I hope you dance!

A band of 5 teens playing guitar, mini-banjo, and flutes provided the music and when they started so did the dancing.  Hepolito and Deonicia quickly bead a track over to us and we were dancing  Performing at times a quasi jig, at others a conga line of 40 people it was a tiring pace.  While Hepolito soon made his way to the sidelines, Deonicia  (and us) did not miss a song.  Her and I made an improbable dance partnership and our 2.5-foot differential brought many laughs from the lookers on.

The long and short of it at the Amantani Pena!

Our first activity in Peru would be what we thought was a very touristy tour on the massive Lake Titicaca from the tourist hub of Puno.  Dubbed a ‘cultural exchange’ we had the opportunity to stay with a local family – more on that later – experience some of the customs and traditions of the Quecha that populate the region.

Traveling very slowly by powerboat we arrived at Uros; 49 ‘floating’ islands that are home to several hundred permanent residents just ½ hour from Puno.  As improbable as it seems the community subsists on fishing, hunting, and of course tourism.

‘Displaced’ – read fled! – amid the numerous conflicts between the Incas, Collas, and Spanish conquistadors, the Titicaca natives ingeniously managed to build a series of small islands using the roots of thick reeds that inhabit this area of the lake.  Repeatedly stacking the reeds themselves in a checkerboard pattern they created a stable – albeit soft underfoot – surface to build houses, self contained kitchens, even building small gardens and retaining ponds to farm the various species of fish that populate the lake.

The floating island of Uros, Lake Titicaca

Each islands contains approximately six families with each member assigned various work roles.  Women seem to be confined to roles of cooking, cleaning, and constructing beautiful crafts that they hawk to tourists both on the island and in Puno.  Men do man work; fishing, hunting, caring for the island including the continual maintenance on its base. 

Arriving on one of the handful of islands that receives tourists – in fact most of the islands and people live in isolation from the gawking tourists eyes - a well rehearsed and informative history of the islands and their people was given followed by an opportunity to explore the buildings and ask questions.  They were friendly and welcoming and the visit, while mildly exploitative was great.  It seemed obvious many of the islands, like the one we visited survive on tourism only and the ten minute,  4$ ‘voyage’ aboard their reed boat was indicative of that.  After a chance to stamp our passports on the ‘World’s only floating islands’ we were off.

Our slow boat continued to the large island of Amantani.  Home to 800 Quecha families in five communities, they live amid the terraced hillside under the beautiful peaks and ruins of ‘Pachatata’ and ‘Pachamama’ – Father and Mother Earth -.  Disembarking we were introduced to Hepolito, a tiny island native that would be our host for the day and night.  At an astonishingly fast pace he led us up the side of the mountain to his house, a quaint two story brick and sheet metal topped building nestled around 2 acres of corn, potatoes, quinoa, and a few small vegetable rows. 

We were introduced to Hepolito’s wife Deonicia – all 4 feet of her – and over a filling lunch of quinoa and garden fresh soup learned a little about them, their family, and the island.  While their native language is Quecha they spoke enough Spanish that we were able to learn they were 70 and 65 respectively, had a daughter (married and in Puno) and had lived here all their lives.  We fruitlessly tried to learn some Quecha phrases providing them both a few good laughs.

In the late afternoon we made an assault of Pachatata and the ruins of a temple at the top.  It was a beautiful walk and after encircling around the temple 3 times – counterclockwise – we felt the positive energy of Father Earth and admired the 360 views of Titicaca and the while peaks of the Andes at sunset.

Dinner in our hosts’ tiny kitchen provided more opportunity for conversation learning more about the island between mouthfuls of vegetarian cuisine. The island has hosted tourist for the past 25 years with tours rotating to each community to spread the wealth so to speak.

The focal point of the evening was a community ‘Pena’ – dance – put on for the 20 some tourists that were visiting.  We were dressed in traditional Quecha clothing – an elaborate skirt and blouse wardrobe for Dee and simple woolen poncho for me - then ushered down to the community hall in the dark.

With benches bordering the entire 10m * 20m hall it felt eerily like a teen dance with Gringos admiring their new wardrobes nervously wondering what would happen next while the locals visited on the other side of the hall. Collectively we towered over our hosts.

A band of 5 teens playing guitar, mini-banjo, and flutes provided the music and when they started so did the dancing.  Hepolito and Deonicia quickly bead a track over to us and we were dancing  Performing at times a quasi jig, at others a conga line of 40 people it was a tiring pace.  While Hepolito soon made his way to the sidelines, Deonicia  (and us) did not miss a song.  Her and I made an improbable dance partnership and our 2.5-foot differential brought many laughs from the lookers on.

The dance continued, reaching its crescendo with a ten minute long dance that left the guests gasping for our collective breath. While the dance was clearly put on for our benefit it felt very authentic with everyone sincerely enjoying them selves. 

We hung in to the last song before exiting into the chilly the night.  Looking out across the lake the last of the full moon magically illuminated the calm waters.  It looked like after a few days of wicked storms through the night it would be some quiet.  Wrong.  A 2a.m. the rain started with a vengeance.  The tin roof just seven feet above our heads amplified the effect.  It was deafening!  I poked my head out the door to see the pea sizes hail bouncing off the ground.  It persisted for a solid hour before continuing in fits and starts until dawn. 

Amazingly the hail, which accumulated two to three inches thick in-between, the plant rows did little damaged to the crops.  Only the odd leaf on the ground while I surveyed before breakfast.  Incredibly hardy plants. 

We enjoyed a ‘pancakekay’ breakfast before sadly bidding farewell to Deonicia.  Hepolito walked to the boat waiting until we disembarked before heading home.  It was an authentic experience that certainly was a ‘highlight’ of our trip to date.

We enjoyed sunny skies on our hour ride to Taquile.   Titicaca’s lack of boat traffic makes it a pleasure to be on.  Like an ocean, you feel like you are the only boat on it.  Very peaceful.

While Amantani is well versed in tourism, Taquile felt insular and guarded.  Famous for their colorfully woven textiles – some of which can hold water – they kept about their business seemly oblivious to our presence save a few kids selling charms and bracelets. 

Dee and I wandered over to a school where we watched kids enjoying recess.  The girls bright red uniform were they distinctive we’ve seen.  A group of 30 boys chased a soccer ball across the muddy field laughing and joyous.  Our guide brought out of the village to a tiny community ‘tursitica’ restaurant (of 28 on the island) where he gave some insight into the island. 

The island has been inhabited for 10000 years with 3000 people at present.  They live without electricity, vehicles, and crime.  There is no policing of any kind and rather they use an ‘elder’ system to solve disputes.  These elders wear a special woven cap and are the authority on all matters.    Their ethos of ‘Don’t Lie, Don’t Steal, and Don’t Be Lazy’ creates a wonderful, if not quaint utopia that our societies would all be better to emulate. 

All men wear a hat identifying relationship status.  Red for single, red and white for married.  The women’s different dress design promotes similar status.  They marry young (16 – 18) with all marriages taking place in July – forget that summer getaway with that social calendar – and marriages last for life, no divorce. 

After lunch we made the long descent back to the harbor.  I stopped to help an elderly lady carry her belonging back up ½ of the 500 steps to the top.  My Good Samaritan act left me breathless and wondering how she made it halfway up in the first place – Don’t Be Lazy! -.

The sun continued to beat down on the deserted lake as we lounged on our return to Puno.