Titi....Caca

Yes. Funny name isn't it. Lake Titicaca. Ok. You can stop giggling now.

The highest navigable lake in the world (a little fact for the next pub quiz), Lake Titicaca straddles Puru and Bolivia like a giant puma.

In fact, with the imagination that only chewing copious amounts of coca leaves can bring, the andean people believe that the lake is, in fact, in the shape of a puma and thus its name. Titicaca, in the local dialect, means Giant Puma (another usless pub fact).

Continuing on our south bound trail through Peru our travels took us to the banks of this magnificent expanse of water. More like a sea (sometimes you can't see the other side and when you can, more often than not, you're gazing at snowcapped mountains) the lake is dotted with various little islands and penninsulars boasting little fishing villages with locals that, until tourism hit 30 years ago, had not changed the way they lived for thousands of years.

The most facinating of these are the Uros floating islands where we stopped for a little visit. Crazily these islands are made of reeds and do litterally float in the lake. The locals remained untouched for centuries - not even bothered by the incas or the spanish - managing to retain many of their traditions to this day. Living in teeny tiny reed huts, they rebuild their houses every 3 months and their islands every 100 years. While 80 percent of the islands have embraced tourism, and boast high tech solar panels and tvs in their simple abodes, a small group prefer to live the way they always have and, presumably, they go about their business quietly without swarms of camera touting westerners.

The ones that have embraced tourism, however, have done so with fervour, showing us into their homes and demonstrating how they build their islands, catch their fish and bargain with mainlanders in the tourism off-season. Despite the commercialism of it the floating islands are facinating and the people happy and friendly....a good start to our introduction to the people of Titicaca Lake.

I was already reasonably dubious about our next stop...a homestay with a local family on the banks of the lake, staying in simple mud brick homes and lending a hand to help them with their daily chores. The concept sounded wonderful, but after I had chopped meter-long weeds out of my host's vege patch with a sickle for an hour it was beginning to feel more like slave labour. Next my friend and I were piled into hubby's rickety old tinny and cast out into the lake to help him cast his nets. I didn't mind the ride, but my friend, who can't swim, was more than a little nervous.

Apparently the local's favourite sport is volleyball so we gathered down at the beach, with the village's bull and cows as audience and occasional ball boys, to play a game. The local ladies joined in, colourful traditional costumes and all, before herding us all back to our various houses for dinner. We had been asked to bring as gifts some items that the locals find hard to get hold of - living, as they do, in the middle of nowhere....I took rice, sugar and pasta for my family - which may have been a mistake as my 'mumma' excitedly made us cold spagetti with sprinkled peruvian cheese (kind of like an exceptionally salty feta) on top. yum. not. Others had amazing meals. And others made the meals themselves - which may have explained why they were amazing. Still, it was interesting to watch 'mumma' cook dinner over a traditional open flame oven.

The 'mud hut' bit was fine. The beds were smothered with alpaca blankets which were so warm as to be smothering....though I was dubious about their cleanliness... no laundry mats or washing machines here - but my friend and I ate alone and there was very little of the interaction with the family that I had hoped for. The experience overall was what I would call 'interesting' but underwhelming and I was a little disappointed.

Call me a snob. Call me a princess. But let's just say I was glad to leave bright and early the next morning and return to civilization...

Till next time...