Day 71: Trout at the world's highest "sea" view
Samar Halarnkar -
Wednesday, June 25, 2008 6:56 PM
Let me use what I hate to, an adjective.
Incredible.
That was the view at lunch today -- facing the azure waters of the world´s highest inland sea. As I ate my freshly fried trout, I could see snow-clad peaks about 22,000 feet high (Everest is just under 30,000). I could see ferries coming and going over the cliffs, creating triangles of wake, looking from this height like those insects that skim water. Where we had huffed, the local men walked easily, knitting as they strolled over the rocky mountain paths. Yes, the men of Taquile island -- the largest inhabitation in Lake Titikaka on Peru´s southern flanks -- are avid knitters.
The homesickness I wrote about last time was as strong when the morning began with that 5:30 am buzz that we have so grown to loath. Groggy breakfast. Icy morning. Grey sky. Hotel pickup. Transfer to boat packed with tourists. Listen to guide. The wife had popped her motion-sickness pill but looked distinctly under the weather.
Our first stop after a half hour of chugging along is one of the floating islands of Uros, about 42 of them harbouring a remarkable people leading highly unusual lives. Can you imagine living on water all your life? On islands -- most no bigger than a basketball court -- that are not really islands but just beds of straw (see photo, below)? That´s essentially what the islanders of Uros do.
(Photo, above: the women of the Uros Islands. I got a big kiss from one of them, deputed to give me a prize, when I correctly guessed the depth of the lake)
Many islanders don´t take too kindly to tourists, but given their unusual living style, they are tourist magnets. So, they´ve evolved a profitable peace. Some of the islanders -- who speak a language called Ayamara, distinct from the Quechua that dominates the Indian highlands -- have welcomed tourism. So, they are ready for us as we stumbled off the boat onto the spongy reed straw of their watery home. Feels strange, like walking on a trampoline.
As we relax on the reeds on straw bolsters, the guide spends an hour explaining how the people of Uros live, how the island are built and so on. There is no money exchanged, but, later, we browse the handicrats and weaves made by the islanders, we understand the system: buy what you want instead of leaving tips. I think it´s quite a sensible system.
The real trip of the day lies ahead. Two hours -- two hours? isn´t this supposed to be a lake? -- or 35 km until we reach Taquile Island. So, let´s get this out of the way. Lake Titikaka -- south America´s biggest -- isn´t a lake despite the technical definitions. It´s 190 km long and 80 km wide and at its deepest, 300 metres! It´s an inland sea to me.
(Photo, above: The glory of Lake Titikaka. Takes your breath away? It should. It´s more than 12,000 feet above sea level)
By the time we pull into the little jetty, we are still travel fatigued. But once we stepp onto Taquile, we realise why travel is always worth the effort. As we struggle up the steep slope of a hill -- feeling a little ashamed when we see people in their 60s and 70s doing the same -- the sprawling vistas and clear air of Taquile and Titikaka take our breath away (literally too, of course, remember, we are at more than 12,000 feet above sea level).
There are no hotels on the island, but some islanders have taken to letting out little rooms with the most atmospheric views (see photo, below).
There is no electricity, but we see solar panels. A family of four from the United States, our travel companions, is staying with a local family tonight. We should have done this. But these are things you figure out when you get to a place. That´s why you should use guide books as, well, guides. Take your own decision and factor in enough flexibility in your schedule to change your mind. We couldn´t since we were part of a conducted tour. Thankfully, today is the last day.
After an hour of climbing, we arrive at the village square, full of tourists from all over the world and silent locals, some smiling in amusement, others knitting away furiously (see photo, below).
Hey, there´s one of those signposts that tell you how far you are from the world´s big cities. No Bombay? No, but, wait a minute. There´s Nueva Delhi (see photo, below). So, we´re more than 16,000 km from home.
The travel fatigue is long gone as the wonder -- something we feel frequently -- of being at a place like this wholly occupies our mind and spirit. We are fortunate to be where we are.
We meet our guide -- he abandoned us after we got off the boat -- in the village square and with rumbling stomachs we struggle off along more rocky paths to our lunch. We didn´t expect the view. Everything is cooked by locals. My fish is fresh and crisp, but the wife has run out of all luck. Vegetarian is too much for the islanders. Helpfully, they give her white rice, grated carrots. I give her one of my potatoes. But she doesn´t care. The soup is hot and fresh, the sun is warm -- pretty hot actually -- on our backs, and our world is at peace.
We spend 15 minutes watching, what is to us, a scary sight. On a cliff below us, two women are knitting. There is a rock on the cliff edge. As we watch with horror, a baby -- no more than 18 months or so, obviously just having learnt to walk -- staggers to the edge, swaying drunkenly as he stands there, interestedly surveying the domain of his people. No one eats. I am too frozen to take a photo. The mother is unconcerned. This happens three times before the baby realises there might be better things to do than scare the daylights of the strange tourists.
We go back to gazing at the snowy peaks, which are not in Peru but Bolivia. There´s lots of trade across the lake, a lot of it illegal. We hear whispers of drug hauls and other contraband from our guide but we are not privy to those realities.
By the time we get on the boat for the long journey back to shore, we have made friends with our fellow travellers. The greyness from the morning and our souls have vanished, replaced by a cheery bonhomie. It´s fascinating to meet so many new people, to talk about so many things. There is the 60-something Dutch retiree who is travelling around the world, the methodist minister and his wife from Colorado, USA, the couple from Brazil who listen to the Spanish commentaries -- as close as they can get -- the family from Colombia, the Dutch couple who have seen more of Rajasthan than we have.
Three hours pass quickly as we discuss everything from Barak Obama, food habits, terrorism, Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Peru, the wonders of travel and the experiences that we have still not had.
Homesickness? Show me the way to the next airport.
Tomorrow, our 10-day road journey across the Andes will be wiped out in the roar of jet engines as a plane takes us back to Lima within two hours. We have a free day in Lima, a city we remember as being grey and with strong shades of East Delhi. But with the end of our guided tour, we feel relief, like we´ve passed an examination.
Somehow, we think Lima is going to surprise us.