Uros and the Floating Isles

At six Am saturday morning I open my eyes to a half frozen, fog covered window, and behind it, Puno. The capital of it's department and main commercial area for the people of the lake, it sports a population of over one hundred thousand people. I woke up shivering, noting a considerable drop in temperature between Puno and even Cusco, where I wear at least two to three layers, daily. Only bringing a light jacket with me, I realized this would be a long, cold weekend.

Immediately I felt a kinship to this city. Sporting a cool, coastal temperature, situated on a hill, and being the principal commercial city to the largest lake in South America gives Lake Titicaca to that of Lake Superior. To me this feeling was undeniable and with the definite ambient resemblence thoughts of home surgest to the front of my mind. As happy as I was in January to recieve a five month respite from that all too familiar artic wind, I sometime miss it. Luckily I had a reasonable substitue for the weekend. It was COLD.

The question of finding a suitable travel agency was immediately solve a long ten seconds after I stepped off that deathtrap wqe had been riding for the last eight hours. Not one but three agency reps approached us with mountains of brochures, advertising several options available to us. After following Lenay Alexia and I to the cafeteria to have breakfast, I relented and shuffled through the literature. Lenay's overriding wish for the weekend was to spend the night on one of the islands with a local family. A sort of community tourism as you will. We decided on a one night, two day, and three island tour. Putting my trust in these strangers, I handed over seventy soles and stepped onto a tour bus waiting outside of the terminal.

After thirty minutes of collecting tourists, our driver had collected a motley crew of Welsh, Scotch, English, French, Italian, Israeli, and of course gringo tourists. Dropping us off at the marina, I vacantly (try to sleep on that bus) followed the string of companions to our boat, a twenty five foot ferry boat typical of its kind in Puno. At 8 AM or so we shoved off, old noisy engine shuttering to life, pushing us to our first destination and chugging copious amounts of exhaust out of it's corroded tailpipe.

My first feeling of the Uros people was amazement. These people, for hundreds of years have living on artificial islands, made from the totora reed. Numbering in the forties, these islands are the last vestige of an ancient pre-incan tradition. Driven to the water by invaders ages ago, the Uros constructed mobile islands to preserve their people. The base of these islands are cut and lashed peat bricks, their inhabitants need to place a new layer of dried totora reeds weekly to mantain flotation. The islands felt surprisingly stable. The only blatant anachronism on these islands were the eighty or so solar panels that former President Fujimori donated some twelve years ago. Everybody needs their tv though.

The manner in which these people survive is not through agriculture or fishing. No people aside from the Uros use the totara reed so extensively (boats, land, homes, food). There are some trout, ipsi, catfish and and carachi, though it's the size of my palm. Later in the weekend I also so the occasional group of cattle grazzing on the various islands adjacent to the community. It is tourism sustains this community, and this became evident when the merchandise was unveiled upon our artificial landfall. Rugs, moblies, toys, and ceramics were all available for barter. I was even convinced to buy a model totara boat. 'I'm sorry maam but I have no change.' Upon my hearing my limp excuse she sent a runner to another island to fetch her some. It is a nice little toy though.

Until 10 AM I was crawling among the houses, investigating this entirely alien way of life, astonished at a community's ability to adapt to it's surroundings. I was introduced to families, selling their wares, climbed reed watchtowers, and even rode a totara boat to an adjacent island. Fifteen feet long and constructed entirely from this plant, it supported the weight of the entire group as a local paddled to the other side of the community.

Eager to keep schedule, Nestor, our tour guide herded us back on the ferry and we left the Uros, to sustain their islands and their community. Such a sight, I truly hope that these islands remain. It is uncomparable among the various lifestyles I have witnessed during this trip. the next island is Amantani, 15 square kilometers and one of the largest on Lake Titicaca. I would like to recount the voyage there, but completely wiped out, I spent those three hours below deck drooling on my seat, allowing the dull drone of the engine lull me to sleep.