EASTER WEEKEND ON LAKE TITICACA, PERU

Maria, our travel agent in Cusco, booked us on a torturous overnight bus ride to Puno, which was freezing cold, uncomfortable and had a bathroom I was discouraged from investigating. Better to hold on, Jim said. Actually, I had maybe the only heater under my seat; Peruvians dressed in parkas were hammering on the driver's compartment, yelling, "Frio, frio!" I kept my good fortune to myself, inviting Jim to move his feet closer to the heater. At 5:15, we settled in for an hour's wait at the Puno station until the local travel agent met us, taking us to his office where we stashed our bags; we could only carry a few things on our two-day visit to the islands. While we were at the port, purchasing a few small food gifts for our host family, the skies opened up, drenching us with ice pellets, as we made a run for the small launch, cursing the agent who advised us to leave our rain ponchos behind, since the rainy season was almost over. I quickly put on the extra tights I'd brought, but still shivered on the half-hour's ride to the floating reed Uros Islands.

Two thousand Aymara-speaking natives live on the 48 reed islands, probably coming here 500 years ago to escape persecution from the Spanish conquistadors. They sustain themselves with fishing and tourism, selling their crafts to the boatloads of curious tourists. After a demo of reed-boat building techniques each couple/family were invited into one of the huts, where the "mama" opened her bag of goodies, enticing us to buy. Miraculously, the sun came out and warmed things up just as our group of 20 piled into one of the reed totora rafts that look like Viking boats for a serenaded ride to another island, where our boat picked us up for the three-hour ride to Amantani and our overnight stay.

We were greeted on the island by an array of brightly-costumed "mamas", who led us up the rocky paths to their simple adobe-bricked homes. Our mama was Jenny (Yenni), a 26-year-old, who lived with her elderly parents who spoke little or no Spanish. Jenny welcomed us with tea made from muna, a type of mint, that she picked on our way up the hill, and prepared the basic meal of quinoa soup, followed by a plate of boiled potatoes, rice and fried cheese. The islanders are vegetarians, not raising any animals to eat, we were forewarned. Later, in the courtyard, Jenny's father crushed dried wheat stalks with his feet after which her mother ground them with a mortar stone. As well as wheat, the locals grow maize, quinoa, potatoes and barley, trading them for other goods on the mainland. The host families are paid about $20US per person for the homestay.


In the evening, Jenny dressed us in the local costume; women wear puffy red skirts, embroidered peasant blouses, cinched tightly around the waist by a chumpi, and black shawl (chuco) over the head; men are dressed in ponchos and traditional knitted alpaca toques with earflaps. We wore these over our long pants and hiking boots, and must have been quite a sight. Under the full moon, armed with flashlights, we made our way to the local hall to take part in dancing to a local band. It's hard enough to breathe at 4000 m without being tightly bound while dancing!


Both Amantani and Taquile, where we went the next day, have no electricity or running water as oil for generators became too expensive to transport from the mainland about 5 years ago. A few families have solar power; otherwise, it's candles for light and wood for cooking. On Taquile, the big craft is knitting, which is done by men and boys, who learn to knit the chullo, a hat which indicates marital or public status . Women weave the sturdy belts, centuros, that hold up to 50 kgs. and the chuspa (coca leaf bags) carried by men who ceremonially exchange a few leaves on meeting. Seventy per cent of the islanders are Catholic while the remainder are Seventh Day Adventists. Everything must be hauled up the 549 steps from the harbour so you see people of all ages carrying heavy loads on their backs in the colorful woven blankets. We have nothing but admiration for these resilient islanders; while we can rough it for a night, we were more than happy to get back to warm, soft beds and showers.


We were glad we'd insisted on spending the night in Puno so we could travel back to Cusco during the day on Easter Sunday, and see the somewhat stark but nevertheless interesting altiplano, rolling grasslands 4-5,000 m high with grazing herds of llamas and alpaca. Near villages, locals bathed or washed clothes in the river and spread them out to dry in the sun. Back in Cusco, Maria had waited two hours for our overdue bus to take us to our hotel.