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I made a point to be awake for the sunrise, a pretty easy trick when you’re sleeping upright in a crowded bus that is bouncing along unkept roads on a milk run through the Andes. And I tell you, what the ride lacked in comfort was well made up for with the glorious beauty of the sun cresting the lush, jungly mountain range. I mean, wow.
By the time the sun rose we were supposed to be just an hour out of Cusco but the flexibility of linear time in Peru was working against us, as we still had four treacherous hours to go. Here, though, was a wholly different Peru to distract me, a world away from the low-lying ocean-hugging desert flatlands that I had thus far experienced. Towering above a sea of clouds from a winding road barely hanging on to mountains slick with greenery offered a boundless beauty that made the trickling lack of speed emotionally bearable, if not altogether welcome. “Majestic” is probably the best word I can muster. Cramped, uncomfortable, sluggish, wanna get my butt off of the damn bus as soon as is humanly possible at nearly any cost…and majestic.
The bus stopped at any number of tiny villages – anywhere someone flagged us down – and the people getting on and off were the real tamale; ladies in bright handmade sweaters with funny little hats perched on their heads, farmers with livestock heading to market…it was great. Meanwhile all around me tourists and Peruvians alike were vomiting into paper bags due to the drastic changes in altitude. The sack of coca leaves I had purchased back in Nazca boosted my resilient demeanour and rendered me immune from any real symptoms, which was a blessing. Altitude sickness can be fatal at elevations as low as 3,000m, and the bus must have peaked at 4,000m or more before we finally arrived at the depot in Cuzco (elevation: 3399m).
And while I arrived feeling a-okay with my trusty sack o’ leaves at the ready, I had resolved to take my first day at high-altitude nice and easy, and no alcohol! That lasted until shortly after after dinner, when a boring afternoon sitting around my hotel forced my hand and I bought myself one, single bottle of beer. Okay, it was a 1.2 litre bottle, but still.
I decided to nurse my big beer out on the street in front of my hotel, which people seemed to think was crazy, and I suppose it was considering the area was littered with bars full of people drinking. It was good though, I met several interesting parties during my 1.2 litre sidewalk sojourn. People like Marco, a young local who worked in a restaurant down the street. We chatted for an hour or more and before parting he invited me to join him for the opening match of the soccer…err…football season the following day, an exhibition game between the Peruvian national team and the Chileans. Of course I heartily agreed and plans were made.
And then – too soon – the fifteen-hour bus ride, the dramatic elevation change, and probably about 1.2 litres more beer than I should have drunk forced me to bid the bustling streets of Cuzco good night.
Todd Man Out 