Puno/Lake Titicaca

Once I had tired of Arequipa (god there's no pleasing some people) I fannied off to Puno and got ensnared by the first Lake Titicaca hawker on arrival at 4.30am. In a coca leaf daze I was taken on a boat to some thatched island in the lake made of reeds that looked like spring onions on steroids. Lake Titicaca is the highest navigable lake in the world, divided between Peru and Bolivia (Peru claim the Titi side, and Bolivia get stuck with the Caca, obviously). On the floating reed island you can pretend like you're in Venice and go on a £2 viking-esque gondola made of spring onions.
Later it transpired that the people don't actually live on these islands, it's pure tourist farce, the con artistes. Next they'll be wiping our bums for tips and pretending it's ancient tradition.

Woven lies

On the bigger immobile islands I was fed a fuckton of multicoloured potatoes (AS IF I DIDN'T ALREADY HATE THEM, THE STARCHY TASTELESS NUN SHITS) but then dressed up in insane beautiful Amanti peasant lady clothes and morris danced to Huayno music with other idiotic-looking gringos. Actually chullos look quite sexy on men if you'll allow me to be deliriously honest. More walking and climbing and suffocating and a big ole red nose later (sunburn or hypothermia?... I can't even) and I was back in Puno where I'm glad crashed some folky wedding because they gave me beer. Which I had to throw on the ground to "thank" Mother Earth. Next round's on her then.

Puno? Poo-yeah.