The last two days have been wonderful. A cultural submersion none of us will forget.
Got into Puno late. Dropped off at the terminal terrestre (bus station) as usual. The rest of the gringos jump into a taxi or prearranged hotel transportation, but not us. We blow past the touts and end up on the main drag of town and begin walking across town to the cheapest hostal in our Lonely Planet guide. We´ve all kind of agreed that 15 soles (about $6) is the most we will pay for a night. 15 in spanish is quince. We have a running joke that everytime we get to a new town and ask, Where should we stay tonight? we all respond: quince? We get to our hostal later, the Duque Inn, after trekking up very steep road. I say it reminds me of Alta cause it´s so steep, to which Eli says, It reminds me more of Fortuna Way, cause it´s a street. (Lot of sarcasm on this trip). The guy asks for 20 soles, which I barter for 15 and we are all set. Nice place, 5 stories up on the hill, nice view of Puno. We´ve also got one of those killer bathrooms where the toilet, sink and shower are all in the same 4 foot by 4 foot tiled room. I´ve always loved showering, going to the bathroom and brushing my teeth all at the same time.
Puno is supposed to be the 2nd most touristy town in Peru. Which scares me. Ever since serving in Jamaica I´ve had a hard time with tourism. I remember serving in Ocho Rios and Port Antonio, Jamaica and watching the cruise ships roll in. The whities were quickly herded to the local and superficial craft stands where Jamaicans spoke a very commercialized fake Jamaican Creole, they were corralled into touristy restaurants that didn´t serve typical cuisine and then they were pushed back onto their giant abomination of a cruise ship as quickly as they arrived. They felt they saw Jamaica. They didn´t. The locals were glad they had a couple bucks in their pocket and then returned to their normal lifestyle in the hills. The normal lifestyle I learned to love. Ever since then I have feared that I am the tourist in the places I travel, the goofy whitie (or gringo) who is seen as nothing more than a wallet. I´ve worked hard on this trip to avoid that. We´ve found it´s not too hard to get of the beaten path. In your typical town we have to walk about 2 blocks to get into ¨real¨ Peru. Touristy Puno had ladies begging for money, restaurnts serving Pizza for outrageous prices and relentless, do you want to buy my stuff? offers. Real Puno was much better. A wonderful Saturday market that stretched a couple of blocks. We stopped at the juice corner for fresh Pineapple, Papaya, Banana Juice and homemade popcorn (Sarah and my new favorite snack. Although the sugar or honey used to sweeten the popcorn is always applied unevenly so we are constantly in search for a ¨good one¨- a sweet kernel). Then we found the coolest playground ever. A cement slide that was about 3 stories high. We played on it with the local ninos for about an hour. A short bicycle/taxi ride into town. Town was slightly uphill from where we were, so the middle aged man just about killed over lugging Eli up this hill. Eli left the guy a killer tip and swore never again to make a guy carry him up a hill via manual power.
To get further off the beaten path, we arranged to stay at a pueblito called Chifron (3 families with a total of 24 people) on the Capachica Peninsula, just northeast of Puno. To find a taxi we had to walk all over town, through the market, asking everyone where a taxi was to Capachica. After asking about 6 people and looking all over we finally found a van in a small alley headed to Capachica. We told the driver we wanted to get in, and he didn´t really believe us. (This of course is a good sign. A very difficult taxi to find and a somewhat skeptical taxi driver all mean that this isn´t a typical stop on the gringo trail). We arrive in Capachica around 3pm, and ask for lunch. We are informed that lunch is over but we can wait around for dinner. The town has about 15 people in it, 2 stores and a restaurant. As soon as we get out of the taxi the, ¨hey we´re the only white people in town¨ feeling quickly sets in. We jump in another taxi and go over the hill to Chifron.
Chifron has 5 buildings on a beautiful beach overlooking Lake Titicaca. We quickly learn it´s a Peruvian vacation destination. Elizabeth and Eli are quickly roped into a festive dance on the beach. We go for a hike, play volleyball with some locals and listen to their blaring music all night long.
Next morning, wake up and arrange a private boat (giant canoe that can hold 8 people max) to Isla Asmanti. The 4 mile ride takes about an hour and a half. Isla Amanti is an island on Lake Titicaca, population 4,000, with no cars or roads and an authentic traditional agrarian culture. When we get off the boat we are told we will be staying the night with the lady who has met us at the dock, a kind and short 37 year old named Rosalia. The next 24 hours prove to be the highlight of the trip thus far. She takes us to her home and shows us our room. Her front yard is a field, growing beans, with a small corral for her 6 sheep and we are a stones throw from the shore. We agree for a night stay and 3 meals for $12 a person. Her home has no electricity. Her kitchen is a dirt floor with a small fire/oven in the corner where she cooks all of our meals. The four of us sit in this somewhat dark, dirt floor room, use a wood stump and stacked egg cartons for a seat and have some of our best meals of the trip. All of our meals consist of only what can be grown on the island: potatoes, carrots, onions, eggs, a little bit of chicken etc. All of our meals are delicious. I´m always blown away at what women can cook up on a couple of coals. It´s a very humbling experience. Throughout the day the four of us talk about the necessity of traveling to a place like this (no cars, no electricity, just farming and hard work) to put life in perspective.
After we get situated at her home we walk into town. We quickly come upon 5 middle aged Peruvians carrying huge bags of flour on their backs up the hill. Sidenote: it is very interesting to see how different cultures carry items. Haitians carry items on their head, the Nepalese with a rope attached that goes across their foreheard, the Peruvains wrap whatever they need to carry (often children) in a blanket and then tie it around the front of their shoulders. Wanting to experience typical Peruvian life I shout ahead, Peudo ayudar? (Can I help?) Immediately a lady starts shouting, Si Si Si, and sets her bag down. Her forehead is dripping with sweat and she´s about 2 feet shorter than me. I confidently assume I´ll have an easier time with the bag than this somewhat out of shape 40 year old lady. I strap the blanket with a 50 lb bag of flour on my back and start off the trail. Yikes. I´m about to die after 30 steps. This 65 year old man is putting me to shame. I am immediately unsure of the task ahead. When I ask; Donde estas su casa? Her only answer is, arriba, which I have just learned means ´up´. I struggle to the top of this hill, and her house, with a new respect for these people. She speaks for a bit with Eli and asks, Don´t you carry stuff in your country? To which we all joke, Of course not, us Americans are lazy. As a show of gratitude, they ask us to sit down to share their lunch. We enter a small room of 10 people all sitting on a bench that spans the the circumference of the room. In the middle of the room on the ground is a large blanket with a spread of local potatoes (they look like giant larvae), fried bread that resembles scones and 5 or 6 large bowls of tuna fish with onions. Using only our hands, and without any dishes or utensils, everyone eats together, until we are full and then the remaing food is wrapped up in the same blanket and saved for later. It has to be one of the most authentic cultural meals I´ve had. And quite delicious. Eli does his best to speak with them, but only one of them speaks good Spanish, the rest speak Quechua. When Eli asks who likes the food the most, they all point at the lady whose bag I carried, commeting she´s the fat one of the group. (Another thing I like about other cultures, you can call people fat. Not as derogatory, just as a matter of fact. Try getting away with that in America. ie, you roll into someone´s home and say, So, who is the fat one here who eats the most?) It was all rather humorous.
Before dinner we take a hike to the top of the island, a rather steep trek up to what they´ve named, Pachamama, or Mother Earth. As we hike we pass through fields all carefully separated by rock walls. After hiking for a while we all turn to each other and at about the same time ask, Do you feel like you´re in the bible? It felt like we were walking in another millenium. The views were beautiful as the sun set over Lake Titicaca.
The next day we jumped aboard a boat to head back to Puno. The boat was slow. Real slow. Like we could have walked that fast. Chug a chug a chug a chug a. Did I say the boat was slow? We reach Puno just in time to get in another boat and go back to the the Isla Uros.
Puno is most well known for its proximity to Lake Titicaca (highest navigable lake in the world at 12,500 feet), and the floating islands (Isla Uros). The Isla Uros are literally floating islands, made from a totora reed that grows abundantly in the area. It´s hard to think of a floating island, but think of a giant raft made of reeds about the size of a gymnasium. In fact, when Thor Heyerdahl wanted to sail the world in Kon Tiki he came here to learn how to build rafts, or so I´ve read. They were originally made 500 years ago as a way to escape from the aggresive Inca and Callos peoples. To maintain the island they regularly take these giant reeds and continually add them to the top of the island. The islands have a somewhat squishy bouncy feel when you walk on them. There are about 60 of these tiny islands in total, each housing about 4-5 families. It was an out of this world experience.
Back in Puno now, where the fun began two days ago. Tomorrow it´s a 6 hour bus ride to Cusco, Inca territory. A week left on the trip, and we´ve still to see the famed Macchu Picchu and then into the jungle.
Got into Puno late. Dropped off at the terminal terrestre (bus station) as usual. The rest of the gringos jump into a taxi or prearranged hotel transportation, but not us. We blow past the touts and end up on the main drag of town and begin walking across town to the cheapest hostal in our Lonely Planet guide. We´ve all kind of agreed that 15 soles (about $6) is the most we will pay for a night. 15 in spanish is quince. We have a running joke that everytime we get to a new town and ask, Where should we stay tonight? we all respond: quince? We get to our hostal later, the Duque Inn, after trekking up very steep road. I say it reminds me of Alta cause it´s so steep, to which Eli says, It reminds me more of Fortuna Way, cause it´s a street. (Lot of sarcasm on this trip). The guy asks for 20 soles, which I barter for 15 and we are all set. Nice place, 5 stories up on the hill, nice view of Puno. We´ve also got one of those killer bathrooms where the toilet, sink and shower are all in the same 4 foot by 4 foot tiled room. I´ve always loved showering, going to the bathroom and brushing my teeth all at the same time.
Puno is supposed to be the 2nd most touristy town in Peru. Which scares me. Ever since serving in Jamaica I´ve had a hard time with tourism. I remember serving in Ocho Rios and Port Antonio, Jamaica and watching the cruise ships roll in. The whities were quickly herded to the local and superficial craft stands where Jamaicans spoke a very commercialized fake Jamaican Creole, they were corralled into touristy restaurants that didn´t serve typical cuisine and then they were pushed back onto their giant abomination of a cruise ship as quickly as they arrived. They felt they saw Jamaica. They didn´t. The locals were glad they had a couple bucks in their pocket and then returned to their normal lifestyle in the hills. The normal lifestyle I learned to love. Ever since then I have feared that I am the tourist in the places I travel, the goofy whitie (or gringo) who is seen as nothing more than a wallet. I´ve worked hard on this trip to avoid that. We´ve found it´s not too hard to get of the beaten path. In your typical town we have to walk about 2 blocks to get into ¨real¨ Peru. Touristy Puno had ladies begging for money, restaurnts serving Pizza for outrageous prices and relentless, do you want to buy my stuff? offers. Real Puno was much better. A wonderful Saturday market that stretched a couple of blocks. We stopped at the juice corner for fresh Pineapple, Papaya, Banana Juice and homemade popcorn (Sarah and my new favorite snack. Although the sugar or honey used to sweeten the popcorn is always applied unevenly so we are constantly in search for a ¨good one¨- a sweet kernel). Then we found the coolest playground ever. A cement slide that was about 3 stories high. We played on it with the local ninos for about an hour. A short bicycle/taxi ride into town. Town was slightly uphill from where we were, so the middle aged man just about killed over lugging Eli up this hill. Eli left the guy a killer tip and swore never again to make a guy carry him up a hill via manual power.
To get further off the beaten path, we arranged to stay at a pueblito called Chifron (3 families with a total of 24 people) on the Capachica Peninsula, just northeast of Puno. To find a taxi we had to walk all over town, through the market, asking everyone where a taxi was to Capachica. After asking about 6 people and looking all over we finally found a van in a small alley headed to Capachica. We told the driver we wanted to get in, and he didn´t really believe us. (This of course is a good sign. A very difficult taxi to find and a somewhat skeptical taxi driver all mean that this isn´t a typical stop on the gringo trail). We arrive in Capachica around 3pm, and ask for lunch. We are informed that lunch is over but we can wait around for dinner. The town has about 15 people in it, 2 stores and a restaurant. As soon as we get out of the taxi the, ¨hey we´re the only white people in town¨ feeling quickly sets in. We jump in another taxi and go over the hill to Chifron.
Chifron has 5 buildings on a beautiful beach overlooking Lake Titicaca. We quickly learn it´s a Peruvian vacation destination. Elizabeth and Eli are quickly roped into a festive dance on the beach. We go for a hike, play volleyball with some locals and listen to their blaring music all night long.
Next morning, wake up and arrange a private boat (giant canoe that can hold 8 people max) to Isla Asmanti. The 4 mile ride takes about an hour and a half. Isla Amanti is an island on Lake Titicaca, population 4,000, with no cars or roads and an authentic traditional agrarian culture. When we get off the boat we are told we will be staying the night with the lady who has met us at the dock, a kind and short 37 year old named Rosalia. The next 24 hours prove to be the highlight of the trip thus far. She takes us to her home and shows us our room. Her front yard is a field, growing beans, with a small corral for her 6 sheep and we are a stones throw from the shore. We agree for a night stay and 3 meals for $12 a person. Her home has no electricity. Her kitchen is a dirt floor with a small fire/oven in the corner where she cooks all of our meals. The four of us sit in this somewhat dark, dirt floor room, use a wood stump and stacked egg cartons for a seat and have some of our best meals of the trip. All of our meals consist of only what can be grown on the island: potatoes, carrots, onions, eggs, a little bit of chicken etc. All of our meals are delicious. I´m always blown away at what women can cook up on a couple of coals. It´s a very humbling experience. Throughout the day the four of us talk about the necessity of traveling to a place like this (no cars, no electricity, just farming and hard work) to put life in perspective.
After we get situated at her home we walk into town. We quickly come upon 5 middle aged Peruvians carrying huge bags of flour on their backs up the hill. Sidenote: it is very interesting to see how different cultures carry items. Haitians carry items on their head, the Nepalese with a rope attached that goes across their foreheard, the Peruvains wrap whatever they need to carry (often children) in a blanket and then tie it around the front of their shoulders. Wanting to experience typical Peruvian life I shout ahead, Peudo ayudar? (Can I help?) Immediately a lady starts shouting, Si Si Si, and sets her bag down. Her forehead is dripping with sweat and she´s about 2 feet shorter than me. I confidently assume I´ll have an easier time with the bag than this somewhat out of shape 40 year old lady. I strap the blanket with a 50 lb bag of flour on my back and start off the trail. Yikes. I´m about to die after 30 steps. This 65 year old man is putting me to shame. I am immediately unsure of the task ahead. When I ask; Donde estas su casa? Her only answer is, arriba, which I have just learned means ´up´. I struggle to the top of this hill, and her house, with a new respect for these people. She speaks for a bit with Eli and asks, Don´t you carry stuff in your country? To which we all joke, Of course not, us Americans are lazy. As a show of gratitude, they ask us to sit down to share their lunch. We enter a small room of 10 people all sitting on a bench that spans the the circumference of the room. In the middle of the room on the ground is a large blanket with a spread of local potatoes (they look like giant larvae), fried bread that resembles scones and 5 or 6 large bowls of tuna fish with onions. Using only our hands, and without any dishes or utensils, everyone eats together, until we are full and then the remaing food is wrapped up in the same blanket and saved for later. It has to be one of the most authentic cultural meals I´ve had. And quite delicious. Eli does his best to speak with them, but only one of them speaks good Spanish, the rest speak Quechua. When Eli asks who likes the food the most, they all point at the lady whose bag I carried, commeting she´s the fat one of the group. (Another thing I like about other cultures, you can call people fat. Not as derogatory, just as a matter of fact. Try getting away with that in America. ie, you roll into someone´s home and say, So, who is the fat one here who eats the most?) It was all rather humorous.
Before dinner we take a hike to the top of the island, a rather steep trek up to what they´ve named, Pachamama, or Mother Earth. As we hike we pass through fields all carefully separated by rock walls. After hiking for a while we all turn to each other and at about the same time ask, Do you feel like you´re in the bible? It felt like we were walking in another millenium. The views were beautiful as the sun set over Lake Titicaca.
The next day we jumped aboard a boat to head back to Puno. The boat was slow. Real slow. Like we could have walked that fast. Chug a chug a chug a chug a. Did I say the boat was slow? We reach Puno just in time to get in another boat and go back to the the Isla Uros.
Puno is most well known for its proximity to Lake Titicaca (highest navigable lake in the world at 12,500 feet), and the floating islands (Isla Uros). The Isla Uros are literally floating islands, made from a totora reed that grows abundantly in the area. It´s hard to think of a floating island, but think of a giant raft made of reeds about the size of a gymnasium. In fact, when Thor Heyerdahl wanted to sail the world in Kon Tiki he came here to learn how to build rafts, or so I´ve read. They were originally made 500 years ago as a way to escape from the aggresive Inca and Callos peoples. To maintain the island they regularly take these giant reeds and continually add them to the top of the island. The islands have a somewhat squishy bouncy feel when you walk on them. There are about 60 of these tiny islands in total, each housing about 4-5 families. It was an out of this world experience.
Back in Puno now, where the fun began two days ago. Tomorrow it´s a 6 hour bus ride to Cusco, Inca territory. A week left on the trip, and we´ve still to see the famed Macchu Picchu and then into the jungle.
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| Lake Titicaca/MontBell advertisement. |
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| Love at last. I knew she would find that someone special. |
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| Rosalia, our mother on Isla Amantani. |
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| Rosalia cooking. |
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| The floating islands. I wonder how the kids run the mile in school gym classes? |
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| Complimentary lunch of potatoes, sconish bread and tuna fish and onions, in exchange for carrying 50lbs. flower up the mountain. |
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| Umm, yeah I think I´d like the head. Horn soup anyone? |
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| They really do float. |
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