My Travels In Peru

Living in Lake Titicaca

The floating islands of the Uros are the most touristy of the options to experience living on Lake Titicaca. Two other possibilities on the Peruvian side of the lake are the Amantani and Taquile islands. Although the former is the larger of the two, and receives the majority of tourists, both offer visitors the chance to experience quiet island life. The common tourist package is a two-day excursion from Puno with an afternoon and night on Amantani and a morning on Taquile, while stopping on one of the Uros islands for about an hour. People can also make private arrangements if they wish longer stays.

We arrive on Amantani just before noon, meet our hostess (Olga), and follow her along the beach and up the side of the hill to her house. Actually, her father-in-law owns the house, but he is old and decrepit, so she looks after him and the house, while her husband is working in Arequipa - a short-term contract to do some planting - and won't be back before the end of November.

The house is large enough that they have two spare rooms on the upper floor of the square-shaped building, with a courtyard,  where her two children play. The kitchen and the dining room are on the ground floor next to the washroom. Interestingly, it has a modern toilet, which is connected to a plastic water drum by tube, but we are asked to flush it with a bucket of water, which we fill from the outside drum. But the toilet has no seat: it's been stripped off!  And the water is not available 24/7!

While her father-in-law lives in the larger of the two ground-floor rooms. Olga, her husband, and their two children live in the smaller one. It reminded me of the Confucian philosophy of filial piety. In this context, however, it didn't seem right! Behind the house is an enclosure, which holds six sheep. All the buildings are made of adobe (mud bricks).

The property is quite large and has several, mature eucalyptus trees. In addition to vegetable and flower gardens, there is a large grazing area for two donkeys. On an island with no cars, or motorized vehicles of any kind, donkeys are indispensable. It seems that every family has at least one. We have no doubt that this family is relatively well off.

We arrive at the house close to lunchtime, I asked Olga if I can help with anything. I sense that she's uncomfortable with my offer, but after some mulling she asks me to set the table. As I'm doing that, I can see her cooking in the small kitchen, which is two steps lower than the dining area. The two are connected by a large doorway, which allows the smoke from the kitchen to enter where I'm standing.

The kitchen is primitive, by any standard. It has what looks like a fireplace, but is really a firebox made from adobe.  Its top has holes in it, and on top of them are the pots that she's cooking in. The sheet-metal tube venting the firebox is way too small to carry the smoke outside; consequently the kitchen is full of it.

In one corner of the kitchen is a small pile of semi-dry eucalyptus branches with leaves still on them. Every few minutes she places some of them into the fire and the smoke belches out into the kitchen and the eating area. I thought, "We came here for clean air and already I have inhaled more smoke than I do during an entire year from my fireplace and charcoal barbecue." Fortunately, the soup had already been cooked, so she's just warming it up. She fries a couple of omelettes and lunch is ready.

We expect the entire family to be eating with us, particularly as it is the father-in-law's birthday, but it isn't so. We are not part of the family: the four of us (my wife and I, and a young couple from Santiago de Chile) are guests and we're the only ones eating in the dining room. We had already been warned that the meals would be very simple and not to expect meat or fish. "They will be typical island meals," the guide had said. "It's part of the authentic island experience." We ate at a picnic table that had seen better days, and sat on wobbly wood benches covered with wool blankets. They had not been designed, nor built for comfort. The meal didn't disappoint.

At dinner, we expect some sort of celebration for the old man's birthday, but it doesn't happen. We are not comfortable asking why not. Most likely, birthdays are not celebrated in their culture. I remember when I was a child, living in Italy at the time, instead of celebrating birthdays we celebrated name days.

In Puno, or Cusco, for that matter, it's common for hotels to provide guests a constant supply of mate de coca (coca tea) because it helps to fight altitude sickness. On the island, after each meal, including breakfast, we are served muña tea. For the islanders, muña is the equivalent of coca. We are even given some to rub in our hands and inhale its essential oils. Its tea is very aromatic and tastes a lot better than coca tea. Muña  grows wild everywhere on the island. 

My description of the kitchen didn't leave anything out. There is nothing else in it. There is no kitchen counter nor sink because there is no running water. There is no refrigerator because there is no electricity nor natural gas. A big plastic bowl, on the kitchen floor, serves as the sink for washing the dishes, as well as the vegetables she put in the soup. The water comes from the same plastic drum outside the washroom. The same bucket used to flush the toilet is used to fill the bowl. We drink only bottled water we brought with us, unless it's boiled water for tea. We lived to tell about it: nobody got sick!

At night, a small solar panel powers a single light bulb in each room, and nowhere else, not even the washroom. Our bedroom is very large, but Spartan. It has one large bed and one small one. We don't know what supports the mattress of the large bed because it has a large dip in the middle. It's convex, almost like a satellite dish. The small bed has less of a dip, so we choose it sleep in, even though it's not comfortable for both of us. It has three or four blankets on it so we don't feel cold, when the outside temperature dips to one or two degrees Celsius.

To go to the washroom, in the middle of the night, I have to put on my jacket, shoes, and headlamp. There is a full moon so I don't need the lamp to make my way down, but I need it inside the dark washroom. Actually, I'm disappointed with the full moon. As nice as it is to look at, in the dark starry night, it prevents me from seeing the Milky Way, in all its glory – something that has been eluding me for sometime. When I did the Inca Trail it was the clouds and the rain. Here it's the full moon.

The last time I go down I empty out the plastic barrel to flush the toilet. "Oh oh," I thought. "What is the next person going to do?" By the time we get up, at dawn, the barrel is full of water! We wash ourselves at the little sink in the washroom, but there is only a single towel for the four of us to dry up with. Were we supposed to bring our own towels? Nobody had told us.

When we first met Olga at the port, we all thought that she was in her fifties, and if we wanted to be kind to her we would have said late forties. It's a big shock when she tells us that her 29th birthday had been the day before. Carla, the Chilean woman, couldn't believe it. She says, "I am 35 and she looks much older than me. Doesn't she?" We all agreed.

My wife asks, "Is it possible that all those old women parading in Puno the day before we left, were not old women, but young women like Olga who looked old to us?"

I want to ask her why women age faster than men on this island, but it's not an appropriate question. So, we don't know the answer. My wife is convinced that it's because the women work in the fields, while the men stay home to do the yarning. We have seen many women in the fields and not a single man. I suppose it's possible, but genetics must have a role in it, somehow.

Before leaving, we each buy some knitted gloves and scarves from her. She tells us that she's selling them for a friend, but we suspected that it's her own handiwork. We don't really need anything, but buy them to show our appreciation. She's very happy. We say our goodbyes at the port. She stands there holding her little son's hand (the daughter had already left for school) and waving to us until the boat is moving. As we leave, I wonder what she must be thinking, standing there with a dreamy look in her eyes. Is she thinking, "Will I ever get a chance to leave this island to visit some faraway places?"