Adam and I woke up around 10.00 and headed straight for the Puno’s port on the shores of Lake Titicaca, the highest lake in the world. A tourist boat took us out to three of las Islas Flotantes (Uros), where we walked around but didn't really commingle with the local inhabitants. Tourism is a curious thing—just how helpful and harmful it is, I’m not always so sure.
As the day proceeded I could tell that I had some altitude sickness—aka “soroche”—going on: a capricious headache and a slight fever. We took it easy for the rest of the day and checked out Puno via various bici taxis. When it came time for a meal, we decided against the myriad pizzerias, and went for something a little more local instead. That evening, after we set up an overnight tour out to the islands of Amantaní and Taquile for the next day, I went to a pharmacy and bought myself some soroche pills. They did the job better than the prescription that I had brought with me from the US—the same one that had been making me lose sensation in my digits and my lips for the past few days.
NIGHTMARES
3 months ago
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