Arequipa

In a semi-cama overnight coach we journeyed further into the heart of Peru until we arrived at Arequipa, otherwise known as La Cuidad Blanca (the White City). This second largest city in the country is vastly composed of colonial-era Spanish buildings built from sillar, a pearly white volcanic rock, while on the outskirts of town three wise volcanoes stay watch from amongst the Andes mountains: El Misti, Chachani and Pichu Pichu. 


We stayed in a brand new hostel, actually still under construction and so the price for a private room including private bathroom and TV was ridiculously cheap. One block forward and the road opened up into a beautiful plaza de armas, with the cathedral as its crown and government buildings at its side. 

We had intended on travelling to the south of Bolivia to visit the salt flats but faced blockades of protestors so instead we ventured off to Arequipa. We arrived there on a day of protest, followed by a night of religious marching by candlelight. 

With only a couple of days to explore we took a double-decker tourist bus around the city and saw the key highlights. The city was filled with churches, fronted by green crosses, a combination of both Christ and the indigenous' worship of Mother Nature. We tried queso helado (cheese ice cream), a local ice cream recipe that looks like cheese but tastes of cinnamon delight. 

We ate a superb meal of ceviche accompanied by true Peruvian Pisco Sour. It was by far the best meal of the entire trip, not too spicy but fresh, melting heaven in the mouth. We saw llamas and alpacas, guanacos and vicuñas, and also rode horses for a measly 5 minutes to see the panoramic view of the city with those giant volcanoes in the background.

The following morning we awoke before dawn to travel 2 hours to Colca Canyon; a canyon so large it's twice as deep as the Grand Canyon and is promoted as the world's deepest canyon. Stopping at tiny villages along the dirt road, we took pictures with the local girls dressed in their tradition costume and hanging tight to the rope around baby llamas. Their ropa was intricately stitched into beautiful colours and patterns, and even the detail transferred onto their unique embroidered hats.

At the lookout, we rested half an hour and waited for a condor to show itself. When he did finally fly out, this giant bird became the focus of everyone’s camera. The condor’s wings spread out to 3 metres in length as it soared through the canyon. It seemed little to the distant eye but dear me this vulture sure was big, a true idol to be worshipped as the local indigenous once did.

Before lunch we visited thermal springs. In the midday sun, the 32 degree water proved to be too much and we lasted maybe 10 minutes within its heat, not to mention the smell of the leaking, nature sodium was a bit off-putting. Once at the restaurant, the temperature only rose when I accidentally ate a rocoto relleno, a stuffed chilli that can easily be mistaken for a stuffed tomato. 

Back in Arequipa, we envisaged our lives in amongst the historically romantic stone walls, with the help of some more Pisco Sour. So far, it was the only place we could envisage ourselves ever living in.

Las Islas Flotantes

On the other side of Lago Titicaca, located within the Peruvian borders, the Uros can be found. This group of indigenous have constructed 44 or so artificial islands made from floating dry reeds some 5 kilometres from the mainland, purposely distant from any unwanted danger. 

The Uros tribe pre-dates the Inca and because of their choice to live amongst the reeds, their culture is both unique and intriguing. According to legend, the Uros existed before the sun when the earth was still dark and cold. They apparently moved into the depths of the lake for protection against other tribes, including the Inca who often took them as slaves, and the native totora reed gave them everything they needed: a home, sustenance (they're eatable) and transportation. 

There are about 2000 or so Uros left but only a few still live on the islands, most having chosen to live amongst the modern comforts of the mainland, a place where the Uros have always buried their dead in special ceremonies. These few traditional Uros continue to fish and weave, and some, but not all, have opened their homes to tourists. These tourist islands are rumoured to be fake but are an insightful way to see how the locals once lived or still do live.

We waited all day to see them. Eventually we took an old motored boat filled with noisy tourists to one of the tiny, man-made islands, complete with solar panels and TV. Apparently these tourist-friendly islands rotate their open days so their inhabitants get the chance to rest and continue with their habitual lives. This particular island we visited was void of men, most supposedly as they were out fishing or busily collecting reeds before sunset. 

The women of the island, in their traditional dress not too unlike that of the women in La Paz and who are normally left to weave and cook, showed us how they constructed the islands, which are basically bundles of dry reeds placed in different directions and anchored to the wet reeds below. Every day they spread out a fresh layer of dry reeds so the island doesn't rot or sink from heavy feet into the water and at any time they can release the anchors and move the entire island elsewhere.

One particular little girl, the chief's daughter, grabbed my hand and insisted I saw her house, while other little children tried to sell their drawings to tourists so they could buy sweets. Tourism provides financial opportunities to the Uros but undoubtedly challenges their traditional way of living. We took a double-decker reed boat with two dragon-like creatures at each side across to another island as the women sang goodbye songs to us in different local dialects. Their harsh, sun-dried black faces smiling back at us as the sun finally went to rest between the mountainous mainland. 

Although it may have been touristy, the islas flotantes (floating islands) were fascinating, especially to think that the Uros lived there and like that for centuries. Who knew just how versatile reeds could be?

Lago Titicaca

Lago Titicaca is the beautiful and mysterious lake where the north-western Bolivian Andes meet their Peruvian counterpart, making its deep turquoise waters the highest commercially navigable lake in the world. Its name means "rock puma" because its borders form a puma hunting a rabbit. How the Inca knew the aerial shape of the lake is one of the many local mysteries left unresolved.


We journeyed to Lago Titicaca to visit Isla del Sol, a spectacular alpine island on the Bolivian side of the lake. We travelled via 'tourist' coach, meaning no locals on board. However, our return coach was also sold as 'tourist' but unlike its punctual predecessor, it waited and waited and waited to fill its seats, and with no success it proceeded to stop literally every 5 minutes to pick up the local indigenous along the road until there was no an empty space left. Of course this meant that once in La Paz, we stopped every 5 minutes to drop them off.


Yet time is of no essence high in the Andes. To get to the island, we took the two-hour winding road from La Paz to the waterfront, which we crossed - passengers on one boat, coach on a separate barge - before continuing onto Copacabana, where we took the two-hour (normally half-hour) ferry to the largest and most spiritual of the islands, Isla del Sol (Sun Island).


My first few moments once back on land were spent in the toilet being ridiculously sick with yet another stomach buy combined with altitude sickness. A mug of mate later I was climbing the 206 steep steps built by the Inca up the hillside. The Island is basically one giant mound surrounded by sweeping blue water, the resting place for the dead according to the Inca. The higher we climbed, the more spectacular the view became.


Two young boys led us up to their mother's hostel and bartered with us for a night's stay. Once settled on the eastern bank, we walked further upwards; the altitude shortening our breaths to difficult gulps but once at the top, it was like looking through panorama lenses. We chose a cafe on the western side to watch the sunset over a glass of red wine. As the sun said goodnight, the cool air said hello and the electricity was gone. It was an early night for us all. 


The following morning we awoke early to witness the sunrise from the porch just outside our bedroom window. Then off we set across the island. It took us a solid 3-4 hours and was worth every step. The island is scattered with old ruins from the Inca, who believed their sun god arose from the lake to create their world. The sun god definitely seemed present that day; we all got sunburnt and deceived by the high altitude's cool air and direct sunlight. 


There are no cars on the island, just noisy mules that sound like they're screaming in agony from their endless heavy loads, and there are two main paths leading around the island to see more than 180 different ruins. Yet it is the view that took my breath away high on the hill (pun intended). Whether is be witnessing the sunrise, sunset or midday sun, Isla del Sol is definitely a recommended place to visit.


Although it's not just the island but also the lake itself that contains so many intriguing mysteries worth investigating, from the recently discovered ruins of an underwater city at its depths to the eclectic groups of indigenous that calls its islands and banks home.