Uros Islands, Peru

April 18th, 2007 (more or less)...

Well, I finally left Bolivia. Sometime last week (time is all a blur now), I got on a bus in La Paz and crossed the border into Peru, where I decided to stop and stay in Puno, a small town on the shore of Lake Titikaka. The guidebook had described Puno as pretty, so I was unpleasantly surprised to discover that this was patently false. Like many other latin American towns, Puno is crowded & filthy, a messy jumble of half-completed buildings stacked on top of one another, all concrete and rebar sticking out unevenly like the half-eaten innards of some unfortunate savannah prey. The way to get from the bus station into town is by mototaxi, which is a fun experience in itself, since really what we're talking about here is a actually a dangerous combination of a motorcycle up front, with two wheels and a little covered carriage dubiously welded onto the back. It's fun.

Anyway, the first hostel I went to was the one I had found in the guidebook before my arrival. The entrance was shabby and barely visible, and once I had navigated the narrow concrete pathway up to the "entrance", I realized that it actually wasn't marked. So I hazarded a guess and walked into a small courtyard draped with drying laundry, only to startle a very old woman and her family, who were having lunch. Oops. After an awkward moment of trying to explain to her that I was looking for the hostel, a younger woman appeared in an adjacent doorwaya and showed me back the way I came, to a barely marked door with a bell so high she could barely reach it. We rang the bell a good three or four times, but nobody ever answered, so, shrugging our shoulders, I retreated back out into the chaotic streets and and headed for the only other place on my list, the Hotel Monterry, which was located smack dab in the center of the tourist strip. They gave me a room with a nice German girl who has been living here with a Quechua family as part of her religious studies thesis project.

By the time night fell, I had learned that the vegetarian restaurant that the guide had lauded as having "amazing traditional Peruvian dishes with fake meat, fresh local veggies and quinoa" was no longer in existence, having been replaced by some run-of-the-mill, overpriced tourist meat restaurant. Instead I found the only other veggie restaurant in Puno, which was lacking in atmosphere and not that exciting but given the circumstances, was still much appreciated. I had also learned that Guang, the nice boy from New York that was my seat companion on the bus from La Paz, had been absolutely right when he told me that Puno was incredibly boring. It was. The German girl and I went out to the "rock pub" around the corner that evening, but after 2 cups of coca tea for me and a couple of coffee/ liquor concoctions for her, we were both over it and decided to go home and sleep.

The next day I was torn about what to do: just get out and head straight to Cuzco, or stay and try to see the mysterious "floating islands" on Lake Titikaka that are made from woven straw. When I learned that there was a group of islands only 30 minutes by boat from the town, and that I could go see them and still be back by early afternoon, I decided to go ahead and check it out, just because they sounded so intriguing.

I got a boat from the main dock, eschewing the myriad tour offerings since I had been warned that the tour companies give practically nothing to the actual indigenous communities they visit, and I didn't really want to give my money to someone so they could further exploit a group of people who have virtually nothing to begin with. Anyway. The Lake itself is gorgeous, a beautiful clear, cold blue with the snow-capped Andes Mountains surrounding on all sides. When we finally arrived at the first island, we were helped to "dock" by the local women who were waiting to help peg us into the soft, straw-covered surface of the island by a rope.

The islands really are incredible- apparently they were first built to avoid invading forces, be they Spanish or from other tribes, using the reeds that naturally grow very tall and very quickly all over the lake. The indigenous people use the reeds for everything- they are woven together beautifully to make boats, houses, and, of course, even the very islands themselves, which are about 3 feet thick in most places and need to be supplemented with fresh reeds every week or so. They are even edible, though I have to say, not that tasty. It's amazing! Obviously, I went nuts taking pictures so if you are curious or if I'm not explaining it all that well, just go look at the photos and you'll understand what I'm talking about.

Anyway, we spent several hours hopping around to the various islands, looking around, talking to the folks who live there, who mainly wanted to sell us souvenirs but were friendly nonetheless. One woman I spoke with showed me inside her house, which was tiny but cozy, made of wood, reeds, and little else. She proudly demonstrated the sole electric lightbulb that was strung from a cord and served as the house's only light source, and explained that after several islands had caught on fire as a result of spilled candles, ex-president Fujimori had donated solar panels so the islanders could have enough electricity to light their homes without the risk of burning to death, since the houses of dried reeds are basically a tinderbox waiting for a spark.

Eventually, it was time to leave, and I bid Ana goodbye with a small donation, and we all climbed back in the boat and headed back to solid ground.