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Puno

Arequipa to Puno

Last night I slept in a delicious, delicious bed. The moment I burrowed under the thick alpaca-wool blankets, I was drowned in a slumber so heavy I did not stir all night -- even as one of our roommates talked in her sleep and the club-crowd partied under our window. I was eventually woken at five am by Wade and went to take a splendidly scalding hot shower.

We take a six-hour bus ride to Puno through rolling hills and flat pampas. Interestingly, we are in the middle of the Andes, yet the land is flat. We pass many an alpaca farm -- or are they llamas? I must learn to tell the difference. We also pass a farm with an ostrich. I remark aloud that I group ostriches and llamas in the same category, despite one being a bird and one a mammal. They both have long necks and legs and fat bodies. Wade quite astutely points out that ostriches only have two legs. I fall silent.

In Puno, we buy bus ticket out to Cuzco for the following evening. We treat ourselves to "Royal Class," which promises fully reclining seats and two bathrooms. We choose seats in the front row of the second story. The balcony, if you will.

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I love Puno

We find a hostel NOT listed in the Bible. Blasphemy! Wade takes a (much needed) shower with aguas calientes while I watch TV! In our hostel room! I love TV!! The program appears to be the Peruvian "Dance 360," although without the Head-to-Head segments. If you have never watched Dance 360, you need to go turn on your WB at five thirty every afternoon and basque in the splendor that is Dance.

Eventually, I do peek outside. I love Puno. We are on the eastern edge of Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world. Small brick buildings are perched on the hillsides containing the lake. Though this city seems poorer than Arequipa or Lima, the homogeneous architechture and water lend it a certain charm. The city is situated quite like downtown Providence, whose dwellings peek over the hills to the capital building (and mall) down below. Here, the buildings overlook the sparkling lake.

The sky is a delicious overcast gray hue. The clouds are light, and then they are rain-filled dark, and then there are intermittant patches of blue. Puno is the biggest city for miles, but in the distance, I can see small villages of houses propped on other lakeside hills. We are high up. The elevation is twelve thousand feet. The air is thin, but clean.

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Sillustani

We take our first guided tour of our trip to Sillustani, an area of ruins some forty-five minutes from Puno.

I love this. I love ruins. The landscape-- it is hilly. There are rolling hills all around save the lake on either side of the Sillustani penninsula. The sky is an overcast gray, and the colors of the earth appear more vibrant, stand out against the monochrome sky. The soil is red, the grasses are a bright green yellow, and the water is dark black blue. The air is crisp and empty, so that the sound of cows and sheep lapping at the lake below echo up.

These ruins are of chullpas, funeral pyres built to store not only bodies, but also assorted belongings for the next world, much like Egyptian tombs. They are tall, round, black, standing out against the serene setting. They are situated on the penninsula, on raised land. Thirty or so chullpas are scattered about, in varying degrees of disrepair. Some have the flat, outside stones still in place. Some have the inner, less precise stonework exposed. Still others are implied only by a circle of rocks sitting on the ground.

I love it. I love the remoteness of the location, the emptiness of the air, the colors of the earth. I love the drum beats and toots that travel upwards from the band-camp in the town below.

At first, our tour guide drones on and on. I love a good tour now and then, don't get me wrong, but a good guide knows to speak only in five minute increments. I wanted to just wander and soak up the the ruins. The most interesting thing Mr. Guide showed us was that the rocks in this area are heavily magnetized. He held a compass next to the stone and it went crazy.

All of a sudden, it began to thunder. Not directly where we were, but close enough to see lightening bolts strike down. Wade is counting the flashes and rumbles and makes the executive decision that where we are (HIGH UP, NEAR WATER, ON ROCK) is unsafe in a lightening sort of way. The two of us split and run down to the dirt below the ruins. We wait until the storm passes.

When we rejoin our group, Mr. Guide has given free time to wander. At the same moment, it begins to rain. Not a lot, but enough to break out the rain gear. We wander amidst the drizzle.


Pulse rates walking up a flight of stairs at eleven thousand feet:
Adina: 148
Wade: 120

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Ayumara peeps

On our way back to Puno, we stop at a "typical" Ayumara homestead house. Typical in the sense that the house we stopped at is no longer self-sufficient, but relies on tips from tour groups such as ours. If you have been to the Negev and stopped in a Beduoin tent, you know what I mean.

We are shown the following:

• Quinoa plant and quinoa seeds being ground into flour
• Solid fat being used as fuel for fire
• guinea pigs in a cage in the yard. Living out their days before being roasted for dinner. Yum!
• Tools for hoeing and planting
• Winter wood storage filled to the roof with DUNG. LLAMA DUNG. Who needs wood when you have shit?

We are fed the following:

• Hot potatos
• Fresh, fresh cheese. Tastes somewhat like feta.
• Quinoa fried cookies
• Dirt

Mr. Guide explains that the Ayumara people eat this certain type of clay dirt found high in the mountains. It apparently is rich in minerals. They mix it with salt and pepper and water and use it as a sort of mayonnaise. It is muddy and greenish. Many people, Wade included, try it. He says it tastes "salty." I wonder aloud if maybe the natives don't actually eat this stuff, they just get a kick out of seeing what they can make tourists eat.

I find it extremely ironic that Wade won't brush his teeth with tap water, yet he will devour a cooked potato dripping with MUD.

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We are dropped off on a street with a parade consisting of children in polyester and nylon neon costumes, dancing and parading. They are totally not into it, that we can tell. We have dinner at a pizza place, a very touristy restaurant. We internet for two hours, and are asleep by ten thirty.