Next stop (gasp) Lake Titicaca

From Arequipa and its majestic volcanic views it was on to Puno, the set off point for the breathtaking, and in my juvenile opinion, hilariously named Lake Titicaca. No one can deny the lake's beauty, yet that is not what I mean when I refer to it as 'breathtaking'. I mean that I truly could not breathe. The lake sits at an elevation of 12,500 feet, making it the highest navigable lake in the world and an instant lesson in the effects of altitude sickness. To give an example of how high it really is, I remember years back, I went skydiving in the Keys and the highest altitude I could jump from without the aid of an oxygen tank was 10,000 feet, and now here I was 2,500 feet higher and tankless! I tried all the suggested remedies (chewing coca leaves, drinking coca tea, eating coca candy...see a pattern?), yet just climbing one flight of stairs was enough to leave me panting like an emphysemic St. Bernard. It was pretty miserable, so that first day in Puno, I did as the guidebooks suggest and just took it easy. I did nothing more strenuous than paying a visit to an agency, All Ways Travel, which came highly recommended and allowing them to book all our Titicaca-related activities. That, and of course more coca leaves, left me feeling a bit better.

The following morning, we set off for the first of these activities, a two day tour of the islands of Lake Titicaca. By far, the most unique of these are the Uros Islands. They are a group of 42 man made islands, created entirely of tortola reeds and moored to the bottom of the lake by a series of sticks and ropes. The Uros people initially came up with the idea of their floating islands in an (ultimately successful) attempt to avoid being absorbed into the far-reaching Inca empire, but in the end, it appears they may have succumbed to a far more insidious invader... the international tourist. I have seen the islands referred to as "floating souvenir stands" and, although I found them fascinating and would heartily recommend a visit, I can not argue with that characterization. Our visit began with an enlightening explanation of how the islands are made, how often the top layer of reeds are replaced (answer: monthly), how the islanders survive (a: fishing, hunting for birds and eating the reeds themselves) and what kinds of crafts they make (a: everything you could think of). As soon as the explanation was over, we were besieged by a horde of women in traditional dresses imploring one and all to buy a wall hanging, a hand woven replica of their reed boats or a knit sweater. One woman actually invited me into her home, which was of course, also made out of reed and then promptly walked me directly over to her "crafts stand" to show me her wares. In all fairness, the crafts are really well-made and the prices are ridiculously cheap (for example, a wall hanging which takes about 2 months to stitch sells for $20) and you can clearly see that this is the only industry the islanders have available to them, so it is not as off-putting as it may sound. It is just that some more non-commercial interaction would have been nice, too. For that, we would have to wait until our next stop on the island of Amantani. This island is home to about 800 families, most of whom earn extra income by hosting tourists in their homes. Upon arrival, our group was divided into groups of two and each pair was introduced to their respective families. Shawn and I were assigned to Viviana, who thankfully spoke some Spanish (most of the islanders speak only Quechua) and whose energetic daughter, Melissa, only re-emphasized for me how out of shape I was at this altitude. At one point I was following Mellissa up a steep road and after maybe ten minutes I opted to return, panting and wheezing to Viviana, who sagely pointed me in the direction of the bedroom. Once night fell, and we realized that the power lines dotting the island were merely decorative, we were given traditional outfits to wear and led stumbling up the dark, rocky path to a party thrown for our benefit. The party featured live music, some bored looking host families and a series of "traditional dances" which all seem to culminate in everyone linking hands and running as fast as possible in a ragged circle. More panting and wheezing ensued. The following morning, after breakfast, it was already time to say good bye to Viviana, Mellissa the energizer bunny and her mellower brother, Juan Carlos as we were off to visit the final island of our tour, Taquile. Taquile, which is run as a commune and appears to be much better off than its neighbor has a carefully maintained path which runs from one end of the island to the other. The path meanders through residential areas, past the town's main square and finally down a 500 + step descent, which I later learned is known as the "Gringo Killer". Have I mentioned the altitude? Having survived the Gringo Killer and enjoyed a picture perfect day in Taquile, it was time to return to Puno, where electricity, hot showers and of course, more coca leaves awaited...