Lake Titicaca weekend (a week later…)

Far across the blue bay-like lake, framed by grey puffy clouds, the twinkling lights of Puno remind me of a life so distant to my present in reality yet so close in time and space.  The two lonely shirts on the line dance to the rhythm of the wind.  I stare at the neon red flowers that could tickle my feet if not for the pane of glass that separates my reality from theirs.  Inside the dining room, warm in my long underwear and alpaca socks, cradling my cup of tea, I shiver as I sense the present moment.  I ponder what mysterious and fortuitous succession of events led me to be so lucky in life. 

Lauren and I arrived in Puno after a 9 hour bus ride from Cusco.  As we neared the Duque Inn, the accommodations that fit our travel style and budget, or so said Lonely-planet, I felt a little like Dorothy in Oz.  We had traded in the quaint, mountainous, beautiful Ollana, for a big, loud, dirty city and it appeared that our hostel of choice was in the seedy part of town.  The inside of Duque was a stark contrast from the slightly sketchy road on which it was located.  The owner and the woman I took to be his wife were helpful, kind and welcoming.  It was here that I took my first non-frigid shower in three weeks.  No, my homestay family does not have hot water and as proof, you only need look at my legs: it is mighty hard to shave ones legs when sporting goose-egged sized goose-bumps.

But I digress.  The tepid shower at the Duque was amazing and our private room for S./35 was clean and the beds inviting.  Braving the streets, we found the cleaner and less-sketchy part of town.  Like kids when their parents work late, Laruen and I took full advantage of our distance from our homestay families and thus our ability to choose our own evening meal: the pizza, ice cream and chocolate covered marshmallows were heavenly and a welcome change from soup and fried potatoes.  Later that night, ignoring the marching-band outside my window (undoubtedly prepping for the following week’s festival) I fell into the deepest sleep I had since arriving in the country. 

The following morning we did the touristy thing and visited the floating islands on Titicaca.  Amid the confusion that seemed to be the norm at the docks we lucked out and managed to miss the touristy-tour boat.  We ended up on a boat with all Peruvians, some locals some domestic tourists, that was propelled by a mixture of luck and a tenacious man who, for the majority of the boat ride fiddled with the rusted, gurgling motor. During his short breaks from nursing the motor, he was the acting bilge pump, scooping water from the engine compartment into the fortunately close WC that emptied into the lake. 

Like many other touristy destinations I have visited, I am glad that I went to the floating islands, but do not desire to return.  They were eerily pretty in the morning mist and when the fog lifted and the sun started to thaw my hands and head, I was intrigued with the islands’ unique construction. The intensity with which the locals peddled their knick-knacks was a reminder that the families whose homes we were invading for our own titillation received no or little compensation from the boat operators who gladly accepted our S./10 fare.   The best part of our tour was meeting Guido and his family.  Originally from Cusco with English skills equivalent to my Spanish skills, he was a joy to chat with.  We spent much of the tour with Guido and his cousins and then accompanied him and his family afterwards for a walk in Puno and lunch of Ceviche at the local Mercado. 

That afternoon we took combis from Puno to the stunningly beautiful and less-traveled Capachica Peninsula and into the small town of Llachon.  Our ride from Capachica to Llachon was an adventure in and of itself.  Over the tall hats that bobbed in front of me, I counted 21 heads in the 12 passenger combi.  The estimated 25 minute ride was over an hour and not a window was cracked during our stifling ride.  I so looked forward to each time a passenger wanted on or off and the big slider door was opened.  Each time that door slid on its noisy rails, my whole world would change.  The smells of 21 bodies, dusty and dirty and sweaty would be replaced by the crisp breeze coming off the shining water, rushing through the lush fields, slipping between the bodies and hats in front of me and innervating my senses; giving me a preview of the beauty that awaited us outside the combi. 

We arrived at the welcoming home/lodge of Valentin Quispe and his lovely wife, who for S./85 each gave us a clean, plain and utterly perfect room overlooking the sandy beach and neighboring farms, cooked us three delicious meals and gave us use of a double person sea kayak for a few hours.  It was here, that I found the time and inclination to notice little life details such as shirts on the line and neon red flowers.  When I’ve kayaked in the Ocean before, I can taste the salt in the air. The lack of that one sensation was the only detail that made me cognizant that I was indeed on a giant lake and not an expansive ocean as it appeared.  The 4 foot white-capped waves, wind in my face and faint smell of fish all added to the clarity of the moment as did the sand working its way into all my body’s crevasses and the intensity of the sun at 12,000 feet. 

Our time on the Capachica Peninsula was much too short.  We returned to Puno the following evening even though our hosts had assured us that the first combi would leave the peninsula in time for us to make our 8 o’clock flight the following morning.  We already knew enough about Peruvian time to be wary of that plan.  Although neither of us wanted to leave our new-found paradise.