Late May found us in southern Peru… we’d completed a 5 day 46 km trek along the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu and, with a day of rest and laundry in between, we then travelled south from the mountain town of Cusco to the port city of Puno, on the Peruvian shores of Lake Titicaca.
Lake Titicaca is famous for its size and altitude, both of which are staggering: it covers an area of around 8,300 km AND is the ‘highest navigable body of water in the world’ at 12,500’ high (for perspective: Cusco is 11,200’, Machu Picchu 7,980’, and Calgary… a ‘piddly’ 3,428’ 😉); it is also considered to be an ‘ancient lake’ and believed to be the birthplace of the Incas.
While there are myriad ways to visit the lake and it’s inhabitants, the most popular form of tourism is by boat and with a homestay…which is what we opted to do.
As the trip from Cusco to Puno would take most of a day; we were scheduled to depart by boat early the following morning for a two day trip on Lake Titicaca visiting the floating islands of Uros, Isla Amantaní, and Isla Taquile.
I nearly had to pull out of the tour as - despite all the coca tea I’d been accustomed to drinking - I began feeling ill a few hours into the bus trip to Puno, with my symptoms worsening by the minute. 😩 I’ll spare you the details but it’s a damned miracle I managed to get on the boat the next morning! Thank goodness for the meds we’d packed, which our driver instructed me to take immediately upon arrival in Puno, and for my loving family who did all they could to both help me and to also deal with the other drama of the day: our flight back to Lima had been cancelled due to the Juliaca airport closure and so we needed both a new flight AND to arrange transport to the Arequipa airport, which was a 5 hour drive instead of the 1 hour we’d expected… never dull! 🤯
The small boat - with space for about 25 passengers, a driver, and a guide - toured us first to the floating islands of the Uros people (fascinating and worthy of a dedicated post+ another day) before we arrived for our homestay on Amantaní. It was surreal to be on a boat that size, on (thank goodness) calm lake waters, all while visually feeling like we were on the ocean with a vast horizon of just water and often only very distant shores in sight.
As we disembarked on Amantaní, we were greeted by a handful of ‘Mamas’. The guide did a great job of keeping fellow travellers together and our group - me, my husband, our two teens, and my sister - felt so fortunate to be placed with the lovely Mama Celia.
After visiting the floating islands - which are literally FLOATING islands made of reeds, with no electricity nor running water (obviously) - Amantaní seemed rather advanced. Still though, visiting the traditional communities of Lake Titicaca is like visiting any culture/tribe that has remained virtually untouched/unchanged by our common day. Limited electricity, no running water, no motorized vehicles nor equipment, and certainly no internet. The island’s inhabitants, around 800 families, abide by ages-old traditions and methodology, with the roles and expectations of each person clearly defined and respected. They still speak the Incan language Quechua - although Mama Celia also understood and could communicate simply in Spanish.
Mama Celia never married and runs the family home and business with her parents: they host families, like ours, when it’s their turn (the travel companies and Island government do their best to ensure equality in homestay revenue amongst the Islanders), they also farm sheep, and vegetables. She’s a sweet, quiet, humble, and committed woman…who also loves to dance (more on that below)!
Mama Celia walking us back to the boat for our departure… she dons her traditional skirt, blouse, and cape EVERY time she leaves the home and constantly has the loop of yarn around the back of her head to assist in her knitting as she walks. You can see the vastness of the lake and Isla Taquile on the horizon.
This is Mama Celia’s adobe home, which she shares with her parents and one sister. The bottom window provides light to the kitchen and eating area, with a guest room window above, and the doorway to the left provides access to the courtyard. From the courtyard you can enter the kitchen area, a bathroom (with pails for flushing the toilet (there was an actual toilet but no running water) and a wash bin outside), doors to the lower rooms used mostly for storage, and the stair case that leads to the second floor rooms.
Here Mama Celia is cooking our breakfast over the earthen oven…it was cold and, when at home, she always had on layers of clothes, a self-knitted toque, and an apron while cooking.
One of the family’s sheep at the side of the house in a makeshift stone fence corral.
Mama Celia left her traditional clothing hanging on a nail in the courtyard so that it was quick to adorn if anyone came calling or if she had to leave the home.
Despite the cool temperatures, there were wild flowers EVERYWHERE. I thought them an apt metaphor for the Amantaní people, who thrive in what most would consider incredibly challenging circumstances.
“If we could see the miracle of a single flower clearly our whole life would change.” ~ Buddha
Mama Celia’s life is busy… seemingly solely in charge of making us plentiful near-vegan meals (meat is only ever consumed during very special events); helping with the animals; escorting my sister on the hike up Pacha Mama - a sacred ceremonial site atop one of the island’s two highspots - (I was too sick and the rest of my gang was ‘done’ with hiking post-Inca Trail! 😂), and later helping the group get dressed in traditional attire before leading them to the live music & dance (I stayed in bed 😔), and was always knitting while walking. When I asked her what she does when she’s not working she told us she loves to dance, and these monthly events are a highlight for her. ☺️ Despite how busy she was, and her very humble nature, she allowed me to take her portrait. I had a couple of minutes while she cooked that morning (in super low light and cramped space in the kitchen) and then I had maybe one minute (literally … if it was 90 seconds maaaayyyybeeee) to try and capture a portrait of her, in the harsh mid-afternoon light in her traditional dress, before our departure. This was taken on our walk down the hill from her home to the boat and - not wanting to be late - she honoured me with three images, of which this is one, before she sped on ahead of all of us while knitting another toque.
Mama Celia was elated when the kids first offered to help clean the dishes after lunch. This is the kitchen: Mama Celia cooked (not only for us but for her whole family) on the small earthen fire you can see in the back while seated on a gallon pail with cushion atop (you can better see the stove in the portrait above). The very low doorway is typical as it helps to keep the rooms as warm as possible.
Mama Celia has another sister who is married with a family; she told us that they don’t host families as they live ‘very humbly’, and, with visible pride, added ‘they don’t have the beautiful home and kitchen that we do’. I don’t share this with judgment, rather with reverence for how hard they’ve worked to have such a welcoming abode; investing a little each year to have a home that affords them the opportunity to host. Definitely humbling and a reminder of all we take for granted.
Getting to Lake Titicaca, and the islands, is not easy…being there while suffering with altitude sickness is not at all ideal… but I am SO GRATEFUL that - with my family’s encouragement (because I’d resigned myself to staying in Puno) - I got to have this experience. What a shame that I was too unwell to visit Pacha Mama or the town square, nor did I have the stamina to try to capture the night sky (I’ve NEVER seen so many stars!), and if only I’d had the energy to pack + use my external flash (it got left at the Puno hotel)…even with all that challenged, Mama Celia’s warmth and willingness to share their home and culture with us is certainly something we will all carry with us forevermore.
The only method of sharing her portraits with her is to mail them…they’ll be sent to Puno and then sorted into a bag for whomever is next visiting the island for delivery. I may never know if she receives them (she doesn’t read nor write) but I remain hopeful… and the smile on her face when I told her I’d send them will be forever etched on my heart.
With deep gratitude,
Lori