As I mentioned in my last post (which I forgot to switch to "live", sorry!), I'm now in Cusco. The plan was to take an 8-hour bus trip across the border to Piura, fly from there to Lima, sleep in the airport for a few hours, and then fly on to Cusco. What happened was quite different. The bus set off on time at 7 a.m., although it was oddly empty. We had been driving for about 10 minutes when we pulled up outside a military barracks. After about 20 minutes, we drove into the barracks following passport checks. This was all very strange and no one told us what was going on. It turned out, however, that we were to pick up a large group of Spanish student volunteers, but due to an organisational hitch they hadn't even had breakfast and were still wandering about in their pyjamas expecting to leave at 9. So the bus waited. We were all a bit annoyed, but hey, it's South America. So then we finally set off and all went swimmingly until we got to the border. Once there, we found out that there was a general transport strike in Peru and no one was going anywhere. Now I really was annoyed, as the strike was set to continue until long after I had to catch my flight. What to do?! A Peruvian lady named Fedora came to my rescue. She had to be in Lima by the next day and was not having any of it. She demanded half our bus fare back, reclaimed our luggage from the bus and off we went to cross the border on foot. All the formalities were completed without fuss and all we had to do was get to Piura. Easier said than done. Also waiting at the border to continue their journey, we found two young Ecuadorians who agreed to share transport with us. In the end, we managed to get a ride with a black-leg scab taxi driver and his mate. Because the road was closed, we had to drive through the desert on dirt tracks which crossed through rivers, over perilous rocks, and had us swerving to avoid donkeys and goats the whole way. As if this weren't bad enough, I had to sit in the boot of the (thankfully estate) car with the luggage for four and a half hours. It was more than a little uncomfortable. And very dirty. The driver took us as far as Sullana, about 30 minutes' drive from where I needed to be. And I didn't have enough local currency on me for a taxi. Again, Fedora saved the day and changed some dollars for me. She truly was my knight in shining pink nail polish. So I got a taxi to Piura which cost more than the mammoth trip from the border, but hey, I was just happy to be getting where I needed to be. Plus the seats were leather-upholstered and the driver was playing Credence Clearwater Revival.
So there I was at the airport, very hungry as I hadn't had a chance to eat anything more than some nuts and raisins all day. I checked in, got myself a meal and retired to the departure lounge. We boarded the plane on time and all seemed to be well. Except that we weren't going anywhere. And we didn't go anywhere for two hours. At which point we were "invited to disembark" due to technical difficulties. I was peeved. The long and the short of it is, the plane took off six hours late at around four in the morning. And Piura airport is not somewhere you want to be spending any amount of time. The restaurant and all the shops were closed and all they gave us to drink (after three hours!) was a little plastic cup of soft drink from the plane along with a tiny snack box that wouldn't fill up a squirrel.
I did eventually get to Lima though, but not in time to make my connecting flight. The airline put me straight on another flight however, and within 30 minutes I was sat on the next plane and finally heading to Cusco. It was a beautiful flight with stunning views of the sun rising over the mountains rearing up from a sea of fluffy white clouds. Ah, the clouds. Those acursed clouds. They were engulfing the airport at Cusco and after a couple of wide circles of the area, the pilot announced that the airport had been closed and we would be returning to Lima. I'm not ashamed to admit that I cried at this point.
So there I was back in Lima. A man was handing out forms for everyone to fill in with their name and phone number. The airline would call us as soon as they had organised another flight, but unfortunately all of the subsequent flights that day were full. I stood patheticly in front of him and whimpered "what if I don't have a phone?". I was not the only person in this predicament; there were two Americans in the same boat, too. Linda, a lovely middle-aged university professor from Kansas, and a beardy landscape designer from Atlanta, Matt. They were to be my companions for the next six hours as we waited for the flight that the nice man put us on later that afternoon (I think he took pity on us). The lack of food, water and sleep had taken its toll and I was in a bit of a state. That was soon put right by a big plate of rice and silly amounts of water though, and I was in better spirits in no time. Nor could I have wished for better travel companions to have whiled away the time with. Linda and Matt were very interesting, down-to-earth, and humerous people and we all agreed we'd been fortunate to have been thrown together in our various misfortunes.
The final flight of the day left on time and, thankfully, landed in a blissfully sunny Cusco. I was elated to be there and chattered to the friendly taxi driver, José, all the way to the hostel. He taught me a few words of Quechua, which I promptly forgot, and gave me a rundown of Cuscan history. Top bloke! The hostel was in the beautiful San Blas district, an area populated by artisans and perched prettily on a steep hill overlooking the city. I showered, unpacked, went and bought a banana and some water, and slept solidly from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. It had been a terrible, terrible journey and not one I ever want to repeat. I've been lucky that it's the only such experience I've had so far, but I feel that that was my fair share of misfortune all in one fell swoop!
