The Drive to Lima (04.08.08 - 05.08.08)

Bus travel in South America, like that in most developing countries is characterised by broken promises and near misses.
‘Yes, the bus is safe; good driver Amigo – he even chews coca so doesn’t fall asleep, clean toilet on board, meals provided’ – or so said the smiling travel agent in Puno (I’ll call him Amrozi). We knew he had no idea what he was talking about, rather answers ‘Si’ to every question asked of him….
‘Are you lying señor?’
‘Si, Si, Amigo’.
‘I know you are Amrozi’.

We boarded the Camo (sleeper) bus at lunch time 4/8/08. We weren’t yet overly anxious about the trip nor regretting the decision to take to 25 hour bus rather than the more expensive option of flying. The bus was well into its journey by the time it arrived at Puno, presumably having come from Copacabana. Getting aboard we noted it was full of Indians rather than tourists and we were greeted by the scent of urine as we climbed the steep steps and took our seats at the very front on the top level. There are few benefits to sitting at the very front of a South American bus. The only benefit is in case of high speed and head-on-collision or indeed toppling off the edge of a cliff (where there are no survivors anyway). In this case then from the front of the bus you’ll be first to check out of a terrifying journey to the bottom of the cliff and the first to meet your maker. The disadvantages, though less profound, are more anxiety provoking. Sitting at the front of the bus you negotiate every horrifying hair-pin turn (where you can’t see the road in front of the bus but only the abyss beyond), you engage in every frightening blind-pass (sometimes more blind for the driver than for you), and you are acutely aware of every time the bus dips onto the soft gravel shoulder, ever wondering if he can pull it back – this is to name a few of the horrifying visions you have while riding up front.

Ten minutes into our journey a man stuck a video camera in my terrified white face drawing a curt remark (‘I’m the tourist buddy, not you’ – not really, but I was in a foul mood). Karyn reminded me that all bus passengers in Peru are video recorded as a precaution in case of fatal accident. Apparently it makes the job of victim identification easier if there is a ‘baseline’ or ‘before surgery’ shot.

Within an hour we were held-up by our first traffic jam due to road carnage, an overturned soda truck; Christmas had come early on this short stretch of road in Peru. Pouring from a long line of waiting cars, teams of ravenous Indians rummaged through the debris and scampered back to their waiting cars laden with armfuls of bright yellow ‘Inca Cola’ – not joking.

Our second road block was at 8:30pm. The scene was hellish and reminiscent of ‘Apocalypse Now’ - flashing lights, choking diesel fumes, people running everywhere, cars, trucks, buses, taxis; all impatiently honking, vying for the most advantageous position in the queue – I was almost expecting some ‘Nam-Vet’ to have a flashback and start yelling ‘Incoming RPG!’. A single policeman with a torch was attempted to redirect traffic away from the road that led to the accident, while emergency vehicles made their way as best they could through the mayhem. Before too long (only an hour and a half after we joined the queue) the single policeman opened the road (or gave-up and walked off the job) sparking an avalanche of craziness like I’ve never seen. It was like the green lights that signal the start of a grand prix; two lanes of traffic (meant to be one-lane) quickly became 5 as tour buses, semi-trailers, minibuses and cars all attempted to ram their way into one lane of oncoming traffic. Presumably unseen by the retiring police officer. Caught up in the mêlée was one last ambulance with flailing lights – too bad for it’s passenger, nobody was willing the check their progress and risk letting a ambulance pass in case another vehicle should get in front of them.

With the skill of Ayrton Senna our bus driver forced his way to the front of queue and we continued our journey. We soon passed three separate accident sites though I’m unsure which one was responsible for the delay. The first was some skid marks leading to a sickeningly flattened guard rail disappearing off an immense cliff. The second was a wrecked semi-trailer hastily piled up beside the road. The third was a disaster involving a mini-bus, the remains of a car and a small truck.

What I found intriguing was the unrestrained and maddening rush that was unleashed when the road opened again. In my experience of driving, when I come across a sickening accident I am temporarily reminded of both my mortality and my fallibility. For at least 5 or 10 minutes following this type of experience, I would refrain from speeding or any other acts of reckless driving. I generally recognise this sombre/sobering response in other Australian drivers too. Not so in Peru. When that policeman stopped restraining the traffic it was like Moses releasing the Red-Sea. Not only did the drivers return to their reckless ways, but there was added fervour as they each tried to make up for an hour of lost time. Fully laden tour buses passing semi-trailers on blind bends on a 2 lane roads was just the beginning – they did it being able to see oncoming traffic also. Homicidal insanity! At this point in my journey I decided it is better to play some happy music on the ipod and don my eye-patch. Next time I’ll fly.

24 hours of hell. Happy 31st birthday Jon!