Cerro Hueracocha

Arequipa to Cusco. I've done it before, both ways actually, each time on overnight coaches. It was tiring. Nobody sleeps that well on a bus, regardless of how far the seats recline, or how snuggly the duvet. However, this bus journey was something else entirely. Due to previous bad experiences on overnight coaches (lack of sleep, and unusable toilets) we had decided to travel during the day. That was our first mistake. Only one bus company travelled from Arequipa to Cusco in daylight hours - warning sign missed. It seemed like a good company - the buses looked very swish and glossy in the brochure. The reality was slightly different. The bus was very dirty. I didn't use the toilet. Second mistake was the price. I wasn't aware until just before we travelled how cheap it was (Chris purchased the tickets). Nearly 500km for £13 for the two of us! Another warning sign missed. Our luxury coach turned out to be a local service, stopping everywhere, mainly, it seemed, to let anybody who wanted to sell anything to get on, often for quite some miles. Some people did get off, but not at 'official' stops, i.e those where you could get off and be able to get back on again - aka those with facilities, such as toilets. Remember, I didn't use the bus toilet! This added hours to the journey time, with absolutely no benefit to the passengers. We discovered later that we had in fact done a massive detour, almost as far as Lake Titicaca. We knew this because we went through a town called Juliaca, a place straight out of Slumdog Millionaire - unmade roads, chaos around a railway line that ran straight down the centre of its Main Street, surrounded by stalls where people were cooking, and selling food, and anything else that the locals had been able to lay their hands on. Weird contraptions, hand-crafted pimped up motorbikes and push bikes, some with plastic windows in tarpaulin covers (a la Wendy House) were the vehicles of choice. There were no cars.

As we first got onto the coach, I noticed a man standing at the front of the bus. He began to talk about the toilets, informing us of their location (not relevant to me), and letting us know that there would be a couple of stops during the journey (fat chance). He then appeared to begin a stand-up routine. Several people chuckled. He asked us what our nationality was and then drew the attention of the other passengers to our presence, leading to much oohing and aahing and craning of necks to observe the two curiosities in the centre of the bus. We were the only extranjeros on the vehicle, probably because it wasn't the sort of bus they should be travelling in. Despite some (if not all) of the information being superfluous, I thought, "How lovely - the bus may be cheap, but at least it's cheerful." However, he continued. I did lose track for a while but then I pricked up my ears at the word 'colostomy'. He was talking about medical procedures, Cancer and stomach problems! I quickly realised this was a sales pitch (even before he produced his life-saving, preventative sachets of herbal tea). Despite nobody expressing the slightest interest, he persisted, and continued to speak for 44 minutes - Chris timed him.

At the beginning of our journey we spent a large amount of time (at least an hour) driving round in circles on the outskirts of Arequipa. At one point we ended up by a large pile of grit in the middle of some roadworks, with our driver unable to reverse out of the situation - we concluded he had gone the wrong way. After he had eventually been able to get back on track, and we were on the 'right' road, Chris looked out of the window ahead of us and remarked, "Is that volcano erupting?" My reply, "Oh yeah" and I quickly got my camera out. It wasn't a major eruption obviously - we are still here, rather than petrified in a museum in Lima, but there was a significant plume of smoke high in the sky and we were heading towards it.

Things were quiet for a while. I had time to observe our fellow passengers. The man in the seat opposite was chilly. It was hot on the bus, which had no air conditioning, but he was wearing a traditional lumberjack/cowboy shirt, in the thickest, blanket-weight, brush cotton material, and had a grey, mock-fur fleece sleeping bag over his knees. Chris and I were just in t shirts, so I wasn't surprised that he spent most of his journey asleep. Then there was Klinger (he bore a strong physical resemblance, and appeared slightly manic), a man that Chris got into conversation with on his journey to the toilet and, several times after that when the man approached him, encouraged by their initial interaction. I asked Chris what they had been talking about. His answer, "Not a bloody clue".

About lunch time, another man got onto the bus and stood at the front. I thought, oh no, not more quack doctor potions. I was wrong. He began to preach at us - not quite as long as the other man - just half an hour. Towards the end of the journey (although it felt as if it would never end) we went through a mountainous area, the mountains being sheer rock faces at the edge of the road. It was at this point that I started to feel unwell. I felt as if I couldn't breathe properly. Even though we had already visited places at a much higher altitude in the Atacama Desert, I began to worry that I was suffering from altitude sickness and had a mild panic attack. Thought process, "We're in the middle of god knows where, on a dodgy bus that almost certainly would not be carrying oxygen and was a long way from any hospital which might be of any help." I had to do some serious yoga breathing to overcome that one.

Our trip was meant to be ten hours, but actually took about thirteen. We finally arrived in Cusco around 9.30pm, so a late meal in the restaurant directly opposite the hotel was a smart decision, especially as it turned out to be our eating place of choice on several other occasions. Never again, no more bus trips, EVER, I said...
Just 24 hours long, our next one into Bolivia!! Although we did have a two week gap in between.Read more