We head up into higher ground away from the desert. Grass and low lying shrubs appear on the hills. Vicuñas - smaller versions of alpacas - wander freely over the hills with a backdrop of snow covered mountains.
We stop to take photos and within two minutes two women appear accompanied by small children. They spread out their blankets and sell us jewellery and clothes made of alpaca wool.
This is a Peru which fits within the scope of my imagination - in contrast with the unbelievable coastal desert.
Our accommodation is on the outskirts of a small town at the end of a bumpy road overlooking the Colca Valley. I lie in a hammock looking down on the valley and fields of wheat, barley and potatoes. There are some snow capped mountains in the distance partially obscured by a nearby hill. On my left, a few gum trees, tall and straight, remind me of home.
In the morning we drive down the Colca Valley which slowly gets wider and deeper. Eventually we come to the Colca Canyon. The deepest part of the canyon is three thousand metres. The section we visit is only twelve hundred metres deep and is sufficiently impressive.
We walk along the edge of the canyon and gasp as condors with three metre wing spans fly overhead.
In the afternoon we go for a walk up the steep hills near our hotel. It feels good to stretch my legs after so many days travelling in buses.
Near the top of the hill, at the base of a cliff, we see an ancient pre-Incan cemetery. Small stone buildings with windows facing east. Some of the skulls have an unusually high cranium. This was due to deliberate deformation. It was an ancient practice to bind a wooden splint to the growing head resulting in an elongated skull.
Titicaca
We drive back through the highlands and on to Puno on the shores of Lake Titicaca. Along the way we pass many herds of llamas tended to by women in traditional clothes, often accompanied by small pre-school children.
We visit Taquile island. The two thousand inhabitants live in small houses along the rocky path that winds its way up the large hill. What I find most amusing is that almost all the trees on the Titicaca islands are eucalypts.
We walk up to the top and have a nice lunch by the quaint town square overlooking the lake and with the Bolivian Andes in the distance. The lake is so large it feels like a sea.
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In the afternoon we go to another island. Our tour guide tells us of the "seven wonders" this island holds.
- A police station with no police.
- A jail with no prisoners.
- A hospital with no doctors or patients.
- A power generator that doesn't work.
- A church with no priest or parishioners.
- A hostel that never has any guests.
- A water pump that doesn't work.
A young woman, Marie, leads us up the hill to her parents house. Our rooms are nice enough. Soft beds covered with thick, heavy, knitted blankets and the downstairs baño is nicely tiled and has running water.
After we settle in, Marie takes us further up the hill to meet the rest of our group. Some of us start a game of soccer against the locals. It is a mismatched game - seven of us against nine of them. All of their players are skilled and have no problems with the four thousand metre altitude.
After five minutes I am huffing and puffing wildly. After ten minutes I have to leave the field. Lying by the sideline, the ball comes in my direction and I kick it back into play with the heel of my boot without getting up.
After several minutes I return to the field. I take a forward position where the action is infrequent. Most of our team is playing defence and our goalie Sherry is doing a great job preventing the opposition from scoring.
I leave the field again, rest and return. The ball comes my way and I manage to return it to a team mate. He kicks it to our best player who kicks the one and only winning goal. By some unspoken agreement this signals the end of the game.
We are presented with a trophy and both teams gather for a photo opportunity. I lie down exhausted in front of everyone and hold the trophy up with one hand. Sherry picks up the smallest member of the opposition and holds him in her arms like a baby, much to his alarm and everyone else's amusement.
The game went longer than planned. After all this activity there are only two of us who feel like walking up higher and catching the remains of the sunset. My energy returns almost as quickly as it left. From the top we can see the fading light, red above the lake, Puno and the hills of Peru.
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We return to the soccer field where Marie's father meets us and guides us silently back to his home for dinner.
The kitchen / dining room is small with a dirt floor. Three of us sit on a bench seat with our back to the wall in front of a small low table. A tasty vegetable soup is followed by a similar vegetable stew with rice. Marie sits across from us by the clay fire place with a cast iron top, tending the food in clay pots and thin aluminium pans. Her mother sits silently to the right knitting. Marie's father sits in the shadows at the far end of the room on our left. The room is dimly lit by the fireplace, a candle and a half watt bulb. The candle goes out.
Over dinner we have a limited conversation in Spanish which is no ones preferred language. The islanders native language is Quechua. The conversation focuses on family, numbers and ages of brothers and sisters and animals in different countries. I tell the story of the girl in Ecuador who accidentally put salt in her coffee, not once, but twice.
After dinner our hosts dress us in local clothes in preparation for a dance. For the women, this involves several layers of skirts, blouses and belts. The men simply slip on a poncho.
In the small town hall, two local bands take turns to play music at opposite ends of the hall. Battle of the bands. We all dance in a group, then in pairs, then there is a display of the local dances. Then it all wraps up rather quickly, much to my disappointment. I only got to dance with two girls and there are several others I would have liked to have danced with.
Floating Islands
The next day we visit the amazing floating islands of Lake Titicaca.
The long totura reeds of the lake have an edible stalk that tastes a bit like a wet mild celery. (Yes, I ate some.) When the reeds are dried and flattened they look like giant pieces of yellow straw two centimetres wide and two metres long. these are layered on top of each other again and again to form a huge compact mat two metres thick. This floats with about twenty centimetres above the water.
The island we visit is large enough to hold about ten small houses, a school room and several incidental buildings. All the buildings except for the school room are made of the reeds as are beds, tables, seats, etc. A few ponds and swimming holes are cut into the centre of the island.
The islanders drink direct from the fresh water of the lake. They fish and make handicrafts including beautiful tapestries. Several stalls await us.
There are scores of similar islands nearby. This island has about seven families living on it. There used to be another two families but they decided to separate. This was achieved with a handsaw.
Walking on the island is like walking on a spongy straw mat. The surface gives because of the top layers of reeds - not because it is floating on water.
A boy sits outside the school room playing with a hammer, nail and a board. Two young boys run out and urinate into the nearby pond. Inside the school room are about sixteen children between the ages of three and ten running and playing. An adult supervises.
We go for a short ride in a large reed row boat. Then it is time to leave.
Three women sing us songs as we board our boat. As we pull out from the shore they yell in unison, "Hasta la vista, baby."
Sadly, this island life is not good for the health. The islands are two small for decent exercise and the spongy surface promotes a sedentary lifestyle. Life expectancy on the islands is between fifty five and sixty five.
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