MY ANDES BUS RIDE: BUM’S THE WORD

Then I ran back to the bus to angry shouts of “Ándale, Ándale, let’s go!” as the cholitas clicked their tongues. Even the chickens looked annoyed.

I fell asleep hidden under my travel jacket to avoid the death stares on Death Road. I awoke as our collective reached the crossing point of Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world.

The lake was crisp blue in the icy morning and the cholitas seemed to have forgiven me. They gave me api, a purple maize tea with pastias (pastries) for breakfast.

We sat eating on the shore as our ferry chugged into view. I was ecstatic to be crossing into Peru at last. However, we had to wait because the first passenger aboard the ferry was our bus. I giggled as our driver deftly drove up the ramp and waved merrily as our bus floated off.

One had to wonder if the copious number of coca leaves we’d had to eat to alleviate altitude sickness had finally kicked in. It was a surreal sight on a surreal morning.

Cuzco, the picturesque Incan/ Spanish town below Macchu Picchu, is a cobbled haven combining Incan and Conquistador architecture and culture.

As I wandered about the square eating gelatinas in plastic cups, the strains of Tracy Chapman’s Talking About a Revolution filled the air. Imagine my surprise when the DJ played Sipho “Hotstix” Mabuse’s Burnout as his next track.

The next day I started the trek up to Aguas Calientes, the little hotspring town below Macchu Picchu. Once again we used a colectivo that climbed a route as precarious as Death Road. A razor-thin rocky trail cut into the edges of one of the highest mountain ranges in the world.

Our group consisted of some identical Japanese girls in high heels, whom we dubbed the “Hello Kitty geishas” due to the Hello Kitty luggage they carried. The “Argentinian rock boys” serenaded us with Latin songs and there was a retired Florida couple who shouted “GAWWD, YEESUS” every time it seemed our colectivo was going to slide off the treacherous road.

The Hello Kitty geishas took turns throwing up melodiously into plastic bags as our bus tottered up the mountain.

That night, we soaked in the Aguas Calientes hot springs and slept deeply, ready for our 5am trek to Macchu the next day.

Macchu Picchu was astounding and one could only ponder humankind’s lost history as we explored the citadel in the clouds.

That night we inched our way in the rattletrap colectivo back down to Cuzco in the rain.

Rock falls caused us to stop several times and the Argentinian rock boys found themselves moving boulders in the dark as the heavens opened and the geishas threw up.

“You see my friends,” grunted our driver, “now you can say you are rock stars in Peru.” — © Tan Mud

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