Notes from the Altiplano

Ok, in brief...

I got into Puno yesterday afternoon and straight away hooked up a trip to Lake Titicaca and a ticket to La Paz for the day after - I'm on a mission on this trip...

I fully intended to go to bed early and get plenty of rest, only it didn't work out that way. Will it surprise you to learn that I ended up winning a T-shirt in a drinking contest? How did this come to pass? Well, I wasn't going to miss the Peru vs Venezuela football game (heartening 3-1 triumph for the home team). Then a couple of Australians in the bar I was watching the game decided that a gringo couldn't possibly sit by himself with only Peruvians for company, and invited me over; later we were joined by a couple of Canadian guys. The bar guy had earlier mentioned that there was going to be a big party put on by Cusqueña at a place called Megadisco. Cusqueña is a much nicer beer than Arequipeña, and even people in Arequipa generally agree - but in a fashion that rather typifies Peru, it's virtually impossible to find Cusqueña in Arequipa - and of course Arequipeña is not sold in Cusco or Puno (though is very popular in Arica, go figure...)

I ended up going with the Canadian guys (who were complete dumbasses, in the most pleasant sense) to Megadisco. There was a huge party in full swing, and we were absolutely the only gringos there. It came to pass that a drinking contest was announced - three audience volunteers had to scull a litre pitcher of Cusqueña, a competition for girls followed by one for boys. When the male volunteers were requested, I made a dash for the stage, and although I didn't quite get there in time, the compere was keen to have a gringo in the contest, and dragged me up. I knew I was going to win; as far as I can recall, I've never been beaten in a drinking race. As it turned out I came a comfortable first; my prizes were a Cusqueña t-shirt and another pitcher of beer to share with my friends...

It goes without saying that I had already ingested a quantity of Cusqueña before the contest, and continued to do so afterwards. I'm not really sure what time I got back to my hotel, but it certainly wasn't long before I was being woken up to go to the lake...after bolting some breakfast I found myself in a launch with about 20 other tourists, feeling as my eyes had been painted on and wanting nothing more than to simply spread myself out on the floor of the boat.

The trip took in a visit to two of the floating Uros islands, which are entirely constructed out of the totora reeds that grow in the shallow part of the lake. Families live on the islands in reed huts, get about on reed boats, and make reed souvenirs to sell to tourists. I'm afraid this wasn't my favourite part of the trip. Apart from the intrinsic interest in islands constructed from the bottom up (and my level of intrinsic interest was rather lower than usual at that point), I found the whole experience rather cloying - each tourist being personally welcomed off the boat and onto the island, and the five or six kids forming themselves into a little group and "spontanteously" bursting into song (including a version of "Frere Jacques"). We were later taken to another floating island in a reed boat; each tourist was charged 3 soles. With over 20 people on board, those guys make a killing. It would take a taxi driver in Arequipa more than twenty trips to make that kind of money. Plus, Hugo says that on the islands regularly visited by tourists, the families don't live there at all - they live in Puno and head out early in the morning in time for the tourists. I don't blame them - I wouldn't live on a bloody reed island either.

Later the launch chugged on another 1 1/2 hours into the lake to visit the (permanent, 8 sq km) island of Traquile. This I did like. Although the top of the island, at 3900 metres, is significantly higher than Puno, the climate is much balmier, owing to its exposure to air originating from the hot jungle on the north side of the lake. It has an almost Mediterranean aspect, with lots of eucalyptus trees and wildflowers, agricultural terraces separated by carefully maintained stone walls. An Incan stone road runs from the jetty to the plaza de armas and steeply down to the main port on the south side of the island, passing through stone arches and offering stunning 360 views of the lake and the jagged, snow-covered Bolivian cordillera to the east. Like the villages and orchards of the Colca Canyon (story still coming), it reminded me more than anything of some New Age imagining of a medieval idyll.

I liberated myself of a couple of soles on the 2km road to the plaza, giving tips to a couple of the series of kids who were offering themselves as photo subjects as an alternative to selling their uninteresting woven braids. You'll see why when I get the photos developed. I'm not normally a sucker for the whole "cute children" thing, but I could already see the whole scene on glossy prints, and there's something about innocent-looking kids against a bucolic landscape and soaring mountaind which is a pretty universal heart-melter. Something to do with the collective aspirations of humanity, I think, though Stephen Pinker would no doubt pinpoint the response in a specific biological module which was adaptive at some time in our evolutionary past...

In the plaza we had lunch, while handsome dark-skinned men stood around furiously knitting. Apparently there are distinct traditional costumes for single men, single women, married men and married women. One's woolly hat is also an important part of one's identity, and boys start to learn to make their own at an early age. The casually rapid and elaborate stitching that I witnessed would have put many a maiden aunt to shame.

We got back on the boat for the more than three hour trip back to Puno. Everyone went back to their hotels while the Israelis went to complain; they claimed they had been promised that lunch had been included in the tour price...

I've just been to eat, so here I am now. This time I really and truly am going home to bed; tomorow I'm off to La Paz.