The Penis Temple, or: The Trap of Inspiration

Time was racing mercilessly and I had been stuck in Puno since Sunday, the temperatures were mixed and there was nothing going on in the hostel either. The destination was Lake Titicaca, whose floating islands I had already visited on my first day. In addition, I was worried about the completeness of my documents for the onward journey to Bolivia. So I was sitting on packed suitcases.

After breakfast, I spent my time sipping coffee and writing down my contributions, as well as making calls to Berlin. Writing the travel reports in particular had not been easy for me in the past few days. The anxious waiting for the onward journey and the certainty that the return journey was imminent in a few weeks dampened my writing enthusiasm. And so I stoically went through the daily routine without inspiration for additional anecdotes and thoughts.

To distract myself, on Wednesday I decided to visit a particularly unusual point of interest: a fertility temple from the Inca period. The village of Chucuito was about 20 km away from Puno. Just finding the departure point for the collective taxis took me over an hour.

The temple ruins, of which no one could say for sure whether they were original or fake, were quickly located in the small hamlet and visited and photographed after 10 minutes. There I stood in Chucuito.

I made the best of it, taking a village tour, visiting the local cemetery, and finally lingering on the Plaza with a hot coffee and a cold Cerveza. Here again, the phenomenon that the locals could not imagine that I did not speak their language. The elderly kiosk owner repeatedly spoke to me, apparently it was not comprehensible to him that I drink my coffee without sugar, then he started talking again, handed me his phone and looked at me inquisitively. I looked back inquiringly.

In addition, I used the afternoon break to familiarize myself with my next travel destination.

Back in Puno, I went to the Corona testing center: Negative! Finally, I made copies of all documents. Of course, the international travel insurance had not provided me with the necessary confirmation of coverage for a Covid illness. So I printed out the German contract letter.

I ended the evening in my favorite bar, where in the past few days I had been able to try a different variation of Pisco Sour each time (eucalyptus, coca, cinnamon). This time: Amaretto Sour. Wow!! Soft rock was blasting from the speakers: Rod Stewart, Oasis, No Doubt, Pink, etc.

Around 11 p.m. I was in bed and set my alarm for 6 a.m. Good night Puno, good night Peru!