Peru Part II: Teudosia

"Are you two with Loki?" Devon and I turned to see a friendly looking dude with an All Ways Travel vest on over his jacket. Loki was the name of the hostel we had booked our tour through, and we had taken a bus overnight from Cusco down to Puno, Peru to see Lake Titicaca.* We had arrived so early in the morning that the travel agency hadn't opened yet. So when our man saw two backpackers sitting outside his door on the street at 6am, it probably didn't take him long to put the two together. We went inside, and waited for the van to come pick us up. When it did, we met our crew mates and hopped on our boat o're the waves. And damn, did it feel good for this Minnesotan to be back on water.

A small-scale version of a Khili; how the Uros Islands are made. 

Our first stop was to the Uros islands, a series of floating islands made out of reeds that can hold 3-6 families. Each island has a leader and together they form a community that is sustained through fishing, trade with the mainland, and tourism of having gringos come check out their digs. It's similar to Bard's Laketown in The Hobbit, but instead of wooden, multistoried housing, these houses' foundations are reeds woven on top of what they call Khilis (seriously, did Tolkien visit here before writing?) which are the dense root systems of the reeds. The islands are then anchored into the bottom of the lake with long tree branches.

Teudosia

After a couple more hours boat ride, we disembarked on Amantani Island. Made of earth instead of reeds, it's home to a couple thousand people, one of whom was our host mom for the evening, Teudosia. A short woman who shuffles her feet, Teudosia's beaming, generous eyes can only be seen when you sit down and look into the shawl she wears over her head. She puts her guests needs often before hers or her family's, a characteristic of a great host that took me longer than it should have to appreciate in my own parents. This was evident when we ate in the dining room while her family ate in the small, low-ceilinged kitchen, sitting on a log against the back wall. In an effort to reduce the social distance between tourist guest and native host, I hunched my way into the kitchen while she was cooking our dinner for the night and offered to help. After she wisely rejected my culinary assistance, I sat on the log and we chatted. Nothing profound, we mainly just talked about our families and food. But it was nice to know a part of her life that few other tourists would get if they didn't speak Spanish.

Later that night, Teudosia dressed us up in traditional Peruvian getups, meaning dresses and shawls for the girls and ponchos and hats for the dudes. Walking to their town hall which doubled as a dance hall, we could hear the music long before we found our way up the switchbacks on the hill to the top. Inside, a live band had their guitars and pan pipes singing, characteristic of the hard beat of Andina music. We danced a few numbers, but mostly just watched the band and other dancers do their thing.    

I apologize for the lackluster lighting, but electricity is a commodity on Amantani Island. Also, in the second video, the dumbass attempting to dance is yours truly.

To be honest, I'm not a whole fan of the indigenous tourism business, or the "Oh, let's stay on an island with an indigenous family to see what they're like!" idea. My answer to that tourist's curiosity is, "They're people, what do you expect?" The novelty of saying you stayed with an indigenous family one night seemed a little dehumanizing to me, especially since everyone's got their cameras out trying to snap the quintessential shot of a wizened Peruvian woman knitting with a frown on her face. Now, I'll be the first to admit my hypocrisy in arguing this. Did I book this tour, knowing full well what it entailed? Did I bring my camera and take a crap ton of photos? Yes and yes. But, I frequently could not get out of my head the thought that we tourists were treating this community like an exhibition in a museum, and the similarities between that situation and many in the States with our own native peoples were eerie to say the least. The main difference is that Peru has an intense, deep sense of culture that remembers and safeguards its native inhabitants instead of heavily marginalize them.

You might rightfully argue, "But JJ, tourism is such a large part of their local economy, and they even take turns hosting tourists so that every family benefits financially." First of all, how the hell did you know that?? That's impressive. Second, yes, they do rely on tourism, but am I allowed to ask myself if maybe there were underlying reasons for their increased dependance on tourism? Again, I'm hardly an expert on the subject, just some jackass lecturing on a laptop, but I'm not ignorant to the fact that there was surely a time when their community was flourishing without tourism. Who knows, maybe the increase in population around the lake decimated their fishing industry and were more or less forced to cater to tourists as an alternate form of income? Just spitballing.

Stepping off the soapbox, I did actually enjoy my time there and was glad I got to experience and learn what I did. Easily my favorite part of our Lake Titicaca experience was the night sky. In Bogota, all the city lights give the night a mechanic glow, but the stars are just a handful of dull flames while the green and red flashers on planes fly in and out all night. But at 12,500 feet and in the middle of a 3000 square mile lake, I felt like I was seeing more light than dark. The milky way even made an appearance, cutting a celestial wake of light above the water. Obviously, my camera could not even attempt to capture it, and after a few tries I resigned myself to that I should probably just look up instead of down at my camera.

The next morning we explored one last island before setting sail back across the lake. A writing professor in college, Matt Callahan, often spoke of proximity to water being good for humans. I knew we were headed for a dry Colca Canyon, so I spent almost all of that three hour return topside, trying to get as much lake wind in my face as possible before returning to the dry heat of Peruvian terra firma.


Spanish word of the day: we'll go with a verb. Subir means to climb, and it's used not only in climbing mountains, but also in getting on modes of transportation. For example, subimos is we climbed, a phrase we often used in descirbing our Peru trip. Also, sube! (pronounced Sue-bay) is "get on" as in "get on the bus," a phrase we often heard with all of our bus traveling.

Song in my head lately: a relateively recent find has been A.A. Bondy, a predominantly solo guitar-harmonica act who's got some Bob Dylan echoes. His song American Hearts, is no exception.

JJ

*Editor's note: the writer is definitely aware of the humor involved in the lake's name. Feel no shame, I still giggle every time.

Perú Part 1: Condors and Canyons

"JJ, wake up! Our bus is here!" Devon was shaking me awake from my top bunk in a hostel room full of sweaty, sleeping travelers. Thinking that my fellow volunteer was just messing with me, I yawned, stretched, and mumbled a lazy, "Hmm?" I sure wasn't about to be taken in by his practical jokery. It was then that I heard a booming voice from the lobby downstairs yell, "Ho-elle!!" (which is how Joel is pronounced in Spanish). Sure enough, a quick glance at my watch said 3:37am, and our 3:30am departure time was being held up by yours truly. So like a newborn bird who has yet to master flight, I fell out of the top bunk in my panic. Luckily, I had packed my bag the night before and had my hiking clothes hung up and shoes ready to slip on. It's like I predicted my alarm not going off. I slid down the smoothed wooden stairs with one button done on my shirt and said a hasty apology to our guide while I tied my shoes. He took one look at me and burst out laughing and closed the van doors. We were on our way to Colca Canyon.

This is part one of most likely three different posts about our trip to Peru a couple weeks ago. "How did we have time for this?" -Our school had the week off- "Why Peru?" -Why not?- I've decided to infuriate Maria Von Trapp and begin my Peruvian journey at the end. It feels like a very good place to start, since I feel strongest about our adventures in reverse chronological order. You'll see what I mean.

Piled into the back of a van full of other impatient hikers, we soon fell right back asleep as we left Arequipa in the southern Peruvian dust. We had already hiked Machu Picchu and visited Lake Titicaca, so falling asleep on less than ideal transportation was second nature at this point. After a few pit stops, we arrived at the pay station where tourists needed to buy a "tourist ticket" to enter the canyon. The foreigner ticket cost 70 soles, which is about 22 US dollars. Devon and I were hoping that our temporary Colombian Visas would knock us down to the 40 sol Latinoamericano price (~$12). Our guide walked to the station with our IDs in hand, only to be followed right back by the officer. Well, shit, we thought. The dude sticks his head in the window and asks, "Latinoamericanos?" "Si?" We both raise our hands awkwardly. "Bueno, ok," and he turns back to his station. Devon and I shared a look that said, did that really just work? Yes, yes it did. 

Colca Canyon is carved by the Colca River in southwest Peru. With a depth of over 10,000 feet, it is more than twice as deep as the Grand Canyon (though not as wide). Still inhabited by indigenous descendants, one of the calling cards of this area is that it is home to the Andean Condor, a veritable cross between a vulture and a pterodactyl a.k.a. a devil bird. These suckers can be over thirty pounds and have a wingspan of over ten feet. But fear not, I brought an extra pair of underwear just in case I came face to beak with one.

And I did. See condors, not wet myself... ...I swear.

Just a bunch of asses hangin' out

Our trek was relatively short in terms of time, long in distance. On day one we first hiked down into the canyon, knees and quads screaming the whole way. We then walked along it near the bottom for a while until arriving our bungalow cabins for the night. Here, we hopped in a pool and soaked our sunburns after our 25 kilometer hike. After dinner, Devon, myself, and fellow northerner (Montreal) Charles found our way over to the next camp to see what it was like, and found a very functional bar and loads of people hiking the canyon without guides. We ended up staying here until creeping back into our huts for the night. A Frenchman who was the fourth in our shack said he saw a rat in my corner, but at that point I was really too tired to care. With a night cap or two as well, covers stayed under me that night as I snored that rat right out. 

Hiking makes me want to lie down

We got to sleep in until 4:30 the next morning, what a treat! This was in order to beat the sun up the canyon. Though we began nigh in total darkness, headlamps were soon unnecessary as we huffed on our way, this back up to the canyons rim. A good sign of when to take a break from physical activity is when you can hear your heartbeat through your ears. But, logical as I am, at that point I would have rather passed out than let that sun burn my sunburn (but maybe that's the way to get rid of it? Hmm..)  After reaching the top at around 6:30, I promptly situated myself on a rock and waited for the rest of my group to arrive. 

Phil made it, too!

Our trek ended before I knew it had started, but we had met some rad people and hiked some bad mileage. We caught another local night bus from Arequipa to Cusco and spent our last day in Peru at Loki Hostel, a huge hostel that can fit 200 guests and sports its own bar and restaurant. We met some more dudes from the U.S. (We'll make it out to visit you in Hawaii sometime, Austin!) and had a great night before hopping on our morning flight back Bogota.

Peru was a beautiful country with the most conspicuous sense of cultural pride and remembrance than any other country I've visited yet. The strange thing was, it took eleven days in another country to appreciate the one we were currently living in; the feeling of homeness in Bogota brought about by being a foreign tourist somewhere else. So as the plane left the Cusco tarmac, we fist bumped and said, "Let's go home." 

Spanish word o' the day: Not to be confused with mulah or moolah, meaning cash, mula means mule. Since we hiked with a group, those far in front had to frequently stop for others to catch up. Now, we're some pretty patient dudes, but there were two French girls who would fall behind one or two minutes into setting out. But thank god the second day they took the mule taxi option to pay a little extra to ride on mules the rest of the way.

Song in my head lately: What with all the overnight traveling to and within Peru, it seems apt that the song I made sure always played was Vance Joy's Red Eye