In mid-October we took a double-decker bus from Cuzco to Puno. That trip took us through huge glacial valleys and to the shore of Lake Titicaca at 3,800 meters (12,500 feet) above sea level. From Puno we took a small boat to the floating islands of Uros. These communities are small floating islands composed of totora marsh reeds. However, the Uros people have very much responded to the demand of tourism at the expense of what one might call “cultural authenticity.” Although it is very commercial and some of them are living on the mainland, it is at least unionized work for them and everyone gets a fair share of the tourist demand—the tourist’s lust for the exotic floating islands.
Back on the boat, we spent 2.5 hours going 45 kilometers across Lake Titicaca to the island of Taquile. At that altitude, we were panting on the way up the island to our home-stays. Doña Rosa, my taquileña host mother, made the ascent effortlessly while spinning alpaca wool on a hand spindle. Since the island was undergoing a community effort to build a new thoroughfare (foot and cart only—no cars on the island), some of the students from our group had to stay with other students as well. I was with a very relaxed friend of mine and the atmosphere of the home-stay was more along the lines of a family-integrated stay in a hostel. We hiked up to the small ruins at the top of the island and watched the sun set from there. Amid our awe of the blues, oranges, and pinks, we realized we were inadequately dressed for nighttime at 4,000 meters (13,100 feet).
That night, we attended an offering to Pachamama (mother-earth) ceremony and played music around the fire. Our respective families saw fit to dress us in their typical taquileño clothing. We ended up in loopy white shirts with a Mediterranean feel, tiny vests that just covered our armpits, wide “chumpi” sashes, and warm hats that actually bore the colors of a married man.
In the morning, after worshipping the sunrise and eating whole some fried Ispi (small fish 2 inches long), we left Taquile. On the boat on the way back to Puno, the high-altitude sunshine was frying us as well, so we decided to dive into this lake of lakes. Its water is usually about in the lower 50’s F and thus steals one’s breath upon submersion. Nobody spent too long in the water, and the algae-covered rudder was the only way of back onboard. After frigid wind, warm sun, and many frantic pushups, I was dry and comfortable.
The next day we all mounted the bus again and headed to Chivay: a small town upstream from the Colca Canyon. There we had class and decided where we were to be distributed within the Colca valley. That was when I learned that our program had no plans to take us to the Cruz del Condor—the prime viewing spot for the Andean Condor. I quickly started making some noise and rubbing up some mutiny within the group. The next morning, our administrators informed us that we had a 50% chance of getting there. Better than nothing.
Off on a small bus, I was dropped in the Colca valley in the small agricultural community of Ichupampa. My parents Neli and Victor really did take me in—this time more as a child than a guest in a hostel. We made multiple trips to the chakra with the donkeys carrying potato seed. In the mornings, the small irrigation ditches were frozen. After dropping off the seeds, we planted them the next day. The sowing (la siembra) is a day-long process entailing lunch on the chakra and the assistance of the local man who owns two oxen and a plough. We had a ball that day and drank chicha to stay hydrated and fend of faintheartedness. The chicha (this one was a mix of fermented corn and barley) is slightly alcoholic. They let the gringo try his hand at the plough. I could not keep the plough straight and I veered both left and right of center. Nothing was broken and we all had a good laugh; the oxen, of course, said nothing.
During my free time I would hike the nearby hills in search of the giant hummingbird. Just as the natural flora begin above the altitude where cultivation and irrigation end, so does the natural fauna. The prickly pear cactus is prime for the giant hummingbirds to feed from. Their wingspan is about five or six inches and they are very meaty as hummingbirds go.
At some point during that home stay we received word that we WOULD in fact be going to the Cruz del Condor. Great success! When we were painfully extracted from our respective communities in the Colca valley, we went to the Cruz del Condor. The trick is to get there at about 8:30—right when the air starts getting warmer and forming updrafts for the condors to ascend out of the canyon and warm up in the sun. What a show it was! Since the tourist infested point is right above their nests, they rise every morning to the sun and glinting camera lenses. They did not, however, seem perturbed and they soared silently and even perched on a promontory just in front of the lens-wielding masses. The terrible skeptic might propose that they had been trained to do so!
From Colca we made our way a couple hours by bus to Arequipa. There we had class and I mostly did homework as we had a volley of assignments due promptly upon our return to Cuzco. The central plaza of Arequipa, however, dazzles with lights and the city has many white buildings made from the white volcanic rock formed by the volcanoes that overlook the city.
After sprinting about the country on that journey and turning in the various assignments, I was exhausted. So, with a quick stop-off in Cuzco, my friend Eric and I decided to get out to Peru’s north coast and take a breath.
