Chamber Pot at Lake Titikaka

Lake TItikaka is amazing.  It is over 8000 sq kilometres, so large that when we first saw it, we were discombobulated - it looks like the ocean.  It is the highest fresh water navigable lake in the world, situated at 3800 meters above sea level.  Jacques Coustea studied this lake in the 1970's, looking for the lost city of the Incas. He never did find it, but he did find toads (1 billion of them) that  were no longer amphibious, but had grown breathing sacks and lived up to 400 feet deep.

What is even more fascinating about the lake is the way the Peruvian people have managed to use the reeds that grow along the shores of the lake.  They have built floating islands and constructed sturdy reed homes and boats from the reeds.  It is really something to behold - like visiting the floating boats in Vietnam.  Hard to believe that this is America.

Several islands dot the lake and are populated by the Quechua People.  As part of our tour of the lake, we arranged to do a home stay with one of the families.  Now, some of you may remember our miserable homestay a few years ago in Mazatlan.  It was miserable as we had no language to communicate with our homestay lady and therefore, ended up ducking around, not coming home for meals and generally, avoiding the family.

Now, however, with some language under our belt, I felt that we  could manage a homsteay to really see what life was like on the islands.  Our homestay was on the Island of Amantani and we were hosted by Inez, a single mother with her 18 month old son, Roy, Inez's mother and the very elderly abuella (grandmother).  Their tiny home  consisted of a kitchen with a gas range, wood stove, a small table, a tiny courtyard and a couple of bedrooms that we accessed by climbing a ladder from the courtyard.  The maroon toilet with no seat was outside the compound and housed in an outhouse at the end of a wet grassy path.

Inez showed us to our bedroom.   Small and dark, it contained three single beds, each heaped high with woolen and fleece quilts.  Bed sheet count 50 threads per inch.  Curtains strung from string and wooden floor boards.  It was tidy and neat.  I spied a yellow chamber pot sticking out from under the bed.

"That will be the day I sit on that", I declared to Bill.

Lunch and dinner with our host family was delicious. In crock bowls, Inez served home grown quinoa soup, vegetables, okra, potatoes,  tomatoes and cucumber.  For dinner, we ate rice and beans.  Following dinner, and as we'd been invited to a fiesta, we donned the traditional dress of the local people and headed to the community centre.  A band of  young men played on a pan flute, a yukelele and a drum.  The crowd, consisting of about 75 (locals and tourists) danced up a storm.  I indulged in one Cerveza.

Later, following the party, Inez led us back under the brilliant stars to our home. With torches in hand, we padded out to the outhouse, peed and then, climbed the ladder to our room.  Inez locked the gate to the outside.

As I pulled back the covers, a small black critter hopped out to make room for us.  I was so grateful to crawl into my silk sleep sack before climbing in under the ten tons of blankets.

I laid down.  My bladder filled.  I ignored the urge, hoping to fall asleep.  I didn't.  The Cerveza was performing its diuretc tricks. A thunderstorm rumbled outside, and the rain pelted the tin roofing and the lightening illuminated the room.  I groaned, slid out of my sleep sack, and climbing over Bill, grabbed my torch, flicked it on and eyed the yellow chamber pot peeking out from under the bed.  I had no choice.

I hovered over the pot, torch in hand, trying to decide how to direct the stream.  It shot forward to the floorboards, leaving a black pool of wet.  I angled backward.  It shot off behind the pot.  Finally, with much manoeuvring, I finally got the angle right and relieved myself.  I crawled back over Bill and down into my sleep sack.  The rain continued.

Twice more that night, I had to re-enact this messy performance, resulting in a floor board clean up in the morning.  Bill succumbed to the pot only once, thank goodness, as I had done a pretty good job of filling the pot.

In the morning, I made Bill sneak the pot out of the room and climb down the ladder whilst balancing a full pot of urine.

There was no sneak. The host family stood in the courtyard and watched and the other group of tourists also staying at the house were brushing their teeth out by the outhouse when Bill arrived with his yellow honey pot.

Home stays are hard work.  It was an experience that left me grateful for my home, grateful for my country and a bit wiser about island life. It is a good, simple life.  Inez had never left the island.  It would not be enough for us.  We are too spoiled, too privileged.  Just the same, as I reflected on the boat ride back to Puno, I felt a bit wistful of the simplicity.