After spending a couple of days adjusting to altitude in Puno, we set off on our main event, a tour of the islands on Lake Titicaca. Things didn’t get off to a good start, when there was a misunderstanding about our collection point, and we only made it to the quay with seconds to spare.
Wooksie was still tired but said she was feeling a bit better. We headed out into the bay in search of the floating islands, which apparently move about and after a 90 minute cruise we were ready to board.
The guide was excellent and gave us the full run down on their lifestyles, basically they are floating gypsies or nomads. They live on floating islands of reeds so they don’t have to pay any tax, which is linked to land.
Floating Islands and the Uros people
Apparently, the villages rotate as the destination for tours, and they were very geared up to extract our cash, which unfortunately we didn’t have. We saw a lot of arts and crafts but their existence was intriguing. Families build rafts, sometimes there are multiple families on a floating island so like a mini tribe, if they fall they kick the family the don’t like off the raft.
Obviously, this is a bit inconvenient out on the lake, so they actually cut the raft up and give them their share of the island. Each island has a chief, and they seem to rotate through some process of democracy. Meanwhile Wooksies was feeling dozy again and when we got back on the boat she dozed off.
The tour included and overnight stop so we headed further out onto the lake and when we passed a headland we started to be hit by waves. Not surprising as Lake Titicaca is not only the highest navigable lake in the world, it is also one of the biggest so it is like being out in the sea so we bounced around until we arrived at our overnight island.
The guide told us about their subsistence lifestyle and how the occupants traced their ancestors back generations, At this point my alarm bells started to ring, where were we sleeping, I’d assumed it was a hotel when I booked but as we got closer to the shore it was clear that there we no hotels.
On landing, we were told all about the wonderful cultural events that awaited us, but first it was time for a meal followed by a climb to the top of the island, a good altitude test as it would take me up to 4500m.
The accommodation was actually quite nice, a bit like an Airbnb provided by natives, but it was made of stone and had beds, well in my case, the mattress was by far the worst mattress I have ever slept on, rock hard doesn’t even start to tell it.
We found some new Italian chums from Milan, Luigi and Florence, it turned out Florence was feeling rough as well so the two ladies went to bed (separately) and left Luigi and I to our own devices, so we had a kip as well, until he came to collect me for the trek, which I was rather wishing he wouldn’t if I was honest.
The fact the two women slept reassured me there was nothing out of the ordinary about Wooksie, it was still only 48 hours since we’d arrived so still within the recovery margins. I did the climb with Luigi and we discussed football all the way up and all the way down, I learned a lot about Inter Milan and he learned an amazing amount about Plymouth Argyle.
By an amazing coincidence, I took a photo of the sunset over Bolivia and there were a couple of young people in the shot. On the way down we stopped for a hot chocolate in a little hut, and they were there. I offered to send them a copy of the photo and during the discussion, it turned out they were also from Bristol and lived less than 5 miles from me – what a coincidence.
I got back to the room and Wooksie hadn’t moved, she hadn’t even touched her water either, at this point my alarm bells started to ring as this couldn’t be right.
I didn’t bother with the cultural evening which was half back to the top of the island, and just had a good kip and kept my eye on Wooksie.
The next day we visiting a different island about 10 miles up the coast but it’s development as a society was quite incredible, apparently there was little or no contact with the other island and their entire social and cultural development was different, it was like a commune where everything was shared.
It was becoming obvious that there was something wrong with Wooksie, she had slept all night, hadn’t drunk any water and was looking pale. When we got to the island, it was a struggle to get off the boat, but she managed it but the climb up to the village was very painful, just one step at a time.
They had a beautiful town square with wonderful views across the lake to Bolivia. We spent a pleasant morning watching the locals go through their dance regimes in their best dress outfits before heading back down to lake level, boarding the boat and heading back to Puno to find a doctor.
