Exactly one month ago today, I left a cold and gray DC and arrived in an only slightly warmer Arequipa, Peru, amidst pouring rain and floods. I felt nervous and unsure of the move I had just made, but ready to move forward. The rains quickly turning into beautiful blue morning skies and warmer temperatures, I unpacked my bag and settled into my bedroom in the Rodriguez house, and made friends at the Spanish language school.
And now I’m on a bus out of Arequipa and on my way to Puno, the first stop I’ll make during at least a month or two of traveling before I settle down again somewhere new. The bus windows are full of steam from the intermittent rain as we climb higher and higher in elevation, and an extremely violent 80’s movie poorly dubbed in Spanish is blaring on the TV in front of me.
On the way we passed through Juliaca – a town just as desolate as the guide books warned. Juliaca is only about an hour away from Puno, five hours from Arequipa, and the drive up to that point had been only slightly interesting. As we pulled into the city the skies quickly turned gray and opened up with the fury that often happens on summer afternoons in southern Peru. But interestingly, by the time we pulled into the bus station (or, more accurately, abandoned street corner) in Juliaca, it was hailing like crazy. So much so that there were inches of ice on the ground all over the city. It was quite a scene.
Puno sits on a hill descending into Lake Titicaca. Although I’d heard many warnings that the city itself is not much to see, I found it to be a very pretty drive in. And the lake sparkled a majestic blue just like all of the pictures. It was quite a magical feeling, at first. But at over 12,000 feet, that magical feeling soon turned into a dizzying exhaustion that only extreme altitude can induce. That night I met up with a friend that I knew from the language school in Arequipa, and had an amazing meal at a fusion restaurant that served an wonderful trout (the regional specialty) ravioli, followed by a great show of traditional dancers (and a piece of very un-traditional, but delicious, cheesecake).
We headed out to the islands very early the next day, amid gray skies and a light rain. I read a great deal about the bad effects of the prolific tours companies in Puno on the indigenous communities of the islands, so we skipped the companies and just bought boat tickets for transport. Our first stop was Naccos, the ‘floating islands.’ These islands are made of straw, and feel just like you would imagine an island made of straw feels like when you step onto it. The communities living on these islands thought up the concept as an escape from the oppression of the Inca. The islands require constant upkeep to replace pieces that rot every couple of weeks.
After Naccos we sailed another 3 hours to Amantani. From what I read, the families on Amantani learned from the bad experiences of other islands and initiated a fair system for tourism. Families on the island offer homestays to tourists on a strict rotating basis so that all benefit equally. The island was beyond beautiful. The skies had cleared by the time we arrived, turning a deep blue with puffy white clouds that hung above the lush greed island dotted by red-roofed houses and surrounded by the deep blue lake.
The house we stayed in was quite comfortable (albeit freezing at night!). We ate dinner in the kitchen together with the family. The cramped kitchen (separate from the rest of the house), warmed by the fire used to cook and filled with people, offered a wonderful escape from the cold. Although their first language is Quechua, the family spoke much better Spanish than I do and joked with us about other tourists they had hosted. It was an amazing opportunity to get to know and learn from locals living in a very different and distinct culture.
In the morning, in order to make it back to the mainland in time to catch a bus to Bolivia that afternoon, we opted to head back to Puno right away. We heard from someone else that it was quite easy. Little did we know the day we had in store. After a 6 am wake-up call, by 7am we were hiking across the island as, it turned out, the boats for Puno actually left from the opposite side. It was pouring rain, cold, and the steep uphill at that altitude made it a very tough trek. After arriving on the boat, thankful that we made it in time, we proceeded to wait another hour and a half in the boat before it departed (don’t ask why…). Unlike our boat ride the previous day, this was definitely not the tourist boat. The water was choppy from the rain, and when the hour-long journey was finally complete we then had a cramped hour-long convi (shared mini-van / read: old VW bus) ride through beautiful green rolling hills. Once finally back in Puno, we began a mad dash to catch our next bus and cross the border into Bolivia.
