From Heather:
Puno, PerĂº
10/7/15
Sidelong glances.
Cracked foundations.
Terra-cotta tile roofs underlaid with corrugated tin and blue plastic tarps, covered in used tires that keep it all from blowing away in the storms that blast up over Lake Titicaca and cast down sheet rain and nail-sharp hail pellets, turning the narrow streets into swift two-foot currents.Read more...
From the corner room on the third floor of this hospedaje, I can hear a man playing his plastic recorder, badly, with skin-covered stumps for hands. An old guy peddling mysterious chocolate and avocado-colored liquids in clear 5-gallon buckets, serenading their deliciousness in a gravelly, nasal voice. School kids squealing with joy to patriotic Peruvian anthems resembling Nazi death march songs.