I can't help it: every time I hear Titicaca, I laugh and start to sing the Animaniac's Lake Titicaca (I think it's okay not to grow up sometimes, although I learned it's pronounced Titikâhkâh and its etymology has been traced to mean the Rock Puma, due to its shape). And indeed, it was a sense of wonder and fun that overcame our group as we drove into Puno, at the shores of Lago Titikaka, where we were greeted with fireworks.
Puno has that vibe of seaside resorts: busy but relaxed; self-important but fun; culturally interesting but not taking itself too seriously. I'm sure we got the watered-down version due to the pandemic, but I still loved it. Maybe it's the humidity in the air or the fact that I could sense we were just a party away (Puno is known for its folkloric festivals), but I could spend a year or two there. Its main attraction, of course, is the lake itself, the biggest in South America (in water volume) and the highest navigable lake in the world, straddling Peru and Bolivia.
We had an early start to visit the floating villages of Titicaca, built from layer upon layer of totora reeds harvested from the lake. Although simple, these are ingenious islands which reflect the many ways in which humans have adapted to their environment. It's actually good luck that these have survived considering the destruction that the Inca brought with them (this confirms my theory that the Inca were not the gentle people they are portrayed to be). The Uru orginally built these villages as a defensive measure: they could separate and move on the lake as required, using larger islands as watchtowers. Indeed, one of our hosts confirmed that if a family doesn't get along with another (typically up to six families live in a village), members will lop off a section and float away. I can think of many advantages to this, especially during major holidays.
We then continued on our travels, through the reeds, past the waterfowl, ducks and cormorants, to the deep waters. I had to constantly remind myself that on this vast expanse of water, I was actually at almost 4000m above sea level. I started to construct theories on how that much water could have landed this high up: 1) the Inca believe it is Pachamama's womb from which was born Viracocha, first god of the Inca; 2) geologists believe that a massive earthquake hit the Andes Mountains, splitting the range in two and creating a hallow which then filled with water from melting glaciers; 3) I believe that a spaceship crashed into the mountains, creating a big hole which filled with water; from it emerged the gentle people of Amantani...
I was not able to find the etymology of Amantani, but it is nicknamed the Island of love. Its people, some 800 families, are mostly vegetarian, have no cars (although a moped whisked one of our grateful fellow travellers to the top; it's a steep climb!) and live from their agriculture. We learned that the cultivated terraces are called "pata", from which comes the word potato (via Spanish). At the restaurant, served by Amadeo (he who loves God) we had wild potato, homemade ewe's cheese, quinoa and vegetables. Everything was light and peaceful, concluded by a ceremony similar to the one conducted in honour of our Grandmothers. Most of us would have been happy to stay longer in the enchanted gardens of lupine, hollyhock and kantu. This island was a veritable Eden.
