So Much To See - Again

Tuesday 23 January

We are getting so used to the alarm going off at 05.00 that we are beginning to wake up even earlier! This Casa Andina Hotel was very similar to the other two we have stayed in – minus the dark greet paint. The refurbishment of the room had not been planned with a great deal of thought or inspiration. The rich tan coloured tiles in the bathroom were fine, but the grouting ranged from dark red to dirty grey, and wandered away from the lines, completely spoiling the effect. The wooden windows didn’t fit and let in a gale of cold air during the night. Breakfast was served in the lobby, like at Arequippa, which is not relaxing as people are continually rushing through to book out or catch their tour. But this is South America. And we did have hot water, and a small – if inadequate - heater and a reasonably comfortable bed.

We waited in the lobby along with another couple and when the courier arrived she led us all to a small coach already half full. Our large luggage was “thrown” on the roof rack (watch my poor pink case which is now looking a bit battered!) and tied down, before we made our way to another couple of other hotels for pick ups. Once we were all aboard the luggage on the top of the coach was covered with a tarpaulin to protect it from the elements, and we took the road leading out of town.

Puno is yet another city we have breezed in one night and left the next morning, not really seeing anything of it at all. Situated at just over 3,800 metres above sea level, on the edge of Lake Titicaca, it has always been an important centre for communications and transport between Peru and Bolivia across the lake. The Spanish reached Puno in 1534 and immediately built a large Catholic cathedral in a square to convince the conquered people of their strength, and it is still the main focus of the city today. Puno is not as large as Arequippa or Cusco, with around 80,000 inhabitants, composed of both Amayan – peoples from the Andes - and Quechuan - peoples from the lowlands. These two tribes do not mix outside the cities, both considering the other inferior and inter-marriage between the two tribes is definitely discouraged. The city is surrounded by hills and far off, the snowy peaks of the Andes and is linked to other South American countries by road, rail and plane.

Lake Titicaca stretches out like a sea from the port of Puno, and is the highest navigable lake in the world, covering around 8,300 sq kms and is 3,800 metres deep at the deepest point – that means the lowest part is actually around sea level. 60% of the lake belongs to Peru and the remainder to Bolivia, although the border between the two countries is really a political divide, as there is very little difference between the lifestyle and culture of the Peruvian and Bolivian Amayans as they were once one tribe. The temperatures around the Lake range between 12 and 20 degrees C during the day, but can fall well below freezing at night in the winter months – June to August.

The Lake has been a sacred site for well over 2,000 years. Many cultures and civilizations have grown up around the shores - the Tiwanaku culture began around the time of Christ, spread into Peru and Chile and lasted for over a millennium. Many ceremonial sites were built around the waters edge and monuments and artifacts from this early civilization have been excavated over the centuries. The Lake continued to be considered a sacred site in pre Inca times and the Incas believed that the deity Viracocha began his acts of creation on Sun Island, the largest island on the Lake. Incan legend also believes that the children of the Sun, Mancu Capaq, the first Incan, and his sister and consort, Mama Oqllo, emerged from the waters of the sacred lake on to Sun Island, and were charged to find “a fertile place with a pleasant climate” for the foundation of the Incan Empire. They moved from this area and eventually reached Cusco and the Empire flourished. But the Puno area was always considered the birthplace of the Incas. Since that time the Lake has continued to be sacred to the Andean peoples, no one being allowed to take water from the vast area, originally due religious beliefs, but now also because the water level is falling. Lake Titicaca is one of the only large lakes of the world that does not have an exit to the sea. It is fed by streams from the mountain peaks and local springs, and no river from here finds its way to either the Amazon basin or the Pacific Ocean.

After leaving Puno the landscape we were traveling through had changed to a narrow flood plain, and since Incan times the main economy in this region has been agriculture. The Amayan families own only small areas of land of just a few fields, and grow potatoes (there are about 50 different varieties growing in this area today), corn, barley, beans and quinoa. The crops continue to be grown mainly for local use, and any surplus is sold in local markets. Animals here are kept only to assist the Amayan way of life – cows for milk, sheep for wool, donkeys for transport, bulls for ploughing, with only a very few pigs and cows for meat for special celebrations. They still live in adobe (mud) brick houses, thatched with reeds from the edge of the lake. Out in the villages these are single storey, with three rooms – kitchen, store room and bedroom, which is often shared with sick animals. The beds are made from the same mix as the walls, and covers are knitted and woven from the sheep wool, as are clothes and carpets. There is no electricity – they use candles for light, and cook over open fires – and obviously have no televisions, although they do have battery-operated radios to listen to the news. There is no running water in these houses, they have to go to a river or stream and carry the water home. They bath about once a week – if the weather is favourable! I would guess that most of the inhabitants here, have no idea of what is happening in the outside world – wars or world events - and many may not know what is happening in their own country!

We drove for about an hour and a half, passing lots of small towns and villages, where churches dominated the landscape, on to Santiago de Pomata, as small town on the top of a hill, with yet another huge red stone cathedral in the square. I wandered inside, and there were many golden altars and figures around the building. The building is undergoing restoration at the present time. The local women were just setting up their stalls in readiness for the tourist “invasion” later in the day. We just used the local toilets down the hill – self flushing from the pan of water, yet still costing US$1 for both of us. We continued on around the Lake, seeing many local people working industriously in the fields, hoeing potatoes, and cutting and laying out reeds to dry in the sun, until we came to Yunguyo, the border “town” between Peru and Bolivia – really just a strip with a few shops, market stalls and a Police Office, plus lots of children wanting to clean your shoes. It is a centre for the exchange of goods between Peru and Bolivia. We were taken to the money exchange shop first, as you are not supposed to take Peruvian soles out of the country. We only had 50 soles left anyway (about 8 GBP) but received 110 Bolivianas in return. We crossed the road to the border offices to get our passports stamped and hand over our permits. It was then a short walk up the road, under a large white arch – which is the actual boundary between the two countries - to find the Immigration Office in a small piazza to the side of the road. We joined the queue, which moved quite swiftly, and it only took minutes to get our passports stamped, our immigration papers checked and receive a new permit to stay in Bolivia, so we had time to wander around outside.

The road leading into Bolivia was thickly lined with yet more market stalls, this time selling foodstuffs, such as Milo (do all South Americans like this milky drink?), flours, vegetables and fruit, as well as household items such “Surf” – it is strange to recognize products such a long way from home - brushes and china. One stall had trays of eggs – at least four towers of about twenty trays, sitting in the sun while the women sat behind spinning. We saw one old lady being helped into a car – she was really elderly, dark brown and wrinkled - wearing old-fashioned “granny” slippers – light brown checked material, with furry insides and a tortoiseshell button on the front. It seemed very strange to see these here in the warm sunshine, thousands of metres up in the mountains. With these slippers she was wearing the traditional Amayan costume of a layered skirt (almost a Spanish ra-ra) in turquoise, a red shawl over lots of white blouses and cardigans and a brown bowler hat (the men used to have to wear these hats by law, but when regulations relaxed a little, at the time of becoming independent, the women took to wearing them instead. Now every woman wears a “bowler” as a status symbol – the taller the hat, the more prestigious the person).

As soon as everyone had finished at the Immigration Office, we boarded the coach once more and headed for Copacabana. This city, with its long sandy beach, is the original settlement using this name – the one in Brazil was named after it, because someone recognized the similarities in the beaches. There was another massive cathedral here – all gleaming white plaster with baroque arches and coloured roof tiles over minarets and domes, and completely dominating the square. We met our new guide here – Renan – a Bolivian man who will accompany us for the rest of the day – and as it turns out, he will be our guide to the ruins tomorrow as well. He took us on a guided walk around the cathedral, with lots more gold and silver altars and icons inside. The town is most famous in these parts for the “black Madonna” in the cathedral, and during Holy Week a replica is paraded through the streets before thousands of pilgrims. The true statue is not “black” now as it has undergone a lot of restorative work and the colour has faded. But the Madonna was supposed to represent the Amayan Mother Earth, made as a result of a vision to a young man from here in pre-Incan times.

Immediately outside the cathedral were lots of stalls selling religious icons and memorabilia, while the opposite side of the road was filled with the usual souvenir stalls. The city is also famous for the cars that are decorated with fresh flowers, confetti and plastic decorations every day, and taken to the Virgin to be blessed. There were four cars outside the cathedral today, all using lots of gladioli blooms in reds, yellows and oranges attached to the radiators, wings and doors, with multi-coloured confetti and petals over the roof and bonnet. The owners of the cars seemed very pleased with their artistry in decorating almost all the bodywork of the car.

We wandered around the square and found even more souvenirs, this time in shops, still spreading out on to the pavements – the majority of the goods are made in factories and are exactly the same as those found in Peru. There appeared to be a market off to one side of the square, but we didn’t have sufficient time to explore more. The coach took us down to the small port where a large white catamaran – this time a real boat with an engine – was waiting to take us to Sun Island. During the journey lasting an hour and a half, we were fed cheese and ham rolls and fresh fruit, as a snack, as we wouldn’t get lunch until after our visit to the Island.

Sun Island is the largest island on the Lake, and continues to be home to about 3,000 Amayan inhabitants. We arrived at a long wooden landing stage, beside which was also moored a large reed catamaran, complete with sail and puma heads on the front wings. From here we were led up about 200 hundred aged rock steps, where local women and children lurked at the top and tried to sell us local goods – particularly woven bands displaying the motto of the Island – do not steal, do not lie and do not be lazy! Our guide told us they are trying to get these commandments included in the Bolivian constitution! At the top of the steps there was a small square pool, with two out of three spouts discharging water – it is feared that the third channel has collapsed somewhere underground (don’t call Thames Water). This was part of a water temple built by the Incas, but only used by the Emperor or high officials, as no-one else was allowed to use the steps.

The pathway was narrow and the women very insistent, but we all managed to weave our way along to the Inti Wata complex that is exclusive to those visiting on the catamaran. It is based on the ‘ethnographic and ecological values of the island” according to the blurb, which I guess means that it all about the environment on the Island. Inti Wata is actually an open air museum exhibiting various aspects of Inca life. The entrance to the complex was about half way up a series of terraces that were filled with plants and flowers that would have been grown in Inca times – between the 13th and 16th centuries. We saw fuchsias, daisies and lupins, as well as many other flowers we weren’t so familiar with. There were many different varieties of vegetables, including potatoes, broad beans, wheat, barley, cabbages and quinoa, all growing in small patches along the terraces. We also saw a man, dressed in traditional costume, wielding an Incan “spade”, to dig over a vegetable patch. The handle looked like a large curved wood scythe, semi-circular, with a wide metal chisel-like blade tied on with reeds. On the side of the handle, just above the joint of the blade, was a small step on which he stood to push the blade through the dry hard earth. From here we continued on and found a square patch of lawn, beautifully green and freshly mown. A young boy showed us how reed boats were made – rolls of tightly tied reeds, tied together with other reeds, to form a boat shape. The size of the rolls and the number of reeds in each roll depended on the position the roll would be placed in on the boat, the fatter sides would have lots of long reeds, while the tapering ends would have shorter thinner reeds – it was all a matter of rolling them so that the ends plaited themselves together. The floor of the boat, was also made from reed rolls on which the oarsman would kneel to paddle. Beside the boat there was a house made entirely of reeds – only one room – but the walls were made on the same principle as the boat. Here we saw pictures of large stone totems, not dissimilar to the moai of Easter Island, that were venerated here in much the same way. There was also a lot of information about the three Thor Heyerdahl expeditions on reed boats, with photos of when he had visited the Island in the 1980’s.

From here the path led us to a small enclosure on the side of the mountain containing llamas, alpacas, one vicuna and in a separate enclosure, the mix of llama and alpaca (I think they are called quanakos), which is very aggressive towards people, kicking and spitting. Renan had picked some Andean cabbage leaves at the terraces and we fed these to the greedy llamas and alpacas. The vicuna naturally veered away from people to the other end of the enclosure, only returning to join his fellows, as we left. The path led up past a lady with a display of dried grains and vegetables that are used on the Island, and an older lady weaving on a small hand held loom, passing the wooden shuttle between the threads, and packing them tightly with a curved bone needle. The finished cloth had intricate patterns in red, white and yellow. Further up we came to a small oval shaped lawn, with stone benching around one side, covered with a brightly woven cloth. A man sitting in front of several bowls surrounded by small stone objects – squares and circles bearing pictures of houses, books and people plus some animal shapes – frogs, llamas and fish, and flowers in all different colours. The man was the Shahman – or priest – and acted a bit like a witch doctor. He said a “prayer” or maybe a voodoo message as he sat and selected several of the items on the table to put into his cane bowl, covered with white paper (this has some significance I believe). He then lit a fire – a small heap of sticks on a flat stone at his side (using matches and lighter fuel!) and continued to chant. Then we all had to stand, and bow our heads while he sent a special message for us to his gods. Renan told us later that he was praying for the good health of all of us. We made our way back down the path and took a small turning which led to an underground “room”. This was the museum, which had displays of the periodic table, showing the dates of the different civilizations, and items found on the Island connected with their cultures – basic household implements like cups, bowls and plates, and tools like needles, nails and arrowheads. There was also a mummy, wrapped in a reed shroud, just the skull visible, but we were told that inside the shroud they had found gold and precious stones. There were pictures of the burial houses – large grey stone pillars, carved to a hollow out the inside, with a hole in the flat front face of the stone, where the bodies or ashes were put in. It had been very dark entering this building down a series of steps, because of the subdued lighting below, but going back up, daylight streamed in and lit our way.

We retraced our steps here, back past the still pleading women, and down the steep run of steps to the landing stage. Here we boarded the reed boat we had seen when we landed. The sail was hoisted as we all got on board, and unfortunately an engine revved as we reversed away from the small jetty. There were two men, again dressed in traditional attire of ponchos and hats, rowing, one on either side of the mast, and people were asked if they would like to try. The paddles were about 3 metres long and it was not going to be as easy as the “professionals” made it look. Several people were coerced (each from a different country) and as we were the only two people from England, Colin agreed to try. These “volunteers” had to dress up in the ponchos and woolen bonnet, before sitting on a reed beam and taking the oar. Colin did well, but one man fell off and another lady got the paddle turned the wrong way and let go, so that it nearly fell out of the rowlock into the water. The sea here was extremely clear - a pale turquoise colour that allowed you to see the rocky bed below – and quite calm. Our catamaran followed us to the next landing stage further round the coast, where the reed boat moored and we all clambered off and back on to the catamaran.

It was lunch time now, and we were served quinoa and vegetable soup – and given a leaflet about the marvelous properties of quinoa to read whilst supping. It is supposed to be one of the healthiest grains in the world, with more of all the good nutrients we need like lipides, magnesium and iron, while being low in calories. It is a high altitude crop, growing at between 2,500 metres and 4,000 metres above sea level. It thrives in arid and semi arid lands. Bolivia is the largest producer in the world, and the variety called “real quinoa” is now exported to many countries including America and the UK, and earns Bolivia about US$5 million (2.3 million GBP) per annum. This was followed by a choice from the buffet of grilled fish or chicken portions in a sauce with boiled potatoes and rice (here in Bolivia they always served a form of potatoes and rice with a main meal), and three delicious salads, and extra dressings. It was all very tasty. The dessert was a form of stewed dried pears flavoured with cloves, or a violent pink and green striped “mousse” (the waiter got cross with an American lady who called it ‘jello”). Colin had some of each. I tasted a small amount of the pears, but it was far too sweet for me. They then served tea and coffee again (a teaspoon of coffee out of the pot and topped up with hot water was still too strong for some people!),

This journey in the catamaran took about 2 ½ hours and on the way we passed through the narrowest part of the Lake – Tiquini Strait – just three quarters of a mile wide – where several ferries were crossing, some taking people, other cars and yet more taking machinery and heavy goods. We had to stop until there was a clear space for us to pass through. The strait connects the smaller part of the Lake, Chucuito, with the larger section, Huinay Marca. Just past here we suddenly heard shouting, and a very angry fisherman in his boat, was jumping up and down and thrashing his arms around violently (lucky his boat didn’t capsize) – apparently we had sailed straight through his fishing nets!

We landed at the small port of Chua, where a coach was waiting to take us to La Paz, the capital of Bolivia, the highest capital city in the world at a height of just over 3,500 metres above sea level. This ride would last about two hours or more, depending on the traffic. The small port appeared to mainly serve the catamaran crossings, and there was a short “L” shaped row of houses that looked modern and just like our “starter homes”, built of red bricks, with wooden windows divided into squares and large dark wood doors. These apparently were the homes of some of those working on the catamaran.

When we set off on our journey the sun was still shining hotly, and the scenery was gently rolling green hills, with houses dotted along the road that looked quite modern - two stories, modern style windows and doors and nicely kept gardens containing a profusion of flowers and trees. This was very different to Peru and even the Bolivia we had seen prior to Copacabana, and a bit of a shock. But as we trundled on, the buildings reverted to the adobe houses we were used to seeing, much poorer dwellings, with scrubby grass and a few animals such as cows and sheep, usually tethered near the side of the road. After we had been going for about thirty minutes we went through a toll – all roads in Bolivia are toll roads –and we noticed some very dark clouds rolling in and sitting on top the mountains off to our right. As the journey continued these clouds became a darker blue, and then a navy blue before becoming a dark indigo colour. We saw lightning arcing through the sky to the peaks. The view to our other side was also showing signs of getting darker, and we seemed to be going to be caught in the middle of an enormous storm. It got darker and darker – partly to do with twilight falling, but mostly due to the very dark storm clouds coming towards us. We were traveling across a very flat plain, with mountains and snowy peaks on the horizon on either side, and we were still going up. By the time we reach El Alto, it was beginning to rain heavily.

El Alto – height 4,050 metres above sea level - used to be a suburb of La Paz, about ten kilometres outside the city. But it has grown enormously over the last ten or fifteen years, and is now recognized as town in its own right. When we looked to our right, there were red brick houses and street lights as far as the eye could see. It was an enormous town – it has about 800,000 inhabitants to La Paz’s 1.1 million. As we got closer to the centre of El Alto (means “the High”), the traffic became manic – lots of old fashioned single deck buses, millions of mini-buses, all absolutely packed like sardines, and the traffic flow was unbelievable – no one stopped or gave way for anyone else, or even traffic lights if they could help it – there were many police on duty at road junctions and I could see why – it was truly bumper to bumper, and constantly changing lanes as the buses and mini-buses had to let people off or more amazingly let others on. We had several squeals of brakes which were accompanied by horns tooting all the way. And there were people everywhere, along the pavements, crossing the road, zig-zagging through the traffic - I think everybody was out tonight even though it was still raining hard. There was even a sort of rock group concert on a raised stage at the side of the road, with people standing in the road to listen as traffic passed by with loud honking horns.

Boys with balaclavas over their heads – to protect them from the fumes - were touting to clean shoes along the central reservation. This went on for what seemed like many miles, but in fact was probably only two or three. As we left the road, to our right hundreds of people were waiting for the buses and minibuses, and the traffic on the opposite side of the road, was jammed for as far as we could see, down under the flyover and up all roads leading to the junction. It was quite frightening. We joined another traffic jam into La Paz. As the road became dual carriageway, the traffic thinned a little. The streets were by now dark and we couldn’t see a lot. We went through another toll and a little way ahead suddenly started making our way down the mountainside, round the side of a huge bowl, covered in orange street lights from top to bottom. The coach stopped by the side of the road, on the dual carriageway, for us to take photos, and then it was down into the city to drop everyone at their respective hotels. La Paz was a continuation of El Alto as far as traffic and people were concerned. It was absolutely teeming with pedestrians walking wherever they wanted – in the roads, in front of vehicles, seemed to be popular. There were market stalls the entire length of some side roads, so no traffic could get through, and the traffic was nose to tail all the time. Renan had talked constantly for the whole journey, telling us the history of Boliva, Simon Bolivar and Che Guevarra – I’ll save those stories for another day..

It took us some time to reach our hotel – we were number three drop off – as we wove our way through the traffic – crossroads were a nightmare- nobody wanted to stop, and it was just who kept his nerve longest, and of course the luggage had to be identified and unloaded from the roof of the coach. Eventually we tried to turn into a side street, which was blocked by police, and the driver had to plead with the police officer to let us through – not quite sure what that was all about. We arrived outside our hotel and after describing our luggage – no one could miss it really – we had the only pink and pale blue suitcases – they were “dropped” down the side the of the coach to the waiting porter – I think mine was heavier than he had anticipated and he took a different stance to catch Colin’s.

The hotel was very pleasant and our room a large oblong with two double beds and lots of room to walk around – about double or treble the size of the larger Casa Andina rooms. There was a small table chairs and a small bathroom with a jacuzzi bath and bidet. The only thing wrong with it was the wash basin was outside the bathroom in a sort of alcove, made by the treble wardrobe down one wall. But we can live with that. We were both quite tired by this stage and still full up from the food we had eaten during the day. So I decided to blog and Colin to listen to his book – Dan Browne;s Demons and Angels? – or something like that. I sadly have finished my book and must try and find somewhere to look for another. The Australian Open Tennis was on the television later, which was an unexpected treat.

I can’t believe this entry is so long, but we have done a lot today and seen a lot of new places, so please forgive me.