Day 45 - Puno.

[Firstly, my apologies. It's been my intention to write daily, or at least as often as possible, but over the past fortnight I've been in the jungle, so no internet and very limited electricity. I shall try to catch up on my writing in the next day or two.]

7am start. Catch one of the perilous-looking tuktuks to the bus station to look into the bus timetables. Very confused when the guy at Buses San Martin informs me that buses to Puerto Maldonado go from Juliaca (industrial capital of Peru and a complete hole) and take an hour. Maybe there’s a village on Lake Titicaca of the same name….

There are festivities of some kind going on today: deafening brass bands everywhere, kids marching in parades, the older ones in starched school uniform and the little ones dressed as clowns, pirates, bees…Am constantly having to push through crowds on the narrow pavement.

Whizz down to the port in a tuktuk to check out island tour prices. I’ve done the island tour the last time and need to establish what the rock bottom price is before I go talk to various tour companies about how much they charge, whether they’re exploitative of the islanders or whether the islanders get a fair deal. Patrick told me that he stayed on Amantaní and his host family gave him boiled rice and boiled potatoes. It was a unique experience, and he liked the floating Uros Islands, but overall he was put off by how touristy the whole enterprise is.

I try a daring gamble. Booking a LAN ticket online to Puerto Maldonado, I do so for the Peruvian price, though the website tells me that the price is only applicable to Peru residents. I then take my booking number and go to the BCP bank to pay. Technically, if I check in online and only take hand luggage, the boarding pass shouldn’t indicate how much I paid for the ticket and I may be able to get away with paying $178 less. We’ll see.

Last time, Mike and I went to Coco K’intu for dinner, I’m sure of it, so I revisit for old times’ sake. Am the only person there. Though the alpaca medallions wrapped in bacon are tasty, it’s overpriced for a place like Puno.

A frantic afternoon: my housemates have settled on a house in Kings Hedges, the ghetto of Cambridge, and since I’ll be in the jungle over the coming week and a half, I have to fax my application form through. Fill it in over mocha cake at Pan Rico, with its indifferent service, and dash off to fax it. If it’s worked, it’s worked.

Right near where I’m staying is the little Coca Museum, which we missed during my last visit, and it proves to be very interesting. It goes into a lot of detail about the ancient use of coca leaves (as early as 20,000BC) in religious and spiritual ceremonies; the Incas would give it as an offering to the gods, and villagers still use it for medicinal purposes, as well as spiritual ones. Basically, it’s been a very important part of life here for many, many centuries, and it occurs to me how wrong it is for the West to demand that they give up the cultivation of a plant that so central to local traditions. Peru doesn’t have a cocaine problem: the United States and Europe do. What we need is a much more balanced view of addiction, and a proper exploration of the issues at hand.

The displays go into the chemical properties of the coca leaf – how it’s rich in vitamins and minerals that highland communities otherwise lack, and how cocaine is only part of the chemical compound, and can only be released through certain chemical reactions. Heck, even to get any energising effect out of chewing the leaves, you need a handful of them under your cheek and another mineral to ‘activate’ them; otherwise it’s nothing but a pleasant herbal drink.

The other part of the display is a video showcasing and explaining the significance of different costumes used in many local celebrations.

Pay a short visit to the 'Yavari', the old British naval boat moored on the lake. Last time, I actually stayed on the boat overnight, thanks  to Mike knowing the captain at the time, but the captain's moved on now. 'Yavari's loss.
While checking out places to stay in the afternoon, I end up deep in conversation with Marc, the Belgian co-owner of Walk On Inn, three hostels in various parts of Peru. The Puno branch has just opened; he shows me around, explains their goals, and we end up having a long discussion about Peru in general. He’s lived here for years, after working as a guide in various parts of the world, but he is rather bitter about the corrupt business practises and about how if you become successful, locals try to sabotage you. “When you check out our place in Nazca, just see what the taxi drivers say when you tell them you want to go to Walk On Inn.” We both agree that if the competition spent more time making their hostels a pleasant place to stay and less time telling travellers that their rivals’ hostel is dirty/overpriced/doesn’t exist, then the world would be a better place.

Marc knows the law and he teaches me something very useful. In Peru, the VAT is 19% and is always included in the price, so if I happen to go to an eatery in Aguas Calientes (the little town just down from Machu Picchu) and they slap an extra 15% tax on my meal, I can tell them off for it. In fact, if my receipt is not a ‘factura’ or a ‘boleto de venta’, and the price of a meal is over five soles, then it’s not legal, they won’t pay tax on it, so technically you can walk away without paying and there’s nothing you can do. Well, actually there is: you can threaten to report them to SUNAT, the regulating body that can shut them down for tax evasion. I may give this a try if anyone tries any funny business.

Besides that, he tells me all about other Nazca attractions besides the flight over the lines, the best time to see them due to the sun’s angle, and also enlightens me about how different bus companies rank in order of comfort and safety. “Cruz del Sur is the best; they even make their drivers take breathalyser tests before boarding”, and night buses are okay, apart from the bit between Abancayo and Ayacucho in the central highlands – that’s where the Sendero Luminoso is still active, though now they’ve given up all pretence of political ideals and are mainly involved in drug trafficking and light banditry.

We end up going to dinner at another good pizza place, and then for drinks at the dark Positive, where reggae is blaring. I didn’t expect to spend that long checking out Walk On Inn, but when you meet a valuable, knowledgeable contact like Marc, you go with the flow. I bid him farewell, making up my mind to stay at their branch in Nazca.

Onwards to Cusco tomorrow.