The city was sleeping as it shook with violent nightmares. “Don't look back, continue walking!” said Evaristo, my guide. I was walking the winding streets of the city, my mind filled with thoughts of nearby revolutionary terrorists and of the imminent possibility of avalanches occurring in this part of the Andes. With the menacing threat so near, I felt strange and fearful in my own country. Afterward, I was spending time near the lake on a cloudy morning when I saw an approaching silhouette in the fog, it was the owner of the boat that would carry us through the mysterious lake waters.
Titicaca Lake, surrounded by the amazing Andes, is located in Puno, Peru. colored in green, the lake is 3,812 meters above sea level and is the most navigable lake in the world. In these highest mountains of the country, there are two cultures to meet the Quechuas and the Aymara.
Few regions of the American continent have been able to maintain their indigenous peoples as a consistent population through the centuries, as well as maintaining the original condition of the land. This has occurred in Puno despite the harshness of an extreme altitude and climate, coupled with the hardship of poor economic conditions.
These people enjoy good health. Living at this altitude they have come to possess a great breathing capacity, with by necessity- large-sized and strong hearts. However, the people of the lake sometimes are plagued by a mysterious chronic skin disease. Titicaca plateau has been the habitat of one of the earth’s most ancient civilizations; the Incas, a civilization that has never stopped fascinating the rest of the world. As we begin our trip through the lake, the perpetual waltz of light and shadow dispels all of my fears and worries. The boat is sailing inside the lake through the beautiful landscape, while sunlight reflecting on the water appears to dance around us.
Traveling through the lake is a surrealistic experience. You find yourself in a magical light where mundane reality doesn't exist, and the natural order of things is no longer in effect. Here the ‘small people seem huge and the tall ones become small; as if in a dream, this is a place where the sounds cannot be heard. It seems that their own atmosphere has serenaded them into a sleepy stillness. These islands have a vehement silence, a silence that seems to be filled with the essence of their life, as though a deep well opened from inside, where you can listen to the secret murmurs of the earth. When you walk on these islands, you have the sensation that everything is moving under your feet; as if the islands are floating.
A local legend tells of a man called Manco Capac and his wife/sister, Mama Ocllo, they were the “Children of the Sun”, who arose from the lake waters to create the Inca civilization. It has been said that these pairs were the first Uros Indians, whose descendants still live on the famous floating island of the same name. The Uros settled in small communities amid the bulrush cane of the prodigious lake, surviving on hunting and fishing.
The houses here are built of the same cane (bulrush) that grows in the lake. Some centuries ago, the Uros were called the "Kut Sun," meaning “Lake People.” They had a belief that their blood was black, and for that reason, they had been born with the power to never drown or die from the cold. The boat is passing by small colorful islands where the fishermen live in small huts. The islands are so flat and close to each other, they create a visual impression of passing them by on a movie screen, in which the lake, the people, and their houses appear to be painted as though from an enchanted fantasy.
This cold area is abundant with spectacular views, where the sky is transparent and inconceivably blue. Traveling two hours from the Uros, the most impressive of the islands is called "Taquile." Taking the trip to the island, I feel myself merging with the mysterious waters of the lake, united in a long, strange, and endless dream. The lake and I delight in the abundant mysteries of its depths. As waves approach the island you can look through them, seeing different kinds of plants.
The waters are so clear that the roots of the swaying seaweed can be seen below, while overhead the clouds seem so close, they could almost touch you with their abstract forms. Arriving at the shore, the white sands of the beach stand out, covered with small stones of a thousand colors, the waves breaking upon them into a brilliant foam. Paradise must be close; the island is so beautiful there can be no artistry of nature that could ever surpass this creation.
When we disembark on the magical island, Evaristo informs me, “From now on, you are on your own.” He left and I'm starting walking on the beach when I find a necklace made of stone. I put it around my neck and continue to walk the island with the arrogance of my secret. The island is about 5 Km. around, with the town at the highest point on top. This is where you go up on hundreds of stone stairways built during the time of the Inca. The entrance is found through stone arches, which still today are guarded by villagers.
These natives now act as greeters to approaching visitors. Upon entering, you have the sensation of passing through an entrance into a world set apart, as if you had traveled back in time. These people have the same lifestyle as the old original cultures from the time of the Incas. It is one of the oldest surviving habitats on the planet, where people have not had communication with the modern world, where there are no policemen or crime. Their laws are based on three simple principles; not to kill, not to steal, and not to lie.
Walking through this garden of paradise, I listen to the song of the birds. Their singing seems like a sweet symphony to my senses. I am approached in a friendly way by the people of the village. I introduce myself and am received with surprise and delight by almost the whole population, the half naked children appear like small angels around me. The people extending their hospitality, tell me I don’t have to worry about my stay, offering me Aunt Evila’s house, she is famous for her prayers and magic. I hear the villagers laughing strangely, maybe later I would understand their insinuations.
I like the house, it is humble, entirely made of mud, with a fantastic view of the lake. The door doesn't lock, but there was no worry that anyone would take my belongings. Inside the house, all things appeared to have transparency, a fragility created out of the silence and darkness, like stalactites in a deep cave. I was afraid if I were to open the door the house would fall apart from the invading wind.
When I met Aunt Evila, I had a strange impression. She appeared as having the noble countenance of an aristocrat beneath her humble dress, and to have the strength of an ancient warrior; the ways of which prohibited her from complaining, begging, or relax the either physically or spiritually. Her strong armor is a noble characteristic representing a style of life that is lost in our world.
She says that all those who attempt to discover mysteries have tragic lives, in the end, they are always punished. She offered me a "carache” soup (fish of the lake) blended with herbs and spices. They said it had aphrodisiac and hallucinogenic effects. A little perplexed, I ate the soup, awaiting an appearance of the first Inca or some other phantasm, but nothing happened. I wanted to take some pictures of her, unfortunately, she rejected me energetically. She believes that if I photographed her, the devil would steal her soul.
I began to feel strange, so I decided to walk to town. Impressive ancient lavatory facilities on the edge of the water captured my attention; situated to provide an awe-inspiring view of the lake. This ancient tall building is made of stones, adorned with ever-changing shadows painted by the bright sunlight. These splendid contrasts in shade and light play on the walls to create a sense of mystery about the structure.
I continue walking and listening to all kinds of sounds around the island, wondering “what would be the effects of the soup?” I began to observe the Taquileanos; at first sight, they seem to be always ready for the carnival with their colorful clothes. These people are friendly, the men fish and work the land, women craft brilliant blankets.
Exploring, I could feel that these people have no violence, fearfulness, suffering, destruction, or anarchy. Their beautiful gardens capture the island sounds. For the Taquileanos, no other place is known to them. This is the center of the universe. Around big stones the islanders gather for socializing, consuming their drink "chicha", (homemade cane brandy) passed around in a big jar.
I accommodated myself to the occasion. Looking around me I could see several mouths without teeth but having big smiles, chewing coca leaves. We continue drinking. We were a little elated when they began to tell me some local stories They told me that when the sun made shadows in the sky and the stars exploded in the night, the space ships would appear. For them, there was no mystery in having contact with aliens. They were their spiritual guides; perhaps the Taquileanos are the ones who are civilized and we are not.
We drink another round. I listened to their legends throughout the night. When I felt the alcoholic wings raise me, I was ready to fly, but the wings collapsed in nausea; and when the full moon rose in the sky to paint shadows around people, I caught a glimpse of my reflection staring back at me in the cold glass, I felt chills. I wanted to touch something warm and alive, "save me from cold reflections," I told them. I began to walk among the shadows of the lake, I didn't feel afraid, as I was in a new world. The ruins to my right would become lost from my sight soon.
When I awoke I found I had been sleeping in dream streets. I felt that the earth was dancing beneath me. Opening my eyes, I saw the sky exploding in gaudy pastel shades with the shadows on the ground reflecting their colors. I felt like I was traveling through a hole in the sky in some region near to the sun. As I looked up, I thought the Devil was looking at me. He knew I was in paradise, soon, a soft rain began to fall, falling like God’s tears.
Text and Photos by Rogelio Martell Copyright © 2020
