We wake to a view of dawn over the lake and thankfully the discombobulating effects of altitude have abated, leaving just a mild headache behind. Another pill popped and breakfast taken and we are met by a guide called Gustavo who leads us down the hotel’s private pier to a reed jetty to await our boat.
Waiting to board on Lake Titicaca
Coming towards us is a motor cruiser called Amaru Titicaca and from it disembarks Willy who welcomes us on board for a day trip out on Lake Titicaca. It’s yet another beautiful day of sunshine and clear blue skies and we’ve been warned the lake can be cold so have worn lots of layers and packed hat, scarf and gloves but none of them are needed as the sun bakes down. We cover up with sun cream instead, the thin air making the rays even stronger.
Willy tells us that Puno is home to 190,000 people, 70% of whom are Quechua and 30% Aymara, descended from the pre-Incan times. Our first visit is to the famous floating islands of Uros, where the people all speak Aymara, which is also the second language of Bolivia. Apparently lots of Japanese tourists visit the Uros islands and stay for the night in a floating ‘hotel’, as there are many similarities between the Uros dialect of Aymara and Japanese, suggesting a distant link.
The disgraced, jailed former president of Peru, Fujimori, who is also half-Japanese, is beloved on the islands as he visited in 1995 and built two schools and installed solar power, bringing electricity to the islands for the very first time. The fact he also embezzled billions and fled the country hasn’t impinged on his popularity here.
Reed boats - Mercedes Benz…
We dock on one of the floating reed islands and are introduced to Jonathan, the ‘president’ of this particular island of four families. He’s a young man with a seven month old daughter and invites Coman and me into his reed hut home, where blankets on the floor are laid for him, his wife and child to sleep, and a little TV is playing in the corner.
Jonathan demonstrates for us all how the islands are constructed, their cooking facilities and their housing and the women of the island show us the textiles and crafts they make for tourists. We of course need to buy something to repay their hospitality so choose a cute mobile to hang in the house. It’s very different to the mobile that goes off under the blanket of one of the women, which she quickly switches to silent and hides from view, continuing with her traditional tapestry.
Jonathan then invites us onto the big family boat, which they boast is their version of a Mercedes Benz, again made of reeds and boasting two puma heads at the front. We sit on the little upper deck as he punts us across to another island, where there’s a coffee shop and tourists can stay in the little reed huts.
Jonathan and his wife
From there we say farewell to the Uros community and rejoin the motor cruiser to power further into the lake and visit the much larger island of Taquile, a Mediterranean style haven on the Peruvian side of the 8,560km sq lake. On the way we stop at Luquina Chico on the Peninsula de Chucuito to drop off our chefs who will start preparing our lunch for when we return.
Beyond the peninsula we head into open water on the only populated body of water at this altitude in the world . It’s like being on an Italian lake apart from much colder when we go up to the roof deck to take pictures. Here we really do need the layers, hats and scarves. It’s properly chilly as we cruise along and Willy tells us that if we keep going for three more hours we’ll reach Bolivia. “Hope you’ve brought your passport,” he jokes.
By the time we reach Isla Taquile we are both slightly nauseous, we presume from altitude combined with the motion of the boat. Taquile is the third biggest island of Lake Titicaca and from its shore we can see in the hazy distance the biggest, Isla del Sol, which is on the Bolivian side of the lake.
Chilly in the sun
Taquile is absolutely beautiful and looks like a Greek Island, a fact confirmed by two of our fellow travellers on the day trip, a mother and daughter from Thessaloniki. Gorgeous beaches, crystal clear turquoise waters, little shepherd’s huts and rambling pathways abound and Willy tells us that life here is pretty idyllic.
There’s no pollution, the population of just 3,000 drink fresh water from the lake and eat food that they grow. There’s very little electricity and they follow the old Inca traditions of community, following the precepts that the ninth and greatest Inca leader, Pachacutec, laid down – don’t lie, don’t steal, don’t be lazy. No one locks their doors, the families all share the land and livestock, and work together for the greater good, believing in the idea of reciprocity.
We see terraces cut into the landscape which the locals use to grow sixty varieties of potato along with quinoa. They date back well before Christ to the Tiwanako culture that pre-dated the Inca and Willy tells us that it’s crazy to think that the Inca’s were solely responsible for building Machu Pichu. They existed for just over a century but Machu Pichu must have been started well before then and they refined it, building on the cultures that came before them.
Taquile
While the Inca culture spread out from Titicaca they were only based in this region for about 20 years before creating their capital in Cusco. Nevertheless, the true Inca Trail is not the four day trek from the Sacred Valley that most tourists think it is, but starts in Puno and takes 25 days to reach Machu Picchu.
We climb up the steep hillside taking it very easy as the exertion leaves us all somewhat breathless but by the time we stop at a local village I’m really struggling. We watch a display of weaving and local dances, along with a demonstration of how to make shampoo from the unique Chujo plant, indigenous only to Taquile.
Its miraculous properties ensure no one on the island develops grey hair, remaining jet black throughout their life. It’s some feat as the life expectancy for both men and women is into the 90s, aided by the fact that they have no stress in their lives. Paradise indeed.
I’m feeling less than heavenly though. Weak with fatigue, struggling to breathe, battling a headache and pretty nauseous I’m obviously battling a fairly severe bout of altitude sickness. Coman is doing OK but the walk across the island and down the other side takes every ounce of energy from me and I collapse into my seat on the boat, utterly exhausted and doze during the 40 minute journey back to Luquina Chico for lunch. I think we’ve established that I won’t be climbing Everest any time soon.
On Taquile
At the restaurant I can’t face eating anything solid and only manage a bowl of quinoa soup, resting my head on the table, unable to move or speak. An American couple at the next table give me an anti-nausea tablet which helps and I sit outside in a deckchair, facing the sun over the lake, dozing until we have to walk back to the boat. On the horizon dark rain clouds are gathering.
I sleep pitifully for the 45 minutes it takes for us to reach the hotel, arriving at 3.30, and we go straight to the room. Thankfully there are no further plans for the day and I collapse into bed barely conscious, totally wiped out and unable to think, let alone function.
It’s a couple of hours later that I wake but I can hardly get up, my aching limbs, headache and total fatigue hitting me like a massive dose of flu. While I lay in bed Coman packs our bags for tomorrow and runs me a bath and, having taken another altitude sickness pill I eventually make it out of bed and sink into the warm waters, which help raise my spirits.
Like a zombie I follow Coman slowly up to the lobby where he orders food at the bar. I manage to stomach a few chips but am back in bed and asleep by 8.30pm desperately hoping that I’ll have recovered by the morning… for tomorrow we have a long day’s travel ahead into Condor Country.
