The “Islas Uros” rip-off

(Translation of this article, published in French on January 21, 2019.)

Through this article, we not only wish to tell our friends and families about how our trip is going. We also want to warn future travelers who might come to Puno (Peru) about the rip-off that’s awaiting anybody considering a visit to the Islas Uros, on the Titicaca Lake.

We arrived in Puno yesterday [t/n on January 20, 2019], and since we were not sure how long we would be in town, we decided to check out the Islas Uros on the lake. The receptionist at our hotel had told us that these could be visited in approx. 3 hours (including the round trip by boat), which we thought was perfect.

We get to the quay at the beginning of the afternoon, and pretty soon some agency’s tout starts talking to us. He tells us that his is with the “EUTTAL-Los Uros” (“Asociacion de Empresarios Unificados de Transporte Turistico Acuatico Lacustre Los Uros“, Ed.) and that it will cost us “10 soles per person for a return ticket”. That’s the price we had heard about before, and since the guy seems sufficiently nice (plays by the book, tries some of his best French on us…) we decide to follow him. Just a few steps further, the price has already gone up: the guy points to a sign indicating there’s also a “touristic tax” to be paid, amounting to an extra 5 soles per person. We figure that’s just 1.25€ per person… Let’s not quibble about it. It would be a shame to miss out on a boat trip on Lake Titicaca, wouldn’t it?

We buy the boat tickets at some counter, and then the “touristic tickets” from an old lady standing by the water. A little mistake on her part: she hands us tickets that indicate a per person price of 2.5 soles (not 5). We notice it immediately, but only right after giving her a 10 soles bill. We ask for 5 soles back, but – taking advantage of our lacking knowledge of Spanish [we’re making a lot of progress, but we’re no experts yet] – she confusingly explains that she gave us the wrong tickets (“those are for locals only”). Instead of giving us any change, she conjures up slightly different tickets, with indeed a 5 soles price tag. Okay…

We get down to the boat, which holds about twenty passengers. All the other tourists around us appear to be from Latin America. “Did we just find an exclusive tour that only locals know about, or did we miss something?” is our thought.

The boat soon leaves the quay, and about 30 minutes later, we arrive on a tiny islet with a straw bottom and a few straw huts. There’s another group of tourists on there, but they’re leaving right as we arrive, embarking on some “ethnic” vessel. An old man welcomes us and introduces himself as the “president” of the Uros islands. Our knowledge of Spanish is still pretty basic, but we understand him quite well nevertheless. The “president” gives us a few pointers about the islands and the community who lives here, but pretty soon the tone changes: “Here, we live exclusively from tourism, and we count on your generosity to support our handcraft, our people…” “It’s tourists like you who help us survive,” he adds, staring at us (we’re the only “gringos” around, remember?). We start to feel a slight discomfort.

When the explanation is over, we’re split up into groups of 4 or 5, and each group is escorted by a local into one the huts. In there, the discomfort only gets worse. A lady shows us “her work” (rugs, bracelets, wire assemblies…), and since we’re stuck in her “home” (with a couple of South Americans and the “president, who is holding the door), we really feel the pressure rising. At first, we politely express our appreciation for the lady’s work, but we’re also quick to indicate that we do not intend to buy anything. “But then she will die!” the “president” says. We prefer to ignore this low blow, simply pointing out there must be tourists much richer than us, no doubt. “Yes, but even the poorest ones buy at least something!” We hold firm despite the remarks. The lady and the “president” exchange a few words in Quechua, which we interpret as “let’s give up, these guys will not cough up anything”…

When we finally get out of the hut, the president shows us some other artifacts. In the hope that he will let it go and leave us alone, we decide to buy a 5 soles necklace. (Well, Tim does… Clem, on her part, is raging already!)

The whole group is then spurred into some “ethnic” watercraft (called “the Mercedes-Benz” by the president) – the same one on which we saw the previous group leave. This boat is supposed to take us to the “capital” of Islas Uros… [Note that all quotation marks are used voluntarily… 🙂 ] From the president’s original explanation, we kind of got that this ride would entail an additional cost (to help “support the community”), but since we’re afraid of being stranded on this first island (where there’s nothing to do or to see), we follow the group and we embark – hoping to see some more interesting stuff “on the other side”. All other tourists do the same, except for a small group of 4 ladies…

When the boat starts, a few locals start singing songs to us in Quechua and Spanish. Then, a young girl goes around asking for tips. We’re already fuming (because it’s getting ever clearer to us that we’re being ambushed) and we refuse to give a dime. Clémence is seething!

In reality, there’s only a few hundred yards from the first island to the “capital”‘s pontoon. Therefore, in order to make the trip last for just a little bit longer, the boat goes into a curve. Going in a straight line would have been outright “theft”, while this is just a regular “rip-off”. Yay? 🙂

During the trip, the “president” goes around asking for “10 soles per person”. We firmly reply that we will pay nothing until we’re sure to be able to take our original boat again, to get back to Puno – because we sure don’t want to be stranded on some island with additional, unexpected costs. Luckily, he agrees: “That’s okay, you can pay once we get there”. He then resumes his tour, demanding “10 soles per person” from all passengers. We can see that our fellow tourists all look just as uncomfortable as we are.

When we disembark at the “capital”, the “president” asks us again for his due. We take the liberty of remaining firm: we feel we’re being treated unfairly, and we won’t pay until we are back on the original, “touristic” boat. “Oh you shouldn’t worry, that boat will be here in 10 minutes!” “I beg your pardon?! You mean we could just have taken the other boat – skipping the ‘Mercedes’ altogether and avoiding the extra costs?” “Well sure, that’s what I explained earlier. Through the ‘Mercedes’ ride, you support our community…” “Well that wasn’t clear, and I don’t think we’re the only ones to feel fooled!” The discussion goes on for a little while – Tim does the talking, and Clem expresses her discontent through body language leaving no room for interpretation (she’s the proverbial “bad cop”). Eventually, the “president” agrees with our position to pay only 10 soles for the both of us, instead of 20. Considering the circumstances, we’re still being robbed, but at least we’re saving 50% off the original price…

At that point, our expectations were already at an all-time low, but the “capital” manages to let us down even more. We’re looking at a tiny piece of island of around 1,600 sq ft, showcasing just a few souvenir shops and a shaggy “restaurant”. The huts and decorations are relatively nice, but by now we’ve figured it’s all fake. The island seems to extend quite a bit further (possibly to where the community actually lives?) but a sign indicates there’s no passing.

We are deeply disappointed by this huge touristic rip-off (“disgusted” is Clem’s word for it). We walk on the islet for a few minutes, we buy some water, and then we sit down on a small bench, already reflecting about writing this article.

When we’re finally back on the first boat (which indeed arrived at the “capital” just 10 minutes after us, carrying the few ladies who hadn’t embarked on the “Mercedes”), a surreal scene plays out right in front of our eyes: a few hundred yards from us, right besides the island where we had first disembarked, a huge fire is wreaking havoc and destroying all huts in the area! Since pretty much everything on the Islas Uros is made of straw or wood, the flames are gigantic and everything is turned to ashes in minutes. All passengers on our boat, including us, watch the scene in horror and dismay…

On the way back, nobody says a word. Everybody definitely feels they were trapped and scammed. It seems to us that all the “psychological” tricks in the rip-off playbook have been put to use. We were trapped on a small island, we we scattered into small groups, we were forcefully handed items we didn’t want to buy, we were primed into feeling guilt and pity, we were subjected to group pressure (by the way, kudos to the few ladies who refused to step onto the “Mercedes”!), and we were voluntarily misinformed.

To be honest, contrary to our unlucky fellow tourists, we are quite “proud” that we were able to stand our ground somewhat, and that we only paid half the price for the boat ride to the “capital”. Nevertheless, we ended up giving out 50 soles for a very disappointing (and culturally pointless) trip that was originally advertised at 10 soles per person. Of course, we could rationalize it all by telling ourselves that this is no more than a few euros, but we’re in Peru now (where prices are different than in Europe) – and we really resented being tricked, misinformed and treated like cash machines.

Silver lining: at least this will have been a good exercise as far as haggling (in Spanish) is concerned! 🙂

It has also been a relief to be able to share our experience with all of you guys. If this article’s story helps at least a few of you avoid this trap someday, then our three hour misadventure will not have been totally in vain… 🙂