Isolated

This past weekend, Tom, Brianna, and I traveled by overnight bus to the city of Puno, the Peruvian gateway to what is considered by many to be the highest lake in the world, Lago Titicaca. Surrounded by Incan creation myth and ringed by snow-capped mountains, this incredible body of water hangs like a jewel high in the Andes, and its views are not to be exaggerated.

We hopped on a small motorboat and reached the Isla Taquile after three hours, which would be our home for the weekend. This small, 7-square km island is inhabited by 2,000 Quechua people who live frozen in time while the rest of the world marches forward. We were treated to a local meal of quinoa soup, grilled trout, and coca and mint tea, after which we met our host, Mario. Mario, we found out, is our age and is a born-and-raised Taquile-ian. He mostly farms potatoes and maize for a living, but the recent tourism boom has allowed him and his wife to run a home stay and collect income from the community restaurant as well. This extra revenue has allowed for electric lighting in his house, but otherwise they do not have running water, television, internet, or any connection to the outside world. Dinner with Mario and his wife was surreal -- never have I spoken to people who were so disconnected from the rest of the world, yet so peacefully satisfied in their own simple lives. If not farming, their days consist of weaving and knitting delicate handcrafts to sell to visitors, much like their ancestors have been doing for centuries.

I tried my best to dive right into indigenous life, spending the lazy afternoon reading and writing and tucking in at an early hour. The only tourists that day, we hiked around the entire island by foot as well, admiring Incan ruins now adorned with Catholic crosses and stunning cliffs 4,000 meters high which plunged into the cold waters of the lake, which resembled more of an ocean in its size and scope. We paid a price for the views, however, as multiple applications of sunscreen in the high elevation were no match for the Peruvian sun, and we escaped with pinker than usual noses, ears, and arms.

The trip back also allowed us to stop at the Islas Uros and visit its people who live on a series of floating islands made of reeds and soil anchored to the shallow lake bottom, a most unusual (and at times bobbing and wet) experience. Arriving back on solid land, our first priority was to find someplace in Puno which was showing the Super Bowl in the midst of the drunken and festive feast of La Virgen de Candelaria. It was not easy, but we were successful and although had to leave for Cusco before the game was over, were delighted to find out the score this morning. Go Gigantes!