Lake Titicaca - with pictures

Lake Titicaca is the highest commercially navigable lake in the world at 3812 masl and it is BIG. If it wasn´t fresh water I´d call it an inland sea. It is also the reputed birthplace of the Inca empire and there are significant remains on islands in the lake. Inca artefacts have also been recovered from the lake, suggesting that the water level has fluctuated over time.

For a detailed account, click here.

The border between Peru and Bolivia crosses the lake. Bolivia, which has no access to the sea, maintains a navy on the lake. I saw a shore station in Copacabana, but no frigates or submarines.

This account is of a two-day trip to Lake Titicaca´s Peruvian islands from Puno. It is a standard tourist activity and lots of boats carry foreigners around the lake.

We were delivered to the dock, where dozens of launches are rafted up (tied alongside each other). Most tour groups have to clamber from one boat to another to get to the right one.

Our guide made sure we were all in the cabin before giving the introductory chat. The duckweed which grows so abundantly in the waters around Puno is the result of pollution in the lake. Puno´s population is growing and their wastes end up in the lake. At least it still smells fresh. Another alleged consequence of the pollution is a reduction in the bird numbers. This may be so, but the reed beds currently support a large and varied bird population.

We puttered out of the port area at a modest pace. I attributed this to local inshore speed restrictions. The guide´s spiel over we were free to enjoy the fresh air from the afterdeck or the cabin roof. The latter was a splendid place to turn binoculars on the coots, moorhens, ducks and grebes that flourished amongst the rushes.

Our first destination was the floating islands of the Uros. The Uro people had the idea, centuries ago, of escaping invaders by building islands of reeds as a defensive measure. In an emergency they could be moved around the lake.

Arriving in Uro territory. This ´customs post´ collects an admission fee.

The floating islands strongly reminded me of a film set. Everything is set up for the (tourists´) cameras. Launches were tied up at all of the islands and reed boats with extravagant decorations were ostentatiously displayed.

Munching totora reeds. Only the white part is edible.

Our launch attached itself to one of the further islands and we all stepped onto the floor of rushes. Benches also made of reeds were awaiting us and we sat down for a discourse on how the islands are made. Apparently an island lasts for about 15 years before it has to be replaced.

We were permitted to wander round the island and peer at just about everything. The islanders now uncovered mounds of souvenirs to tempt us. To my delight I found a puna ibis dozing behind a hut. It must have been a pet, becaue it allowed several keen photographers to approach close enough for snaps.

Above water level, there were some very smart birds clinging to the tops of the reeds and singing beautifully. They were glossy black with smart yellow shoulders that flashed as they flew around. I found them in the field guide. They are unimaginatively called yellow-winged blackbirds.

A ride in a reed boat was S/. 5.00 extra. It´s a nonsense only for the tourists, but where else can you ride in a reed boat? We all coughed up.

Before our reed boat departed we were farewelled with brief songs in Spanish, Quechua and Aymara. I didn´t understand a word.

The locals, I noted, all use wooden dingys to get around. The more affluent even have outboard motors.

I concede that it was very pleasant to be rowed around in a reed boat. It was exceptionally stable and, as always in this season, the sun shone warmly.

A particularly ornate reed boat going the other way.

After a brief pause, just in case we wanted to buy more souvenirs at the destination island, our launch arrived to pick us up for the longer trip to solid, immovable Amantani Island.

On through the rushes we went still at the same pedestrian speed, which allowed for more excellent birding. Once we reached clear water I felt sure that the motor would be opened up and we would roar across the lake. By now you will have guessed that this did not happen. Cruising speed was a sedate 7 or 8 knots, which accounts for the length of the tour.

Chug, chug, chug to Amantani Island, where we were split up and allocated to island families for sustenance and accommodation. I was billeted with the same family as a Dutch couple and their son. If they are Dutch they must speak excellent English. They did. The son also spoke pretty good Spanish, which was a great help.

Our programme on the island was a late, and very welcome, lunch followed by a rest. Then at 4 o´clock we assembled at the island´s sports stadium. As is normal on the Altiplano, the pitch was quite bare of grass and well sprinkled with rocks. No wonder the Bolivian football team is ranked so low.

After a brief history lesson, in which the guide claimed that Amantani girls were impressed by the boy with the biggest transistor radio, we set off for the nearer of the island´s two summits.

Each has a pre-Inca construction, one dedicated to the Pachmama (mother earth) and one dedicated to Pachatata (father earth). Each year the islanders have a great procession to the tops of their hills where traditional offerings of coca leaves and other goods are made. By some feat of theological gymnastics this has been incorporated into the local Catholic doctrine.

It was a tough climb at this altitude, and the offering site is closed to visitors. However, many of the tall gringos were able to inspect it over the wall.

The climb ws timed to allow us to admire the sunset.

Some local entrepeneurs had hauled hot water up to the summit and did a good trade in teas and coffees.

We climbed down in the gloom to a home-cooked dinner and then - a fiesta!

This was optional, but what else is there to do? The island had mains electricity installed under President Fujimori. It ran for two weeks, said our guide, and then was turned off because the islanders could not pay for it. However, tourism has brought money to the island and several families now have solar power.

To properly enjoy the fiesta one has to be properly dressed. We were all decked out in traditional attire, and I must say that the poncho and woolly hat were very practical. After dark it got pretty cold.

The village hall was lit by three flourescent bulbs so the 4-piece band played almost in the dark. We had been warned that the hat would go round for tips, but they played well and deserved their pay.

The following morning we reboarded our sluggish vessel and made the crossing to Taquile Island.

This is famous because the men knit. It is apparently very macho to knit your own woolly hat and, according to some authorities, the design may denote status.

We were dropped at one harbour and invited to march to the town. There our guide desperately tried to find interesting things to say about the island. Courting here, he assured us, does not involve transistor radios. Girls under 12 and married women have middle-sized bobbles dangling from their clothes, while unmarried women have very large bobbles. I was unable to verify this from direct observation but maybe there are no unmarried girls on the island at the moment. A boy of 14 or 15 when he gets to feeling romantic collects a bag of small pebbles. When he finds a suitably attractive maid he declares his admiration by throwing pebbles at her. This method, we were assured, is rapidly effective and after 10 hours the couple fall in love. This was the time I stopped believing the guide.

The new couple, the guide continued, the go to live with the girl´s family for 5 years. So long as there is a baby or two they will then get married. The festivities last all week. If there is no baby the couple will have to separate or leave the island.

Hat story no.2 was that the young men wear knitted hats and the town elders wear small, black cowboy hats. This was consistent with direct observation. The minimum qualification for ´elder´status is 4 children.

We then had an hour to explore the town square and, oh goody, buy souvenirs.

The Taquile Island "Silliest Hat" contest. It was declared a tie.

Lunch, we were informed, would cost S/. 13. This is modest for a tourist restaurant, but the meal was pretty basic so it wasn´t good value. Everyone on my table paid their 13 soles. I learned later that the other table was first approached by the waiter asking for 10 soles. There was a hasty intervetion from the guide and the price was revised to S/. 13. I wonder where the extra 3 soles went! No more tips for this guide.

We descended to a different harbour, rejoined our boat and chugged across the lake back to Puno, enjoying the afternoon sun.

I was chatting to the Dutch family and their friends, a mother and son, who takes extra English at school and aims to be a ´native speaker´. He´s not far off speaking English like a native. The two sons are school friends.

Henk Konijnenbelt and his wife.

We got on so well that we agreed to meet for dinner that evening. Henk had recommendations for two restaurants. We checked them both out and selected one that priced its meals by the kilo. I´m not sure they zero the scales correctly so you may also pay for the weight of the plate, but it wasn´t terribly expensive. We even had a bottle of wine, a beverage still rare in Peru.

So my trip on the lake ended with swapped email addresses and promises of hospitality if we were ever in each other´s part of the world. I owe Henk a dinner and I look forward to settling up someday.