Trans Americas 2009 - The Blog

I woke for the 5th time that night and decided that I'd get up, even though it was still early and we're not due to be picked up for our trip onto Lake Titicaca until 9am. The effects of the altitude, combined with a severe storm, robbing me of much-needed sleep. Opposite the hotel is the national bank and this morning is the local equivalent of “giro day” where the local women come to the bank to get state aid for their small businesses. There a no men, because the government believes that if they gave the money to the men, they'd simply go down the pub and drink it away. So lined up all along the street are small Peruvian women in bright red (or sometimes green) skirts, traditional blouses and their strange little hats, carrying their belongings or offspring on their backs in brightly coloured shawls... quite a sight...





Without the benefit of a decent zoom lens to hide behind, I was forced to emerge from the shadows and into the full glare of their stares. This left me feeling decidedly voyeuristic trying to get a photograph without them noticing, as though I was intruding into their world, which was so different from my own I could but stand and stare. Taking photos of people going about their normal daily lives often leaves me with that feeling, and seeing them lining up outside a bank for a handout, hundreds of them all up the road, just made it feel worse. But that's they way they live, and witnessing it (and writing about it) is part of the reason I travel, so I can't allow myself to feel too downbeat...

After breakfast it was time for us to play tourists again, as we boarded a coach outside the hotel, which took us the short journey down to the lake shore (about 15 minutes walk away). Here we boarded a boat that would take us out onto the lake to visit the floating islands of Uros. Lake Titicaca is the highest navigable lake in the world, at an altitude of 3,810m, and is 118 miles long and 51 miles wide. It also borders Bolivia, a country I'd love to have visited on this trip, but it's not on the itinerary... maybe some other time... The boat took just half an hour to reach the floating islands, which are made entirely of reeds, as are the houses that the residents of the islands live in. As we were arriving at the checkpoint where the captain had to hand in a ticket for the boat, several young lads on the bank started lobbing chunks of mud at us... hardly a warm welcome!

Approaching the islands it became obvious that this was a honey-trap for tourists, as each island had a tourist boat moored up alongside, or a group of brightly clad islanders waving to us to come and visit their island...





Once on our chosen island we were invited to sit in a semi-circle and listen as Sylvia, our guide, explained how the islands are constructed. They start with a large block of reed-roots in mud, carefully selected so it's light and will float, then they drive large stakes into them and tie them together to create the base of the island. On top they place layers of reeds in a hatched pattern, building up the 1m base by a further 2m. Then they build their houses, also out of reeds, and these sit on the top. The whole island is anchored using a large stake driven into the reed beds and rope with rocks suspended from it, which are then attached to the island to stop it being blown around.





We also heard how not only are the islands, houses and boats made of reeds, but they also eat them. Whether this is true or just another ploy to get the tourists to do something silly, like trying to eat reeds, is anyone's guess.. and tasty they're not...





The islanders were very friendly and through our guide explained how they lived. Originally they moved to the lake to escape the Spanish conquistadors, making a living from fishing. Nowadays they make most of their money from tourism, as there is a fairly steady stream of visitors to the islands year round. They buy material in town and make things to sell the tourists, from miniature reed boats through to large beautiful decorated blankets. Needless to say that as I'm travelling by bike I have no room for any souvenirs, so will spare Tracy the llama-patterned rug... They also went on to explain how they still visit local markets where they barter their goods and fish for things they don't have on the islands, like potatoes and corn. This explanation took the form of a little play, with the 4 women each representing a different community, as evidenced by their hats. It was highly entertaining, as they gabbled to each other and exchanged goods...





Suitably educated, we wandered round the island looking in the houses and were then serenaded off as we took a raft boat trip to another island, where there were more women selling their goods to another group of tourists. There was also a small flock of flamingos, a fish farm and a small group of ducks on the island, and a small child placed strategically on a reed rug so he could have his photo taken... cynical I may be, but I recognise a photo op when I see one...








The whole trip had a feel of visiting a circus, rather than seeing how people live in a traditional way, but I guess that was inevitable when tourist dollars start to enter a community whose unique selling point is how they live. In contrast to squalor people are living in on the land, especially in the town of Juliaca just up the road, the islanders have something special. So what if it needs to be polished and presented to foreign tourists in order for them to be able to continue to live this way. When we'd all gone home, they could continue with their quiet existence, relaxing in their reed houses on their reed islands, eating reeds and watching their solar-powered TVs...





Back on dry land I returned to the hotel and had snooze, trying to catch up on my lost sleep, but soon woke again and wandered downstairs to see if anyone else was about. Just then another storm arrived, with thunder and lightning and then heavy hail sending people running for shelter. Within minutes the road outside the hotel was white with hailstones, and a small river was running downhill. Quite spectacular...





We then held the week's Prat Hat ceremony, which had been delayed due to all the other activities we'd had on. The nominations this week were particularly poor I thought, especially mine, which was for my pannier falling off again (and for remarking that I'd rather be on another boat which had some pretty girls on), Nick (again) for his Dad-dancing episode in Chiclaya which resulted in Julia being hurled to the floor and bruising her backside, Richard for some innocuous remark which I won't repeat here, and Julia for 2 things... first was the 6.15 – 6.50 cock-up that robbed us all of sleep before the visit to Machu Picchu, the second was for demonstrating how stable the rocks were in Canyon del Pato by almost pulling the mountain down.... and of course, Julia's nominations won the day... and the hat does suit her don't you think?





After the ceremony was over we went back to the Rock and Reggae bar, but were bitterly disappointed to find the music wasn't as good and sat at the bar were 4 chain-smoking backpackers, making the bar not a nice place to be... it's funny how offensive a smoky bar is these days... so we left after just one beer and went in search of food. We found an excellent restaurant where I had some lovely ravioli with bolognese sauce and shared a couple of glasses of decent Argentinian red wine... lovely...