Bounce on It, Sail with It, Snack on It: The Multifunctional Marvel of Totora

I was amazed by a German television documentary about the totora plant. The documentary revealed a world I never imagined---where a humble reed is not just a plant but a lifeline. It showed how totora is used to build floating islands on Lake Titicaca, where entire communities thrive. These islands are sturdy enough to support homes, schools, and even livestock, yet they bounce gently underfoot, like walking on a waterbed. But the most surprising moment came when the camera zoomed in on a young girl, casually chewing a piece of the reed like it was sugarcane. "It's edible too!" the narrator exclaimed, as the girl smiled and kept munching. I couldn't help but wonder, what kind of plant could do all that?

The documentary dived into the fascinating details of totora. This plant, with its tall, hollow, and cylindrical stems, thrives in the high-altitude wetlands of South America, particularly around Lake Titicaca, nestled in the Andes. Its smooth, green surface catches the sunlight beautifully, swaying gently in the breeze. The totora isn't flashy; it's practical. Its hollow interior makes it buoyant and light, perfect for crafting boats or constructing islands. What struck me was how people identify it---they cut into a stem, revealing a soft, almost sponge-like texture inside. This texture, combined with its slightly sweet flavour, is why it's edible. The indigenous communities who live by the lake have relied on this plant for generations, not just for construction but also as a snack. They eat the white base of the reed, which is soft, crunchy, and subtly sweet, a bit like a mild sugarcane.

Schoenoplectus californicus, the totora flower. (Curtis Clark)

The history of totora usage is a journey through time. Thousands of years ago, before Spanish ships crossed the oceans, the Uros people of Lake Titicaca were already masters of this reed. They used it to build floating islands to escape aggressors, creating a sanctuary that could be moved if needed. Totora became their everything---boats to fish, homes to live in, and even mats and roofs. Across the Andes, other civilizations, like the Moche on the Peruvian coast, crafted caballitos de totora, reed boats used for fishing. These slender vessels glided across the waves, connecting people to the sea. Over time, as civilizations rose and fell, totora remained constant, serving practical needs and sustaining life. Even today, its use endures in both traditional and modern ways.

Totora, of course, isn't just confined to Lake Titicaca. Across the South American continent, it thrives in other wetland regions, such as along the coasts of Peru, Ecuador, and Chile, and even parts of Argentina. Wherever there's a marshy wetland with the right altitude and water levels, totora finds a home, standing tall and graceful, as if rooted in its ancient purpose.

An Aymara man next to a boat made from totora at Lake Titicaca. (EEJCC)

I learned that people outside South America sometimes cultivate totora, though rarely. The reasons fascinated me. In some places, it's grown to restore wetlands and protect ecosystems, as totora helps stabilize soil and support wildlife. Other times, it's a cultural bridge---a way for researchers or museums to study and preserve Andean traditions. I even discovered that architects and designers are drawn to it for sustainable projects. In botanical gardens, totora can become a showpiece, a plant that tells a story of resilience and ingenuity.

And just when I thought I knew it all, the documentary dropped a bombshell. Totora isn't confined to South America---it can also be found on Easter Island, a whopping 4,294 kilometres away from Lake Titicaca! On this remote island in the Pacific, totora grows in the crater lakes of Rano Kau and Rano Raraku, adding a lush touch to the volcanic landscapes. But how did it get there? Some say it was carried by early Polynesians as they explored the ocean, while others speculate that seeds floated across the waves or were brought by birds. However it arrived, the Rapa Nui people made it their own, using totora for lightweight rafts and mats.

Rano Raraku's interior contains one of the island's three freshwater crater lakes bordered by totora reeds. (Paolop)

Today, totora on Easter Island is a botanical puzzle piece in the story of human migration and cultural exchange. Its presence hints at ancient connections between the Andes and the Pacific, raising questions about the journeys our ancestors took and the resources they carried. Standing tall in the crater lakes, totora is a living testament to these mysteries, weaving together the Andes and Easter Island in a story as buoyant and enduring as the reed itself.