Thursday 11 July 2002
Our two-day trip turned out to be an experience of mixed feelings. We left Puno in a half-open boat filled with tourist, so much that 2/3 of us had to sit in the cold open.
The first stop was at the “Los Uros” islands, the “Reed” islands or the floating islands as they are called.
The arrangement was a bit commercialized, but on the other hand – you’ll never see anything like this anywhere in the world.
The inhabitant uses a kind of reed to build boats, houses and the floating islands. The guide told us about the two types of reed, whereas the one is a kind of fruit, tastes great and preserve your teeth as it contains a great deal of flour.
To construct the islands they use a kind of reed, which looks like roots. The islands are anchored to the ground and enable the inhabitants to change position now and then.
The Uros people live there mostly because of the tourists. They earn money on the trips to the islands, selling souvenirs and insist to be paid for photos as well.
It seemed a bit too commercialized when you have to pay for taking a photo of people. On the other hand, this could be my little contribution to a very poor population in a decent way for both of us.
Included was a rowing boat trip from one island to another, but the boat was made of reed and one felt like being part of a small Kon-Tiki expedition. We were all a bit worried if we would be able to reach the island without getting wet, but everything went well.
On the other island we saw a small school and some of the housing for the local inhabitants. A gazebo enabled us to get a nice view, even though it was a bit unstable.
It was quite impressive to see what can be built just using materials of nature. I guess the moistness and draught along the floor would a pain in the long run.
We left “Los Uros” and continued on out the lake in our tour boat. We didn’t know more about the actual program for this trip, than the fact that it was for two days and we will visit three islands. The trip was recommended in the guide and at the hotel, which we remind ourselves the next four hours before approaching the island Amantani.
We thought that we was going to stay in a backpacker hut like at Machu Picchu, but the guide enjoyed himself when announcing that this wasn’t like home. We should stay by a local family and eat their normal food. “No pommes frites, no pizza here” he laughed.
Here some 20 Indian women sat in their full dress just for us. We where divided two and two, to go with a host for the evening. We were a bit worried and very excited. We followed our hostess upwards the island, a fairly long walk to a small house of brick and clay. We didn’t understand a word of the Indian women Aymama-language, but understood that we had to stay in a separate house and sleep in two beds made of reed.
It was very cold and primitive in here. Old plastic calendars with pictures of lobster, scrimps, coffee and ironically: pommes frites was used as curtains. Our back hurt after the long time on a boat, so we hit the beds very fast.
After being waiting in this cold room for almost an hour, our host fetched us for lunch. We had to communicate with our hands and small “hum”-sounds, but we succeeded. We didn’t actually saw their home, as it of course was private. Instead we ate in a sort of small shop where you could by water, toilet paper and stuff like that.
The main course was a very nice hot vegetable soup with deep fried dough and rice. Everything but the rice was delicious and gave us just the warmth we needed. We also got some herbal tea that prevented altitude sickness.
Shortly after, we were invited to a walk upwards to the top of the mountain to see an old temple. This was the peak of heights, as we reached 4,200 meters. It was a tough walk, but we didn’t freeze for a change. Unfortunately the track was a bit overcrowded of other groups. The view was beautiful at expected and we just made it to enjoy the sunset.
We had to return down before it turned completely dark, which we barely made. Our hostess fetched us and once again we were waiting in the cold, and now very dark, room for ourselves. Outside we saw cheeps and goats walking around, knocking on our door. On the way to the toilet we had to pass a crack leading to the dunghill 2.5 meter below.
The dinner was as delicious as the lunch: Soup of potatoes, two fried eggs and sweet potatoes. Then we were asked if we would like to have “nice clothes on and dance”? We were a bit confused and rejected the kindly offer. We were just too tired to considering change of clothes now.
We did attend the dance event together with our host. It was a common house, more like a stable, with benches at the walls and no lights. A local band start playing, a table was filled with beers and sodas and a light bulb was lit. The local Indian women were full dressed and so were some of the other tourists.
We thought that we were here to see some local folklore and learn how to dance “Titicaca”-style. Instead the locals invited us for dance, which looked like a naïve version of dicso dance. What a disappointment. After two or three dances we asked our host to lead us back to the house, to go early to bed and be fresh for the next morning.