Puno's cobblestone chaos: where lost backpacks meet neon murals
i just checked the weather-10c cools down to 8.92c at night, which is just right for chasing shadows on sun-bleached walls. my backpack still smells like diesel and expired mango chips, like a lot of people’s problems here. friends who packed sandals instead of boots probably regretted it already.
if you wander past the idioma bus station, someone told me, you’ll probably get dragged into a debate about Machu Picchu’s plumbing system. i didn’t believe them till i saw a guy waving a iced coffee at a llama and shouting, ‘WE’RE NEVER GOING HOME, BOYS.’
the street art here isn’t the pretty kind you find in cafes. it’s the kind that looks like a toddler tried to draw the universe with spray paint and a beer can. that’s a good thing. i followed a mural of a llama wearing sunglasses up three blocks till i realized the ‘artist’ was probably just a 12-year-old who nabbed my water bottle.
*pro-tip: don’t trust the guy in the beret selling ‘organic’ mate. he’s got a parrot that mimics the sound of a clapping cow. in the next life, maybe i’ll be that parrot.
i heard the lake titicaca ferries hit ‘ghostly’ delays once, but locals just shrug and say, ‘if you wanna fight the tide, there’s always arakata lake.’ not trying to start a fight, i’m just saying the moon looks like it’s screaming in the alpaca exhibit at night.
img src="https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1701723126260-d275fd06141d?crop=entropy&cs=tinysrgb&fit=max&fm=jpg&w=1080&q=80" alt="a mural of a crying cactus, puno" width="100%"
img src="https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1701723126260-a4b870ea89d4?crop=entropy&cs=tinysrgb&fit=max&fm=jpg&w=1080&q=80" alt="a guy eating a kebab on a park bench, puno" width="100%"
don’t miss: ok, it’s stupid, but the alfajores at tía martha’s are legendary-type this into Google: ‘el abuelo no sabía cocinar but the wife was a pro they called her…’ you’ll know what i mean.
some dude at the hostel said the internet here is slower than his grandma’s front porch, but hey, at least the coffee’s hot enough to melt steel. saves money vs trying to stream house music from lim lim y jernails docs
if you get restless,* lubianá is a 2 hr drive and liban is just a blurry Instagram story away. but maybe save the fancy hotels for when you’re not sweating through your freaksothe event poster collection.
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