As my bus drove away from Copacabana, I wistfully watched Lake Titicaca recede in the distance, wondering if I would ever see it again. Well... travel is full of surprises. As many of you know, I was supposed to be doing a teacher training course in Santiago during September. I'm sick of repeating the story, so suffice it to say I won't be studying any more. With great shock, I contemplated the empty month in the middle of my itinerary. I would love to say I was immediately excited for the chance to explore more of South America, but the truth is, I was freaked out. I had planned to settle down in a place, to make friends, to have a routine. The shock of losing that is what kept me in La Paz for so long. I considered my options and immediately ruled out an early return home. This was unexpected, but that's what travel is supposed to be about, right? With that thought in mind, I bought a bus ticket to Puno, Peru, on the shore of Lake Titicaca.

    Puno was not a place I had ever intended to visit, more for lack of desire than for lack of time. I passed through it 3 times on the bus, and it had always looked dirty and uninviting. My brief time there only confirmed that impression. Luckily, it was redeemed by the proximity of a truly unique attraction: the Floating Islands. For centuries, the Uros people of Peru have woven their own islands from the thick Totora Reeds growing in Lake Titicaca. I read about them several times in my guidebook, but found myself utterly unable to imagine them. But after thirty minutes on a boat, there they were: everything made of reeds...houses, schools, post offices, boats. An entire community. Thanks to tourist traffic, the Uros have been able to add luxuries like solar electricity, but their lifestyle remains unique. How much work it must take to live there! Literally everything they own is perishable. Every day, villagers have to replace rotted sections of the island and its buildings with new reeds. Still, they choose this life over the easier one on the shore. I was amazed.

    After the Floating Islands, the boat carried us -- me, and three new friends, Chiara, Renata, and Claire -- to the Isla Taquila. This was not a reed island but a real one made of sand and stone. The landscape reminded me a great deal of Isla del Sol. Unfortunately, it was an example of Isla del Sol ruined by tourism. Taquila is touted as an example of untouched native culture where both men and women dress in traditional clothing not found elsewhere in Peru. Dogs and cats are not allowed. Neither are cars or bicycles. Many villagers own sheep and llama, but tradition demands that they carry everything up the steep island's slopes on their own backs. They maintain their lifestyle proudly in spite of the thousands of tourists snapping cameras in their faces. We came on a Sunday, meaning that we witnessed beautiful hymns sung in the native language in the town square. I was impressed by how stoically the men stood, seeming not to react to the tourists gawking at them. It was a beautiful ceremony, but I couldn't help but wonder how they felt about all the tourists. Were they excited to share their culture? Or were they angry that the solemness of the occasion had to be destroyed by the irreverence of camera-weilding outsiders? How could they stand there, with gringos gawking and snapping photos, without feeling like zoo exhibits? I left feeling as if I shouldn't have come.

    From Puno, I took a 6-hour busride to Arequipa. Next to Cuzco, it is the most important colonial city in Peru. I arrived at night and fell in love instantly. The resemblance to Prague was striking. The architecture was different, but every old building was bathed in golden light. The rows of white buildings with delicate archways made me feel as if I had travelled back in time to 16th-century Spain. After dinner, there was no time to see the city, so I returned to my hostel. As I brushed my teeth, I thought "something good is going to happen here. After the problems with my class in Santiago, the universe owes me a good surprise." Two hours later, I was awakened by the sound of my last roommate returning home. I felt annoyed -- couldn't she be quieter? A voice in my brain said "open your eyes. you'll want to see who this is." I ignored it. I was tired. But eventually the thought became too persistent to ignore. I opened my eyes...and there was Liz, my old traveling companion from Chile! During the month that we travelled together, we had become quite good friends. Saying goodbye had been hard -- who knew when we would see each other again? It's been a week since we ran into each other, and we're still together. I know I'll be sorry when she has to go home.

~Meredith