Pootling in Puno

Nearing the end of this stage of travelling and we are like wind up toys that are gradually slowing down. Or possibly we are being given a snapshot of what life will be like after retirement. Either way we have become masters of just pottering around. Puno lends itself to this, being an agreeable size to walk around and with nowhere decent to sit and drink cocktails. So we headed first to the docks to allow the boat captains to practise their English sales pitches and then we went to visit a triumphal arch to a little known Peruvian general. (I know he is little known because Peruvians name all their streets after generals and this guy hasn't featured once, unlike our old friend General Bolognesi). Later we sat in the town square and read until a cloud arrived. Having decided to leave the two-room Coca museum for when we were really desperate, we went and looked at a free manga exhibition by the local art college. I liked the one with a boy biting the head off a duck entitled 'Never underestimate the creative power of a young genius'. Well, quite.

Throughout the day we were accosted by a tiny old peasant lady trying to sell us those hats, who kept appearing on the street corners like something out of Labyrinth. Actually she sat down next to us first in the park... 'You look like you need a hat', she said to Chris, in Spanish. As he was wearing his norky, floppy brimmed gringo hat at the time this fact was indisputable. I surpressed a smirk. Chris demurred. 'Your girlfriend might also like a hat', she continued. I wasn't wearing a hat but if I ever need one of those hats I can buy one from Glastonbury. We declined. She persisted. 'Where are you headed next?'
'Cuzco'.
'Cuzco! it's FREEZING there. You definitely both need a hat'.

Top marks for effort but we really didn't need the hats. Later we felt guilty. This is a country that doesn't really have a welfare state and as the evening got colder I started to imagine the old lady at home alone eating bean soup with one bean in. Besides, she was wonderful, with a lovely crinkly face like a walnut and four teeth that stuck out in different directions, so we agreed we'd find her in the morning and buy a hat. (we did, and she tried to upsell me another one 'for my sister or maybe a cousin'. The woman was incorrigible)

Of course the point of being in Puno was to go to Lake Titicaca and in particular the Floating Islands. Chris and I have so far enlivened our sightseeing trips with two private games: one, to decide what we would burgle from museums as gifts for people at home (so far I have decided to redistribute the extravagantly carved collection of solid gold fake moustaches favoured by the Lord of Sipan to all my relatives, although I am saving the silver nose hair clippers for a really special occasion). The second is to decide how we would 'improve' sites of interest in the manner of Disneyworld. Colca Canyon, for example, is crying out for some manner of cable car and would be brilliant for fireworks shows. The reason I mention this is because I don't think Disney could improve on the Floating Islands Tour experience. This is not to say I didn't enjoy it. We went out in a boat and the people waved, we met the chief of the island. We went into their houses. We ate some of the reeds (of which the islands are made) and saw their tame flamingo. We also discovered the houses have had solar panels since 90s, so the islanders can watch TV. We found out that if there is a social dispute on the floating islands the chief chops off the part of the island with the miscreants on it and they float away. All good stuff. I think there's an element of snobbery about having an authentic islands experience. Over 70% of the islands economy is based on tourism so I don't think there really is an unspoilt islands experience left any more. Later on Isla Taquile we saw a man in a Chelsea shirt. Everyone else was in traditional dress, but I'll bet that when the tour boats go home everyone on the island gets changed back into their Chelsea shirt. Which is depressing, but only insofar as it's Chelsea shirts.

So, Lake Titicaca is really very big and covered in tourists and smells a little bit like wee in the bay area, but it's still a damn fine day out even if you can't get off the islands without buying a bracelet and they charge you a fortune for a grilled trout and you have to tip a local who has murdered El Passa Condor in three different languages. Would it have been nicer in a reed canoe, circa 1950? Possibly, but if it was still 1950 I couldn't blog about it.