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Published: January 29th 2008
Dream Weaver
Brigid spinning another long tale... this one of alpaca wool in a local handicraft ´store´.So to continue on our journey through Peru, we left Lima and went on our way to Huancayo, in the Central Highlands.
ARGH! We're stuck!
We've managed to get about 300 miles (as the crow flies, but the roads aren't exactly straight around these parts!) in the last 9 days since we left Lima. The trip to Huancayo was fair enough, but every leg from there on through the central highlands of the Peruvian Andes has been a bit of an experience. Today we find ourselves kicked off our bus in a tiny town called Abancay, with nothing to do but look out at the daily downpour and write another blog. Apparently our onward bus to Cuzco was overbooked, and as we didn't have actual paper tickets, we lost out. Next available bus... 6am mañana. The third consecutive 5am wake-up, all for the joys of a late departing bus that averages maybe 15mph for 10+ hrs.
Our arrival in Huancayo was great... a night bus arriving early gave us a great vision of the waking city, and while we were struggling a little with the altitude and some lingering jet lag, we had a very positive outlook for
Anyone remember Hungary?
They´re baaaa-aaack...! That´s right... straight from the streets of back country hungary, and right into a bowl of delicious chicken-foot soup. Mmmmm. Brigid´s favourite! the coming days. We were energised. Rearing to go. Eager. So we checked into our hotel and immediately slept til 2pm. Ha ha ha ha.
Huancayo is a regional/provencial capital, and it is pretty big. It sprawls outwards in an array of dishevelled looking, flat roofed, one storey buildings. It marks the beginnings of the rugged Mantaro Valley, which runs southeast towards Cuzco. The whole area is covered in tiny little towns and tiny, randomly placed crop fields. The Incas may be famous for their terraced plateaus, but it seems like no-one in the here and now has learned from them - the fields we keep seeing are just sitting raw on the mountainsides, at 45-60 degree angles, and are strewn with sharp, freshly fallen rocks from the many cliffs and precipices. It's a fantastic sight but it must be backbreaking work!
Local artesan crafts are abound in this region, and asides from the scenery and old colonial style churches, are about all that there seems to be to see/do in this region. 'The Book' did say that it was thin on 'attractions'. Apparently this is one of the least visited regions of Peru, which is why we
Chica en puerta
This was just too striking a sight not to take a photo... came, and we are really experiencing what we wanted; real local living. We spent a day walking through a string of small 'artesian' towns around Huancayo, and saw rural living rumble on at it's slow and colourful pace the whole way. Little old ladies in colourful pooffy skirts and shawls (they are tiny... seriously... about 4 feet tall some of them!). The cutest little children with dark brown mournful eyes. Mountains and goats and pigs and fields. Beautiful. We also encountered a fair share of nasty ugly mangey dogs (several of which definitely wanted to eat Lachlan - nothing doing... B served as a more than adequate human shield!), and we had an interesting moment trying to avoid a staggeringly drunk local bleeding from the face/mouth. We bought an alpaca wool poncho for L, which is definitely the real deal judging by it's faint smell of alpaca, and one of the weaving shops ushered B to the spindle to act as free labour! Cacti grow everywhere around here and some of them are very impressive.
Our next leg through the Andes was to go about 100 miles to Ayacucho. A 12 hour bus ride! We read that this section
Church in San Jeronimo
Plaza de Armas. Every town has one. Every plaza has a church. This one was nice.. of road was pretty dangerous, expecially during the rainy season (which it is), so we decided to go for a day bus rather than a night bus. In hindsight, definitely a good idea, as we came so close to death that a night bus would have surely been fatal! The journey started brilliantly. L was sat next to a friendly local and they chatted for hours about all manner of things, and L's spanish is now about 12 times better for the experience. B was sat behind him, in amongst a group of elderly locals that soon got into a heated political discussion, none of which we could catch except 'Presidente', 'estupido', 'loco', 'mal' etc. Great stuff.
Then came the first sign... the bus was suddenly halted by a blowout of one of the rear tyres. Our first puncture!!! We can't believe that it has taken more than 8 months for it to happen! The hole in the tyre was enormous, but the spare was quickly extracted from the hold and somehow wangled onto the axle by way of a giant metal pole and a rather smallish wrench. A 30 minute delay and we were back on our way,
trundling along some VERY scary cliff-side roads, with literally only a foot between the bus and a 200m drop into the raging torrent of the storm-swollen rio mantaro below. This road was something special. Nothing we have been on before compares. Not even the north of India.
We were going for barely 30 minutes more before the bus abruptly stopped again, and everyone started inexplicably disembarking. L followed suit, on the advice of his friendly local ("dangerous curve"). B was not so lucky... the driver was impatient and she got left on board with a few stragglers. The reason for the stop was obvious; the curve was more than a hairpin, and a furious surge of water (the previous night's rain) was flowing across at it's apex, having carved a pretty impressive furrow through the road itself, about 2 feet deep and 3 feet wide at the cliffside edge. L watched horrified as the bus lurched forward into the trench, and onwards trying to make the tight curve. The driver cut the corner too tight, leaving the rear wheel out over the gouge and into thin air over the side of the cliff. The whole thing rolled to almost
The Mental Road Down the Vale Mantaro
Unsealed. Windy. EXTREMELY precarious. Yet stunningly beautiful. The road from Huancayo to Ayacucho was easily the most dangerous we´ve been on, but well worth the 12 back-breaking hours. tipping point, the rear wheel on the inside, non-gouge side, clearing the ground by about 8 inches as the other wheel dropped down looking for some solid ground. B was looking out at L, L looking back at B. Locals were screaming out manically. The bus was going over. Hundreds of metres below the river lay in wait. And suddenly, somehow the whole thing rocked back with momentum, hit some purchase, and with a small spray of rocks and water somehow managed to propel itself forwards and out of danger. Crazy. There was a long time afterwards without much talking.
But it goes on... it never ends!!! Several times the bus forded fast flowing water and negotiated crazy turns, almost toppling over at each hurdle. It was nail biting to say the least, and at some points it seemed like it would have been a better idea to go at night, when at least you would be blinded from the dangers. Just when the road seemed to be calming down, we stopped again. We'd almost had enough, but there's nothing you can do. We wearily exited the bus again, and to what a sight! The biggest most furious river
More scenery
Any aspiring geologists out there would love this... there was a more impressive formation that we couldn´t capture from the bus, which rose maybe 200 metres straight up, with layers of rock bent and twisted til they were running perfectly vertical. Amazing. yet, ploughing across the road, with people and trucks on either side just sitting there, looking. In the middle of the water sat a stranded bus. Just like our own. It had tried to go across and just couldn't make it. It was a very funny sight. The futile efforts to free the bus proceeded for about an hour, before being abandoned in favour of trying to make a better road for the other vehicles. The passengers were forced to hike around and over to the other side by way of a 'path' and 'bridge', taking the obviously safer option than crossing in the bus. It was a lovely little walk (see pics!). Our bus made it through okay, and we rejoined our journey, onwards to Ayacucho.
As it happens, this spectacle was the last significant event of the journey, our safe arrival not withstanding. We found ourselves in Ayacucho with our minds (or at least our definition of 'dangerous road') broadened...
Tiempo por un pisco sour! (a very tasty and refreshing drink of Pisco, lime juice and egg white. Strong, and effective. Very calming.).
Ayacucho was much like Huancayo in feel, but blessed with a more
scenic setting aside a series of valleyside slopes overlooking... well... the valley. Der! Also, the remnants of colonial days are more apparent. Impressive Spanish style churches and buildings surround the central Plaza de Armas, and there is an energetic bustle of locals and Peruvian tourists walking the central streets. On Sunday the town celebrated the first day of it's nationally reknowned carnaval celebrations. A large procession of local dancing, music and important looking dignitaries rounded the square several times before processing off somewhere we never worked out (probably the stadium...?). It was here that we discovered a local custom, which is apparently partaken to excess on days of celebration. We call it 'Guerra de Agua'. We have no idea what the locals call it. Boys and girls seem to go to war against one another. From the age of 5 to about 30
actually... And they bombard one another with water balloons, which escalated to buckets of water, and then from there, to buckets of PAINT! We soon discovered that no one is safe. There is but one rule - aim for someone of the opposite sex - and in fact, several locals seem to take great pride in bagging
Tiempo por una pit stop
Literally. Flat tyre. Easily mended with strength and a sizeable length of metal pole. a gringo. Being the only gringos in town (or so it seemed), that would be us. We got thwacked a couple of times by some low-grade bombs, and were unsuccesfully sniped at from rooftops, street corners and doorways the whole way to our hotel. L was visibly wet, prompting a bunch of locals to laugh pretty heartily to the words of "Mira el gringo!" (look at the... well... gringo...!). The feuding escalated through the day, and at one point L was taken down bad with a point blank bucket to the groin, and a series of aerial attacks. B was looking out for herself, and had gone alone across the street on the way back to the hotel. Bad plan. She reached the street corner to be headed off by a wild eyed pack of paint-laden locals. They were covered in rust coloured paint. B was not. Fresh canvas. It didn't look good, but somehow B came through relatively clean. Her mind was racing through the sum of spanish it held, finding only "No no no no no no!". She got through with just a small spatterring through the hair and face. We rounded the corner together in a hail
Fixing the Bus
New tyre. Excellent. We can go on... but it won´t help us much with what we´re about to face... of balloons, and sprinted back to the hotel to the accompaniment of raucous laughter. It seems like a great way to celebrate (when you're not wearing 50% of your entire wardrobe and have a 6am bus the next day!). We sat in our room, breathless, deciding on a place for dinner and a plan to get there. We crossed the main pedestrian street hastily, observing the chaos that had been left; little bits of coloured rubber everywhere, and so much water that it was being literally swept of the streets by store keepers with brooms. We made it to dinner safely, not to return until it was much later (and quieter) on the battleground.
We have since started to get a bit annoyed with it though... we can't go anywhere without being attacked. Even on the bus the locals go for us if we have our window open. It's a bit crazy!
Our bus to Abancay was uneventful but for being offloaded prior to our desired destination, but hey without that there would not be this entry to speak of!
We're off to Cuzco tomorrow. Machu Picchu beckons.
Hope all is well at home.
L
Errr... yeah... righteo then
See!? The new tyre was pointless! Thankfully this is NOT our bus. It´s the one ahead of us. It´s been there for several hours, and despite the ongoing efforts, looked like it would remain there for many more. and B
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Bev
non-member comment
She survived
The defibrillator came in handy. Mary's heart rate and breathing are almost back to normal after reading about the bus trip! Glad to hear everything turned out o.k. Looking forward to seeing you both.