I have patience honed
I sit on a boat, waiting, whilst the captain, a smiling man with leathery skin, a handknitted hat and dry dry feet does something underneath the decking. His first mate hustles up some more business. I am grateful for this, as I am trying to do the right thing and catch the colectivo that is owned by the islanders, not the people from the mainland who run exploitative businesses to Taquille, but, being the real deal, is also quite plainly the oldest boat at the port...and currently, the one with the least number of passengers.
So I sit and wait as one by one, two by twos, people with their bags and baskets and boxes and babies and backpacks slowly fill the inside of the boat. I sit in the sun and wait. Patience honed.
When the boat is full, the captain makes moves to leave, untying ropes and getting a long pole to push us off.
Off we go...putt putt across Lago Titicaca: a fresh water lake at no less than 3600 metres above sea level. I have been out of breath for weeks and now is no different. I stare out the window at reeds and other, faster boats passing us with "Taquille Tourista three stars" written on their sides. We pass the Uros, floating reed islands which have become floating tourist traps, as I discover when I re-meet a travel friend who was trapped overnight on one that was 20x20 metres with "the most horrible people" she had met in Peru. Nice.
We chat and sleep and dream of all the snacks and beverages that everyone else knew ahead of time to purchase. Not me. I get on a boat not knowing really where it is going or how long it is going to get there. With no provisions. "Oh. this is the ridiculously long 3 hour boat ride they talk about in the Lonely planet" says my friend. I have the lonely planet. only I have ripped out pages I thought I wouldn´t need. I wonder if that was one of them.
So all is good, if not a little hungry, for 2 and a half hours. I look at the view of the beautiful blue water, the terraced hills, the snow capped mountains, the lady knitting a little toy sheep to sell for 1 sole on the street...I ignore the constant snacking of my peruvian travel mates to my left. I also ignore the fairly regular bailing out of the bottom of the boat into the wooden toilet to my right. Are we meant to be that close to the surface of the water?
So that would be when the engine stops. Most people don´t even look up, which makes me think this is a normal occurance. The captain moves some bags, boxes, baskets and babies to get at the hole in the floor. Gee. that water is quite close to those electrical wires, I think to myself.
They do some bailing, then do some cranking, first with the ignition, then with a piece of rope they untie from the side of the boat. I should take a picture while I still think this is funny.
People start checking their mobile phones. no reception.
And now I play shipwrecked.
Dammit I am hungry.
The guy starts bailing the water into the toilet faster.
We are all a little nervous now. We can see our destination. I reckon 5 km...maybe I could swim it. at sea level and 24 degrees.
Patience. Melissa. Patience honed.
But no, there is a boat heading slightly in our direction. One man gets out a mirror and starts flashing it. Hell, I have a mirror too, so I join in. Everyone is waving. One girl waves the boat´s red and white flag.
And yet they look like they are going to go straight past us.
We start yelling. And yes, I pull out my incredibly loud wolf whistle usually reserved for loud music festivals.
Our soon-to-be rescuers swing around and head towards us to our applause and cheers. I don´t make a big deal of the fact that it was plainly my whistle that saved the day.
The the boat arrives and then...
they try and bargain with the captain for some extra cash.
Ahh Peru.
But they tow us to Taquille anyway. bless
And technically we are only 2 hours late. That is actually on time in Peru.
