Day 6—Tuesday, July 26—Puno→Las Islas Flotantes→Amantaní

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Originally uploaded by rswells.

Up at 7.45, we took a mini-bus down to the docks and then left port with our group around 8.30. First stop: Las Islas Flotantes. Again. We visited to two different islands this time, though. From there, the 3-hour plus boatride out to the tiny island community of Amantaní began. I ate too much popcorn and read some Cortazár short stories along the way. The deal set itself up so that we would spend the night with one of the local families. Little to no electricity or running water. Our mother for the day picked us up at Amantaní’s docks once we arrived around 2pm. She spoke little Spanish, mostly Quechua. Once we trekked the 20-minute trail up to her and her family’s home, Adam and I set our stuff down and rested for a while until lunch. Most of the family sat around and chatted with us while we ate our soup and vegetable lunch and drank our tea. I don’t remember any of the family members names, save the little grandson, Elvis.

After lunch, we met up with the rest of the group in the local plaza and began our 1-hour trek uphill to the top of the island. As the gentle lake breezes turned into a ripping wind, we watched the sunset over the lake and over Bolivia. At that point, I realized that I had lost my gloves and hat somewhere on the hike up, so I bought some more from one of the numerous local artisans that dotted our way up and down the trail. On my way back down, though, I found my hat with the help of Adam’s spare flashlight.

When we returned to the plaza, a patriotic parade began: marching schoolchildren carrying papier-mache creations illuminated by candles contained within, one of which caught on fire; at least fifteen poetry recitations dedicated to el Perú; the local mayor and governor; and a few marching bands. The original plan was that Adam and I would meet up with a girl named Sulmo or Zulmo or Zulma in the plaza during the festivities, but by this point everything was so dark that we couldn't see much of anything and we didn’t want to walk around directing our powerful flashlights towards the faces of unsuspecting spectators either. We had no idea where she was. No matter. We figured we could negotiate our way back to our house, using our flashlights and heightened sense of direction. After twenty minutes and a few wrong turns, we realized that we really had no idea where we going. “Does this look familiar to you?” “What?” “I say do you think we passed this abandoned house on the way here?” “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Maybe.” We decided to head back to the plaza, hoping that we would eventually run into someone there. In a moment that I will always attribute to pure, unadulterated luck, we ran into our dad on the way back. “¿Adán?” he asked. “Oh, thank you, Jesús.” Adam and I reckoned that he only remembered his name because Adam jokingly explained his name at dinner by saying that his wife, Eva, passed away a long time ago.

After another family meal, this one by candlelight, they dressed us in ponchos and colorful hats and had some different girl take us to the tourist dance party where traditional music and style would be on display. The party took place in one of the few building with electric lights. Not too many of the tourists actually made it, though, pry because they were all worn out from the day’s activities. Adam and I each drank a beer and chatted with the only other American girl, Katie. Every fifteen minutes or so, one of young the locals pulled us out to dance in a circle that went round and round. Right before the event concluded, I worked up the courage to ask a pretty Chilean girl to dance.

Neither Adam nor I slept too well that night, despite the fact that our family provided us with upwards of six wool blankets. I don’t think it was the cold that kept us awake, however, just the novelty of the surroundings.