That said, aside from a couple of nice plazas and a rather impressive and imposing cathedral, the only reason to come here really is to visit the lake.
Lake Titicaca is the world's largest high altitude lake and the area in general is renowned for its crystal clear air - an oasis on the parched and barren altiplano.
We formulated plans to visit the Aymara people, who live on floating islands made of the tortora reeds found in the lake on Sunday, with a view to a more extensive overnight visit with a family on Monday and Tuesday.
Feeling the effects of the 12000ft altitude, we procured a bicycle-taxi to take us to the docks once we'd knocked the opportunistic, gringo exploiting driver down from 50p to 30p.
It was an interesting half-mile journey. There is one main street in Puno with travel agents and restaurants abounding; outside of that the town appeared to be little more than a down-at-heel receptacle for rubble and rotten fruit, patrolled by approximately one squillion mangey mongrels.
We soon arrived at the docks, found a captain and began negotiations. For just a few soles 'El Capitan' would take us to Uros, the floating islands, leaving us for a couple of hours to explore.
Tomorrow, he would take us to the Isla Taquile, four hours away, picking us up the following day.
In an inspired piece of reticence, Kerry suggested we hold off from paying for tomorrow's trip until we'd seen what today held for us.
Things began well with our boat pootling out over the lake and we were soon ploughing through channels in the reeds and, rather incongruously, passing a sign welcoming us to the floating islands.
We entered an expanse of water and saw a two-hulled reed boat being paddled by two natives which, with the bright clear sky as backdrop, provided an awesome sight.
At the other side of this body of water were 53 floating islands, one of which we soon berthed at and were greeted by no less than the President himself.
Not the president of Peru or Puno or even of the Uros islands as a whole. Carlos was the president of this particular island, an island inhabited by his family alone.
By that token this blog is brought to you courtesy of His Greatness, The Exalted Grand Archduke of 15 Chelsea Place, Master Of All He Surveys (except for the garden where next door's cat has the nap hand).
Despite his delusions of office he gave us a relatively interesting lecture on the history of the islands, the people, how the islands are made and maintained and how they sustain themselves.
Though exclusively in Spanish, we picked up that fish forms the staple of their diet, that they have to keep laying new reeds as the ones at the bottom rot away and that tourism is booming.
That much was evident. Our boat with nine or ten passengers was one of thirty or so on the lake, all visiting different islands.
After El Presidente's spiel we were invited into his bedchamber. This took the form of an 8'x8' hut made of reeds in which was nothing except a bed, equally made of reeds.
It's doubtful that any people anywhere are so intrinsically linked with a plant: they live on it and in it, they sleep on it, sail on it, make rope out of it and crafts too to sell to fair-skinned suckers who will be wondering what on earth they're going to do with that miniature reed boat before they even get back to Puno.
I'm not entirely sure why but sitting on the presidents bed with a swathe of Peruvians, being addressed by the great man himself tickled both Kerry and me.
I think it was the absurdity of it all.
I'd love to report that we experienced some sort of epiphany by meeting these amazing people who eke an existence so close to nature and know little of the world at large.
Instead we found it all so staged and touristy.
We were then invited to board a double-hulled and two-storey reed boat for a short trip to the 'capital' of the Uros islands.
Here we found a gaggle of teenage boys begging for coins to be thrown into the lake so that they could retrieve them, more craft stalls and a cafeteria.
Not wishing to contribute to the performing monkey psyche of the boys and having traded a few soles and a packet of biscuits for a rather fetching hat and pendant we took a seat under a parasol (made of reeds) and I ordered a coffee.
It looked unpalatable and tasted worse but I persevered, only considering half-way through that the water for the drink must have come from the lake.
Suddenly worried that they may not have boiled it fully and I may therefore be in the process of introducing a parasite to my intestines I surreptitiously poured the remainder away and tried not to think what may be occurring within me.
After giving a bag of sweets to a young girl and a bag of apples to a crone we were on our way back to Puno.
Our captain met us off the boat expectantly but we had to disappoint him. There was no way we could spend two days on an island on the lake after our semi-excruciating visit to the Uros.
Don't get me wrong, it was fascinating but it all just felt peculiar, like they were an exhibit in a museum or animals in a zoo. Half a day was plenty for us.
That left us plotting our escape and with us only being around six or seven hours from La Paz, capital of Bolivia, that seemed a logical step.
We bought tickets for an early departure next morning and went out for dinner.
With it being our last night in Peru I was determined to eat guinea pig, it having so far eluded me or been discounted because it was double the cost of other options.
We took our seats in a restaurant, close to a triumvirate of Aussies who had been on the Pisco Sours for a while by the sounds of it.
Nothing wrong with that I know but the intoxicating liquor had loosened the female member of the party's tongue such that she rattled non-stop, and about the most banal subjects.
Her pillows and bedding, how she likes a spare bed to put her case on, how Machu Picchu is one of the most wondrous places on this earth (you don't say!), how widely she's travelled, how pissed she is, how her first husband used to indulge her and a barrage of other mind-numbing diatribe, all delivered in a particularly irksome dialect.
They left as our meals arrived and my relief at one was equalled by my disappointment and antipathy towards the other.
A rite of passage it may be if visiting Peru but there is nothing clever about ordering an undernourished rat for your main meal of the day.
A baked head, curled up claws and tail are off-putting to begin with but extracting less than the equivalent of one mouthful of gamey meat after thirty minutes endeavour confirms your choice as an abject failure.
I never thought I'd say this but I'd have preferred chicken and rice.
An hour later I was wishing even more vehemently that I hadn't bothered.
Or was Titicaca gold blend responsible?
And so ends our time in Peru.
A heavenly beach, surfing, paragliding, nature, dune-buggying, light aircraft, history's mysteries, a wonder of the world and a visit to an incredible lake and its people.
It's been a brilliant five weeks but with time slipping away we need a beach if we're not going to go crackers.
Hmmmm, isn't Bolivia land-locked?
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