Ancient artifacts abound in this 3,200-square-mile lake that spans two nations in South America.

My wife Raija and I boarded a bus bound for Lake Titicaca first thing in the morning in early November. As a Fulbright Scholar, I had spent the previous five months writing a biography of an American explorer in Arequipa, Peru. The renowned 3,200-square-mile lake that straddles the border of Peru and Bolivia is considered the origin of Incan civilization, and Raija and I wanted to see it as my grant was almost up. 

We were traveling inward, towards the northwest edge of the lake, when a cloud of red dust rose from the broken dirt road. Along the way, we saw farmers planting grains like barley, quinoa, and potatoes by hand, and we saw herds of sheep and alpaca munching on the leftover straw from the previous harvest. 

Bolivian winds threw up whitecaps on the lake when we disembarked from the bus six hours later. Soaring 12,500 feet above the earth's surface, the air was thin and sharp. The Andes Mountains jutted out into the sky toward the horizon. Quietness was the first thing that struck me after the Arequipa streets, which were clogged with traffic. 

On a peninsula of red sandstone close to Puno, we stayed for our first two nights at the 18-room resort Titilaka. Chairs upholstered in wood and cowhide and rugs made of wool complete the modern décor. 

The hotel had a delightfully deserted vibe since most of the guests had gone out for the day, either to the surrounding island or to the markets. Raija and I were escorted to our room, a suite with an expansive bathtub that overlooked the vast expanse of Lake Titicaca, while sipping on sugary iced tea with a hint of muña, an Andean mint. I later took a stroll along a boardwalk that led to the water's edge, where I soaked for an hour in a rustic hot tub made of wood.

I was gladly exhausted after the day of travel when we finally settled down for dinner in the dining room. With full bellies, we enjoyed lake fish and braised lamb shank before retiring to our rooms, where we savored our last glass of red wine. 

As soon as we opened our eyes, a vast expanse of blue stretched out before us, encircling a lake that appeared to stretch on forever. Raija and I borrowed an aluminum canoe from the boathouse and paddled twenty yards offshore after breakfast, which consisted of red cactus juice and a tamale buffet with fresh fruits, breads, yogurt, and avocado. Below us, the sea was icy and transparent. On our way to investigate an island, we forded a narrow channel, where we encountered just two pairs of white Andean geese. 

After lunch, we were driven by our Titilaka guide, Alberth Ramos, to the archaeological site of Molloco, which is situated in the Andean foothills and about half an hour away by car. The Lupaca were a "pre-Incan" monarchy that existed from the eleventh to the fifteenth centuries. All that remains of their cemetery is this cluster of chullpas, which are stone buildings approximately twenty feet in height. Long ago, the chullpas were looted because they housed the mummified remains of aristocracy. In their quest for precious metals, "the colonial people came to the high plateau in the 1500s and destroyed all the buildings," Ramos remarked. 

Aramu Muru, a huge sandstone wall with an enigmatic door frame carved into its heart, was reached after another half an hour of driving. According to Ramos, the story behind its creation is that an Incan priest who was trying to escape the Spanish had vanished through the entrance and into another world. It was a hauntingly silent spot. As sacrifices to the Inca deities, humans had scattered coca leaves and plastic jugs of red wine at the frame's entrance. 

The following day, at approximately midday, we boarded the hotel van and headed north of Puno, away from Titilaka. Carlos Eduardo Lujano Suaña and his family rent out apartments on the lakeside through Airbnb in the Uros community, which is located on one of the 120 floating reed islands on Lake Titicaca. From there, we got on a tiny, covered motorboat that took us to our next destination. 

These totora-reed islands have been home to the 2,000-strong Uros people for centuries, but these days they have solar panels and hot water heaters in their homes. The master boatbuilders Noe and Isaac Coila Lujano were hard at work on a 20-foot catamaran, shaping bundles of reeds into a swooping prow using ancient techniques, at their floating workshop, which we visited on an afternoon tour. Long before Europeans reached the Americas, there was an idea that I remembered hearing – that similar boats had been used by ancient people to cross the Pacific Ocean. 

"Could human beings have traversed the Pacific Ocean using one of these?" I inquired. 

Noe gave the question some thought. "Absolutely," he responded. You should exercise caution, though. We chuckled, maybe thinking about the interminable perils: sharks, dehydration, famine, and storms. 

At sunset, the water mirrored shades of pink and orange, while the marsh reeds were bathed in a golden light. Warm water from two-liter Coke bottles wrapped in alpaca-wool socks kept us warm as we slept under six blankets after a hearty home-cooked dinner of grilled chicken breast and french fries. 

We arrived at the mainland the following morning by boat and then took a bus to the Bolivian border, a journey that would take us two hours. We took an additional boat from Copacabana to the five-square-mile island of Isla del Sol on Lake Titicaca, which is so far away that it takes ninety minutes to get there after we cleared customs. Manco Cápac and Mama Ocllo, the first Inca and his wife, are said to have been born there, adding to the place's rich Andean mythology. 

We stepped off the boat on the island's southern shore, hiked a short distance to our bed and breakfast, a family-run establishment named Utasawa in Yumani, and passed an Incan stone ruin on the way. (The island is accessible only by foot due to its steep stone slopes; cars are not permitted there.) Along the way, we witnessed farmers using hand tools to cultivate the terraced hillsides. 

We made the nighttime trek to Las Velas, a modest eatery with candlelight that views out over Kona Bay. The "special touch" was described by Chef Pablo Callsaya as steaming whole lake fish in muña. At our 12,000-foot elevation, the galaxies were remarkably bright, so we strolled the 20 minutes back to the hotel by starlight after dinner. 

We hiked to the island's northernmost point and back the following day, following a trail that led us past pre-Incan artifacts and secret bays with white sand beaches. In the nick of time, we reached Yumani and boarded the ferry to Copacabana. The distant, snow-capped Andes appeared to float on top of Lake Titicaca as the boat shook in the waves. It really hit me that Raija and I were at a place that seemed to exist outside of time, and that our time there was a mere speck in the vast, ancient history of this lake.