Written by: TravelingProfessor
Friday, January 27, 2012 

High in the Andes of straddling Peru and Bolivia sits the largest lake in South America, Lake Titicaca.   At 12,500 feet above sea level, it is the highest navigable body of water in the world.   At one time, steamships crisscrossed the lake carrying passengers and cargo, but those days are long gone.

Traveling from Puno, Peru, the bow of our half-filled 20 passenger boat breaks a white frothy slash into the smooth blue waters of Titicaca.   Most of us are down below snoozing off the lunch-time Cusquena lagers soothed by the constant drone of the boat motor. There are a few up top living dangerously, sunning themselves with UV rays deceptively stronger at this altitude than if they were on a 95 degree beach in Miami.   There are puffy bright white clouds hanging still in the rich blue sky.   A few birds fly by, but other than that, the lake seems desolate.  

In between the shores a few small islands dot the lake.    Closer to the Peruvian side is the 3.5 square mile Isla Amantani.   We pull into its small harbor, crowding out the fishing fleet of 4 red and white rowboats.

We are here on for a one-night home stay with a local family. It’s a program partly designed to help the incredibly poor people of the island.   Visitors bring gifts of foodstuffs in exchange for meals, lodging and insight into the lives of some of the most isolated people in the world.

The people of Amantani live much the same way now as they have since the ancient Incan ruins were built on top of the twin peaks of the island. None of the families we met have electricity. Cell phones, TV, internet, radios, and newspapers are non-existent.    There is no indoor plumbing.   There are no vehicles or electric motors.   They survive through farming and fishing. The homes are built with adobe and cinderblocks. A tin roof is a luxury. There is a small elementary school, health clinic and town hall.    Despite their lack of wealth, they are proud people and their island is as neat and tidy as it is sparse and simple.

Our host family meets us at the harbor.   Maria is dressed differently than the bowler-topped women we met in our previous days in Peru.   She is probably in her twenties and stands about 5 foot tall. For protection from the sun she wears a long black veil. Her bright red skirt accompanies a clean white shirt with a floral design.   Her sandals are well-worn. She is with her 4 year-old son, Jefferson.   He stares at us with a mix of shyness and suspicion, perhaps wondering who these strange giants are, and why they are dressed so strangely.

My elementary Spanish is of no use here. Amantani is far from the cities of Peru, so pre-colonial Quechua is the native tongue.   Somehow we figure things out and Maria leads us up to her home. Nothing is flat on Amantani. The trek is up and down steep angles through well-worn trails.   Despite my pre-trip workouts on the Stairmaster and my $245 hiking boots, Maria and Jefferson easily outpace me, probably wondering why I am huffing and puffing.

She unlocks the wooden gate to her house.     There are three structures. One of them serves as the kitchen. It is sparse with a dirt floor and a simple fireplace/stove made of bricks.   A small wooden table with two chairs sits at one side but we can see that the children are used to sitting on cinderblocks.

Our quarters are up the wooden ladder above the storeroom. The wood-frame beds are covered with a thin mattress and warm wool blankets.  A candle with matches is provided in case we need them after dark. 

Then there is the outhouse. Maria demonstrates how to use it: grab a bucket of water from the rain barrel, then rinse the floor of the facility after use.   It’s a good thing that I remembered to bring toilet paper.

A few moments later, Maria’s daughter, Jessica, comes skipping home from school.   I would love to ask her how old she is and how the children were given their names, but anything other than hand gestures is futile. I think she is about 8 or 9. She is pretty wearing a bright yellow sweater and blue sweat pants. She has high cheek bones, smooth skin and long locks of black hair braided down to the middle of her shoulders.

Maria invites us into the kitchen to make us dinner.   She quickly takes some branches, lights a fire and stirs up a quinoa soup. I pray that she hasn’t pulled out all the stops and decided to make us the traditional meal of cuy, from the guinea pigs she is raising just outside the door.

We give Maria our gifts of pasta and quinoa.   It is difficult for Amantanis to get protein into their diets.   Livestock like chickens and cows simply do not do well at such high altitudes. The grain-like quinoa has been a lifesaver to Peruvians because it is packed with protein and has many other nutritional advantages. But the Whole Foods Market crowd has discovered quinoa too. The law of supply and demand has driven prices up, making it more difficult for people like Maria to provide nutritional meals to her family.

It’s pleasing to see how appreciative children can be of the simplest of gifts. Jessica is thrilled with her colored pens and notebooks for school. Both kids don’t know what to make of the small stuffed animals we’ve brought them. But they happily clip them to the lanyards we also gave them. They proudly display the curiosities around their necks.

We wake up the next morning and we hear Jefferson and Jessica getting ready for the day. I peek outside the door and there they are, showing off what we gave them the night before. 

After breakfast, Maria and the kids walk with us back down to the harbor so we can catch our boat. A few minutes into our hike, Jessica inexplicably disappears, probably off to school, anxious to use her new pens and notebook. I am disappointed I didn’t get to say goodbye.   When we get to the harbor, Jefferson runs to join the other pre-school age children, showing them the gifts we brought them.    Maria surprises me, squeaking out the best “thank you” she can.    Then she silently melds into the crowd of other veiled women wearing red skirts.

As we cruise away from the island, I have to admit that I’m a bit baffled.   It was an extraordinary travel experience to be adopted by this Amantani family, even for the short time that it was.   But why were there no good-byes?   Did they not like us? Were the gifts not appreciated? Did we unsuspectingly violate a custom or code of conduct?

As the twin peaks of the island vanished into the blue horizon, I realized why they didn’t say goodbye. Why would they?   How would they know how to?  They’ve never had to do it before.

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