Peru (day eleven)

A narrative story of my last day (or days, I guess) in the beautiful country of Peru by way of my journal...

The magnificent travels of Megann Phillips: a journal

Day 11 in Peru
March 26, 2012

Flashback to the Uros Islands

        On the boat ride to Amantaní yesterday, we stopped at the Uros Islands. They're a lot smaller than I expected them to be after reading about them in my travel guide: only about two hundred square feet. They are packed tightly with little reed-built houses, except for a relatively spacious circle in the center, which is filled with evenly spaced vendors of small trinkets and handmade crafts.
        I have to admit, I was a bit disappointed; it was all simply too commercialized for my taste, I think... There wasn't much of a culture to experience, as I thought there would be. However, I did find something to speculate about in concern with the living conditions: there was absolutely no electricity or running water... In fact, I didn't even see a bathroom or a kitchen at all.
        Dad said that he didn't believe they could actually survive with the minute resources they had on the island we set foot on, and hypothesized a giant conspiracy: that the people on the island didn't actually live there, and just came there to vend their goods during the day. I would be one of the first to admit his points are valid, but I'm not sure that I can quite bring myself to believe his suggestion for the sake of intrigue.
        On a different note, aside from the cultural aspects (which may or may not be staged) about the reed islands, there are historical and technical aspects which I believe I can trust to be reliable enough. 
        History: The Uros Islands were built by the Aymara people of Bolivia as a means if escaping the Spanish in the heat if their conquest, according to the guide on yesterday's tour boat.
        How they're built: Basically, the islanders cut huge cubes if sod, nail them firmly with wooden stakes in each of their four surface corners, and then use rope to tie multiple cubes of the sod together. Afterwards, they layer their homemade island with fresh reeds from the lake, which turn brown and are continually replaced. Maintained properly, an island can last for forty years. (This, also, is according to our boat guide.)
        So how don't they float away? Oh, each island has eight anchors.

Scenes from the Uros Islands follow...

The Forty-eight Hour Day: Phase One

Dad woke up feeling better today (which I guess, technically, is yesterday, the twenty-fifth), and Flora fixed us all breakfast. We said goodbye soon after, and bought a few of her homemade hats just before Madeline left for school in a blue uniform sweater and messy pink sweatpants.

        We hopped back aboard the tour boat that we took to Amantaní and headed for the Isla Taquile for a short hike and visit. 

Below are pictures I took on Isla Taquile...

The Forty-eight Hour Day: Phase Two

        Airports... Airplanes... We caught our first of what is projected to be four total flights back home at around 7:00 PM on the twenty-fifth (yesterday— but that day sort of melds with today).

        Arriving in the Lima airport at about midnight with a layover of eight or so hours before the Lima-Miami flight (the second leg of the grand voyage), we slept on the floor of the airport for some time, hugging our luggage to protect it from thieves. Needless to say, now on the third airplane of the day, Cara, Dad, and I all smell like old shoes. A nice, hot shower may even make my sadness at leaving Peru disappear for a little while.

Peru (day ten)

 The magnificent travels of Megannn Phillips: a journal

Day 10 in Peru

March 24, 2013

Amantaní: the journey before the home-stay

        "Wow" is the best word with which I can describe the island of Amantaní. We arrived here today by boat, via an eight o'clock voyage across the vast waters of Lake Titicaca. The boat provided the sort of tour-type setting that I normally would have liked to avoid, but it was the least expensive and least scheduled and least guided transport that Cara could find at the dock in Puno. Regardless, it was a good experience; there wasn't an overly excessive amount of "guiding" on the boat, and after arriving on the island of Amantaní, the man who so good-heartedly informed us about the Lago Titicaca (Titicaca, literally meaning stone puma in the Aymara language) and managed our schedule of visitation in the Uros Islands on the way to Amantaní, all but disappeared. 

        After disembarking our vessel at the dock in Amantaní, we were immediately matched with a host family with whom we would spend tonight with. Dad, Cara, and I, along with two French girls, followed a chubby, kind-faced woman in traditional dress, named Flora, back to her home.

        The walk there was absolutely beautiful. Everywhere, there were crops growing, separated from one another by seemingly unstable fences made if stacked gray stones. I noticed there were odd plastic bags tied to the tops of many of the growing plants, and upon asking about this oddity at dinner later in the day, was told by Flora that it protected ripening quinoa from hungry birds. Aside from the crops, along the fence lines and throughout the fields, wildflowers grow everywhere; mostly yellow and purple. From any point on the island, I can vaguely see ancient Inca terraces, laced with more recently laid cobblestone or dirt trails, the occasional awkward tree, and the lake in all of its glory stretching endlessly in at least one or two directions.

        We arrived at Flora's house around sunny noon. Before walking through the front gates, I hadn't known what to expect; for all I knew, I would be spending the night on a dirt floor with a straw-stuffed pillow and going to the bathroom in an old hole behind the house. We hadn't booked a stay with our host family through any tour agency, after all; the discussion forums on the Internet seemed to predict we would be living for a day in a more rudimentary setting for taking this option.

        In reality, however, Flora's house is like a very small, family-run hostel. There are three small rooms pre-prepared for guests, and a little blue flag hung proudly on a wall outside, which proclaims la casa as official and certified for tourist stay. The house is two stories tall, with a rose- and wildflower-filled courtyard whose entrance is marked by a little red gate. There is a kitchen (in which we were served both a delicious multi-course traditional lunch and a delicious multi-course traditional dinner) and a bathroom without running water slightly separated from the main rooms, but still inside the walls of the quaint, red-gated compound. (I had to pour buckets full of water into the toilet bowl in order to mimic a flush in the bathroom, but that wasn’t so bad.)

        Oh, and there were also kittens with tiny, sunburned ears!

Madeline and the kittens

        The youngest of Flora's three daughters (I haven’t really met the older two, although I did partially watch a volleyball game they participated in for ten minutes or so), Madeline is so sweet and beautiful. Eight years old, she sort if reminds me of little Ryann, with her goofy sense of humor and jolly, enthusiastic attitude and her crooked front teeth. She was wearing a traditional brightly colored skirt and waist wrap just like her mother's when I met her, and I think we bonded a bit over the kittens.

        I know very well that my Spanish could do with some improvement, but when talking to a child of Madeline's age, one doesn't need an advanced vocabulary; I asked her about the kittens: How old are they? Do they have names? Which one is your favorite? As it turns out, the kittens were about eight weeks old, and she did have a favorite, and her favorite kitten was the only kitten with a name. (There were three orange kittens and one gray kitten, named Jongjong, who was her gatito favorito.) She played with him so fondly, waving around a long piece of grass for him to chase, carelessly hugging him over and over again despite his protests. She was altogether adorable and endearing.

Dad's sick

        We think Dad must have eaten some bad fish or something at dinner last night, because he has had some explosive diarrhea since then. He's not feeling himself at all-- He was holed up in one of the three comfortable tiny beds in the room we are calling ours for the next day or so, since almost the moment Flora walked us through her door. Dad is as miserable as Cara was at the beginning of the trip, when she came down with altitude sickness in Cusco.

        I practically forced him to swallow some the anti-diarrheal medication that Mom insisted I take with me to Peru "just in case". Luckily, I haven't needed those pills yet (and chances are, I won't need them at all, since our trip is almost drawing to a close now).

Hiking to Pachatata's Temple

        Only Cara and I did the hike to Pachatata's temple since dad wasn't feeling well. My instincts tell me, though, that he may have given up the trail to the temple half way through even had he been ready and healthy to enjoy the day. It was uphill and surprisingly difficult…

        Guided by Flora's husband, we walked with a couple of other tourists to the summit if Isla Amantaní, where the ancient Incas had built a temple to Pachatata (Father Earth). There is another temple, too, built to Pachamama (Mother Earth), a half hour's hike or so from Pachatata's temple, but Flora's husband elected not to take us there today; instead, we watched the sun set from El Templo de Pachatata. The only redemption for this missed opportunity lies in the fact that, like the Temple of Pachatata, the Temple of Pachamama is most likely guarded with locked gates, leaving us unable to step inside.

        Flora's husband said that the gates are unlocked only once a year: on the third Thursday of January. On that day, five communities on the island feast and give offerings inside El Templo de Pachatata, and five communities feast and give offerings at El Templo de Pachamama; afterwards, the ten communities dance and celebrate along the paths that connect both temples, meeting in the middle. I would have love to have been here to see that ceremony… It sounds so incredible.

A side note about los templos

        Side note: It's fitting that both Pachamama's and Pachatata's temples are built on Amantaní because they are said to be the mother and father of all the world, and the world's contents are, according to Inca folklore, supposed to have risen from the depths of Lake Titicaca. 

Another side note: Amantaní is rumored to have mystic powers of love and healing. I bet this has something to do with the world's origin coming from this place...

Things I learned at the dinner table

        Around the dinner table, after the hike, Cara and I and the French girls chatted some with Flora in Spanish. I learned some interesting things about life on Amantaní through the things she said, and from the way she reacted to some of the things we said.

1) Flora had never heard if the country Vietnam. One of the two French girls was of Asian descent, and when Flora asked her where she was from, she could hardly believe the answer was France. "You seem like you're Japanese," she said. We all laughed, and the girl (Her name was Lama) told Flora that her history was Vietnamese. Flora proceeded to struggle to pronounce the word in a confused manner, and then continued to call her Japanese.

2) Flora struggled, also, with the word stepmother (even in Spanish: madrastre). She knew nothing of the concept of divorce between married couples; when we explained that Cara was Dad's wife (this was much less complicated and controversial than explaining that Cara is, in fact, my dad’s girlfriend), but not my mother, she asked what had happened to my mother as if she had died. I replied, "Mi madre vive en Los Estados Unidos, y a veces yo vivo con ella, y a veces yo vivo con mi padre y Cara." She looked astounded but, surprisingly, not horrified.

3) Flora speaks in Quechua only with her husband, not with her children. Apparently, she does not want them to learn the language-- only Spanish, like they learn in school. Her three girls only speak limited amounts of Quechua with their grandparents.

A billboard announcing our arrival in Puno on March 23

We arrived at the dock early on the morning of March 24 in order to catch our boat out of Puno.

Looking out along the shorline...

An elderly man and woman rowing their way to some unknown destination

Once our lake-faring vessel set course, I rushed to the upper deck. I seated myself just behind the waving Peruvian flag, and found myself with fantastic panorama views of Titicaca.

A man transporting tall reeds

Gazing across the water, the lake seems endless. (It is, after all, one of the largest in the world!)

Approaching Amantaní

Flora walking out to the dock to meet her mysterious house guests (the French girls, my dad, Cara, and me)

As we hiked with Flora to her residence, we really got a feel for just how beautiful the island is.

La casa de Flora y su familia

Looking through our bedroom window at Flora's house

Madeline and her crooked smile

Jongjong, Madeline's favorite kitten

Oh, how I wish I could have taken one home with me!

La plaza de armas of Amantaní (We passed through it on our hike to the temple of Pachatata.)

At the end of our hike, we stood atop one of the very highest point on the island. The view was spectacular.

Peru (day nine... part two)

The magnificent travels of Megann Phillips: a journal

Day 09 in Peru (part 02)

March 23, 2013

Lunch on a schedule

        The thing I really don't like about tours is the tight schedule; that, and I sense that sometimes the atmosphere is too commercial, or too scripted. 

        We are back on the tour bus after a exactly forty-minute excursion to a very touristy restaurant. There was a loud band playing traditional Peruvian music, but asking for tips in perfect English... and there was a buffet. 

        But outside the windows of the spotlessly decorated restaurant, I could see a young boy struggling to lead a loose llama back to his stake, and the view of landscape was breathtaking. I find that it's pretty difficult to script what goes on outside the confines of a bus or a restaurant.

"Come one, little llama... Follow the snack back to your stake..."

We've been calling this one "Grumpy Llama".

Upon entering the province of Puno...

I notice these things:

1) The altitude is higher, and the vast expanse of mountains around us seem lower. (It would make sense, I guess, since we are at a higher elevation than before, when I observed the mountains from Cusco.)

2) Instead of there being many vivid red adobe buildings, most (but not all) of the mud brick  structures are gray or gray-brown or muted brown. Also, red tile roofs have been replaced by aging tin.

3) Thirdly, the weather us colder. I feel the chill through my jacket and can sometimes see snow in the mountains.

4) Trees are rare, but grass is abundant. It a big change from Cusco; there, the rough mountainsides and endless hills seemed like they should have supported a barren landscape, but the vegetation was akin to that I found in Maui two summers passed.

Pucara

        Our tour bus made its last stop of the day in Pucara, an interesting pre-Inca site for which reasons which remain not entirely clear to me. I assume it is because it is near the location where the artifacts in the pre-Inca museum were found... On display were statues of beheaded artistic human figures; renditions of human sacrifice through decapitation. One statue depicted a man eating a small child (human sacrifice through cannibalism).

This fact which I learned some days ago

        While exploring Machu Picchu earlier this week, Elvis told Dad, Cara, and I that the Incas (note: not pre-Incas) rarely practiced human sacrifice, except in times if dire need. Instead, they sacrificed animals with black fur. They believed the color black harnessed the power of the sun; and the sun god was of the utmost importance to them.

Another piece of trivia: How did I not notice it before?

        Our guide pointed out that the bulls placed on top of nearly every building in Andean Peru always come in pairs. Looking back, I must have recognized it in the back of my mind, but the locals have consciously noted that los torritos de Pachamama do their best work in twos. 

        Another fun fact that our guide verbalized on the subject of lost torritos: Because the vast majority of peruanos are catholic, Pachamama's bulls are often placed on rooftops on either side of a Christian cross.

Look! The bulls are a pair, protecting the fertility and wellness of the structure they rest atop.

Quinoa soup for Fathers' Day dinner

        This past Sunday hosted that nationally recognized annual twenty-four-hour period wherein it is encouraged for sons and daughters to compensate for a year's worth of fatherly neglect and abuse with cards and gifts, hugs and kisses, and numerous "Thank you"s and "I love you, Dad"s. Although I'm pretty sure the only reason this sentimental and cheesy holiday exists is due to an enormous sales scheme by greeting card companies, my sisters and I continue to "buy" into it year after year on the third Sunday of every June. What can I say? It's kind of fun to let the man you raised you know that he's appreciated and admired every once in a long while.
        Okay, so the greeting card companies haven't, in fact, made any money off of my sisters yet; they still draw their cards by hand on folded sheets of white computer paper. I, however, at a whopping eighteen years old, have finally deemed it tacky to continue to craft my own thank-you notes... unless I want to break out the colored card stock and stamps, which require a skill set I can't say I've entirely mastered at this point in my life. This year, being the miserable miser that I am, was the first Fathers' Day on which my dad was actually able to tear apart a lick-sealed envelope and open a store-bought card. It was a whole five dollars and ninety-nine cents, and it was absolutely beautiful-- a red-and-white striped two-dimensional popcorn bucket, overflowing with felt popcorn; it said "#1 POP" on the front, and something "corny" (pun courtesy of Hallmark) on the inside.
         Ironically, purchasing and signing this silly card made me feel like I really had my life together, regardless of the fact that I had to ride my collapsable bicycle to Safeway to buy it the day before it was due, because my car broke down in a turn lane a week ago... I decided to take my newfound togetherness and run with it; I proudly lifted my chin and set to work preparing some food for Fathers' Day dinner.
        I debated for a while over what I wanted to concoct. I had a lot of criteria: it needed to be healthy, it needed to be delicious, it needed to be somewhat sentimental... oh, and I wanted to have left-overs to eat over the couple of days. But after much consideration, it was decided that quinoa soup was the perfect option.
        Quinoa is a traditional Andean grain, and Dad, Cara, and I had eaten quinoa soup while in Peru on multiple occasions. It really made an impression on me in South America as being absolutely, divinely, delicious, and because the soup consists entirely of vegetables, herbs, and protein-rich quinoa, I don't know if I can name a healthier entree...
        I was a bit nervous about recreating the dish at home, but after abundant online recipe searching, I found one that fit the bill designated by my Peruvian expectations at Two Peas & Their Pod. I amended it a little (by tripling the amount of quinoa in the soup, and adding extra fresh basil and garlic) to make it a bit more authentic, and then proceeded to sample and be completely satisfied with my creation.

Peruvian quinoa soup (revised from Two Peas & Their Pod's recipe for vegetable quinoa soup)
Ingredients

• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 medium onion (diced)
• 3 cloves garlic (minced)
• 2 medium carrots (chopped)
• 2 celery stalks (chopped)
• 1 small zucchini (chopped)
• 1 yellow squash (chopped)
• 1 1/2 cups fresh green beans (cut into 3/4-inch pieces)
• 1 box (32 ounces) of vegetable broth 
• 2 potatoes, cubed
• 1 (15 ounce) can of diced tomatoes
• 2 bay leaves
• 1 teaspoon dried thyme
• 1/2 cup chopped fresh basil
• 6 cups cooked quinoa
• Salt and black pepper (to taste)

Instructions

Step 1: Heat the olive oil in large, heavy-bottomed stockpot over medium-low heat. Once hot, add the onion and cook until tender (about 5 minutes). 

Step 2: Add the garlic and cook for 2-3 additional minutes. 

Step 3: Add the carrots, celery, zucchini, yellow squash, and green beans and continue to cook for 4 to 5 more minutes, stirring often. (Note: Add the veggies quickly, but gradually. It's much easier to stir when the lubricating olive oil has an opportunity to make contact with the ingredients a handful at a time.)

Step 4: Add the vegetable broth, diced tomatoes, cubed potatoes, bay leaves, thyme, and basil, then reduce the heat to low.

Step 5: Cover, and cook until the vegetables are fork tender (approximately 25 to 30 minutes). Step 6: Stir in the cooked quinoa and add salt and pepper.

Step 7: Serve warm and enjoy!

Because this photo is courtesy of Two Peas & Their Pod, the depiction of the quinoa soup may not be quite accurate. My rendition of the recipe entails a bit more quinoa, and also potatoes, so the end result is significantly thicker and more chunky!

Peru (day nine... part one)

The magnificent travels of Megann Phillips: a journal

Day 09 in Peru (part 01)
March 23, 2013

Coca tea and a long bus ride

        We've boarded a big, comfortable tourist bus to make our way to Lago Titicaca. The temperature is controlled to be just perfect, and an attendant serves us hot or cold beverages whenever we please. When she asks for our choice, I always choose mate de coca, because it is so typically Peruvian. Dad refuses to drink any because the coca leaf is the foundation for synthesizing cocaine, but Cara and I have been pouring the stuff down our throats the entire time we've been in Peru. 
        All of they locals here love coca-- men, women, and children alike drink the tea and chew the leaves continually. They say it helps with altitude sickness, and that it makes you passionate. Heaven knows that I've felt perfectly fine in the high elevations (although this may be because of the medication I was prescribed specifically for altitude sickness) and that I'm absolutely, passionately, head-over-heels with Peru, so I could say the tea may be living up to its reputation. 
        Plus, as I drink it on the bus, it makes me feel as if I'm a genuine part of the not-so-luxurious country I see outside the windows of my luxury coach.

The San Pedro Chapel... "the Sistine Chapel of Peru"

        It was our first stop on tour bus journey to Titicaca. Our guides and the locals called it "the Sistine Chapel of Peru"... Maybe it was a marketing ploy, but it really was beautiful. The ceilings were painted in a detailed, fading pattern, and even though the church was relatively small, it bore enormous murals on every wall. 
        Considering this, the church was still remarkably similar in its design to other Peruvian churches. The representations of The Virgin Mary placed around the church held true to the traditional Peruvian standards which I have come to know thus far into my trip; her dresses took the shape of a wide, firm triangle, representing the mountains as an ode to the ancient Andean religious worship of those things which touch the sky. There were the wonderfully common gold-plated altars, the fabulously carved cylindrical pulpit protruding from the wall, the high ceilings and excess of mirrors. 
        I presume what really set this chapel apart from the rest was the exceptional detail in its murals and paintings... and also (maybe) it's exceptional attention to other non-catholic religious symbols. A golden, Islamic-inspired star adorned the center center of a painted ceiling, and golden suns (representations of the Incan Sun god, which was held in the utmost esteem pre Spanish colonization and is even still revered today throughout the Andes jointly with Catholicism, were hung everywhere.

Raqchi

        Well, there seems to be some confusion about Raqchi. Is it pre-Inca or Inca? Our guide insists that it is an Incan ruin, but Cara thinks he's just calling "Inca" to create hype among the tourists... I might agree with her. After all, the Raqchi used to be a temple dedicated to an over-arching god-- the source of all gods; the ultimate god-- who was not the sun god which the Incas so famously worshipped over all others. In addition, although Inca-style terracing was obvious, with Inca-style stairs and Inca-style drainage, a significant portion of the temple was built of adobe; that is distinctly not Inca. There were also many circular storage buildings, the likes of which I didn't see among the ruins of any other Incan cities we've visited in Peru. 
        A consensus seems to be reached when considering that the site may have been either very early Inca, or belonging to a civilization existing around the same time as the Inca which possibly inspired Incan architecture... Who knows?-- Maybe all of the hypotheses are correct in some way or another.

The lone standing wall of what is assumed to be the remains of the main temple of worship at Raqchi

... and a view of the temple's wall from behind

Entering the ancient temple's surrounding ruined structures

A circular storage shed