From Isla Taquile it's another hour to Isla Amantaní a similarly green and beautiful island with terraced slopes.
On embarking we're led up the hill and presented to a line of identically dressed Quechua ladies. In pairs we'll be staying in their houses and dining with them. It's a few apprehensive minutes while we paired up and assigned a 'mother'. Someone describes the waiting feeling like picking teams in PE. Being one of the last to be chosen I remember was always deeply humiliating.
Mine and Caroline's mother is Olga, a 23-year old with a 20-month baby. She's shy and smiley but speaks Spanish as well as Quechua which is a relief. She spins wool as we walk the gruelling 300 metres up the hill to her house. She gives us woolly hats she's made from alpaca wool so we're more recognisable among the western faces. Our room has low ceilings and three high beds. There's no electricity, just a candle on the table. We're puzzled by what look like potties under our beds until we realise the toilet is in an outside building.
We present Olga with gifts of oil, sugar, rice, pasta, candles, pencils and pens before dinner and are seated in the blackened kitchen lit by candlelight. Dinner is quinoa soup followed by a stew of rice, carrots, onions and potatoes. This is followed by 'explosive' tea (coca leaves and mint).
After dinner Olga comes to our room and dresses us in traditional island dress ready for the 'disco' tonight - puffy skirt, embroidered shirt, a wide belt that seriously restricts my breathing and a black shawl. I look particularly divine accessorising with thermal leggings and hiking boots.
(Photo - my homestay)
1 comment:
Ok so where is the picture of you in the hats, and the outfit, come on Maria, don't keep the good stuff from us.... I am so in trouble when you get back aren't I? Hee hee, Cherylx
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