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colour amongst the deep greenish blues of lake , mountains , and sky . As the boat slowly navigated the channels between the reed beds , the islands came into view , and I could spy half-built reed boats , and huts under construction . While most buildings are still all reed , some have made use of more permanent , brightly painted corrugated iron and wooden planks .
Much of island life happens out in the open . Women were sitting cross legged , embroidering woollen throws , kids were chasing ducks into the water , and laundry was hanging up in chains of merry colours across the straw-like yellow background . A few islands allow guests to stay , their Instagramable “ TITICACA ” letterings backwards from our point of view .
The families were already waiting as our boat approached . They grabbed the ropes to secure the boat and welcomed us with big smiles , their teeth in gleaming contrast to their sun-kissed skin . The women wore pink skirts over cotton leggings and wide-brimmed sun hats . Their long black hair reached down their back in two neat braids tied with woollen tassels at the bottom . Most were barefoot .
Stepping off the boat , the reed carpet was soft and malleable under my feet , and I was almost tempted to take my shoes off , too . We piled into what seemed to be the equivalent of the islet ’ s square . Small reed huts and a tiny church framed a rectangular space with craft stalls and parasols . Everything was made from reeds and some things were painted red and yellow . Just as I began to wonder what would come next , we were invited to sit on the big U-shaped reed bench in the middle .
A stocky Uru man with a soft , round face introduced himself as the leader of this particular island . Speaking in clear and intentional Spanish , he told us what it is like to live here . Spanish was a second language for him , too , as the Uru mostly speak Aymara now .
He addressed our most burning question of how the islands are built , first , demonstrating each part on the model of a cross-section in front of him . Everything is made from the totora reeds that grow in the lake in abundance . Blocks of roots are tied up with ropes and will grow together over time , creating the base upon which layers and layers of reeds are laid . They rot quickly and must be replenished often , even more so in the rainy season . Island maintenance is a constant part of their lives . After several years , when the seepage becomes too bad , they build a new island and let the old one sink .
“ Of course , we anchor the islands with ropes and rocks , so we don ’ t wake up in Bolivia ,” he laughed . He pointed out how their homes are raised on a reed pedestal , a measure to prevent rheumatism and other health problems caused by rising dampness . Each hut has a wooden base and is small enough to be lifted by a few people to allow new reeds to be placed underneath . Its walls and roof , made from neatly woven reed mats , also must be replaced regularly , depending on the amount of rain . Many have a solar panel to charge phones and maybe even run a small CRT TV .
Kitchen , showers and drop toilets are communal . He told us that in the past the reeds would absorb the human waste , but these days , especially with the added volume due to tourist visitors , it is collected and disposed of properly on land , to avoid contaminating the lake too much . After all , fish is their main source of food .
He said there were about one hundred islands with around one thousand people living on them . But the numbers change as people move to the mainland and islands are built or combined . Depending on size , each island houses between three to ten families and they each elect a leader among them .
“ And what do we do , if we no longer get along ?” he looked expectantly around the engrossed audience , a cheeky glint in his eye . “ We literally cut off that family ’ s section of the island and let them move away .” Everyone giggled at the genius simplicity of the solution , and I could believe that it was probably
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