Cusco, Peru – Altitude: 3,400 metres
“Hey teacher! Leave those kids alone!”
JUST ANOTHER BRICK IN THE WALL – Pink Floyd
Up for 9am to catch the 10am bus to Puno. Margaret was not feeling too well, but still much better than the night before. Soon enough our transfer bus had arrived at our hotel to take us to Cusco bus-station. We were all anticipating what the journey would be like; particularly the Lima Lightweight contingent of the Cusco Crew. Being as this would prove to be our first local bus. Essentially, this meant we would be sharing the coach with other tourists and locals on our journey down to Puno. Hang onto your hats and wallets I thought.
Cusco bus-station was an experience; and I imagine all Peruvian bus-terminals are the same in atmosphere. There was a huge array of kiosks each with a different bus company touting their latest fares. Curiously and not coincidentally they were all going to Puno. We could barely hear our guide Dany explain about the journey over the shouts of “POOOONO!”…. “POOOONO!”.
To the relief of our ears we were soon checked-in and boarded on the coach; and I would say it was above expectations. The term “local bus” had given an image of a small bus with collapsed suspension and packed to the roof with sweating locals and farm animals. To our surprise, it was a proper coach, with relatively comfortable seats. Result I thought, this isn’t too bad at all.
Lining up with the Cusco Police Force
My sudden optimism for Peruvian transport was suddenly quelled though after the bus came to an abrupt halt on attempting to leave Cusco; a mere twenty minutes into the journey. The main road; and only road out of Cusco had been blocked with hoards of banner-wielding and very much striking teachers. The Lima curse – those flaming teachers – I thought when I discovered this. They’re always whinging about their pay no matter what country there in. Still, after hearing how much they earned, they were probably justified in striking; as too were just about every other profession in the country. This in fact happened some days later when the rolling teacher’s strikes snowballed into a massive meltdown of the country’s workforce. But, back to the teachers. We waited an hour, before the bus driver decided he did not want to bargain with the strikers and so returned to the bus station. Curiously the opportunistic Peruvian bus-companies were still attempting to bring down the rafters with their cries of “POOONO!” There was no doubt in my mind that they knew full well there was no hope in Hades of getting out of Cusco by road today. I had to admire their persistence though.
So the verdict for the Cusco Castaways? We would remain in Cusco for the rest of the day, and take the night-bus to Puno. Departing at 9pm and arriving at around 4am. We were all a tad annoyed with the whole affair, but there wasn’t a lot we could do, so we copped it on the chin. In some ways it was kind of cool that we experienced something typically Peruvian; despite understanding the reality of the teachers plight. The one saving grace that we did have with being delayed was that we were allowed to keep our burdensome packs on the bus. It was one less thing to worry about when spending the rest of the day wandering around Cusco.
Having a complete afternoon to spend in Cusco, Margaret and I elected to do some shopping. Well, I should say that Margaret elected and I decided to come along. It is well documented that I detest shopping. Despite this, I was the first to make a purchase. The ubiquitous Cusquena T-shirt was added to my souvenir bag, Cusquena is the local brew in Cusco and the T-shirt is akin to those green T-shirts you see in Australia emblazoned with VB. A more common sight in Cusco is a gringo wearing an Inka-Kola T-shirt. Inca-Kola Peru’s answer to Coca-Cola and akin to creaming soda. After perusing many shops, Margaret spied a nice Inca style ring in a jeweller. Being the queen of shoppers that she is, Margaret elected not to buy it – yet!
A lunch with the rest of the group and afterwards we thought we’d look for an Internet Café. We both got quite a shock after leaving the café and making our way into the Plaza de Armas. The police presence had escalated from the usual handful to a large number, and they were all donning riot shields, helmets and batons. Adjacent to the Compania de Jesus, another cathedral on the Cusco Square, was a huge water cannon. The increased police presence had lead a number of proprietors to board up their shop-fronts. We discovered that, the blockading teachers were now making their way into the town centre. While, many of the Cusco locals were hopeful of a peaceful demonstration, this is not always guaranteed in Peru. Walking around the corner, we found an Internet kiosk in a shop-basement. We hung out there for two hours; ignoring the noise of protestors and kept our heads down.
The protest passed without any trouble apparently; as we eventually learned after venturing cautiously outside. We paid a quick visit to a pharmacy with the two Helens, one of who was in search of some sleeping pills to help her get through the night-bus journey later that evening. Margaret, only needed a Vitamin C supplement and some throat lozenges. Despite a phrase book and the few words of Spanish we did know, Margaret and I were unsuccessful in our missions. Helen on the other hand, was more than successful in hers. After establishing that she wanted some sort of sedative, the pharmacist gave her a box of Diazepam – aka Valium. No prescription required in Peru it would seem. It took a good while to get across to the chemist that the Valium was a just a little bit beyond expectations. After many frustrated exchanges of Spanish, English and hand signals, Helen managed to walk away with a mild Valium based drug. Margaret and I on the other hand had no success in purchasing cough sweets. So we decided to just buy them from one of Cusco’s many mobile traders. His tray was jam-packed with chewing gum, sweets and low and behold, Halls throat lozenges.
It was also in this chemist that we met yet another of our Patagonia travelling companions. James Boden (“The man who never smiles”) saw us in the pharmacy and stopped for a quick chat. We arranged to meet him and two other of our Patagonian friends; John – Jame’s brother and Tom, outside the cathedral for 6pm.
The afternoon went by ever so slowly, so Margaret decided to buy that Inca ring after all. Shortly after, I decided to put my life on the line and ask one of the Cusco Postcard bandits – a boy of no more than ten – to get me the one with the Ultima Cena. That is, the post-card with a picture of the curious Last Supper painting that had substituted a loaf of bread for a guinea pig. Within minutes, another lad came up to me and presented me with the post-card. Fantastic! I ended up paying the two Soles. Not such a tight-arse after all.
Six pm came by and Margaret and I waited ever so patiently on the steps of Cusco Cathedral. Cusco Plaza was a sight as dusk quickly followed into the evening and the lights surrounding the square cast a charming glow over the bustling pavement. It wasn’t too long before our friends arrived. That’s new friends actually! Margaret and I were literally surrounded by a hoard of children. Post-card hawkers, shoe-shiners, and the ever-present finger-puppet wielders. Two girls of no more than 12 years of age were selling these woollen trinkets. They carried a huge bag around with them – full of finger puppets – and full of just about every national animal you would care to mention.
Finger Puppeteer: “Where you from?” (This was the standard greeting).
Me: “Australia!”
Finger Puppeteer: “Australia’s capital – Canberra, Prime-minister – John Howard, Lots of Kangaroos, Not too many koalas!”
We both laughed hysterically at this well-rehearsed response. When Margaret mentioned that she was from Ireland, the girl was not so forthcoming. Apparently there aren’t enough Irish tourists visiting Cusco (this may be because they’re all living in Bondi). After about forty-five minutes of steadfastly refusing to purchase a finger-puppet, one of the girls, decided to just dump about ten of them on my lap and walked away. She didn’t walk too far though, as I feigned to throw them down the steps. It was all done with a good sense of humour, and so charmed we were by the pair, that we eventually gave into another of their demands and paid a visit to a 7-11, and bought them some sweets. Our other Patagonian friends appeared to have had a better offer and did not show, so Margaret and I farewelled the two puppeteers and rendezvoused with the rest of the group at a local Chinese Restaurant – El Dragon Dorado. (The Golden Dragon)
Dinner was okay, aside from the fact that I lost my shirt. I was wearing my Aston Villa away shirt – circa 1999 season, and the waiter took keen interest in it. Apparently, if I gave him the shirt, he would remember me. His English wasn’t great, and some would say that my allegiance to Villa was even less, as it didn’t take too much of his persuading for me to part with it. I donned my newly purchased Cusquena shirt and gave him the Villa shirt. He was beaming. A second good deed for the day.
The day concluded with us all eventually arriving to take our 9pm night bus to Puno. The bus-station was much quieter this time, and thankfully there were no delays in departing Cusco. We left shortly after 9pm on time. The journey to Puno was generally fine – apart from a couple of issues. Firstly, there was Gerhard – sitting behind Margaret and I – entertaining Jane with his life story. This was fine, apart from the fact that it was interspersed with his familiar hacking, phlegm packed cough now lubricated with opossum-juice for extra volume. Another annoyance was waking up at around mid-night to find the heating had been turned up to capacity, and it appeared the main vent was under my seat. I managed to get the hostess to turn it down before melting and literally becoming one with my seat. Finally, on our arrival at Puno bus station, and after alighting from the bus, I discovered I had left my New York Yankees beanie behind. I say, it would have been two minutes from the time I left my seat to the time I realised I didn’t have it and I was heading back to get it. No, the hat was gone. Apparently, the beanie is a hot item in Peru, and someone wasn’t wasting the opportunity. I’m not a NY Yankees fan. I don’t even follow baseball. But I had bought it in New York, so it was a sentimental loss.
* LOST ITEM NO 2: One New York Yankee Beanie
I wasn’t happy as we caught the transfer bus to our hotel – the Hotel Tikarani – at 4:30am. I was further non-chuffed when I realised we had to be up at around 7am, in order to make our Lake Titicaca excursion. I was therefore radiating contentment upon entering our hotel room, which is more than I can say for the room. There was a broken window-pane in the bathroom allowing the frigid night air to pervade the room. No heaters either – this we learned later was a luxury item. At 4,000 metres altitude, one needs heat during the night, but apparently not at this hotel. Only adequate ventilation is required. Despite my whinging, we both slept the remaining couple of hours without incident.
Stephen J Kennedy Photography 