Froze Off Our Titi's and Our Caca's

We left you en route to Puno in the south west of Chile. If one was to accurately describe Puno, they may suggest it a candidate for sister city relations with Gore. Our arrival into Puno was via yet another night bus (though the video entertainment this time was certainly better – the only pig in it was in a bread sandwich, as apposed to man sandwich). The problem with night buses is that you arrive in the wee hours of the morning (5am in this instance), at which time surveying a series of accommodation options is far from one’s wish-list which usually comprises sleep, sleep and sleep as the three preferred options.

Thankfully, there are usually touts from hostals and hotels awaiting the arrival of night buses, so we usually find making an informed accommodation choice easy. This was the case in Puno, where a rotund Peruvian man had us in his car and heading for ‘Tumi II’ for ‘habitacione, con bano y TV por viente soles’ (private room with toilet, shower and TV for US$7), or so we thought. After a few hours kip, we woke to find we were not in the ‘Tumi II’, nor were we in a hostal of any description, let alone near the city centre. No sign of our TV, private bathroom or rotund Peruvian friend to explain the situation. A few hours later all was sorted - twas a hostal under construction, just 10 minutes walk to town, and we could use his lounge and TV at any time!


The only reason one visits Puno is to tour Lake Titicaca, a monster of a lake at high altitude – 3,810 m elevation and 13 times the size of Lake Taupo. The attractions here are the communities which inhabit the islands of Lake Titicaca. First stop were the Uros Islands which are floating islands made of dried reeds. The Uros people hid in the reeds of Lake Titicaca after the arrival of the Spanish (who could not see them from the Puno shoreside some 5 km away). As the Spanish set up shop in Puno, the Uros ended up having to live on the lake, so constructed islands from the reeds in which they hid. In addition to the islands, shelters and boats are also built from the reeds.




Today, while the Uros population is in decline, though some 800 still live on the islands, entertaining the daily throng of tourists. This means that the traditional reed islands, with their traditional reed huts and their traditional reed boats, are accompanied by the traditional solar panel and phone booth. In fact, the ‘7th Day Adventists’ have even thrown a church onto some floating pontoons which they’ve parked by the islands. The Mormon’s however wait onshore, trying to devise a way to bike across the lake.




Following our visit to the Uros Islands, we we’re hosted for a night by a family on Amantani Island. The Island has 17 communities which live by the general rule of reciprocity – ‘today for me, tomorrow for you’. Our family consisted of Aurora and her two children, Liz (12) and William (6). Our stay with them began with us trying to explain why we didn’t need to purchase more alpaca wool hats, was followed by an iPod slideshow of photos of friends and family in New Zealand to the sounds of the Patea Maori Club (Poi-E), contained several meals of Quenua Soup (Quenua means ‘crap’ in English), included a night of dance in traditional Amantani dress, and ended with us giving gifts sourced from the local 24-7 (food for the family, chocolates for the children and a matchbox car for the William) which were warmly received. We had a fantastic time, and despite the expressions in the photo below (had just eaten Quenua Soup for the millionth time), assure you that Aurora, Liz & William enjoyed our company (all three have pledged their support to the Tasman Makos for the up-coming season).



While on Amantani Island, we were treated to some pretty special weather. Having carried our jackets with us for a month of dry season without any suggestion of rain, we decided to leave the jackets in Puno for our time on Lake Titicaca. This decision was promptly followed by rain, hail, a little snow, gale force winds and some pretty mean waves. The storm was one of the worst in 5 years, destroying the newly built floating wharf. There was a long enough break in the weather to meet some local kids and for Mat to join in a game of football and show why New Zealand are no threat on the world stage.





Our final visit was made to Taquille Island where all is learnt by the colour of the hat and dress. An all red hat on a man – unfortunately for the ladies he is married. A red and white hat on a man – this one is on the market ladies. Extremely colourful hat on a man – he’s the Mayor – don’t know if he’s married or not but he is the only one on the island drawing a salary so ladies may as well have a crack. Ladies in black skirts are off the market boys, and we would suggest leaving the ones in coloured skirts (single) with children alone too.


Back in Puno, we made the most of our last evening in Peru by ordering the local delicacy of ‘Cuy Chactado’ from one of the posher restaurants (the one with table cloths). Cuy Chactado is Guinea Pig, cooked whole and served with vege. Our dish was thankfully cut down the centre, making it slightly more appealing than that which is served as it would emerge from the cage. Taste wise, a pretty bland affair, and nutritionally speaking, we expended more energy trying to find meat on it than we gained from eating any meat we found. Onwards to Bolivia….


What was meant to be a 6 hour bus trip to La Paz (Bolivia) changed dramatically an hour in when we came across further strike action by the militant Peruvian PTA (see the last blog). We must have arrived only an hour after they started the latest strike which involved blocking the only bridge between Puno and the Bolivian border. The blockade involved a few hundred teachers, burning tires, a burnt out truck cab, and any sizeable rocks they could get their hands on (which were then covered in petrol and oil, ready to be set alight if the Police moved in).


Our bus driver thought the delay would only be an hour, but after we watched (while eating popcorn!) a dozen policemen make no inroads into the protest, we decided to join a couple of Brits and leg it towards the border. The protesters had no problems with tourists crossing the picket-line/bridge, so after a 3 km walk (the length of road covered in rocks and burning tires), we made it to waiting collectivos (mini buses that drive specific routes). This got us as far as the border, then another collectivo from the border to Cocacabana where we waited 2 1/2 hours for a bus to La Paz. This bus lasted an hour before we were ordered off and onto a barge to cross Lake Titicaca and back onto the bus (which went on a separate barge) for La Paz. 5 hours later than expected, we arrived into La Paz after a bus, walk, collectivo, customs, collectivo, long wait, bus, barge and bus!


La Paz, the highest capital city in the world, where you can play golf at the highest golf course, eat pizza at the highest pizza restaurant and support soccer at the highest stadium in the world (a simple marketing strategy that lures thousands of gringos daily). Our time here has been spent exploring this city by foot, taking in the multitude of markets on offer and making plans for the rest of Bolivia. The city itself is an interesting prospect, built within a narrow valley, it is an urban designers nightmare. Traffic, which consists of chicken buses and a million collectivos, is funneled down a few main routes, causing massive jams and instant pollution. Crime is unfortunately rife, with two narrow misses ourselves.


Walking through the markets, Caroline was spat on in a common scam where compassionate Bolivians come forward to help clean and console you (after you’ve been spat on), during which time they steal your wallet. Thankfully, all Caroline had in her wallet was some hand sanitizer and the spitter got a verbal ‘F*ck Off You C%nt’ from Mat as he exited across the road. The second miss saw Mat’s day pack opened as we walked down the street. The assailant however wasn’t interested in the smelly sports shoes at the top of the pack (and would have got a similar verbal serve had it been noticed). We’ve now taken extra security precautions with another padlock for the day bag and a ‘Travel Talisman’ from the local witches market.

The big ticket item for us in La Paz has been a little mountain bike ride (this is how we explained it to the parents in earlier e-mails). When we say little, we actually mean a 65km downhill ride from La Cumbre (4,800m elevation) to Coroico (1,000m elevation) along ‘The Worlds Most Dangerous Road’. A new road was recently opened, but prior to that, 300 people would die annually on this 65km stretch of dirt road with extreme dropoffs, single-lane width, and no guardrails. In fact, in 1983, one accident on the road claimed in excess of 100 lives.


So with this in mind, we decided Friday the 13th would be the perfect day to mountain bike it (did we mention 10 tourists have died mountain biking it!). We lined ourselves up with a reputable new company (B-Sides for those of you travelling) with more guides than other companies and great bikes (Dual suspension Iron Horse Yakura Ojiki with Hayes disc brakes, Manitou suspension, E-Thirteen Shimano componentry and Husselfelt handlebars…. Oh oh ohhhhh – a lame Tim the Toolman Taylor impression).


The ride was challenging, but at no stage unsafe (thanks to the great guides). Fatal accidents mainly involving vehicles coming up and down the road used to be very common but they have recently built a new road so we didn´t see too much traffic!. We did however hear of an Irish guy last week that was going too fast and literally rode off the side and had to be winched out of a tree that broke his fall into the valley below! The congratulatory beer at the completion was both well earned and well received.

Tomorrow, we take a dodgy flight (think ‘Sounds Air’ without safety guidelines) to Rurrenbacque where we plan to spend a week in and around the Amazon Jungle. Apologies for the length of post but we’re having too much fun not to share, and as many of our readers are in full time employment, expect you have plenty of time to read! And ‘Big-Ups’ to the tasman Makos who destroyed the Northland Taniwha in Whangarei 25 -22. A sure sign of things to come in the up-coming NPC…

Ps. There is a feature that lets you post comments. After two people have slogged 45 kms on an ancient trail at altitude, and then raced back down the mountain to write you all a blog, this feature should be used. i.e. ‘Congrats guys, huge effort, you both look so hot right now! Especially you Mat’