The Traditional Way

I wake up as the ferry I'm aboard plys it's way through Lake Titicaca to Amantani island. Home to over two thousand people, Amantani is where I would be spending the majority of the tour. Upon disembarking and filing uphill to a clearing among the rock fenced gardens covering the island, the group was introduced to the twelve families that would be hosting us this night. Ester, a sixteen year old native to the island led me to the house of her family. She, like the rest of the women in her community don the traditional pink embroidered skirt, white blouse and black shawl.

Following her for ten minutes, I was shown my lodging. The farmhouse, three adjacent buildings made from dried bricks and metal roofs, I felt as if time had taken me backwards. Though lacking electricity or plumbing, the provincial and quaint transformed into simple beauty. Beauty in simplicity of life. Though cliché, I was shocked, because my life has been soft with all it's technological amemnities. At one o' clock I was led down to the kitchen, a simple, dirt floor affair where I was fed a lunch of homegrown potatoes, rice, tomatoes and fried cheese. Land limitations restrict the community to a nearly vegetarian diet, holidays being the exception.

What characterized the island most strongly were the rocks. It seemed that every garden was seperated by a fence of stones that had been removed from the land. Nearly every parcel of land was closed off by a stone fence, pathways included. To access our house, Ester dismantled and reconstructed these walls as I followed.

After lunch I was led up to the soccer pavilion, where our tour guide Nestor explained the history of the island and its struggle with contemporary sopciety. Like the Amish of North America, every new generation is tempted by the call of mainstream society, to abandon their traditional lifestyle. Money is to be made in Puno, Arequipa, in Lima. But the rampant poverty in Peru (40 percent) presents a dangerous risk to the youth of Amantani. I was told that after spending years away from the island, the prodigal would return with possessions (such as glasses), accustoment to utilities, and an essentially different lifestyle. It is often impossible for these people to reintigrate to the community, for its lack of technological luxuries. Thus, the community faces the risk of seeing its way of life disappearing.

After the lecture, Nestor led us up a hill, to the highest point of the island. Not only was there an incredible view of the sunset, but generations ago the people built a temple to the Pachamama. She is the South American goddess representing mother earth. Very important to the indigenous communities before and after the Spanish conquest, the harvest goddess has endured not only culturally on Amantani. Once a year the doors of the temple are opened so the people may make offerings and thanks for the year. Our group circled the temple three times, and placed a small stone within its walls to make our own wish.

With the sun having abandoned us for the duration, I hiked down the hill to meet Ester, wishing I had worn a coat. She led me back home, and after supper at seven thirty, prepared me for the welcoming reception. Before leaving the house I put on a woolen poncho and cap, very simple dress for males. Lenay's however, included the skirt, belt, blouse and shawl before being ready.

At the meeting hall of the community the local girls led us in dance, serenaded by guitars pipes and drums. It was a simple two step, though five minutes into each song it evolved into a massive circle dash, where I was whiplashed around by Ester and her friends for hours. The dance lasted for hours, and eventually I had to deny Ester's advances (to dance) because of exhaustion.

This was new.