Intro
Day 339 began with a chill morning and a sky so clear it looked like blue enamel. After the ten-day push from Arequipa, my legs finally got a break from the pedals, though the paved streets of Puno and the 3,800-meter altitude still found ways to test my lungs.
Market Fixes and Floating Foundations
- I spent the first thirty minutes of the morning negotiating with my own limbs, using Duolingo Spanish exercises as a shield against getting out of bed. Once I finally emerged, I fueled up on a strange but effective breakfast of tapenade on salt crackers and a peanut butter roll before catching a collectivo into the heart of Puno. My first stop wasn’t a tourist site, but the central market. I needed a fix for a broken Rox strap that had been failing to hold my gear bag steady on the rack. At the third stall I tried, a local artisan took the strap and repaired it on the spot. No wait, no fuss. Ten minutes later, a different vendor replaced a snapped button on my hat’s sun protector with a sturdy metal clip. The efficiency of these market stalls puts high-end bike shops to shame.
- By noon, I was on a boat heading out through an artificial channel toward the Uros Floating Islands. The air smelled of the lake—a mix of cold water and the earthy, damp scent of cut totora reeds. We met the island’s leader, who gave us a literal masterclass in Altiplano engineering. She showed us the foundation of the islands: dense, spongy blocks of ‘khili’ roots harvested from the lake bed. These blocks are lashed together with eucalyptus stakes to create a platform that actually floats. I reached down to touch a cross-section model; the texture of the khili was surprisingly fibrous and tough, like a heavy-duty organic brick. On top of these roots, they layer fresh totora reeds every few weeks to combat the rot from below. When the group was offered a twenty-sol ride on a ‘traditional’ boat that was clearly just a modern hull covered in reeds, I opted out. Instead, I sat on the primary reed platform with a couple from Taiwan and Slovakia, sharing a thick slice of vanilla chocolate coconut cake I’d hauled from a mainland bakery.
The 600-Stair Surcharge
- Back on the mainland by mid-afternoon, I decided that a ‘rest day’ should apparently include a vertical climb. I packed a few bread rolls and a ripe avocado and started the ascent to Mirador el Cóndor. There are roughly 600 stairs leading up the hill, and at this elevation, every ten steps felt like a sprint. My heart was thumping against my ribs by the time I reached the top. The view of Lake Titicaca was wide and stark under the fading sun, the water turning a deep, bruised purple as the temperature dropped toward 9°C.
- I sat on the cold stone of the lookout and assembled my dinner. The simple ritual of slicing the avocado and spreading it over a dry roll felt like a luxury after a week of camp food. I watched the lights of Puno begin to flicker on in the valley below, a sprawling grid of orange and white against the dark Andean slopes. The wind started to pick up, hitting 12 km/h and cutting through my layers, so I began the descent back into the city, stopping briefly for a hot salteña and a cheese empanada to take the edge off the evening chill.
The Metallic Roar of the Diablada
- I thought the day was winding down as I strolled along Jirón Lima, but Puno had other plans. Suddenly, the pedestrian street transformed into a corridor of sound and motion. It was the vísperas for the Festividad de la Virgen de las Mercedes, and the ‘Folklore Capital’ was living up to its reputation. Massive brass bands marched past, the metallic crash of cymbals and the deep, vibrating thrum of tubas echoing off the colonial buildings. The noise was physical, a wall of percussion that made the air in my lungs vibrate.
- Dancers in heavy velvet and shimmering sequins surged through the crowd. I saw the Diablada troupes with their grotesque, bulging-eyed devil masks and the high-stepping Caporales dancers, their boots fitted with bells that jingled in a frantic, rhythmic unison. It wasn’t a performance for a stage; it was a chaotic, beautiful surge of communal energy. I stood there for over an hour, pinned against a stone wall by the sheer volume of people, watching the velvet skirts swirl past. By the time the last group moved toward the Church of La Merced, I was exhausted just from watching. I found a small shop selling quinoa con leche, the warm, sweet grain a perfect end to the night, before retreating to the hostel. Even now, sitting on the rooftop of Inkas Rest, I can hear the distant, muffled blast of the trumpets carrying over the rooftops.
Overnight
I stayed in a 6-bed dorm at Inkas Rest in Puno. It’s a clean, functional spot with a rooftop terrace that offers a direct acoustic line to the festival music coming from the nearby Church of La Merced.
Reflection
A rest day at 3,800 meters involves more stair-climbing and sensory overload than a standard day of riding.
Route summary
- Date: 2026-09-23
- Distance: 4.44 km
- Elevation gain: 178 m
- Elevation loss: 174 m
- Duration: 4 h 19 min
- Time in Motion: 1 h 40 min
- Average Speed: 2.7 km/h