddles the border of Peru and Bolivia,
covers over three thousand square miles and is dotted with islands, and most
incredibly, the surface of its waters sit over 12,000 feet above the surface of
the ocean. It is the world’s highest
navigable body of water.
Our plan
is to navigate the lake over the next few days and we have chosen All WaysTravel to help us in that undertaking. The
leading sentence on the All Ways’ web site acknowledges both the rich culture
and tradition and the deep poverty of the people in the Lake Titicaca
region. This tour company, like any tour
company anywhere, helps support the local economy by facilitating visits by
tourists into the local area. But All
Ways assumes an even greater social responsibility by using some of its profits
to build and maintain libraries in local communities and by providing financial
support for the local schools. They also
try to break down barriers between tourists and locals by arranging for
tourists to stay as paying guests in local homes. We chose this company because of their
dedication to socially responsible tourism, but our experience with them proves
that we’ve made the right choice beyond social responsibility. Both the quality of service and the dedication
of their staff are first-rate.
On this
morning, the All Ways Travel van picks us up from the Casona Colon lobby and we
drive to the dock. The van driver points
out the boat that we’ll be traveling on and suggests that before we board we buy
a gift for the host family that we’ll be staying with. There are vendor stalls by the dock selling
all manner of goods, so after perusing merchandise in several of these we settle
on some oranges and apples from a fruit stand.
The boat
is a cabin run-about with a capacity of about twenty and there are maybe just a
few less than that number on board. Once
we’re all settled a smiling dark-haired young woman introduces herself as
Sylvia, our guide. She also introduces
Lloyd, the boat's pilot. Lloyd backs the
boat from its berth and we’re underway.
Our first
stop is a short distance into the lake from Puno at the Islands of Uros. This is a group of about fifty islands – the
number varies depending on who you ask and when you count because islands can
disappear and new islands can be formed on very short order. These unique islands are man-made – built of
reeds, occupied by the Uru people, and have been inhabited for perhaps as long
as a thousand years.
One thought
is that the Uru people migrated to the Lake Titicaca region and built islands
in the lake when they found that all the land was already occupied by
others. Another theory is that the Uru
people moved into the lake for better defense.
The Uru traded with the Aymara people who occupied the shore around the
lake and intermarried to the point that they eventually lost their original
language and spoke only Aymara. Ultimately
they were conquered by the Incas and incorporated into that empire. But through all of that they continued to live
on their islands and maintain their way of life. Their traditional food sources have been fish
from the lake, the eggs of water birds, and the roots of torta reeds. It is these reeds that they use to build
their boats, their houses, and the islands they live on. The islands are made of interwoven layers of
reeds about six feet thick that are anchored to the bottom of the lake with
ropes. New layers of reeds have to be
constantly added to the top since the bottom layer is continuously rotting
away. As I walk around the islands, the
surface sinks slightly under my feet every time I take a step. It gives the very real sensation that I am
walking on a floating island.
Reed Islands! |
The
people are dressed in bright primary colors – the men in wool sweaters and reed
hats and the women in colorful vests, full skirts, and reed or traditional
Andean felt hats. Everybody is friendly
and anxious to show us hospitality. One
young woman who speaks a few words of English shows us her home and her
handiwork. I buy a couple of little
gourds from her that have been painted to look like owls and Kathy buys an
embroidered piece. One of the men
gathers us around to tell us a little of their culture. He tells us that modern life is finding its
way to the islands in the form of TV’s, radios, and solar panels. Cooking is still done over fires, which must
be built on top of rocks, since the entire surface of the islands is
flammable. There are “outhouses” on
small islands a short distance from the main islands – everybody just relieves
themselves into the lake and the lake disposes of the waste through dilution
and the natural process of decomposition.
The dead, likewise, are buried in the lake.
Uru Women Attend a Fire |
The
latest census indicates around 2000 Uros descendants – they are disappearing by
assimilating into the general population.
The number of those 2000 still living on the islands is in the mere
hundreds. The economy of those remaining
on the islands is supported to a large extent by tourists like us, who visit
and perhaps buy a few handicrafts. So
while tourism has irrevocably changed the Uros lives, perhaps without it the
remaining people would move to the mainland and the islands would be gone.
We
reboard the boat and continue across the water to Amantani Island. On the way, Sylvia explains to us that there
are about three and a half thousand people on the island divided between around
800 families and ten communities. Each
community takes its turn hosting overnight tourists. Any given community hosts, at most, a couple
times a week during high season. As we draw near to the island I experience a
sense of déjà vu because the small island with its steep hillsides, sparse
vegetation and grazing sheep reminds me so much of the Greek Islands in the
Aegean. It appears that most of the
community is on the shore waiting for our arrival. It also appears that everybody has put on
their best clothes to welcome us. The men are wearing white shirts, dark
trousers, dark vests and fedora-style hats. The women are garbed in white
blouses with brightly embroidered fronts, very full red skirts with multiple
under-skirts, colorful woven sashes, and black shawls that are elaborately and
colorfully embroidered on the ends. They are wearing the shawls draped across
their heads and down their backs. “How do they keep them balanced on their
heads?” Kathy wonders.
We get
off the boat and stand in a group as Sylvia and village officials parse us into
groups and assign us to hosts. Kathy,
Madeline, and I, along with a young guy from Paris named François are assigned
to an older woman who is introduced to us as Innocentia. She does not speak any English. It is amazing how well we all converse over
the next day. The tools we have to work
with are a small card containing words and phrases in Quechua, facial
expressions, gestures, laughter, and an essential need and strong desire to
communicate.
Innocentia
starts walking up the steep hill to the village and her house. Any illusion I may have had about this being
like the Greek Isles evaporates as soon as we start walking. Our walk is not starting from the sea but
from a point about 12,000 feet above that.
My breathing is soon ragged.
Innocentia is walking very slowly—she obviously has done this many times
before and is used to tourists not being acclimated to the thin air. We pass a few knots of other tourists panting
by the side of the path—one young woman is both gasping and sobbing. This is hard work! At least we know what to expect having
recently walked the Inca Trail. As we
reach the edge of the village the dirt path turns to cobblestone. There is a small store and clusters of houses
spread out on large lots with vegetable gardens, and pens containing chickens and
sheep. We meet other villagers on the
path and are impressed that many of the women are knitting or plying yarn on drop
spindles as they walk along. Eventually
we arrive at Innocentia’s home—a cluster of several adobe buildings around a
walled courtyard. There is no evidence
of a husband or children—Innocentia apparently lives alone. She assigns rooms. She seems a little confused at first when I
go into the room with Kathy and Madeline but then she obviously realizes that
we are a family unit. Her guest rooms
are on the second floor and are accessed by a walkway that we reach by climbing
a rickety set of wooden steps. Our room
has a very low, small entry door, a tiny window, a rough wooden floor, three
beds, and no other furnishings. I
immediately claim one of the beds which is firm to the point of hardness—just
the way I like it—and I take a much needed short nap.
Sheep Graze on Amantani |
After my
nap, I go downstairs with Kathy and Madeline, we find François in the
courtyard, and then we all go into the kitchen/dining area where Innocentia
serves us a simple but filling and delicious meal. We start with a nice quinoa soup and follow
that with a plate filled with boiled potatoes and oca, a pleasant tastingyellow tuber that comes from a clover-like plant—it is an Andean staple. There are also shell beans, and sliced
cucumbers and tomatoes.
After
lunch, everybody, both guests and hosts, congregate at a soccer/basketball
court in the center of the village where a group of young men and women, both
tourists and locals, play soccer. I am
amazed of the ability of the tourists to exert themselves at this altitude,
then find out that they’re a group of British youngsters who have been in Peru
on a service trip for a few weeks, hence they are probably used to the thin
air.
There are
not very many level spots on the entire island and there is a continuous uphill
gradient from the shoreline to two high peaks which are named Pachamama (Mother
Earth) and Pachatata (Father Earth).
Each peak has an old Incan temple ruin.
The local population, like most of the citizens of Peru, are Catholic,
and like most of the citizens of Peru, their Catholicism overlays an
appreciation of older religions and rituals.
Consequently, these old temples are still revered, and offerings to Pachamama
and Pachatata are made on these peaks on specific dates, several times a
year. We are invited to climb to one of
the peaks to watch the sun set over the lake and we join the bulk of the
tourists in choosing Pachatata. It isn’t
quite as high as Pachamama, and the walk is also slightly shorter. Frequent stops to catch our breath also
allows us to appreciate the view of the island.
The island is filled with small terraced agricultural fields. Some are being grazed by sheep, but most are
filled with brown stubble, since we’re still in the midst of the southern
hemisphere winter. Sylvia tells us that
the farming is all subsistence level, and performed by hand. The crops produced includes barley, potatoes,
beans, oca, and quinoa—exactly the food we’d enjoyed for lunch. At the top, we rest, photograph the temple
ruins, and wait for the sun to set.
Since this is the tropics, once the sun nears the horizon, it goes down
hastily and dusk blends quickly into chilly darkness. We find our way down from the peak to the
soccer court and locate Innocentia who leads us back to her house for a dinner
of more quinoa soup and rice with a nice vegetable stew.
A View of the Sunset over Lake Titicaca from Pachatata |
After
dinner, Innocentia brings out an armload of clothing and proceeds to dress us
in local attire. For François and me
this is an easy undertaking. It’s just a matter of us putting on ponchos over
our usual clothes. Innocentia assists
Kathy and Madeline in the more difficult task of putting on embroidered
blouses, two skirts each, sashes, and embroidered shawls. Then, incognito as Amantani revelers, we walk
to the local dance hall which is already filled with locals and tourists in
local garb, all dancing to Andean music.
Two excellent local bands provide the music, our Amantani friends
provide the beer, the whole crowd provides the energy, and everybody parties
into the evening. Kathy, Madeline, and
I, who are all feeling a little exhausted from our busy day, ask Innocentia to
take us home long before the merrymaking ends.
Madeline and Kathy Disguised as Amantani Revelers |
Back at
Innocentia’s we take off our party clothes and transform back into American
tourists then get ready for bed. There
is a small building next to Innocentia’s house that contains a shower, a
toilet, and a sink. It looks like it has
never been used and I suspect that there has been some sort of issue with
plumbing or water supply. The building,
in fact, is filled with corn and shelled beans—it has become a storage
shed. The “sanitary facilities” in use
actually consist of a water spigot and a pit latrine, both located in the
donkey pen. The mom donkey is tied but
the baby donkey is free and is very interested in our toiletries. We have to shoo him away on a regular basis
and he is not very shoo-able. But on the
other hand he is fairly adorable.
Soon, we
switch off the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling of our room and I lie on my
wonderful firm-to-hard bed under a mountain of wool blankets. As the temperature drops throughout the night
in our unheated room, I feel snug in my nest of covers. At some point I during the night my bladder
tells me that it needs some attention. I
think about the dark, the cold, the rickety stairs, the pit latrine, and the
donkeys. Then I think about how warm I
am in my cozy woolen citadel. Then I
tell my bladder to forget it. I close my
eyes and sleep peacefully the rest of the night.
Then
another Peruvian morning arrives. It is
six o’clock when I get up and make a fast and desperate trip to the
latrine. The morning is clear and
brisk. I feel rested, happy, and hungry
so am grateful when Innocentia announces breakfast a mere half-hour later. She
serves pancakes, which are tasty and gratifyingly warm on this cold
morning. After breakfast, Kathy gives
her our gift of fruit and also pays her for our stay. She gives Kathy a big hug, kisses her on both
cheeks, and appreciatively tells us “Gracias, Mama, gracias Papa!” I really appreciate the system that All Ways
Travel has established that allows paying guests to stay in people’s
homes. The brief relationship we’ve
developed with Innocentia is closer and more tangible than what it would have
been had someone built a hotel on this island and Innocentia had wound up
working there as a cook or maid. And
while there is bound to be some artificiality when there is a continual stream
of tourists, the relationship is still more personal at this level. We’ve been able to experience the intimacy of
her home and her hospitality, and we’ve become “Mama and Papa” to her!
With Innocentia |
Innocentia
walks us down to the shore and boat.
Downhill this time, and quickly!
There are more hugs at the dock, and pictures, then good-byes. By eight o’clock we are on our way to the
island of Taquile.
The trip
to Taquile is short but rough. Like
Amantani, Taquile rises steeply from the shore to a peak and it also reminds me
of a Greek Isle. It is an island of
around two thousand people who live by fishing and farming, supplemented by the
income generated by the visiting tourists.
Taquile is known for its fine handwoven textiles, which many regard to
be the finest in Peru. From the dock, we
have to spiral around the steep hillside of the island for a significant
distance to reach the central square of the town. Sylvia tells us it will take an hour. The path is quite steep at the beginning and
is a hard climb in the thin air, but eventually the grade becomes more gradual
and we actually reach the town square in about forty-five minutes. According to Sylvia, all of the textiles made
on the island are pooled by the families that make them and sold through a
cooperative store. The store, right on
the main square, is indeed filled with knitted and woven items that are
beautiful and high quality. Sadly, since
we are approaching the end of the trip we already have many souvenirs so we
don’t have the need or the cash to buy any more.
Sheep Graze on Taquile |
Other
than the store and a small museum, there’s not a lot to see in the square, so we
finally just find a shady spot to rest.
Eventually, Sylvia gathers the group together and we walk through town
to a restaurant where we have a nice communal meal featuring trout on the pleasant
patio. During the meal two Taquileños
demonstrate spinning, weaving, and knitting, then Sylvia gives an interesting
short talk about the island and its culture.
She tells us that the colorful local garb, which is similar to what we’d
seen on Amantani, is not worn to impress tourists, but is actually what
everybody on the island chooses to wear on a daily basis. The attire a person wears actually indicates
information about them, including marital status, and that information could not
be conveyed should everyone stop dressing in the traditional manner. It is the
men that knit on Taquile, and they knit a specific color of hat for themselves
that indicates they are single or married. The women weave, and when they get
married they weave a very elaborate sash for their husband. The unmarried men
wear a plain sash. The matrimonial
tradition on Taquile includes a trial marriage.
A couple will live together for several years to make sure that they are
compatible before officially marrying.
However, since most residents are Catholic, once they’re married, their
religion doesn’t allow them to divorce. Like
most Peruvians, the residents of Taquile have harmonized the ancient religion
of their culture with their Christianity.
As is the case on Amantani, offerings are made to the Pachamama to
insure a good harvest.
A Taquileños Man Knitting |
The
wealth on Taquile is controlled by a communal collective, and the moral code is
based on the Inca dictate of “ama sua,
ama llulla, ama qhilla”—Quechua for “do not steal, do not lie, do not be
lazy.” Taquile and Amantani are governed
as one unit. Since Amantani has more
people, the mayor usually comes from there.
The men of Taquile are required to perform specific community service
obligations and take turns serving for a year at a time. Over his lifetime any given man probably
spends four years performing these community service roles.
Sylvia
also mentions that there are no dogs on Taquile, making it perhaps one of the
few places on Earth where man’s best friend can’t be found. The islanders rationalize that dogs' main
function is to act as protectors, but since Taquile is so safe, there’s nothing
to be protected from, so dogs aren’t necessary.
After the
meal and Sylvia’s talk, we walk directly back to the boat, climb on board, and
head for Puno. We are back in port by
three o’clock and settled back in our room at the Casona Colon Inn a short time
later. We use the remainder of the
afternoon to repack our suitcases and prepare for our trip home, and except for
an excursion to a pizza restaurant, still don’t have a chance to see very much
of Puno.
Then
another morning in Peru arrives—this one is our last! This day is a blur of travel combined with
interminable waiting. First we travel by
taxi for an hour to the Juliaca airport—Puno doesn’t have an airport. Then we
fly to Lima and hang out for hours in the airport food court before finally
taking our over-night flight to Atlanta, going through customs and flying on to
Minnesota. We arrive home early in the
afternoon of the next day—exhausted by travel yet energized by an incredible trip
filled with experiences and memories that will last a lifetime!
One Last Inca Kola at the Lima Airport |