Personal accounts of community-based tourism

Ode Editors | April 2009 issue

Lake Titikaka homestay, organised by local tour company Edgar's Adventures

By Emma Todd, travel blogger at www.responsibletravel.com

Photo: Emma Todd

We headed to our homestay for the night on the Isla de Amantani. We arrived to see a line up of about 10 women, all in the most beautiful, traditional outfits which were heavily embroidered - skirt, blouse and shawl. Jane and I then had to choose who we would go and do our homestay with, and as there were more women than the GAP group, we had to pick and leave someone out which was so hard. It felt like being back at netball practice being chosen for the team! The woman we picked was lovely, called Celia with 2 young children, divorced (yay for womens lib), but did happen to live AGES away. So we trekked through ploughed fields, hills and streams to get to the house, which was so much more advanced than homestays I have done before - we had our own super comfy bed, plus our very own toilet as well.

The living conditions for the family though were super basic - no electricity, everything cooked with wood in the fire. I did almost expect to turn round a corner to see a room with Sky Plus and a Plasma screen, as you are always a bit suspicious of homestays, but this really was genuine, and we got such a good insight into how these people live.

We trekked up to the main square where the boys were playing the locals in a game of altitude football. Mark had a strategy of aerial football (i.e. the locals were short so just lop the ball over their heads), but this didnt seem to pay off too well as the locals won in the end. We went back to Celia's house and had a delicious dinner of potatoes, veg and rice, and then were dressed up in traditional clothes for that night's "disco" and "entertainment." We soon realised that we would be the entertainment dressed up as we were, although I did feel pretty girly and came to dearly appreciate the pain that a corset must entail. We got to the village hall, where the local band were maxing out on the pan pipes, I think this is the only time though where I actually really enjoyed listening to them. I think it's also safe to say it will be the only time I ever dance to pan pipes, too.

Celia was one lethal dancer, as were the other locals, they basically got you in a line and you just get pulled round as quickly and fast as you possibly can. For about 10 minutes. So out of breath after that. The other dancing consisted of being twirled from left to right and making your skirt shimmy as much as possible, again after about 5 minutes you are absolutely knackered. We of course blamed everything on the altitude.

The dance ended at 10pm, and we went home to bed. In the morning we were greeted with rain and delicious pancakes. Luckily the rain wore off and we trekked back to the shore and said a heartfelt goodbye in Quechua to Celia.

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