Bus Rides and Pickpockets

To my story of Pilcopata, I forgot to tell you all about my wonderful bus ride back to Cusco. I have no photo to illustrate, or to distract, and I hope my lack of writing skills can do the experience justice.

While on the way there I had prime position; front seat, view, leg room.. on the way back, well, I didn't. I had nothing. Nada.

When I first got on the bus, the window seat was vacant. The lady we bought the ticket off had told me that my seat was the 3rd best available for someone like me with long legs, and the only one available now. From the front of the bus there is the driver, a seat behind him facing sideways, a wall/window that generally has a poster on it with either a face of Jesus or some other saint advertising a festival, or a girl with very short shorts and no top, advertising electrical tools. There there was my seat, on the aisle, directly next to the door. For future reference, when travelling on public buses in Peru, don't sit next to the aisle, and definitely not near the door.

As I said, the window seat was vacant, so I coasted over and made room for one of the people standing in the aisle (because there are always people standing in the aisle) to sit down. We got to the next town, he went off somewhere and I stayed where I was. Then a little lady, as wide as she was tall, appeared at the top of the stairwell. I smiled, said 'buenas noches', and then realised I was sitting in her window seat. I moved over to my seat and saw that she had a bundle as big has herself. My heart sank. First she jammed the big bundle into her leg space, and half of mine. Then she sat herself in her seat.... and half of mine. I literally had to position myself into my seat with a series of shoves. So there we were, jammed into place. Tightly. We were still in the jungle so for the next 4 hours or more, from my left knee to my left shoulder and left elbow I was pressed up against her, getting damp. To make it worse, she kept closing the window, my one single saviour and breath of fresh air. Every time I saw her nod off I would open the window again, and every time she woke up, she would close it again, until finally I pleaded 'por favor!!!' and she left it semi-open. She probably thought she was making a HUGE compromise. So, I had a little fat hog seat and air thief on one side. But that wasn't even the worst of it.

Next appeared Señor Borracho. This old, skinny, little Peruvian man had obviously spent the whole day celebrating the town's Saint's day drinking beer. He came on board with nothing more than a water bottle and took up the position in the aisle, leaning against the wall in front of me. Many more people came on to the bus, taking up all the aisle space, with the majority near the door. Arms and legs everywhere trying to keep their balance. This is why you shouldn't sit near the door.

Not so very long into the trip Mr Drunk-as-a-Skunk slips down to the floor. Leaning against the wall, turns into using my legs as a post and resting his head on my thigh. I didn't have enough leg room as it was with a bundle taking up half of it, and my backpack the other. I wasn't very happy. Squashed on all sides I started being spiteful, stomping my foot and moving my leg, trying to wake up this drunk. He couldn't have cared less. He was passed out cold. When I put my foot high up against the wall, he slid down further. Now his legs were in the stairwell, his head on my bag and he was sleeping peacefully. I had so many horrible thoughts going through my head.

At some point the replacement driver came from his seat up front and asked the Sir Smashed for his ticket. He sat in the stairwell, with glazed eyes, and then started tugging at my bag trying to pull it to him. I kept pulling it back and he started raving on saying he wanted his bag. The guy in the aisle next to me called out to the driver, said something to Borracho and finally he left my and my bag alone.

All of this was happening at some stupid hour of the morning so being a bit delirious, I'm not really sure when the drunk got off. But when he did, in his place was the nice guy from the aisle that had helped me earlier. He alternated between sitting on a stool next to me with his back against my right arm, and sitting on the stool leaning against the wall, resting his head, in his hand, using my leg as an arm rest. I was being physically squashed on all sides. This is why you shouldn't sit in the aisle seat.

Add to the lack of room and lack of air the fact that the road is very very winding (as in, lots of corners) and in extremely poor condition, and then add that I get car sick if I can't see where I am going, and the fact that my only possible view of the road is covered by a half naked lady... my 9 hour bus ride got even worse. I will spare you the details but lucky for me i had little plastic bags I had bought fruit in. By some random chance of luck these god sent bags didn't have holes and as the hours passed, didn't get leaky either!!!

I'm not sure I've ever had a worse bus ride. When I heard that one of the routes I was considering was 20 hours of winding road, I promptly bought a plane ticket!!!

Oh, and finally, throughout this whole 9 hour ordeal, the bus driver (the same one as on the way there too) kept playing his 4 cassettes of 'musika tipical de peru' at full volume. They weren't very long tapes and I already knew the songs off by heart anyway from the bus ride TO Pilcopata. The music is tinny, repetitive and I would have been happy never to hear it again. Alas, I had to dance to it (EXACTLY THE SAME TAPE of the same songs that I could now sing to) for more than 4 hours at Diego's grandma's birthday. Kristina, I now know what 'La Botella' song you were talking about.

Also, I got pick pocketed!! Diego and I were in a street bazaar with lots of people everywhere. I thought I was doing the right thing having my shoulder bag in front of me with my other arm covering it. Suddenly a man who had been walking on my left turned sharply in front of me, bumped me, and continued back on my right. At the moment he turned so suddenly I thought something was up and felt my pocket. My coin purse was gone. I immediately went after him, grabbed his hand and opened his fingers but it was empty. By the time I explained it to Diego, the man was long gone.

Before people start telling me again I need to be careful, this was me being careful. They only got a few coins which I keep in my jeans pocket (front jeans pocket too, which is hard enough for me to get into) for easier access. I think it's one of these things that was going to happen sooner or later and I'm glad it was so quick, harmless and nonviolent. Mostly I was impressed at how smoothly they got in and out of my pocket. Now, however, I am immediately suspicious of anyone that even comes anywhere noticeably close to me.