Lake Titicaca: The Great Sheep Chase

This time, when we drove back up the winding mountain highway, the entire landscape was coated in snow. We were entirely enclosed in cloud. The snow was getting heavier when we passed an abandoned tourist van - identical to our own - which appeared to have plunged nose-first from the road. What a lovely summer day in the Andes!

Puno, our home for the night, sits right on the edge of Lake Titicaca. Our bus turned a corner in the road and there it was: a red-roofed stack of city and our first glimpse of the 21st biggest lake in the world. '21st biggest' doesn't sound all that impressive, but there are loads of lakes in the world, and when I looked out across this one, I couldn't even see Bolivia. (It apparently takes 12 to 14 hours to smuggle goods from Bolivia to Peru by boat. That's the kind of lake-scale we're talking.)

It's also pretty grimy and algae-coated down by the dock. Following an open-air 'limo' ride in three-wheeled bike-driven wagons, we hopped on a private boat and zoomed off into the reed-filled harbour. Suddenly the reeds transformed into houses on floating islands - an astonishing sight. 

Here we made our first stop. At the edge of a floating platform made entirely of stacked-up reeds stood several of the island's inhabitants, all dressed in magnificent colour. Unos is one of the 100 or so floating island communities on Lake Titicaca, 80 of which have embraced tourism as a means of making money and gaining some modern benefits like solar powered televisions. 

After I climbed an extremely wobbly wooden watchtower for a view of the surrounding islands, a catamaran made entirely of reeds (the 'Mercedes Benz') rowed us away from Unos and back to our boat. 

Two and a half hours of clear, reflective, glorious lake water later, we reached Tequile, aka Lunch Island. Reaching the restaurant required a strenuous hike up what felt like the Cliffs of Insanity, but was actually a steepish hill littered with sheep and gum leaves. The high altitude huffing was completely worth it, as lunch - quinoa soup and fried trout with veggies - was to die for. From our table, we could see Bolivia way out across the lake. 

After we ate, our guide told us a bit about the island's culture, which is largely wound up in Unesco-protected knitting practices. Knitting is men's work on Taquile. In fact, if a man fails to hone his knitting skills, he'll have next to no chance of finding a wife. The prospective wife in question, when hit on, will ask to inspect the man's knitted hat. If she isn't satisfied with the quality, better luck next time. 

Hats are used to indicate relationship status on the island. Singletons are denied suffrage, so the colour of a man's hat either confers or denies authority. Even the side to which you wear your brightly coloured woollen bauble tells the world whether you're single and uninterested, single and looking, or taken. 

Our final destination for the day was our homestay community, where we had the chance to engage with a traditional Peruvian farming lifestyle for a few short hours. Our arrival was met with a small marching band that drummed and panpiped behind us all the way up a hill to the community meeting place: a concrete sports pitch. 

We were then introduced to our 'mamas' for the night. Niki and I were to stay with Belinda, a 22 year old woman with one year old Andre strapped to her back. But before heading off to our houses, an important cultural exchange was to take place. Time for an intense - and brutal! - soccer match against some local boys. (Note my unbroken legs, Mel). 

And then came the chance to get dressed in traditional clothes - skirt upon skirt upon colourful skirt - and join the locals in a dance. Swooshy skirts and manly pink ponchos: fabulous. 

Still traditionally costumed on top of our polarfleeces and pants, Niki and I grabbed our heavy, heavy bags and almost died following Belinda up the Mount Doom of grassy green hills. Loaded up with several kilos of fruits and vegetables - a gift for Belinda - as well as our backpacks and coats, we hobbled along to what must have been the furthest away house in the community. Eventually we reached our big pink-walled room and dumped the bags on the bright bedspreads. When we went to inspect the (thankfully flushable) outdoor toilet, all my Peruvian travel fears and expectations were realized when I was attacked by a dog. Bitten! Three times! On the calves! Take that, doubters! There was no skin damage or rabies, and the dog turned out to be a naughty puppy, but still. I feel vindicated for carrying on about bitey dogs over the past few months. 

An awkwardly silent but delicious dinner followed, featuring all vegetarian food (no guinea pigs): vegetable soup with noodles, then omelette rice with a side of potato-heavy veggies. And then to bed. At 6:45pm. These guys have got to get their solar-powered TVs installed. 

We woke up in our comfortable multi-blanketed beds to the sound of pouring rain. Excellent weather for shepherding, we did not think. After a breakfast of fried bread and a boiled egg, we pulled on our coats and watched as Belinda uprooted the tethered sheep and started chasing them up the hill behind the house. This isn't so bad, we thought, drenched to the skin and skidding through poo, lungs about to explode.  Then Belinda pointed to the distant sheep. "Catch their ropes and bring them back to me," she said. So off we went, staggering up the hill after the darting sheep, catching one mud-slicked rope just in time to watch five more slither past. Belinda calmly came and took the ropes off of our disgustingly dirty hands, getting to work on re-anchoring the sheep in greener pastures as we attempted to recover. 

Upon returning to the house, we were handed a bowl of freshly dug up potatoes and carrots. I discovered a new talent for knife-peeling, barely retaining my fingertips while Niki spider-watched. Once finished, we sat in the now sunny backyard as Belinda got to work on the washing up, using old tyres as the washing and rinsing tubs. Lunchtime was at 11am. This time we ate quinoa soup (best yet) and fried cheese, white and purple potatoes, and a cooked red onion and tomato salad. Very filling. 

That was it for our homestay. Before leaving the house, I made friends with the bitey puppy. I rubbed her tummy and all was right with the world - for a total of ten minutes. Down on the dock, the dog gave my left calf one final nip, and then we were off back to Puno. 

Kathy, Niki and I celebrated our successful homestay by hiring a taxi to take us to the giant condor statue overlooking Puno. This turned into an insane taxi sprint up 'streets' of mud puddles, loose stones, more pothole than road, barking dogs and absolutely no seatbelts. The view, once up there, showed Lake Titicaca splayed out greenly below. Definitely worth the $7 taxi fare, though possibly not the near-death ride. 

We tipped the driver out of admiration for his good humour and guilt for the damage likely sustained by his car, then headed off into town for dinner and chocolate-purchasing. We would leave Lake Titicaca the next day with a handful of adventure-filled memories and filthy trouser legs.