Machu Picchu, Lake Titikaka... and we are in Bolivia

A dark night in Cuzco and we pass towering bamboo structures with effigies hanging from them... ÷The castles... the castles that they light on fire÷ Santiago proclaims excitedly. ÷When are you burning the castles÷ he asks the señora who is putting the last touches on a shaky tower. At nine, we return. The castles are pyrotechnic displays that are apparently pretty popular throughout the Andes, and I am pretty sure they would be completely illegal in the States.

The first activity of the evening, fireworks, set off.. from the ground.. from a barrel.. all of us running for cover in case it explodes into the crowd, killing people, as happens now and then. Next, the ÷Vaca Loca÷ or Crazy Cow. ÷Aggggh, the crazy cow, run for it, Elizabeth÷ Santiago screams, dragging me behind him as I look around, bewildered. Apparently, the Crazy Cow is a papier mache cow filled with fireworks. Some idiot puts the cow on his head and runs around making the people scatter, running for their lives as the cow explodes flaming fireworks and rockets into the crowd. Santiago tells me that children have lost fingers in fire castle fiestas before as they try to escape the Crazy Cow... Talk about.. fun ???

Then the castles, as they light them on fire, they explode from every side, shooting fireworks into the sky, and, when they misfire, which is about 1 in 4 times, into the crowd. People screaming and laughing and drinking hot mate. The Latin American idea of a great night in the plaza.

The next day we were off to the overpriced tourist attraction that is Machu Picchu, now proclaimed as one of the seven wonders of the modern world. Incredibly expensive, full of gringos, though a lot less because a lot of Europeans and Americans fled, scared off by the earthquake, leaving the Peruvians to live in the devastation.

It was worth it. Once. Very expensive. An incredibly expensive and not very nice train ride in a train owned by a foreign company to arrive at the bottom of the montain. The first day we climbed the whole mountain, hundreds, maybe thousands of steep stone steps, to avoid paying the expensive bus. We went up to look for an illegal way in. We searched all around, but there were guards everywhere and we didnt feel like getting caught by the police and deported. We climbed back down the mountain, exhausted, and decided to cough up the dough to enter the ruins legally.

The next morning we got up at 4 am because we wanted to be in the lucky few who get to go to Wayna Picchu. Wayna Picchu is the mountain you see in the background in photos of Machu Picchu. Well, they only let in 200 people in the morning out of the thousands who want up. We arrived at the ticket window, bought our tickets, and took the bus, so exhausted from the day before we could hardly walk to the bus, much less up the mountain again. We arrived and the line was already huge! The ruins open at 6 am, we arrived at 6 05 and the line was huge!!! We entered the ruins and didnt stop for photos, running past old bewildered gringos to the far end of the ruins where another long line was forming... but... we made it! Numbers 167 and 168 of the 200. I could barely drag myself up the towering mountain but at last we arrived and found ourselves at the top of a mountain covered in ruins with an unbelievable view of Machu Picchu spread out below us.

Later in the day we climbed down and paid a local guide a few dollars to walk us through the ruins themselves. We took the overpriced train back to the town of Ollantaytambo, too tired to continue to Cuzco. The problem with Machu Picchu is that the money does not go to the local communities. It goes to foreign companies. We talked with the women who sold us empanadas in the street. She says, fortunately, in ten years the foreign companies are supposed to turn control back over to the local people. The bad thing is, gringo tourists are not conscious of anything, they dont think to question where their money is going or how they are affecting the local population. It is kinda sad how ignorant people can be.

A few days later, we found ourselves in Puno, on the edge of Lake Titikaka, the highest lake in the world. We heard something about some floating islands in the lake and decided to make our way out to some islands. The islands are called Los Uros and they are literally handmade by Aymara indigenous people so that they can live on the lake. It was used as a defense mechanism to protect them from the old Incan Empire. The islands are made of reeds, and on them our houses made of reeds, with reed furniture. The fuel is reeds and the boats are made of reeds, and the crafts are made of reeds... and the people eat... you guessed it, the roots of the reeds. Wait til you see the pictures, or Google it! It is crazy.

Afterwards we went to the Island of Amantani, a Quechua island where we stayed with a local family who was surprised when I blurted out the little Quechua I know. We talked with the señora about tourism and indigenous communities. Good discussions. The next morning to the Island of Taquile, another Quechua island where the men supposedly dress like the men on the Spanish island of Mayorca because a Mayorcan conquistador had bought the island in colonial times.

Lake Titikaka is incredibly blue and so large it looks like the sea. It is cold but beautiful.

Yesterday, after more problems at the border where the police suspected Santiago was an Ecuadorian drug trafficker and the immigration said his passport was fake (all this as twenty gringos passed by without any hassle or problems)... we entered Bolivia, and made it to the small town of Copacobana. We were supposed to go to the Isla del Sol, or Island of the Sun, today, still on Lake Titikaka, but we woke up to a torrential downpour, snow on the hills, and Santiago with a horrible cold, so we are waiting til this afternoon or tomorrow morning. Afterwards, La Paz and the Uyuni Salt Licks!