Spectacularly set amidst the indigo blue waters of Lake Titicaca, the rocky and rural island of Amantani seems larger than life. As the boat approaches the docks, Julio prepares us for a meeting with our island "fathers" and "mothers". As part of the true Peruvian experience, a local island family will adopt us for a night.
The fathers and mothers are waiting for us in traditional costumes of colorful ponchos, layered skirts, and embroidered shirts. They step forward to claim us when their names are called out. There seems to be some confusion regarding the pairing but it all works out in the end.
To Kavita’s disappointment, we're escorted "home" by a stiff and tacit father rather than a plump and warm mother like most others. Our home, as our father points out, sits on top of a hill offering stunning views of the lake. But following up the rough terrain at an attitude of 3500 meters is a challenge to our lungs every step of the way.
Our home is a modest two-storey brick hut with a small courtyard. The kitchen is removed from the main house and the bathroom lies completely outside the compound wall. Our room on the first floor is basic but clean and well decorated with Peruvian woven bedspreads. One solitary window overlooks the entire expanse of the lake.
While Nagesh was adjusting to the ultra low roof, Kavita anxiously waited for the mother to arrive and bring us some lunch. But she was nowhere to be seen. Following her curiosity, Kavita tried to peep into the kitchen where a big fat rodent greeted her instead of the lady of the house. Well, so much for our appetite. Minutes later, a short, very stiff looking lady walked by into the kitchen.
Kavita wanted to help out with lunch. Remember those ‘Learn Java in 24 Hours’ guidebooks, well this was our version of "peruvian cultural immersion" in 24 hours. But we should have read ‘Cooking in the Villages for Dummies’ before Kavita ventured into the pitch-black kitchen. Getting the fire started was no mean affair. The firewood smoked up the room causing tears to flow unhindered. So much for ignoring mother’s warnings and over enthusiasm! Smoke, large rodents, and a stern mother were not what we had bargained for.
Anyway, Kavita soon broke the ice (with her broken Spanish) and got chatting with the mother who seemed pleased to find out that we were married and not just dating. She spoke about her two kids who were at school but really had no careers awaiting them on the island. Tourism brings in most of the revenues and the kitchen garden supplies all the vegetables. No meat is cooked on the island.
A few minutes later, feeling left out, Nagesh joined the party. His first impression of the kitchen was rustic. As his pupils adjusted, he saw dark charcoal walls with twigs and dry leaves in one corner and potatoes in another. Kavita was sitting on a platform made of mud. The cooking range was a six-holed multi-tiered earthen cavity. There was water boiling in one pot and some other liquid bubbling on the other. The kitchen grew quiet…umm strange men were not very welcome. We were better off waiting for lunch in our room upstairs.
After an eternity, father arrived with our first course. Quinoa soup. We looked at each other with an oh-no-not-again sigh. This staple Peruvian lentil had been showing up in all our meals for the past ten days. We were getting tired of it. But the thought of mother’s kitchen and all her efforts made us swallow the soup down appreciatively. Our second course was a bowl full of whole boiled potatoes without the slightest taste or salt or spice. Words failed us. As Nagesh attempted a stab at the entrée, Kavita broke down in tears. Overcome by a wave of nostalgia, she regretted all the times she’d given her granny a run around the house, fussing over perfectly delicious home-cooked meals. We worked our way through the hard-boiled tuber meal in emotional silence. Nagesh gulped his food down choking with emotion at the thought of this being the daily diet of our hosts. On a lighter note, eating less would ensure fewer trips to the flush-less toilet outside. For every use of which we had to fill a plastic container with water to manually flush the potty-like contraption.
At five that evening, we met our tour group for a hike up to the temple of pachamama(mother earth). Sniffing munia herbs to ease the effects of altitude, we made it to the peak for a most rewarding sunset.
Later that night, the mother brought us a stack of traditional robes and invited us to a dance party. She helped Kavita into two layers of black and red fluffy woolen skirts secured with an intricately embroidered waistband. A white embroidered shirt completed the ensemble. Nagesh claims he resembled a ‘bahadur’, or a Nepali sherpa, in his poncho and woolen Peruvian cap. Our family also dressed up for the ocassion.
We were escorted to the venue of the party with the help of flashlights. There’s no electricity on the island. At the school auditorium, there was a live band featuring Peruvian flutes and drums ready to set the party rolling. It was exciting to see the entire tour group dressed up. We all blended in perfectly except for those dead give-away hiking boots. What followed was a cornucopia of island revelry. Led by our families, we danced and spun around the room in mad circles. Boy, it takes some effort to jive to local beats at this altitude! As the party got more frantic, the dancing shifted outdoors circling a bonfire. There was not a single pair of feet standing still.
Next morning. Subah ka hai waqt aur dabba haath mein (It's time to potty and he has a container in his hand). It was that time of the day and Nagesh was spotted rushing with a jug of water in hand from the kitchen to you know where!
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