A Floating Legacy: Culture, Craft, and the Totora Reed

The Uros are considered one of the oldest ethnic groups in the Andes, predating the rise of the Inca Empire. Their language and many traditions have gradually been absorbed or replaced by those of the Aymara and Quechua peoples, but their identity remains distinct—especially in the way they live. Historically, the Uros chose to live apart from other groups by creating floating islands as a means of protection, autonomy, and cultural preservation. By detaching themselves from the mainland, they also physically separated themselves from conflict and colonization.

The islands themselves are marvels of Indigenous engineering, constructed using a native plant called totora—a reed that grows in the shallower areas of Lake Titicaca. The process begins with the harvest of large root blocks known as khili, which float due to their spongy, oxygen-filled composition. These blocks are tied together with ropes and anchored to the lakebed with eucalyptus poles. Over them, layers of dried totora are laid and constantly renewed, as they rot from the bottom up. Maintaining an island requires adding fresh reeds every one to two weeks. Without this regular upkeep, the islands would eventually sink.

Totora is more than a construction material; it’s a lifeline. The Uros use it to build everything from houses and boats to furniture and crafts. The boats—traditionally shaped like canoes or animals—are woven entirely from totora and used for transportation, fishing, and tourism. The white base of the reed is edible and has been traditionally used to ease pain or inflammation. In times of scarcity, it even becomes a dietary staple. The Uros have relied on totora for centuries not only because of its buoyancy and insulation but also because of its role in medicine, food, and daily living.

Though the number of islands fluctuates—usually ranging from 40 to 100—each one supports a few families. Some larger islands contain communal spaces like schools, artisan markets, and recently, even solar panels for electricity. Despite their traditional architecture, the floating islands are not frozen in time. They reflect a culture that, while deeply rooted in the past, adapts to the present.

Resilience on Water

The Uros' way of life experienced a dramatic transformation with the arrival of the 20th century. Global tourism expanded; therefore the floating islands became a popular destination. Consequently, they gradually began shifting from fishing and hunting to tourism as their primary economic activity. Families began hosting travellers for the day and even overnight stays, selling handmade crafts, and performing traditional songs and dances. 

While this shift brought much-needed income, it also introduced complex trade-offs. The growth of tourism led the Uros to adapt some cultural practices for public display. Some critics have questioned how much of what visitors see is authentically practiced and how much is curated to meet tourist expectations. Yet for many Uros families, tourism has become not just a means of income but a platform for preserving and sharing their heritage.

However, the COVID-19 pandemic laid bare the fragility of this dependence. With tourism grinding to a halt, the Uros lost their main source of livelihood almost overnight. Many islanders returned to more traditional practices—fishing, weaving, and subsistence harvesting of totora. Others tried to connect with global audiences through digital storytelling, but limited internet access and infrastructure made that difficult. The pandemic highlighted the vulnerabilities that come with globalization, especially for isolated communities whose economies are tied to external flows.

Environmental challenges also loom large. Pollution in the lake, often from urban runoff and plastic waste, threatens the delicate ecosystems that sustain the totora reeds. Rising and falling water levels due to climate change are altering the lake’s patterns, sometimes making it harder for the reeds to grow or for boats to navigate. Additionally, some young Uros are leaving the islands to pursue education or employment in Puno or beyond, raising questions about the community’s long-term sustainability.

And yet, the floating islands persist. Their resilience is not accidental but intentional—a product of centuries of adaptation and the community’s deep knowledge of their environment. Just as they layer fresh reeds to keep the islands afloat, the Uros layer old knowledge with new ideas, keeping their culture alive in both material and metaphorical ways.

While the future of the Uros may face uncertainty, their floating world continues to offer lessons in balance—between nature and humanity, tradition and modernity, solitude and connection. Visitors to Lake Titicaca don’t just witness a curiosity; they encounter a living culture that has learned to stay afloat against all odds.

References

BBC: The floating homes of Lake Titicaca

Discover magazine: Visit the Artificial Islands Floating on Lake Titicaca

Dialogue Earth: At Lake Titicaca, residents feel the strain of climate change and pollution.