Hi everyone and a belated Happy Thanksgiving,
Yesterday the 24th was our leaving day from Arequipa, heading to Cuzco. We bought bus tickets for the ten hour ride the day before so the morning would go smooth. In the past we have opted for the less expensive night ride, it only took us one overnighter to realize that it was not the best way to travel. The morning went smoothly enough, we both got on the same bus as our luggage and we were all going to the right place. About two hours into this marathon happybus ride we found ourselves stopped in the middle of the desert. Not an uncommon occurrence in theses parts, so not much thought went into it, we continued watching the Spanish version of Blue Streak. Twenty minutes later, we were not the only ones asking why we were still immobile. Using my best caveman Spanish I inquired as to the status of our current situation. The bus had broken down. After a considerable time spent brainstorming, the driver and his ticket collecting assistant decided to call for another bus to come from Arequipa. After the hour spent diagnosing, we now had a couple more hours to fill before our new bus rescued us.
Cuzco, as you know, is a very popular destination so we were not the only Gringoes on the bus. A moderately attractive German girl, a couple from Spain and a solo American man somewhere around sixty mixed up the hair colors on the bus. Greetings and other small talk commenced outside the bus while we all took advantage of the involuntary break to get off the bus. Very little information was exchanged outside as the gusting winds mixing with the sand made us feel like we were on the receiving end of a sandblast gun. Phil and I went to one of the six small, rectangular, concrete and tin roofed structures. Most were padlocked but two of them were open and were selling edible goods. We bought a package of crackers and a 2.25 liter bottle of Coke to add to our supply of water and M & M's.
As promised, our new bus arrived about two hours later. We all climbed onto the new bus, faces pressed against the windows to make sure that our backpacks made the switch with us. Close to an hour more passed as the (apparently) tedious task of moving luggage from one bus to another ensued. I practiced patience as best I could from inside the bus. When Phils' pack was still nowhere to be seen a half an hour later, I decided it was time to brave the sandstorm. I slipped through the arguing busmen heaving luggage and ducked into the cargo area under our original bus. Minimal climbing allowed me to spot the missing "mochilla." I grabbed it and handed it to the roofman who was piling everything liftable onto the roof of the new bus.
All of our belongings accounted for, we settled back into our seats and waited for departure. Three hours after our initial stop, the driver fired up the bus and we were on the road again. Not more than thirty minutes later the bus pulls over in front of a now familiar, crude, concrete structure offering arroz y pollo (rice and chicken). The new driver hadn´t eaten yet and decided to stop for some lunch. Mind you, this is supposed to be a 10 - 14 hour ride depending on variables. It didn't take long for some of the locals to begin protesting the drivers' decision. Much banging on windows and yelling not nice things in Spanish followed. Those contemplating going in themselves and filling their bellies for the twelve or so remaining hours, quickly sat back down. An older Peruvian man and his wife, who were clearly not happy about the additional delay, followed the driver into the cafe. Minutes later they all came out and the driver held no food in his hand. Vamos, vamos!! was the call and we were not so happily on our way once again. There is an old cliche´ that goes something like "for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction". I attribute the fact that we were not given any movies for the rest of the ten or so hour trip to that cliche´. If the driver was having no lunch, we were having no entertainment! Endless hours of darkness and silence on an uncomfortable bus ride through the mountains dampens the spirits.
It wasn´t all bad. Just before darkness had set in we had a major stop in a large town. I didn´t catch the name but if you look at a map it's the one just west of nowhere. With luggage being unloaded, we had a few minutes to get off the bus, stretch and look for some food, maybe hot food. The days supply of water, dry crackers, M & M's and Coke was getting low and we had many hours left to go. After fending off countless "salesmen", we mixed ourselves into the crowded street filled with vendors and rickshaw motorcycle taxis. Passing by several "beef on stick" vendors, Phil and I decided it would be best to not be sick on a multi hour bus ride. A local favorite is undercooked papas fritas, more recognizable to us as french fries. We spotted a cart selling the hot, bacteria free tidbits that would be our meal that night. With some mayonnaise and enough salt to preserve them for a year, we happily walked back towards the bus.
Outside the bus was the solo gringo man eating a bag of dry crackers. Phil and I were feeling like aristocrats, proudly enjoying our hot meal of hearty potatoes. The man said "Happy Thanksgiving." I paused and looked at Phil with a perplexed look. Phil said "yeah, it´s Thursday. It is Thanksgiving!"
Honestly, I haven´t looked at a calendar in over a month. To us, every day is Saturday. Signing into hostels I will check the date on my watch, so I was aware that it was getting toward the end of November and that Thanksgiving was near. It wasn´t until 6:30 on turkey day that I was made aware of what day it was. I know what most of you are saying and you can keep your comments to yourself.
We three Americans stood in the chilly street of this desolate Peruvian mountain village and celebrated our holiday, Phil and I thankful that we had something hot to eat that wouldn´t make us sick.
For those that I had promised a phone call on Thanksgiving, my apologies, it will be belated.
I hope the Holiday was happy for all back home. It was for us, the driver sped as often as he could and got us to Cuzco just after midnight. I can tell you after only one day that this is a very magical place and we can´t wait to share our upcoming experiences with you!
Hasta Luego,
Jeff
Yesterday the 24th was our leaving day from Arequipa, heading to Cuzco. We bought bus tickets for the ten hour ride the day before so the morning would go smooth. In the past we have opted for the less expensive night ride, it only took us one overnighter to realize that it was not the best way to travel. The morning went smoothly enough, we both got on the same bus as our luggage and we were all going to the right place. About two hours into this marathon happybus ride we found ourselves stopped in the middle of the desert. Not an uncommon occurrence in theses parts, so not much thought went into it, we continued watching the Spanish version of Blue Streak. Twenty minutes later, we were not the only ones asking why we were still immobile. Using my best caveman Spanish I inquired as to the status of our current situation. The bus had broken down. After a considerable time spent brainstorming, the driver and his ticket collecting assistant decided to call for another bus to come from Arequipa. After the hour spent diagnosing, we now had a couple more hours to fill before our new bus rescued us.
Cuzco, as you know, is a very popular destination so we were not the only Gringoes on the bus. A moderately attractive German girl, a couple from Spain and a solo American man somewhere around sixty mixed up the hair colors on the bus. Greetings and other small talk commenced outside the bus while we all took advantage of the involuntary break to get off the bus. Very little information was exchanged outside as the gusting winds mixing with the sand made us feel like we were on the receiving end of a sandblast gun. Phil and I went to one of the six small, rectangular, concrete and tin roofed structures. Most were padlocked but two of them were open and were selling edible goods. We bought a package of crackers and a 2.25 liter bottle of Coke to add to our supply of water and M & M's.
As promised, our new bus arrived about two hours later. We all climbed onto the new bus, faces pressed against the windows to make sure that our backpacks made the switch with us. Close to an hour more passed as the (apparently) tedious task of moving luggage from one bus to another ensued. I practiced patience as best I could from inside the bus. When Phils' pack was still nowhere to be seen a half an hour later, I decided it was time to brave the sandstorm. I slipped through the arguing busmen heaving luggage and ducked into the cargo area under our original bus. Minimal climbing allowed me to spot the missing "mochilla." I grabbed it and handed it to the roofman who was piling everything liftable onto the roof of the new bus.
All of our belongings accounted for, we settled back into our seats and waited for departure. Three hours after our initial stop, the driver fired up the bus and we were on the road again. Not more than thirty minutes later the bus pulls over in front of a now familiar, crude, concrete structure offering arroz y pollo (rice and chicken). The new driver hadn´t eaten yet and decided to stop for some lunch. Mind you, this is supposed to be a 10 - 14 hour ride depending on variables. It didn't take long for some of the locals to begin protesting the drivers' decision. Much banging on windows and yelling not nice things in Spanish followed. Those contemplating going in themselves and filling their bellies for the twelve or so remaining hours, quickly sat back down. An older Peruvian man and his wife, who were clearly not happy about the additional delay, followed the driver into the cafe. Minutes later they all came out and the driver held no food in his hand. Vamos, vamos!! was the call and we were not so happily on our way once again. There is an old cliche´ that goes something like "for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction". I attribute the fact that we were not given any movies for the rest of the ten or so hour trip to that cliche´. If the driver was having no lunch, we were having no entertainment! Endless hours of darkness and silence on an uncomfortable bus ride through the mountains dampens the spirits.
It wasn´t all bad. Just before darkness had set in we had a major stop in a large town. I didn´t catch the name but if you look at a map it's the one just west of nowhere. With luggage being unloaded, we had a few minutes to get off the bus, stretch and look for some food, maybe hot food. The days supply of water, dry crackers, M & M's and Coke was getting low and we had many hours left to go. After fending off countless "salesmen", we mixed ourselves into the crowded street filled with vendors and rickshaw motorcycle taxis. Passing by several "beef on stick" vendors, Phil and I decided it would be best to not be sick on a multi hour bus ride. A local favorite is undercooked papas fritas, more recognizable to us as french fries. We spotted a cart selling the hot, bacteria free tidbits that would be our meal that night. With some mayonnaise and enough salt to preserve them for a year, we happily walked back towards the bus.
Outside the bus was the solo gringo man eating a bag of dry crackers. Phil and I were feeling like aristocrats, proudly enjoying our hot meal of hearty potatoes. The man said "Happy Thanksgiving." I paused and looked at Phil with a perplexed look. Phil said "yeah, it´s Thursday. It is Thanksgiving!"
Honestly, I haven´t looked at a calendar in over a month. To us, every day is Saturday. Signing into hostels I will check the date on my watch, so I was aware that it was getting toward the end of November and that Thanksgiving was near. It wasn´t until 6:30 on turkey day that I was made aware of what day it was. I know what most of you are saying and you can keep your comments to yourself.
We three Americans stood in the chilly street of this desolate Peruvian mountain village and celebrated our holiday, Phil and I thankful that we had something hot to eat that wouldn´t make us sick.
For those that I had promised a phone call on Thanksgiving, my apologies, it will be belated.
I hope the Holiday was happy for all back home. It was for us, the driver sped as often as he could and got us to Cuzco just after midnight. I can tell you after only one day that this is a very magical place and we can´t wait to share our upcoming experiences with you!
Hasta Luego,
Jeff
posted by Phlip | 12:22 PM
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