The S.S Yavari Experience

I should start by saying that we had a wonderful experience on the S.S Yavari. Initially, Jeff was more excited about the opportunity, but in the end, I believe we were about even. To be clear, my enthusiasm mounted, Jeff’s didn’t wane. This post has been written almost entirely for entertainment’s sake, as it was an entertaining evening, to say the least.

We arrived at the hotel at which the steamship is anchored and a porter led us through the hotel to a long and precarious looking wooden dock. I’m talking several planks 18”x6” strung together with rope and additional rope to serve as a handrail. I’m certain had I attempted to actually use the handrail, I may have toppled our walkway entirely. In front of us is the S.S Yavari. It is an English steamship that was brought to Lake Titicaca in the late 1800’s in many pieces from the Pacific Ocean via mule. The passage took 6 years in total. Based on what I had learned so far, I was expecting the Titanic. What was anchored before us seemed alarmingly similar to a tug boat. Alas, we must not judge a book by it’s cover. We arrive at the boat to the greetings of a navally-festooned (navy-inspired)  lady who welcomed us aboard and took my bag from the porter. Jeff had to carry is own. She showed us down a hallway that is no wider than 3 feet to our cabin. The ship is regally adorned. The rustic bunk beds are less than a single bed wide, but dressed with fabulously lush duvet, sheets and extra fleece blanket. There is no room in the cabin for our luggage, but Jeff and I insist on stacking them in the wiggle room at the end of the bed. The luggage closet is a bit far from the room. I immediately call top bunk. It has a window. Quite luckily for us, the corner shelf has a space heater. I’m sure the little room will be just toasty and cozy tonight.

Our berth

No sooner do we thank the lady for showing us the way does she disappear down the walkway and Jeff and I are left alone with only the creaking of a vintage boat hanging in the air. We decide to give ourselves a tour. The common area has a lovely wooden table and the walls are hung with old news clippings and history of the ship. There are maps, an old radio, and several issues of Life magazine from the mid-1900’s. We make our way to the front deck, and are met with a breathtaking view of the lake. We grab two of the embroidered wooden and canvas deck chairs and unfold them on the deck. We had previously determined that we would use this afternoon to relax, lounge, and read. One, because we are far removed from town on this boat, and two because we have been on the go for 13 days straight and need some down time. We both take up reading in the sun.

View of town from the deck

About a hour or so passes before we realize that we still haven’t talked to anyone else on the boat. In fact, there doesn’t seem to be anyone around. I, of course, fancy us millionaires in the 1920’s with a private boat and staff to tend to it. I romanticize the whole thing quite gloriously in my head before I realize that I would really enjoy a cup of coffee. Jeff and I deliberate about a few things: should we wander back down the dock to the hotel for dinner? I’m not excited by the idea of walking that plank in the dark and most restaurants don’t serve dinner until after 7. It gets dark at 6 in these parts. I buck up though, and offer to bring my headlamp. With a man of Jeff’s appetite, skipping dinner isn’t my first choice. Do they serve us dinner on board? We have no idea. The website implied that we would be whisked away in history with a night-cap in the saloon before retiring to our cabins, but mentioned nothing of dinner. There is a small kitchen within eyesight of the deck and Jeff and I decide to poke around. I think we will get in trouble, but Jeff wonders “from who?” and offers to make me a cup of coffee. The whole afternoon has been altogether a bit eerie, if you ask me. You can vaguely hear a person, just one, working about somewhere in the depths of the ship, and once in a while that someone walks to or fro in front of us, but always quietly. We decide to look around for clues. I love a good game of “Clue”. Mr. Halper, with the coffee pot, in the galley. We walk back into the common area aboard the ship, and I’m literally taken aback by what I see. In the corner, a little table has been set up. On this table there are two empty coffee mugs, instant coffee (that’s all they seem to drink in Peru), tea bags, sugar, and a very tall Thermos. It’s full of steaming hot water. They have materialized out of nowhere. Seemingly, someone from the staff heard me muttering about coffee through the walls and fashioned this little set-up for us. These elves are mysterious, but I like it.

Mystery coffee. Glorious!

I also notice a posted note on the wall that denotes the Menu for Miercoles (Wednesday) complete with dinner for that night, dessert, post-dinner cocktails, and breakfast for the following morning. This clue would indicate that we can expect to be fed dinner on this boat tonight. There is no menu posted for today.  Not long after I sat myself down at the Captain’s table did an elderly man come aboard speaking English. Out of nowhere, a uniformed man appeared and jovially welcomed him in Spanish. This man responded in English that he didn’t speak Spanish, but that did not deter this sailor. The then proceeded with a very energetic tour, in Spanish, beckoning the guest to follow him about the ship. The guest would ask yet another question in English and the tour guide would reply “Si, si” to almost anything that was asked. I was tempted to ask him if I could fire up the engine and take her for a spin to test my theory that “yes” was the answer to all English questions, but I refrained. Guide and guest were out on the front deck when all of sudden an old-timey telephone that I’d taken for an antique begins to ring. It’s that kind of echoed ring reminiscent of old horror films set at the Bates motel. It rings, and rings, and I think of answering it, but just as I’m seriously contemplating (if only to stop the creepy ringing), the enthused sailor tour guide comes sprinting in from the deck. He passes the ringing telephone and races down the hall. I hear him answer another phone and carry on a muffled conversation in quick Spanish. After that, he is nowhere to be found. We are alone again, in our 1920’s novel. That brings us to now, 4:47pm on Thursday 9/19/13. Will we be eating dinner on the boat? Only time will tell. It’s nearing sunset and I hope to get several beautiful pictures from the deck. I’ve just put on my Alpaca hat and gloves. Should be an interesting night. I’ll keep you posted.

A sunset like this really puts things in perspective

Update: Shortly after I wrote the initial post, the enthused tour guide beckoned us for our own tour. I think he just got tired of giving the tour around  us camped in the common room. Though he spoke not a word of English, we grasped nearly all of the message based primarily around his energetic gesticulations.

Gear head in the engine room

Original thingy that pulls the anchor up. It takes about 6 strong men.

“Iceberg, right ahead!” I recognize this from the Titanic. Also a nice peak at my Alpaca hat and gloves

Captain Jeff

After our tour, the host of the B&B finally appeared and we filed our registration paperwork. We asked her if we should go to the hotel for dinner, and she said we could either walk down or she could have it delivered. We opted for walking the plank in the dark, and I’m so glad we did; we got this shot of the boat all lit up!

Post dinner, we returned to the boat. I’m not going to brag, but I pretty much owned the walkway in the dark. My sure footing was fueled almost entirely by a desire to get off the bridge and back on solid ground (or boat deck, as it were).

We spent the rest of a lovely evening having tea and playing Gin Rummy. By the way, thanks Mama and Dad for teaching me Gin at such an early age. It really is a lifelong game, and the only thing besides “Go Fish” I can always remember to play. Jeff too. It was quite fun. In this day an age, with all the technology in our lives, we rarely make time for good old fashion card games. We’ve vowed to start. To those of you reading this with whom we often play board games, we may have to feather in a card game or too from now on. Yes, I will still make fondue. And, there will always be wine. Jeff says “Beer. There will also always be beer.” He’s not wrong.

We retired to our bunks early and were off the next morning on another adventure. Jeff will tell you all about that one.

That’s all, folks.

Xo.

K