Winter Vacation: Part Two (Tacna- Cusco)

These blogs are coming closer and closer together, but still too spaced. I hope people aren’t losing interest and more that I don’t forget all the good details. So, to start where I left off. . . on a bus trip from Calama to Arica. We pretty much slept the whole time. I woke up in time to view a whole lot of desert NOTHING. Growing up in the Mojave Desert, I always thought it was ugly and baron, but this place made the Antelope Valley look like the Yellowstone. There were sand dunes as far as the eye could see. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ELSE. I’d heard that people actually lived there and am still amazed by that fact. We were woken up by a strange choice of music blasting throughout the bus- - a detail that Megan brought up yesterday on an outing to the beach. We were both remembering it fondly, although at the time it seemed pretty absurd. We woke up to hear the Rolling Stones’ song “ANGIE” being blasted. It was of particular sentiment to the three of us (even though it was the first time I’d ever heard it) because we’d sung it to our other TeachingChile gringa buddy , Angie, on occasion. They’d told me about it and were appalled that I’d never heard it, but thanks to Pullman Turbus, I know the song. It was followed by a string of other easy listening/soft rock. All the while we were wondering why in the hell it was considered a good idea at 7AM, on an overnight bus trip. Yesterday, Megan reasoned that the stewards were trying to get breakfast out and blankets folded as soon as possible, even though we were still a good hour from our destination. If, for nothing else, it created some special meaning for songs that would otherwise never have any. Like those by Celine Dion, Whitney, the Eagles (for Megan, in particular). . .
We enjoyed a great seafood lunch in Arica- - probably the best (and one of the cheapest) restaurant meal I’d had in Chile, up to that point. We took a colectivo across the Chile-Peru border as it was much more efficient than buses. It was a beat up old, Oldsmobile, with bobble head figurines on the dash. Exactly as they’re described in all travel blogs/advisories/books. We crammed in with two other backpackers and crossed without a hitch. I even got to keep my produce for the long journey from Tacna to Puno. We’d purchased our tickets from Tacna to Puno in Arica, having been promised meals on our ‘direct’ trip. Well, wasn’t that a ****ing joke. This was the just the first of a string of lies we were fed by Peruvian tour/bus agents.
After leaving the main terminal for our direct ride, we were surprised that the bus stopped after only four blocks or so, to pick up more passengers. The bus already seemed to be pretty full, so watching groups of people with LOADS of stuff get on, we were starting to feel like we’d boarded the clown bus. Thankfully, we’d splurged on the semi-cama seats and were downstairs in the “first class” section. I felt sorry for all these people with kids and giant loads in tow. . . we still weren’t too suspicious until the bus made yet ANOTHER stop, just a few blocks down the road. And AGAIN. This continued for a good hour and we were STIIIIIILL in Tacna. We were growing really irritated and impatient, imagining how late we’d arrive to Cusco with all these stops, not understanding why people couldn’t have just gone to the main terminal to prevent the intercity bus from making stops like an actual metro bus. It wasn’t until one of the last stops in Tacna that our irritation turned to fear. We were watching more families with enormous bundles of stuff (yes, bundles- wrapped in cloth, often strung over the backs of old ladies) and then a man with a video camera came on with the light glaring in our eyes. We’d been warned of overly protective Chilean friends that night buses in Peru are really dangerous but always dismissed them. At that moment, we were wondering if we’d dismissed our Chileans too quickly. The cameraman walked slowly up and down the aisle, until he’d captured the faces of everyone on board. I was saying silent prayers to whatever God might be out there, that our bus wouldn’t be hijacked. I don’t know if the prayers worked or if we were just lucky, but we made it safely to Cusco. It was NOT a direct drive, however. We had many stops along the way, some lasting for up to two hours in the middle of po-dunk towns in the middle of nowhere. Although quite peeved and impatient at the time, I feel lucky to have seen what I did from that bus. Small town Peru isn’t something a lot of folks get to witness so close up. I loved seeing the old ladies working the fields, in their colorful skirts and bowler hats and walking along the highway together. For some reason I’d thought it was just a costume, used for ceremonial purposes, but they actually wear them day to day. I can’t imagine how uncomfortable it must be to do farm work in a skirt, but they wear ‘em. The whole time I remember all of us noting that we ‘finally felt like we were in South America’. Being in Santiago had its own shockers but it’s really developed and on a level of infrastructure, pretty first world. Peru was a different story.
The landscape was a treat as well. Tacna is pretty dry like Arica (despite being on the coast), but we ran into more rolling hills in Puno-although still quite dry. Between Puno and Cusco we saw more varied differences. I remember comparing it to southern Idaho/ Utah , with a mountainous backdrop with lots of rolling hills. Closer to Cusco, the peaks were higher and much greener.
We settled into our ‘palace’ hostel, which turned out to be a really great set up- -huge room, central to everything, quiet and safe. We were happy campers. Mostly we were happy to be free of bus travels for at least a couple of days. After a quick siesta, we set off for some sightseeing and food. Being the foodie that I am, I don’t know how I never tried Peruvian food before this trip but I’ll never be a stranger to it again. It was amazing. I think it partly had to do with the disappointments of Chilean food, and it’d been SO long since I’d had a great dining out experience. Not only was the food amazing, the service was great, prices low, and portions generous. AND, it was reasonably healthy too. As a tourist destination, I think Peruvian cuisine is underrated.
So, we spent two days in Cusco- - part of which time, we had to plan part of our Machu Picchu tour. We’d had some issues in San Pedro, getting frustrated with our lack of planning and therefore having to spend much or our vacation time planning our vacation. Things all worked out in the end and many mental notes were taken for any future trips. DON’T PLAN YOUR VACATION WHILE ON YOUR VACATION. We were able to rearrange our tour to Machu Picchu in order to get back in time to leave Cusco to make it on two bus connections, to catch our flight out of Calama to Santiago.
We were supposed to take a train from Cusco to a small town about 20 minutes from MP, but given our last minute changes, we were escorted to a secondary train stop by a private driver, which turned out to be much more advantageous since he was from the area and knew all kinds of interesting tidbits about the area’s history and shared them with us during the whole drive. He taught us a few words in his indigenous language (the name of which I’ve forgotten) and made a couple stops for us to take photos of the valley. After he left us at the train station, we were in gringo backpacker central. Obviously, Machu Picchu is no secret. The train ride was comfortable and we had incredible scenery. The only distraction was an obscenely loud-talking British twat who wouldn’t shut the hell up, talking all sorts of nonsense, despite a train car full of people trying to enjoy the serene beauty of the mountains we were passing through and it being a very early hour in the morning.
We arrived in Aguas Calientes, where we’d stay the night then catch an early morning bus to MP. It was a kitschy little town, tucked in between all the mountain peaks. I didn’t even have to convince Renee and Megan to do a little hike with me to some waterfalls nearby. I should give them credit because it was cloudy and on the verge of rain that day, and neither of them were the least bit concerned. I still tease them for being “fifi”, which is Chilean for girly girls, but I should give them more credit. By their standards, they were quite rough and tough that trip.
We called it a night pretty early, since we had another 4 AM wake- up call ahead of us, but were really excited to be heading into the highlight of our trip. For Megan, especially. We were a little grumpy, waiting with hundreds of people for the shuttle.
I remember having such high expectations for MP, as if I was going to have some kind of spiritual experience once seeing the actual ruins and getting really anxious on the bus ride up the mountain. Although it was beautiful, it was not a spiritual experience and don’t like to say it was anticlimactic, but it kind of was. It was absolutely amazing though. After being there, when seeing pictures online and on TV I know they do no justice, so in that sense I’m really glad for the experience. Not to mention the fact that there are rumors of it being closed or admission dramatically restricted. I got to see something pretty f***ing special. (so eloquent, I know).
After MP, we returned to Cusco and spent our last night enjoying delicious Peruvian food and trying to ignore the fact that we had a hellish journey back to Calama. Despite all the recommendations to try ceviche, I never did. After all my experience with food poisoning, I knew that if I got any kind of bug it would be impossible for me to leave the confines of my hotel room. So, I stuck to quinoa soup, ahi de gallina, stuffed red peppers (whose Spanish name I can’t remember), papas rellenas, empanadas and yummy salads that actually come with more than those in Chile do (tomato and onion). Unfortunately I never got to try the Chocó con queso either, which was corn on the cob with slabs of goat cheese piled on. It was one of those things that was available on every corner and/or bus stop during the whole time in Cusco but when I was ready to buy one, there were no vendors in sight. On the subject of food, Renee and Megan will kick me if I leave out my empanada in Cusco story, so here goes: After a full day of museums and sightseeing, I’d left them to get some cake and wine, while I wandered for a bit to take pictures and just get some alone time. I was thoroughly enjoying the people watching and meandering at my own pace. After a bit, I stopped in at a bakery that had some amazing looking empanadas and was planning to grab one then go relax in one of the plazas near the hotel to do some more people watching. I bought my Peruvian empanada, and being as hungry as I was ripped a piece off to hold me over until I reached the plaza. On par with the rest of Peruvian food, this empanada was delicious. I continued up the street toward the plaza, when all of a sudden I felt something bump my butt. I was expecting to see some dirty pervert trailing behind me but nothing. Then it happened again, only harder. Turns out it was a very hungry and aggressive dog head-butting me (Pun well intended). He wanted my chicken empanada and wasn’t going to give up until I shared. When I realized he was following me, and starting to go after my hand, holding the bag, I started to squeal like a little girl. I felt like a complete idiot and even more like a pig because I actually thought twice about giving in to it! Ultimately, I dropped the bag and ran across the street and back the opposite direction, away from the dog. He had some friends nearing him to share the wealth and I didn’t want anyone attacking me in case I still smelled like the chicken. It was all quite disappointing- - and embarrassing- - because I’ve yet to come across chicken empanadas since then. I could’ve gone back to the bakery for another, but was a bit traumatized at the moment. Renee and Megan were served well by the story and still get a good laugh at my expense. Thankfully , the dogs in Santiago are actually protective over single women on the street and never aggressive.
We wrapped up the vaycay in Cusco and set out for yet another epic bus journey back to Calama. We originally wanted to take a different route to see Arequipa, the second-largest city in Peru, but our schedule wouldn’t allow it. Thanks to our grand planning, we had to make it to Calama early enough on Monday morning to make our flight to Santiago. Getting out of Cusco was an ORDEAL to say the least. We had a million people telling us a million different stories, then the same people telling us a million different stories and it was hectic. One agent was telling us flat out lies, for what purpose we STILL can’t figure out. For example, AFTER we already bought our tickets, she started warning us of the border closing early on Sundays, etc. Then when our bus was two hours late, she continued to walk along the terminal, very kindly assuring everyone that the bus was there waiting for us. We were shuttled outside to the platform without a bus. She then continued for about an hour assuring us that the bus was en route. Then, upon probing from much more eloquent Spanish speaking Peruvians (but just as impatient) she announced that the bus was actually broken down by the side of the road and another bus was coming. . . well, these tales kept coming and we finally were able to coerce a refund, after 2-3 hours of being given the run around. By some miraculous twist of fate, we got on a bus (and it wasn’t even a broke down bus-BDB) and made it home. We were tired and a little crankier than on the way TO Cusco, but still managed to keep our spirits high. Again, this is where I really came to appreciate Megan and Renee’s great sense of humor and realized that as “fifi’ as they might be when it comes to getting dirty and climbing mountains (and hating tents), they’re pretty damn tough and made excellent travel companions. I had consulted Rafael via text messages and he confirmed for us that we wouldn’t get stuck in Peru. The border didn’t, in fact, close early and we’d make it back ‘home’ to Chile just fine, albeit with loads and loads of people and endless stops and pickups. . .
We got an early flight back to Santiago, with just enough time to clean up a bit so as to not be the dirty backpackers on a tiny plane. The other passengers on the buses managed to make us smell fresh in comparison, but the plane was another story. Once presentable, we joined the rest of the non-backpackers and headed back to cold and dreary Santiago, where we finally felt at home.