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.

Sophmoric Wordplay

Lake itty bitty Titicaca. Our final excursion in Peru. Sitting at over 4000 meters, it is the highest navigable lake in the world. On the ballot for the new seven natural wonders of the world, this destination was not something I was about to pass up. but then, that was never the question. What Lenay and I had been debating over the last week was how to get there. Between taking a travel agency and journeying it on my own, I felt like such a high profile destination would be a cakewalk in procuring an agency. I just wanted to cut out the middle man in Cusco. I'm cheap, really.

As it turned out, my Swiss roomate Alexia was making a detour through Puno on her way to work at Arequipa. relying on the old maxim of safety in numbers, Lenay eventually came around to risking it on our own. After all, I'm approached by twenty travel agencies in Cusco every day. There's bound to be one or two in Puno. So after Alexia's tearful goodbye to Pati and our family, we took a three sol cab ride to terminal terrestre, and left Cusco on the San Martin Line, bound for Puno.

The ride to Puno was unique for two reasons. First, this was the first time I got to enjoy the lower level of those double decker monstrosities. Eating bananas and bread while reclining in a bed like coach seat, we were all entertained with a pirate copy of Rambo 4, liberating villages somewhere far off in east Asia. After ninety minutes or so of explosions, severed limbs and fascist killing, our bus rolled to a stop at one of the regular highway checkpoints. Accustomed to these stops, no one gave it any mind. An hour later or so I could see three Peruvian cops haranguing the bus driver through my fogged up window. Lenay asked me what I thought the problem could be. Dryly responding,' oh he probably hasn't been driving with his lights on or something.' I didn't give it much thought after that. Another passenger boarded the bus ten minutes later however, and nervously informed the rest of us that the driver had indeed been driving with only one functional (of four) headlights. Well that was an ironic kick in the teeth. It goes with out saying that the next three hours were spent anxious, watching the coach's flashers flicker on with every oncoming car. I do not recommend putting your life in the hands of a Peruvian bus driver, who drives through the Andes soley by memory. For some reason it just does not seem like the best idea.

Peeing in Peru

Liz came to Peru during her Spring break. She made a video about it.

Note: no ruins were harmed in the making of this video.

Carving in Ica

One thing that my friends know is that I have been complaining about not being able to go snowboarding this winter. I know, shut up Erik, you're having the opportunity of a lifetime right now and all you can do is bitch about the things you don't have. Don't worry about hearing me anymore, I've taken my passion to a medium. To ninety degree burning three hundred foot sand dunes in Peru.

I first heard about sandboarding from Lenay, who learned in turn from old classmates in Cuenca. I was ready from the minute I saw the photos. We waited a month to get done with classes, buy tickets and suffer a fifteen hour bus ride from the sacred valley of the incas to the parched deserts of Tatooine, uhh I mean Ica (I don't know why everything in my life has to be related to a George Lucas film, just don't fight it Erik).

Our busline was Cruz del Sur, whose tagline ought to be, we're so great, we even have bingo! Well, maybe not, but they really did have bingo! What brought me there was a double decker monstronsity of a coach bus that dominated the cliffside highways in rural Peru. After three movies, in-drive dinner, in-drive breakfast, bingo, and 9 hours of a mind numbing ever present-vertigo reduced nap we arrived in Ica.

The city of Ica is the sun baked capital of it's department in Peru. The climate is hot, dry, and a hell of a change from Cusco. What it's most famous for is it's Pisco, and Huacachina. Most simply, Huacachina is the former rich peruvian's playground, now frequented by backpackers who are swarmed by under worked business proprietors, from dune buggying to city tours, to pisco tours to pisco drinks at the local bar.

Lenbay and I were met at the bus station by Renato (host brother), and we hailed the nearest taxi (which is easy, because at any given time you've got five hustling you for some business). Getting off at Huacachina, I was immediately hit by the smell of sweaty humans, garbage, and the opportunity for some serious boarding. The resort hugs a lagoon, itself an oasis flanked by hundred meter high sand dunes. We settled into the Bananas bar, whose owner had this portable 8X8 mini cabin out for rent at 10 soles a person. I new this was luck! Accomodations six feet away from the bar, the buggy driver, and the Pool! From this moment on anticipation, persperation, and inebriation were on the rise.

3 hours, 5 beers, and one poolside dip later our buggy driver herded us into his 9 seat deser rover, and we ripped out of the oasis and into the high dunes of desert Peru. It pretty much felt like a track-less roller coaster minus the seat belts (ok, he just didn't tell me there were any seatbelts until after I nearly flew out of my seat!). The engine drowned out any profane thoughts as I was grabbing the roll cage bars and ahnging on for my life. Our driver (Cristiano) zig zagged up these mammoth hills of sand and we would very nearly free fall to the bottom. It was the rage.

After scoping some good jump off points, I hopped out of the buggy, dizzy and with sand board in hand, strapping in at the top of the dune. These boards are basically scaled up skate boards (or scaled down, less curvy snowboards if you'd prefer) with velcro straps. Before going down any hill, you've got to wax up your board if you even want to move, or you'll be standing halfway down the slope, watching yourself sink and sink...to a stop. As far as mechanics go, sand doesn't allow the same carvage as snow, so you've got to be careful. When you're ripping down the empty quarter in the middle east someday, you'll thank me for telling you not to take those corners too tight!

Lenay, Renato and I flew down hills until after the sun went below the horizon, and We took the return trip back to our oasis paradise. Renato's friends took the four hour drive from Lima to get some R&R before their semester started monday. Upon talking to the restaurant owner, they payed eight soles each to borrow a tent and sleep in the restaurant (outside). The rest of the night was spent enjoying the oasis, sipping cristal, and ended with a debauched 2 AM crawl up a seemingly endless sand dune. The summit seemed to be unavailable, and I was shocked when we found it. But then, sand offers little perspective at an angle. Especially during the twilight hours, with an unquenchable thirst for Peruvian brew. We were rewarded with an incredible vista of Ica, five kilometers away. It reminded me of the Thomson hill, driving down 1-35 into Duluth.

It's good to be in the desert though you find sand everywhere...

Why did it have to be Snakes?

Back in Pisac, on our way to Machu Picchu, We all bought tourist tickets, which allowed entrance to a variety of archeological sites and museums in and around Cusco. 10 days later, Lenay and I did some last minute sight seeing to get our money's worth. On Esater sunday we visited Saqsayhuaman, the ruins of an Incan fortress overlooking the city of Cusco. Unique from Machu Piccu, the masonry there is originally Incan. I heard there are stones there three times as tall as a man. We had to go.

Leaving the house that morning, I took the huerto busline to take me to Cristo Blanco, a giant white statue of Christ adjacent to the ruins. Piling into one of Cusco's ubiquitous combis (conversion van), I was greeted by it's chaperon, a young Cusqueño boy who said he was twelve, though looked two years younger. As the combi ascended the hills overlooking the city, the young worker sheperded more and more passengers into the van, untill all its seats were filed, and half a dozen were left crouching, with next bent from the short celing. 15 minutes later we paid the child worker sixty centimos each, and debarked from the combi.

Just the sheer size of the ancient fortress's masonry is staggering. The Incan craftsman used gigantic pitch-black basalt, a volcan stone that is common in the area. The largest stones form the base of the ruins. Two armspans wide and probably three times as tall. Historians are still baffled at how they we moved...uphill. Speculation continues to this day.

As a testament to these masters of stone, not one sheet of paper could fit between two boulders, they were chiseled so finely. Incans did use mortar and smaller stones when more pragmatic construction was required, but thought it to be shoddy workmanship. The quality of construction in Cusco has been compared to that in Giza and Tenochtitlan. These people were one of the great masters of stone.

Local history tells of tunnels that connect the fortress with the cathedral in the plaza de Armas, in the city square. Over the centuries treasure hunters have taken ceramics, gold and other relics from within the subterranean labyrinth. Other curious explorers have died trying to navigate the catacombs beneath the city. I also learned that this tunnel system connects Cusco to other locales, even Machu Picchu! Naturally, it's something I'd want to try. Paying a local guide to take me to its entrance, I was dismayed to find out that years ago an earthquake covered the entrance with a craggy piece of Incan stairway...Looks like I'm visiting the cathedral! Just as long as there are no snakes. I hate snakes...

Returning to Cristo Blanco, Lenay and I admired a statue which shines down on the people of Cusco daily. At night it is illuminated and is an iconic symbol of the city.

On the twenty minute walk down from the fortress to the plaza de Armas, I encountered a wandering llama, strolling through the streets of Cusco. Normally tourist pay money for snapshots withthese creatures, so we got a few in. I started thinking about this opportunistic situation. I've always wanted a llama! We named him Pepe and took him home.