Travel Series: Uros Islands, Peru
Words and Images by Ellen Christina Hancock
A ride on a traditional reed boat, captained by one of its makers.
A commuter in the morning traffic.
Louis’ mother working on a textile project.
Traditional huts on one of the islands.
Louis’ beautiful nephew.
Louis’ father in the afternoon sun.
Louis with one of the many fish he caught that morning.
I arrived in Puno in the shadows of the morning at 5 am and waited at the bus station for the arranged lift which would take me to the edge of the lake where the family I was staying with would pick me up. Having travelled a lot, I know all too well that we cannot control everything. Usually I remain present when things don’t go to plan during my travels, however after I waited ten minutes, then thirty, then an hour, with no signal or data to make a call for help, my suppressed nervous twitches soon turned to anxious chaotic strides up and down the bus station. As I turned to do yet another loop, inhaling my worries, a friendly face, a picture of calm, greeted me.
It was still dark when we arrived at what appeared to be nothing. Getting out into the freezing cold, pulling my scarf tighter and my hat lower, squinting, I could see a small opening in the reeds with the lake beyond revealed in the reflections of the moonlight. The sound of a small motor in the distance introduced the arrival of my host, Louis, and he then introduced himself with a smile as big as the moon. He helped me onto the boat, wrapped me in as many blankets as he could find and still grinning, welcomed me to Lake Titicaca.
Sitting on the border of Peru and Bolivia, Lake Titicaca, is the largest and deepest lake in South America, situated high in the Andes. There are, in total, 42 islands, many of which are man-made, nick-named the ‘floating islands’ constructed from Totora reed from the bottom and the sides of the lake. It is also the birthplace of the Incas and situated at an altitude of 4000 meters.
Stepping onto the small island, with little grace or balance, where I would be staying for the week with Louis and his family, I was welcomed by chicken and children. The chicken quickly ran off but the children welcomed me with abundant hugs, not for a second considering any other welcome would be adequate. From that moment on I was treated as one of the family.
I awoke a few hours later after resting my head, somewhat bewildered as to the somewhat less than gentle rocking of my abode. Opening the curtains, bringing to light my circumstance at a now more reasonable hour, I had a framed view of the expansive lake, the mountains guarding it, the traffic of small boats and creatures sculpted from reeds, clambering the rooftops of ceaseless floating islands.
The weather in Puno is a slightly strange affair, each stop of my trip through Peru so far had been very warm, and during the day and Puno was the same, but in the evenings through to mid-morning the cold clutches your bones. Wrapped in the entire contents of my suitcase I went to the communal space for breakfast. Waiting for me was a plate of pancakes, two dollops of sticky sweet jam posing as eyes and a delightfully placed banana beaming back at me from ear to ear. The cold released its grip and Silvia, Louis’ wife, took its place presenting me with a fresh steaming coffee.
After several months of travelling alone, the warmth of Louis' family revived me. It was spectacular, more spectacular than all the deserts, mountains, canyons, hot springs and a lifetime of Incan ruins, to feel so at home somewhere so far away. Louis integrated me into his daily life - he took me fishing so that he could make his daughter's favourite soup and we went to visit his father, a local artisan. We also went to see a local family who make traditional reed boats and I was allowed to christen the boat with a sacrificial bottle of Inca Cola. But we also just sat and talked. He and Silvia told me about their family, how they had met, their plans for the future and their love of their home. Most people skip Puno or quickly take a morning tour because they think there isn’t much to see. Though it may not always be obvious, hidden amongst the reeds, often there is a lot to see, if you let those who know show you.
Ellen Christina Hancock