Explore the Peruvian islands of Lake Titicaca, where the Uros, Amantani, and Taquile communities preserve centuries-old traditions and ways of life.
The Incas considered Lake Titicaca the sacred birthplace of the universe and their people. According to one of many oral histories, Manco Capac—the first ruler of the Incas—and his sister, Mama Ocllo, emerged from Lake Titicaca and headed north with a golden staff given by the Sun God. They were to find a place where the golden staff sank into the land and establish a settlement there. The place they found was Mount Guanacaure in the Acamama Valley, which encompasses present-day Cusco and is known as the roots and heart of the Inca civilization.
Spanish conquistadors of the 16th century came to the lake chasing rumors of sunken treasure. They quickly turned their attention to the islands that populated the water, evangelizing the locals and extracting resources. But the story of the lake predates the Incas and the Spanish: Many pre-Inca societies—like the Uro, the Aymara, and the Quechua—occupied the islands and resisted the conquests, with varying degrees of success. Visit these islands today, and notice that traditional ways of life have been adapted to the harsh conditions of the lake in the Andean altiplano (the high-altitude plateau) and persisted through the centuries.
The Uros Islands
Straddling the Bolivian and Peruvian Andes, 12,507 feet above sea level, Lake Titicaca is the highest navigable lake in the world. During the South American winter, the climate is harsh, with the sun strong enough to cause burns and daily temperatures ranging from freezing to hot.
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Most visitors arrive at Lake Titicaca in the last stretches of a multi-day tour that includes Cusco and Machu Picchu, with ample time to adjust to high altitude. Opting for a local tour operator like Alpaca Expeditions is the easiest way to traverse the mountainous landscape of southern Peru in one go, without needing to coordinate permits, lodgings, and transportation.
From the Peruvian side, the excursions to the islands begin from the port city of Puno. Boats are docked on the mossy green banks, where ducks, black pigs, and guinea pigs roam wild. From there, a short boat ride out into the water reveals swaths of light brown totora reeds and signs that advertise the lake’s occupants: “Bienvenidos a Uros.”
The story of the Uros is one of survival. It is said that during the distant pre-Incan times, the Uros emerged from the Amazon and, oppressed by the locals, took to the shores and the marshes of the lake for refuge. When the Incas came, the Uros retreated deep into the lake by creating buoyant, mobile islands from totora reeds. The remoteness of their islands enabled them to largely avoid the Spanish invaders and continue their way of life. Only in 1986, when a series of storms devastated their islands, did they move closer to shore, anchoring their remaining floating islands near Puno and rebuilding new ones.
The totora reeds crunch underneath shoes, but they’re surprisingly plush, giving a slight buoyant bounce to each step. An average Uros island is about 2,500 square feet—roughly equivalent to a large single-family home in the United States—but the one I visited was much smaller and holds a handful of small, thatched huts. The dwellings themselves are also small, usually just enough to accommodate one mattress and the belongings of a small nuclear family. Solar panels are a common source of electricity, much more compatible with the dry, combustible foundations of the islands than diesel or coal.
The construction and maintenance of the islands are an ingenious marvel: Totora roots clump together to form the bases of the islands, which are then anchored to the lakebed with long, sturdy sticks of eucalyptus that prevent them from floating away. Every 15 days, the residents need to pile a new layer of totora on top of the preexisting ground, which requires physically lifting the small, thatched houses. A handful of men lift them up while the women put an extra layer of reeds on the base underneath. This work relies on a sense of cooperative reciprocity called “Ayni,” a pre-Inca philosophy that can be summed up as: “Today for you, tomorrow for me.”
But maintaining a traditional way of life on the Uros Islands is becoming more and more difficult. For centuries, the Uros have relied on lake-dwelling fish like karachi and trout for subsistence and trade; however, they face increasing environmental and legal challenges, from pollution and overfishing that reduce fish populations to laws prohibiting commercial fishing in the lake. The Peruvian government has given the Uros special license to hunt for fish and waterfowl on lake grounds, but the allowance is limited to a subsistence level.
Ricardo Fidel Quispe, my guide to the islands, was born and raised in the Uros Islands. He left when he was just 12 years old, attended high school in Puno, and went on to become a tour guide. He believes the islands will eventually become like museums displaying how this group of people used to live. “The new generation finishes school in Puno, and usually, they don’t want to come back,” he said. “They have more economic opportunities on the mainland.”
As such, tourism and sales of handicrafts are crucial sources of cash needed to survive in the rapidly modernizing economy. The Uros women weave bright tapestries with symbols that tell legends of gods and stories of everyday life on the lake, making unique, storied souvenirs. Painted totora reeds are also used to craft small sculptures, often of boats with puma heads.
Such boats actually exist in real life: Large passenger boats—traditionally made from dried totora reeds, but now also made with wood, bamboo, and fiberglass to support more bodies on more frequent trips—featuring decorative puma heads ferry visitors between different Uros islands. During annual ceremonial events, these boats transform into centerpieces of tradition, but for everyday visitors, they are vessels for excellent panoramic views of the surrounding basin.
Amantani Island
About a three-hour boat ride east of the Uros Islands lies the island of Amantani, where around 4,000 inhabitants occupy 10 small communities. There are no commercial hotels or lodgings on Amantani Island. As such, almost all visitors to the island come via a rotating, community-regulated homestay program, in which a member of a designated community hosts a handful of visitors in their home.
During my visit, guests were hosted by select members of the Ocosuyo Community, whose women were identifiable by the black color of their skirts. The women were also in a constant rhythm of knitting, carrying bags of yarn on their wrists to use during small pockets of downtime. Ricardo explained that they observe the traditional moral code of the Incas: “ama sua, ama llulla, ama quella,” which translates to “don’t steal, don’t lie, don’t be lazy.”
Amantani has two sacred mountaintops: Pachamama, which symbolizes Mother Earth, and Pachatata, which symbolizes Father Cosmos. The highest point on the island is the top of Pachamama, at 13,550 feet above sea level, but the peak of Pachatata, sitting at about 13,517 feet above sea level, is also high enough to trigger a mild altitude-induced headache. Still, a climb up to one of the peaks is a must to witness the ruins of pre-Inca temples and the spectacular panoramic sunset. At the peak, visitors are encouraged to leave three coca leaves beneath a stone as an offering to the mountain spirits, whom the Amantani believe protect the island and its communities.
Agricultural terraces line the stone footpath up and down the mountain peaks, and if the time is right, you will be able to witness the drying of oca—lean Andean potatoes that are sweet to the bite—to make them last year-round. Ocas, along with quinoa, corn, and potatoes, are hardy, cold-resistant staples of the Andean altiplano, and constitute the majority of meals.
Infrastructural development is limited on Amantani. Because the island doesn’t have any large rivers, glaciers, or motorized irrigation, agriculture on Amantani is almost entirely reliant on the rainy season. There aren’t any hospitals; there is one infirmary, but no doctors, and most sicknesses are treated with natural medicines like coca and muña leaves, which grow abundantly over the stone walls. There are no cars or paved roads, though you may be able to spot an occasional scooter puttering past.
The lack of infrastructure translates to some hurdles for unprepared visitors. During the winter months, there is a limited supply of water, which means no available showers, and without heating, the tap water and the air are both icy. But there are ways to overcome this: wipes are handy before bed for self-cleaning, and you can layer on heavy alpaca blankets for insulation.
This environment also forces you to unplug. When the sun goes down, the stone footpaths of Amantani plunge into a darkness so complete that you need a flashlight to navigate. Without Wi-Fi or data connection, the only thing left to do is to sleep when the sun is down and rise when it is up. When was the last time you contemplated the dark, without distractions? On Amantani, you’re able to do so.
Taquile Island
From Amantani, it is a one-hour boat ride to the island of Taquile. Scaling the island is difficult because of its altitude (13,300 feet at the peak), but rewarding for its scenery: long, steep, and winding stone paths are lined with trees and peppered with pink cantutas, Peru’s national flower. Somewhere near the top, the main plaza appears against a sparkling backdrop of the lake. It houses Restaurant Comunal San Santiago, with white chairs and tables for picturesque alfresco dining, and the salmon-colored shop for the island’s artisan cooperative, Asociación Comunal de Artesanos San Santiago.
Handwoven textiles is the main, and most famed, industry on Taquile: In 2005, UNESCO designated the island’s craft a Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity. Inside the shop, an abundance of finely knit chullos (knitted hat with earmuffs), chumpi belts (often referred to as “calendar belts,” with 12 panels representing the months of the year), vests, gloves, and headbands are displayed, all of them individually labeled with a number that identifies the maker.
Despite the fame of its woolen textiles, no alpacas or llamas exist on the island; in fact, there are no pack animals of any kind, including donkeys and horses. While there has never been an explicit ban, centuries-old customs and the Incas’ moral code—“don’t steal, don’t lie, don’t be lazy”—equate the use of pack animals with laziness. This means that, to obtain alpaca wool and bones used for weaving, the residents head to communities on the mainland and exchange quinoa and potatoes for them.
Communal governance fiercely protects the traditional way of life on Taquile. They have banned personal pets like dogs and cats (with exceptions granted case-by-case, to some members’ discontent and others’ happiness), as well as motorized vehicles. That is likely why the island is uncommonly tranquil: The only sounds emanate from the sea, the swaying of dry corn stalks, and the shuffling of feet on steep stone slopes. Tourism opportunities and responsibilities are shared: Restaurant Comunal San Santiago is managed by a rotating roster of local families, so that the income is distributed as evenly as possible across the island’s residents. On the day of my visit, the restaurant offers a flavorful quinoa soup, followed by a savory grilled lake trout served with rice and potato chips. After a bout of high-altitude exertion, there is nothing better for the stomach.
Though not required through any formal decrees, the locals maintain their traditional clothes, which come with a specific symbolism: the island’s leaders wear black fedoras over colorful chullos; the unmarried men wear a long beanie-like hat, switching the side they let their hats trail once they graduate high school. The elaborately patterned Chumpi belts, worn by all men and woven by women, can show family lineage and individual milestones through specific ancestral iconography. Married women have small pom poms and black skirts, while the unmarried have big pom poms and colorful skirts. These garments are a crucial part of their identities and how they relate to one another.
Traditional garments worn during festivals, however, are much more colorful, layered, and flamboyant. One of the island’s biggest celebrations is the San Santiago Festival, held from late July to early August. For tourists who visit outside of this period, the locals put on a smaller show, complete with drums and flutes.
Change feels inevitable here, too. Children are frequently sent to the mainland to study and work, and they often settle there. When they return home for special holidays, they’re easily distinguishable by their jeans and sneakers and other accoutrements of globalization. It’s tempting to wonder whether we’ll all eventually converge to the same fate, dressing and eating and thinking the same things.
Still, many young adults with immense cultural pride in their communities do return to the island aiming to manage its cooperative tourism model. Balancing tradition with change feels like an impossible task, but residents of Uros, Amantani, and Taquile islands have shown that there are ways for them to coexist and evolve together.