Buses and Blisters

Jessie and I just finished the Santa Cruz trek and arrived back here in Huaraz around 11:30am. Our bus to Lima leaves tonight at 10:30 so we actually have some spare time, which is new. Therefore, another blog entry for my faithful readers.

Total time spent on a bus so far: 46 and a half hours. Oof. We left Loja at 1pm to cross the border into Peru. Jessie and I decided not to let ourselves sleep during the 9 hour ride so that we would sleep on the 7 hour night bus to Chimbote. The border crossing was uneventful and went quite smoothly. We met an older man on the bus who got off with us and watched over us while we went through the process. But that's not the part we were actually nervous about. We had been researching before and asking around about the night bus from Piura to Chimbote make sure it was safe. Not that we had any other choice, though. We were assured that the bus was safe enough, but not to spend too much time in Piura itself. We felt confident because we were by then very experienced bus riders. However, when we boarded the bus again after crossing the border, the sun had just set and the driver decided it would be fun for everyone to watch a horror movie the rest of the way. Great. Normally, I would have laughed at this terrible movie about shark attacks but instead it just made me extremely anxious about reaching Piura at 10 that night. But everything went without a hitch and we wound up only spending an hour in Piura before we hopped aboard what felt like a luxury bus by that point. For seven hours we slept well.

We got lucky again in Chimbote. The port city reeked of fish so we were glad when once again we only had time for a bathroom break and a bread and cheese sandwich before we were on our way to Huaraz. And what an experience that bus ride was... Remember those people who would stand in the aisle for 1-2 hours on our other buses? Well the aisle on this bus was filled with people standing shoulder to shoulder for the entire ten hour trip. And at every stop several more would climb aboard hawking everything from fried banana chips (delicious) to peanuts, ice cream, candy, drinks, LOTS of mangos, and even an assortment of knives and other tools. Our bags were thrown on top of the bus along with dozens of bags and boxes of fruit, a full size mattress, a single large tire and rim, two crates of chickens, and a bag of pigs (literally, two live piglets in a mesh bag). The closer we got to Huaraz, the smaller the towns and the more indigenous our companions. At one point, we stopped at what must have been the equivalent of a rest stop on the side of this dirt road on the mountain. Everyone got off but Jessie and I decided to take advantage of the clear aisle to stretch our legs and backs. But then a woman came back on the bus and told us that we needed to get off or everyone would blame us if their things were stolen. So we complied and sat on a rock underneath a tree while the 20 some odd Peruvians ate their snacks on other rocks under other trees and stared.

When we arrived in Huaraz, a man named Oscar approached us right as we stepped off the bus and told us about a hostal we could stay at and a deal for the Santa Cruz trek. We already had a hostal in mind and had decided against the Santa Cruz trek for lack of time, but Oscar walked us to the first hostal anyway. After looking at the rooms, we decided this place was overpriced and Oscar walked us to the place he told us about. The older couple who own it are very sweet and it was much more affordable (S/. 10 a night, which is about $2.70). Then, Oscar sat us down at the dining room table and gave us his spiel. What's sad is that we were already bummed about not being able to do the trek so that when he responded with "No hay problema" to our every question and doubt, we were convinced. He assured us that the price was low because we would be sharing the cost with two Italians, we would have burros to carry our bags so that we could complete the trip in plenty of time to jump on the bus to Lima in 3 days, that our guide spoke very good English, and that the bus ride to our starting point was a mere 3 hours. We gave him a significant down payment.

After Jessie and I spent the entire day gathering supplies and prepping for the trek, Oscar showed up at our hostal and told us that he would have to up the price because the Italians dropped out. Since Jessie and I also bought plane tickets for later in our trip which turned out to be more expensive than we were expecting, we told Oscar that we wanted to back out as well. He became frantic. He lowered the price several times as we repeatedly told him no. Finally, the price was back to what he had originally promised and after we told him that we still didn't want to go and would like our money back, he said that it had already been spent on food for the trip. Of course.

We met our guide at 6am the next morning. He did not speak English and informed us that the bus ride was actually 5 hours. And we would be carrying our own packs. But our guide, Benito (or Bonito, as he liked to call himself), was great and we wound up having a wonderful experience. The bus ride was the roughest we had been on yet, possibly because the three of us sat in the very back row. But on the way Benito told us some of the legends and history behind the mountains and lakes. I wrote about it in my journal, but I will spare you patient folks. I also learned two other things on that bus ride: I am much too tall for Peruvian buses, and they make coca candy, which tastes very gross.

The first day was easy and we only spent about 4 hours hiking since we didn't arrive in Vaqueria until the afternoon. It was mostly flat as we walked through serene villages and farmland to our first campsite. I felt slightly foolish in my hiking pants, walking shoes, and rain jacket when we passed the people who live in those mountains. They wear light linen pants and shirts, flip flops, and walk exposed to the rain or wrapped in a plastic tarp. They cross the mountains with ease while I was more than relieved to reach our campsite that evening after just six kilometers of hiking. It was raining but luckily Benito is the fastest tent pitcher I've ever seen. This was also the night that I discovered that I must have dropped my camera somewhere along the way. Very unfortunate. But Benito assured me that Pachamama (Mother Nature) would reward me for my gift. We shared a meal of bread, coca tea, and chicken soup and I zoned out while Jessie and Benito conversed in Spanish.

We woke up early the next morning and set out on the longest and most difficult day of the trek. Most of the trail was simply a stream which required jumping from rock to rock to avoid soaking our shoes and socks. As we passed one of the lakes which I can't remember the name of now, Benito pointed out a tall ridge in front of us that we would have to climb over. It was intimidating. By that point the altitude was getting to me and Jessie and I must have stopped every 10 minutes of climbing to catch our breath. Meanwhile, Benito ascended like a mountain goat. To save time, Benito suggested that we take a shortcut. Turns out, the shortcut requires actual rock climbing and precariously inching across these large slippery rocks on the mountainside with nothing below to stop me if I fall. I think I'll take the long way next time. But it was an amazing feeling reaching the top (4,800 meters).

The descent was significantly easier, but very long and very hard on my poor tired legs. My ankles were so weak by the end of the second day from balancing on the rocks that Benito and Jessie had a good laugh at my wobbly legs as I brought up the rear. Our campsite that night was beautiful, though, right next to a river in a clearing surrounded by tall trees. All of us were in high spirits that night. Sitting in that tent cupping my bowl of soup, watching Benito tell stories through the steam, that was one of the most euphoric moments of this trip so far. On our last morning together, Benito told us that our spirits were now in those mountains. When our friends and family come and follow in our footsteps, they will feed the spirit that we left there and it will grow after we leave.

Oh, I also tried coca leaves on this trek. It's apparently good for adjusting to the altitude and it gives you energy. Benito always had a wad in his mouth. His addiction, he called it. You're supposed to chew up a handful and then let it sit in the side of your mouth like chewing tobacco. There's also this white powdery stuff that you stick a straw of grass into and then mix it into the leaf in your mouth. It's not cocaine, I swear. He said it was some sort of crushed up rock. It apparently brings out the flavor and the energizing effects. I don't know about all that. All I noticed is that it made my mouth go numb and it was interfering with my ability to gasp for air so I spit it out.

To sum up (and brag a little): 30km in 15 and a half hours over 2 days. Through the Cordillera Blanca during wet season. Santa Cruz trail. Start: Vaqueria. End: Cocabamba.

In Vaqueria, Benito approached a man for a ride to Caraz. Soon, we were climbing into the backseat of his car and were on our way. There's a kind of patriotic trustworthiness out here. Men and women will stand on the side of the road and wave at the next passing car and whoever has space pulls over and gives them a ride to wherever they're going. In the states, there's a loyalty to this grand, vague idea of a country. Here, they're loyal to one another. Like being from the same country gives means that you have a duty to take care of each other. It's beautiful, really.

Once in Caraz, we hopped aboard a colectivo, which is small 8-10 person bus that travels between nearby towns. In this case, Caraz and Huaraz. So again, there go our backpacks strapped to the top of a bus with bags of crops and what sounded like a goat. This time the bag of chickens sat in the aisle next to us. We arrived here in Huaraz with plenty of time to shower, wash our filthy clothes, grab a cheap lunch, and write this blog. Tonight we head to Lima and meet up with the rest of the group in the morning.