Island Life...and Border Madness

Puno was our last sop in Peru and a rather unimpressive town at that. The main reason travellers make a stop there is to book a tour of some of the islands on Lake Titicaca. At 12,500 feet above sea level, it is the highest commercially navigable lake in the world, and 21st (globally) among all lakes in size. The lake is home to more than 40 islands, not all of them natural, and reaches depths greater than 900 feet.

The lake is spilt between Peru and Bolivia, which means one can only visit certain islands from each side. Isla del Sol, or Island of the Sun, is the largest island on the lake and has spiritual significance for the Andean peoples but is reached from Copacabana in Bolivia. It sounded interesting, but the tour from Peru took us to three different islands with significantly different cultures on each one, so we opted for the latter.

We booked a tour for just over $20/pp, and that included boat transport to the islands, guide, 3 meals and a family stay on one of the islands. Not too shabby!

Our bus picked us up at 7:30am. We were the first on and tooled around the city for another 40 minutes as we picked up two dozen other travellers, hailing from Israel, Australia and Germany, as well as a strong French contingent. We all loaded on to a rather rickety looking boat and headed out to the Uros Islands, which were, by far, the most fascinating.

The Uros Islands are a series of manmade islands which have been on Lake Titicaca for more than five centuries. The Pre-Incan Uro peoples fled the mainland in order to get away from the much more powerful Inca Empire. They created the islands from reeds in the lake. The dense roots of the reeds act as the base of the islands, and are both thick (about 6 feet) and bouyant. Next the reeds themselves are laid on the base, in perpendicular layers. Finally, reed homes are placed on the islands, which are anchored in nearly 90 feet of water with ropes, rocks and the like.

It was fascinating to visit the Uros Islands, although much of the culture has died out and little remains, except for the Uros who maintain existence on the reed islands in order to satisfy curious tourists. The few others maintain themselves through fish farming. They have gardens and ponds on the little reed islands and it is really quite interesting. Our guide said that a number of years ago there was an effort to educate parents on teaching their offspring how to float even before walking, as a handful of young children died when they fell off the edge of the island. We were on the islands long enough to snap some photos and buy some souvenirs, if we were so inclined.

From there we hopped on the boat for a slow and steady three hour tour to Amantani island. The 6 sq. mile island is home to about 800 families in six villages. About six years ago they began the practice of hosting tourists in family homes for overnight stays, as there are no restaurants or hotels on the island. As it is so far from the mainland, electricity is powered mainly through solar panels which adorn almost every corrugated steel roof on the island.

Once we reached the island we were introduced to our families and taken to our respective homes for a little lunch. From our bedroom we had a beautiful view of the lake and everything was very serene. The incessant horn-honking and carbon emissions from the mainland were replaced by the baahing and poop of the numerous sheep on the island. After a short rest our meal was ready: a simple yet divine combo of soup, one egg, some tomato slices and cooked tubers, including your basic potato and some other unidentifiable, yet similar, food.

Next we went for a hike to the peak of Pachatata, which means "Father Earth" in Quechua. The island is also home to Pachamama, or "Mother Earth." Both peaks have temples at the top which are home to annual religious ceremonies for the local people. The rest of the year tourists make the treks to snap photos and -you guessed it- buy souvenirs. After we climbed down we were met by one of our host sisters, shown the way home, and fed a lovely meal of soup, rice and a noodle dish. Once again, we had no meat but the food was very good and quite filling.

Around 8pm our host sister, Emily, knocked on our door. She came in with a handful of traditional clothes for Heidi and I to wear at a little dance put on for us tourists. Playing dress up was lots of fun, albeit a bit odd. (Would I have been laughing and having a good time had this been for a powwow hosted by Anishinabe peoples in Shakopee?) At the village hall we danced for a spell while some local guys played some traditional music. After three or four dances we had had our fill, as had our host mother (going through this numerous times every week), so we suggested leaving. Well, we started a trend and the fiesta was over less than an hour after it started.

The next morning we were fed a very basic breakfast and hopped on the boat for a very rocky one hour ride to Taquile. This island is unique in that it is based on an ancient Incan moral code of collectivism and is, for all intents and purposes, a truly communist society. There are no police on the island and all grievances are addressed every Sunday by a weekly meeting of the 25 jefes, or bosses, who are chosen in annual elections. The bosses determine which restaurants the tourists will visit and establish fixed prices for all goods being sold, including meals. Every Monday the money is divided amongst all families.

The people also have a distinctive style of dress, and one can garner much information solely based on the style of one´s clothes. Women typically wear numerous skirts at once, as larger size is a sign of beauty in the culture, in stark contrast to the "waif is beautiful" traditions in many western cultures. Also, women choose their beaus and give potential suitors the nod with a wave of a colorful pom-pom on their clothes at semi-annual fiestas.

After finishing the tour we bought bus tickets for the following morning and got a hostel right across from the terminal.

Our bus pulled out at 6am and by 9:30am we were in the first of a few lines crossing the border into Bolivia. In this first line we merely had our passports stamped with the exit stamp from Peru. A walk of a couple hundred meters and we were herded into the Peruvian Police station. They wanted to check us for any contraban. That went smoothly except when one of the officers found a piece of paper, jammed in our tour book, folded in a manner often used to transport drugs. He gave Heidi a questioning look and she replied in kind, also not knowing what it was. They were both relieved to realize it was only a stack of passport photos, for obtaining visas at border crossings.

From there we walked across a bridge into Bolivia, where we filled out one form and notified someone we were Americans. (The US is, I believe, the only state which must pay a $135 visa fee upon entry into Bolivia. It is President Evo Morales´way of returning the gesture that the US extends when Bolivians wish to visit my homeland.) We were shuffled to another desk, and given another form. We also shelled out three Benjamins to satisfy the fee. The lady quickly returned. Something was wrong with one of our bills. (I´m still not sure what it was.) They really are quite picky about getting pristine tender. We took out another Benjie and she accepted, returning a little later with our change. She then put visas in our passports and brought us to another desk. There another woman took our forms, stamped our passports and instructed us to get copies of the passport and visa at a shop across the street. We hustled over, accomplished our task, and headed back to her, elbowing our way through the motley crew which all wanted stamps in their passports. She gave us a little slip needed for departing the country and we headed for the bus. Given the process is so arduous for Americans, everyone else was already at the bus, waiting for us. After a couple more passport checkpoints on the road we arrived in La Paz...