Monday, September 28, 1998
Anette, Brett and I arrived at the train station in Cusco at around 7am. Our 8 oclock departure was right on time. Fortunately, the train was very comfortable -- large seats, only about half full with all backpackers, and very clean. The jerking motion of starting and stopping and changing tracks were about the only negatives.
The ten hour ride took us through some absolutely amazing mountain scenery. I didn't take many pictures, however, as I was completely absorbed in reading my book, The General in his Labyrinth by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I also took the opportunity to chat with some vacationing Israelis...
The arrival in Puno, the main city on the shores of Lake Titicaca, was easy. Along the way, a lady touting a local hotel sold us our accomodation and "free" transport. For only 10 soles (approximately $3) each, we were assured hot water and clean sheets. Sounded good. Sure enough, our free transport arrived and took us to the hotel, a quaint and clean place near the center of town.
We were all famished and decided to head out immediately for some food. We walked to the Plaza de Armas and found a small little restaurant. The inside was quite nice, and quite to my surprise, there was an upright piano in the corner. Now, perhaps the thing I miss most about not being at home is the opportunity to play the piano often. I immediately went over and prepared to play. The first chord sounded a little funny. The second chord downright awful. The piano was about as out of tune as it could possibly be. Oh well.
After ordering, we invited a "solo" traveler who drifted in to join us. Becky, a middle-aged woman from Portland traveling in Peru alone, was entertaining and quite appreciative of our hospitality.
Tuesday, September 29, 1998
Rap. Rap. Rap. 7:45. Our hotel "host", the same industrious soul who found us on the train, wanted to know if we would book our Lake tour with her. I told her in my best Spanish that we would talk to her at a more decent hour. Unbelievable.
A
few hours later, Brett tapped on the door and we all went to a
nice breakfast. Anette and I then walked around town for a few
hours, including a quick first glimpse of the famous Lake Titicaca.
Brett, using his morning a little more fruitfully, booked us all
on a tour of some famous ruins called Sillustani.
At 2:30, we reconvened at the hotel for the Sillustani tour. A somewhat English speaking guide drove us to the ruins and explained their significance. They're basically a Temple for the Dead, and a site held quite sacred by the Incas. The guide encouraged us to "meditate" in the middle of one of the sacred spots. I humored him, but hurt my legs while attempting the Lotus Position...
Back at the hotel, I attempted a shower. The "Agua Caliente" so promised was not to be. I went downstairs and asked the proprietor to help. Well, they took the electric heater off the pipe and screwed around with it for a good 45 minutes. After assuring me it was alright, I was ready for the shower. I tested the water and felt a little shock, but I attributed it to the cold water. Time to get in. I entered the shower and recieved a fierce 220 volts right through the head and down to my toes. Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! The shower is deadly! I screamed and barely got out... The hair on my head was standing on end -- wet. Anette took a shower in Brett's room.
I tried to complain bitterly, but my Spanish doesn't include the words "ELECTROCUTION" or "DEADLY SHOCK." I wrote a note for the owner and asked that the first person who spoke both Spanish and English to translate... One can only hope they heeded the warning.
After a quick dinner, it was time to turn in for a good sleep. Anette said she slept quite well. I, on the other hand, had a really hard time getting any real sleep at all and I awoke no less than three times.
Wednesday, September 30, 1998
Our boat trip to the islands of Lake Titicaca left at around 8. I was quite disappointed to see that I was one of 18 tourists on the boat, all to see some supposedly untouched and unchanged peoples... Yeah, right.
After an hour, we arrived at Isla Uros, otherwise known as the floating islands. Here, hand built islands of reeds and special grass, literally float in the water. Disembarking the boat and stepping on the reeds is an experience I won't soon forget. Anyway, the island holds about 5 families, all quite happy to display their art products and adorable children for the tourists. I felt like it was very commercialized. But, quite interesting nonetheless. Too bad I didn't get here 10 years ago before the throngs of tourists ruined what was surely a very interesting place.
Another three hours in the boat and we ended up on Isla Amantani. Each "group" was assigned a family to stay with -- there are no hotels on the island. Our family, high up on the hill, had quite a nice room made for us -- three beds made of reeds, alpaca blankets, and a small candlelit table for food. Soon after our arrival, we were treated to an excellent vegetable soup, french fries, rice, and tea. And, we were each given a nice "friendship" bracelet woven from alpaca. I was touched. We gave our gifts as well -- apples, sweets for the children, some coco leaves, and various other items. Two hours later, the lady of the house asked for two soles each for the bracelets. So much for hospitality.
After a nice hour hike up to the top of the island, we observed sunset. Three little boys followed us the whole way and played Andean pan-flute music mixed in with an occasional round of Frer-a-Jacques. So much for untouched and unspoiled.
A lightning storm brewed over the Lake, and after dinner I spent a good hour or so just watching and listening to the wind rifle through the Inca terraced hillside. The occasional bleating of a sheep broke the sound of the wind.
The locals decided to "spontaneously" throw us a party. Yeah, right. A few guys blew some flutes, some cute kids asked us to dance, we were sold beer at inflated prices. The guys blowing the flutes passed the hat. The cute kids dancing with us asked for "propina" (tip). I went to bed early and vowed to never again take an organized tour like this.
Thursday, October 1, 1998
Brett's birthday today, numero 29, and he wasn't the least bit hesitant to tell anyone who'd listen. Our boat left the island and headed to another "untouched miracle" Isla Taquila, about an hour away.
The interesting thing about this island is the culture requires a specific uniform. Men wear hats of two colors to signify that they are single, a solid color to indicate married. Women wear colored blouses to indicate single, black to indicate married. All quite convienient, I think.
The views of the Lake were quite memorable. But, I have to admit that I was quite tired of it after a 4 hour boat ride back to Puno. Lake Titicaca and the "untouched" islands were done. Now, I'm off to Bolivia where I hope and pray I can get out of the tour mold and into the real world of South America...