Puno:
Beyond Lake Titicaca

The day concludes at the Minor Basilica of the Cathedral of Puno, declared a National Historic Cultural Heritage site and the only 18th-century building in the city that still fulfills the purpose for which it was conceived. Built atop an ancient Inca temple—on the site known as Supay Kancha—its stone-carved façade carved in stone captures the spirit of Altiplano: sirens playing charangos, guardian pumas, and saints coexist within a deeply symbolic Andean Baroque composition. Inside, the barrel vault draws my gaze toward the main altar dedicated to the Immaculate Conception. From the bell tower, the view over the city and Lake Titicaca reveals the intimate relationship between faith, territory, and history. Beyond its religious significance, this space stands as one of the most meaningful expressions of Puno’s heritage and an essential pillar of the cultural life of its historic center.

Ancestral spirituality and mining memory

The following day, we set out for Inca Tunuhuiri, one of the most enigmatic and least-known sites in the region. Located near the village of Ichu, this pre-Inca ceremonial center offers a majestic view of Lake Titicaca, which stretches before our eyes like a blue mirror between the mountains. The archaeological site preserves sandstone walls, anthropomorphic blocks, and terraces that suggest its ritual importance. Although its origins date back to the Pucara culture (500 BC–AD 400), it was later reused by the Incas. Even today, local residents perform offerings to Pachamama and the apus, keeping its mystical legacy alive.

Back in the city, a leisurely lunch prepares me for the next visit: San Luis de Alba, a 17th-century mining settlement that played a key role in the emergence of the city thanks to its silver production. Amid colonial remains and the vast landscapes of the altiplano, I discover how this precious metal attracted power, evangelization, and, above all, profound social transformation.

Sacred landscapes and communities of the deep Altiplano

At dawn, one of the most complete routes of the Altiplano awaits—a journey that combines history, archaeology, nature, and living culture through a different lens. Our first stop is Cutimbo, an archaeological complex where the chullpas—prehispanic funerary towers built of stone—rise above an open, silent plateau. Many travelers associate the chullpas of the altiplano with Sillustani; yet in Cutimbo the experience feels different: more intimate, slower, almost private, as tourism here remains minimal.

The walk to the summit takes 25 minutes and unfolds among queñua trees (Polylepis spp.), native to the Andes and known for thriving at elevations between 3,500 and 5,000 meters. Their bark peels away in delicate layers, as though the landscape itself were revealing its own memory. At the top, the view is extraordinary: imposing stone chullpas stand with remarkable precision against a vast horizon of mountains and sky. The powerful energy of the place—felt the moment one arrives—is amplified by the architectural grandeur of these crypts and their connection to ancient Andean cultures.

Further along, the Sacuyo Forest surprises me with its striking rock formations. This stone corridor captivates through its height and silence, home to wildlife that moves discreetly through the landscape. The monoliths invite both contemplation and photography, as if nature itself had sculpted a gallery of stone.

Yet the most moving moment of the day unfolds in the community of Ayrumas Carumas. Upon arrival, we are warmly welcomed and introduced to their traditional weaving techniques and the collective work they have developed as a community. This visit stands as a testament to how tourism can become a tool for genuine sustainability and impact.

Together with community members—and a charming herd of llamas—we begin our walk toward the summit of Qawrani Tiyi, a sacred site located at the highest point of the community’s main mountain. To reach it, we pass through Quñuna, a narrow rock passage resembling a cave where tradition invites visitors to make a wish. From the summit, the landscape unfolds dramatically: vast cliffs and stone formations appear like sculptures shaped by centuries of wind and time.

Andean Baroque and giants of the Altiplano

On the fourth and final day, the journey turns toward the northwestern side of the Altiplano.

The first stop is Lampa, founded in 1548 and one of the most important centers of the region during the viceregal period. Its layout and architecture—built in pink volcanic stone—speak of the prosperity the town experienced between the 17th and 18th centuries. The visit begins at the Church of St. James the Apostle, built in the late 17th century and considered one of the most distinctive expressions of Andean baroque in southern Peru. The temple stands out for its use of local materials and its glazed ceramic roof tiles—rare in high-Andean architecture—which reflect the light with a distinctive brilliance.

Inside, altars and paintings connected to the Cusco School remain preserved, along with colonial catacombs. The church also houses a replica of Michelangelo’s Pietà, a detail that reveals how European artistic models traveled across oceans and were reinterpreted in the Andes, eventually becoming part of the city’s cultural identity.

From there, the road leads to the forest of Puyas de Raimondii (Puya raimondii), an endemic species of the Peruvian Andes and the largest bromeliad in the world. It can grow over ten meters tall and produce an inflorescence with thousands of flowers. Yet what makes it truly extraordinary is its life cycle: it may take between forty and one hundred years to bloom—and it blooms only once before dying. In the Altiplano, this plant has long been seen as a symbol of resistance and patience—a living metaphor of the Andean world.

The Altiplano beyond Titicaca

As it is time to depart, I carry the feeling of having traveled through a land where different eras coexist without erasing one another. Here, the stone preserves memory, the lake whispers ancient myths, and every community lives tradition in the present.