Keith's & Karen's Photos: Peru 6 : The Natives of Lake Titicaca

Unexpected fitness camp

I had placed Garth Brooks’ Ain’t Going Down ‘til the Sun Comes Up near the top of my exercise playlist because I like it, not because I could keep up with its 170 beats per minute. Before we left for Peru, I would do it at half time on our elliptical trainer.

The first time I exercised after we got back, that seemed far too slow. I spun those pedals at full speed for two minutes and felt fine doing it. Later that day, when I got back from running errands, we had a new inch of snow on the driveway, and I had it shoveled before my ears got cold.

This is even more surprising because I spent the last two weeks before we left with my foot in a cast, avoiding even light exercise in the hopes of quickly healing an untimely Achilles’ tendon injury. I should have been completely out of shape.

Athletes train at high altitudes because in thin air, our lung capacity expands and our bodies manufacture more red blood cells and capillaries. Steve, one of the doctors in our group, told me that it takes a few months to adapt fully to high altitude. But I’m guessing that the adaptation is rapid at first. The first night we were in Puno, I woke every half hour gasping for breath; the second night, I slept soundly.

Here’s how high we were: the Federal Aviation Administration recommends pilots use oxygen when they fly at 10,000 feet for at least 30 minutes and requires them to use oxygen at 12,000 feet. The elevation of Cuzco, where we spent four nights, is 10,860 feet. At Puno, where we spent two nights, it’s 12,461.

I’m not making this up. The hotel lobby in Puno had complimentary tea and oxygen for its guests. Right there in the lobby: a big tank with a mask and a friendly staff person to show you how to use it.

I hope the effects don’t wear off as fast as they came, now that I’m back at an elevation of 863 feet.

Climbing to the altiplano

As our train, the Andean Explorer, climbed out of the Sacred Valley to the Andean high plains, the countryside began to remind me of southeastern Idaho's Snake River Valley.

Lake Titicaca and Island of Taquile
Lake Titicaca is the world’s highest-elevation navigable lake and the largest freshwater lake in South America. It is believed to be ancient--three million years old--and it contains 214 cubic miles of water. None of that adds anything to the views.

We were served lunch by the natives of the Island of Taquile, who also danced on the beach to welcome us.

Ronald, our guide for Lake Titicaca, was a Peruvian partisan. The border between Peru and Bolivia cuts through Lake Titicaca, he explained, "But the best part is in Peru. We have the Titi and they have the Caca.”

Later, Ronald explained that the lake has no outlet to any ocean, but loses water only to evaporation. I asked why it has not become salty during its three million years. He then told us Lake Titicaca does in fact drain to another lake at a slightly lower elevation, which is getting salty. Lake Poopo.

Yes, Titicaca drains into Poopo.

They can see Bolivia from their house!

The Uros People and their floating islands
I will never look at lake weeds the same way again.

The totora reed is used for food.

The totora reed is used to make decorations.

The totora reed is used to make furniture.

The totora reed is used to make houses.

Notice the solar panel. One of the boat crew took pains to inform me the solar panels were there because of the hard work of President Fujimora.

The totora reed is used to make boats.

The totora reed is used to make entire habitable islands.

The islands are made of layers and layers of cut reeds on a floating bog. The smell of decaying reeds was noticeable, but not objectionable. Walking on it felt like a very firm mattress or several layers of plush carpet.

Ronald translated from the native language, Aymara, as they explained how to create a reed island. A cutaway view is shown here. First, you cut part of a bog away from the shore. Tow it to where you want it, and anchor it with ropes and rocks. Layer reeds on it until you've got a good surface. As the reeds decay, you add more. I think he said you have to start over every 50 years or so.

A saw used to cut through bogs.

As our boat pulled up to the second island, these two plopped down and started an animated debate, pointing to the boat's propeller. I think they had different ideas about how it works.

I will admit to mixed feelings about our visit to the Uros Islands. Of course, I was impressed by the people’s ingenuity and self-sufficiency. But their lives, oddly, reminded me of England’s royal family. They do not merely live in a museum; they are a museum. Their careers, their lifestyle, their ambitions, even their choice of mates is constrained not by what they can imagine, achieve, or become, but by their family heritage and business.

As pleasant as it must be to live and work floating on a man-made island in a bountiful lake, they are not free to change in any noticeable way, because they have come to depend on tourism, which demands authenticity. Nor are they free to leave, because to do so would end their long heritage.

If the Uros people are as trapped in their traditions as the British royal family, this little one is their Sarah Ferguson. No way are they keeping her on a leash after she turns eighteen.

She ran circles around the boys and climbed on our boat several times to explore. She was lifted or scolded off each time, only to be back again in a few minutes.