The night of my last entry, I had another new, travel-related experience. South American food poisioning. The morning of our Machu Picchu tour dawned bright and sunny; I waved goodbye from the bathroom window as my friends boarded the tour van. Thus, as they discovered Inca history and survived an exhilerating climb up the ruins, I discovered the location of several local pharmacies and survived two days of misery. Fortunately, I was able to make it to the plaza for a few hours, and visited with travelers from Germany and New Zealand (a few of whom had been traveling for over a year - the ideal life...)
Though Cuzco is The Tourist Capital of Perù, I was unable to maintain the typical oblivious tourist mentality after talking with some of the local vendors, children between the ages of 5 and 11. One boy confided that, though his birthday was the following day, his parents had no money for presents or a party. After spending time with these kids, who forfeit school to sell postcards in the Plaza, I began to contemplate the more serious issues lurking under Peru`s colorful exterior.
After my friends' return we spent our final day in Cuzco visiting the numerous museums and cathedrals pictured on our "tourist ticket," and finished the day with hot chocolate and a cultural dance show. Tired and happy, we boarded the bus for Puno, relieved that we had chosen to pay extra for "full cama" seats (counterpart to airline first class.) An hour later, when one of our fellow passengers politely informed the driver that our bottled water was beginning to freeze, we discovered that we would be spending 8+ hours, navigating through snow covered mountains to one of the world's highest lakes, in an unheated bus. We arrived in Puno humming the Titanic theme song and eager for sleep in a warm hostal.
Our days in Puno, a chilly mountain town on the shores of Lago Titticaca, included fresh papaya juice, a ride in one of the hundreds of bicycle rickshaws crowding the streets, and a tour of the surrounding islands. One of the first stops on our tour were the man-made islands of Uros, constructed completely of woven reeds and home to over 500 people.
Getting off our old fishing boat was like stepping hundreds of years back in time. At first glance, the poverty was unbelievable; eventually we realized that these Peruvians live much safer and more sanitary lives than thousands of their fellow citizens in Lima and Cuzco. The people of Uros live as they have lived for centuries, completely independent of society, using the reeds surrounding their island for shelter, clothing, transportation, and even food (they taste a little like celery.) One man selling tiny reed boats was happy to introduce us to the 18 species of native fish, holding up lively examples from a bucket at his feet, and his 10-year-old sister accompanied us as we took a larger, two-story, Nile-like reed boat to the neighboring islands.
The hazy mountains of Bolivia were visible from the shores of our subsequent destination, the island of Taquile. "The way of life here is very different," our tour guide warned us as we approached. (In contrast to the last island, where we were encouraged to greet the islanders with "good morning"-camisaraki,) he informed us, "Here, people greet each other by exchanging koka leaves; since you do not have koka leaves, please do not acknowledge the villagers. Also, the people who live here are able to tell each other`s marital status, age, number of children, and mood from their dress, thus, it is also inappropriate to ask any questions made unnecessary by the information provided through their clothing." With this mysterious explanation, our guide invited us to begin the ascent up the mountain to the main plaza.
The bright sun, crystal clear water, and red tile roofs peeking out from the grassy hillsides made the climb from the dock up to the main plaza enjoyable (though difficult with the altitude.) As we gasped for air during the final part of the ascent, local children, 5 or 6 years old, with babies tied to their backs with strips of brightly colored cloth, skipped past us. After lunch in the plaza, our tour guide held up examples of local clothing, explaining the significance of each item. During festival times, for example, the placement of a man`s hat signifies his marital status; the number and color of a woman`s layered skirts indicate her age, and the color of the tassel on the corner of a girl`s shawl indicates her mood. The remainder of our time on Taquile was spent analyzing the clothing of the villagers.
After dinner and some last-minute grocery shopping, we boarded another overnight (heated!) bus for Tacna, the main border town between Perù and Chile. 12 hours, countless windy roads, and customs later, we paid our taxi driver and began exploring Arica, Chile`s northernmost coastal community. Feeling a bit homesick for the traditional 4th festivities, we were excited to witness a local parade outside the Chilean naval headquarters, featuring a band, numerous military groups, and the requisite firetrucks. After the parade we explored Arica`s cathedral, designed by Eifel (architect of the Parisian tower,) and then strolled down to the lighthouse to watch the surfers and poke around in the tide pools.
Fortunately, bus time to Iquique (current location,) was less than 6 hours. After the chill of high altitudes, we took advantage of the 70 degree temps and spent Independence Day on the beach (smiling at the skeptical glances from sweater-clad locals.) After dining on local seafood last night, we were even congratulated (believe it or not) for our nation's Bday. To conclude the festivities, last night we located an English showing of "Batman Iniciada" (in English) and indulged in buckets of "dulce" theatre popcorn (a sort of caramel/kettle corn blend.)
Tonight, it's on to the salt flats and geysers of San Pedro de Atacama.
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