Eating my chullo...

Chullo is the name for the style of woolly hat made from alpaca wool worn in the Andes.  The reason I have to eat mine is that my opinion of organised tourist excursions has changed.  They're not all bad.  So you could appreciate the task before me I asked my friend Henry, from Germany, to model his latest chullo.  He's a chullo addict.

The tour in question was a two day excursion from Puno taking in the famous floating Uros Islands, Amantaní and Taquile, two other islands in the Peruvian part of Lake Titicaca.  I joined a group of 13, mainly Europeans, an Argentinian couple,  a Colombian and her Peruvian boyfriend.  At first the trip was what I expected it would be - DisneyUros.  There are about 90 islands made of reeds floating in the lake.  The ones that are visited by tourists are clearly tailored for that purpose.  Each has it's own tacky sign, well-rehearsed demonstration, shops (you can even use a credit card in one of them) and choir of women who end their little routine with ¡Hasta la vista, baby!  The information about life on the Uros was interesting; the fact reeds are used as fuel, food, rope, buildings and the very ground beneath your feet is impressive.  I can't blame them for cashing in on the influx of tourists - life on a sponge ain't easy.

The half hour trip to Los Uros  was nothing compared to the 3 hours it took to get to Amantaní.  The gentle waves and fresh breeze of the lake lulled us into a dreamy state enhanced by vast blue sky and enormous white cumulus clouds on the horizon.  When we finally arrived we were divided into groups and sent off with our host families.  By a stroke of luck I was placed with the two Argentinians which meant Spanish was the only option for me.  

The owner (and builder) of the house was Sebastian, a man of 80 years who trotted around this high-altitude landscape like a 20 year old.  An expert healer using local herbs, he is a living testament to island life.  He shares his house with his wife, son, daughter-in-law, incredibly cute granddaughter and great nephew.  The best rooms, however, were reserved for the tourists.  After a lunch of soup and the ever present potatoes, we joined a host of other tourists to hike the 40 minutes or so to the highest point on the island where there exists a temple dedicated to Pachatata, the male equivalent of Pachamama whose temple is located on the other side of Amantaní.

After circumambulating the temple three times we settled down to watch the sunset whilst children tried to sell us friendship bracelets.  The hawkers here were far from annoying, the women sat patiently with only a 'Buenas tardes' and kids were a delight with a sharp sense of humour.  The sun put on a display I've only seen in a few locations on this planet.  The moon rose at the same time which signalled our departure as the temperature dropped rapidly.

Once home we had a dinner consisting of soup followed by vegetables and rice.  Simple and wholesome.  This was washed down with a cup of tea made using munyi, a herb that grows everywhere on the island and is delicious; like a sweeter, more fragrant chamomile.  After dinner it was time to get dressed in the local garb and head off to the community hall for music and dancing.  The islanders must put on the same performance almost every night but they were gracious hosts and treated us with generosity, enthusiasm and humour.  We danced into the night, a fantastic mix of tourists and locals.  Each getting something out of the relationship but both sides treated with interest and respect by the other.

Later we walked home together in the light of an almost full moon.  The vast expanse of the lake glassy below us.  Not a light could be seen on the far shores and not a sound could be heard.  It struck me that I'd only experienced such sublime beauty on earth in one other place, the Outer Hebrides of Scotland.  Me amo la vida de las islas.

In the morning the light from the sun rising over this most sacred of lakes streamed in through my window at 5am.  I took the chance to climb to the temple dedicated to Pachamama before returning to a breakfast of pancakes.  At 8am we hopped on the boat once more, saying goodbye to this pearl of an island, and headed to Taquile - an hour across the water in the beautiful early morning sunshine.  Once there we crossed the island on foot, eating trucha frita on the way, to meet our boat on the other side.  This time I'll let the picture do the talking.