I just purchased my final bus ticket back to Lima – as always seat 55, first floor, window side, leaving at 9:15am. After having taken this trip a total of ten times, coming to or leaving from Huánuco, it has become quite a familiar route and one that I enjoy very much.
I tend to be rather busy leading up to such trips and welcome the eight hours of drastically beautiful scenery and absence of conversation. I rarely bring a book to read or music to listen to, and avoid watching the frequent Jean-Claude Van Damme action movies. Instead, the ever-changing landscape outside my window provides the ultimate entertainment.
To ride an omnibus, as they are called, with reclining seats and plenty of leg room, is an unfathomable luxury for most Peruvians. More often, long distances are covered in piecemeal, taking a series of overstuffed mini-buses and dilapidated taxis.
I consistantly struggle with lack of seatbelts and breakneck speed of these vehicles. But I also recognize that passengers need to pay as little as possible and the drivers need to pack in as many people as possible, regardless of the number of the seats. Safety and prevention are absolutely secondary when earning/conserving money and arriving at one’s destination are of upmost importance.
The two-story mega-bus which I will ride, at first glance appears mammoth and indestructible. But in a short time, this giant mass of metal becomes an isolated speck journeying along a ribbon of a road between vertical mountains.
After leaving the lush river valley outside of Huánuco, the trek becomes desolate and virtually unpopulated. There are high altitude lakes, snow-capped peaks, distant views of new mountain clusters to pass and those previously conquered.
At about 1pm, we approach Cerro de Pasco, a distillingly flat altiplano at 14,400 feet above sea level. This is where a dusting of snow made my heart skip a beat returning from our Thanksgiving retreat in November.
It is at this point in the voyage that passengers are served lunch. A small styrofoam box with rice and something else, many chicken or mashed potatoes. Afterward we are offered a cup of Coke or Inca Cola, which are always in competition. I usually opt for sweet tea if only to warm my hands with the sudden chill in the air.
I didn’t realize just how cold it gets at this elevation until our bus broke down on my way to Trujillo in May. We waited roadside for at least two hours while some horrid clanking of metal went on under the back of the bus. The mountain air rushed inside as others swung open the doors and windows to see what was going on.
I sat calmly for the first hour, noting how miraculous it was to never have had any road trouble during my previous trips. I started feeling a little nervous when a woman across the aisle began vomiting in a plastic bag, affected by the lack of oxygen at such high altitude.
I then became officially anxious when I realized that the clock was ticking. We were still four hours from Lima and I had an overnight bus to catch to Trujillo.
In a sudden moment of clarity, I decided to get off the bus with a few passengers, hoping to wave down a passing bus. And as I waited outside, trying to stretch my shirt into a warmer article of clothing, I took a good look around.
I managed to disregard the stress of the situation and remark how gorgeous a spot of earth I was standing on - flanked by snowy mountains, resting above a pristine pool of rain water, in a place that I can only describe as the middle of nowhere.
The benefits of land travel do surpass its limitations. While I will never fully trust the top-heavy lumber trucks that barrel down the opposing lanes, I find I am transported into a quiet state of mind knowing the bends and contours of the land between Lima and Huánuco.
And while this trek is only a fraction of the beastly earthen formation that make up the Andes, it is a familiar glimpse that I have one last opportunity to encounter.
(Having written this before actually buying my bus ticket, I can now say that for the first time, seat 55 was already taken. A little reminder that change is good!)
I tend to be rather busy leading up to such trips and welcome the eight hours of drastically beautiful scenery and absence of conversation. I rarely bring a book to read or music to listen to, and avoid watching the frequent Jean-Claude Van Damme action movies. Instead, the ever-changing landscape outside my window provides the ultimate entertainment.
To ride an omnibus, as they are called, with reclining seats and plenty of leg room, is an unfathomable luxury for most Peruvians. More often, long distances are covered in piecemeal, taking a series of overstuffed mini-buses and dilapidated taxis.
I consistantly struggle with lack of seatbelts and breakneck speed of these vehicles. But I also recognize that passengers need to pay as little as possible and the drivers need to pack in as many people as possible, regardless of the number of the seats. Safety and prevention are absolutely secondary when earning/conserving money and arriving at one’s destination are of upmost importance.
The two-story mega-bus which I will ride, at first glance appears mammoth and indestructible. But in a short time, this giant mass of metal becomes an isolated speck journeying along a ribbon of a road between vertical mountains.
After leaving the lush river valley outside of Huánuco, the trek becomes desolate and virtually unpopulated. There are high altitude lakes, snow-capped peaks, distant views of new mountain clusters to pass and those previously conquered.
At about 1pm, we approach Cerro de Pasco, a distillingly flat altiplano at 14,400 feet above sea level. This is where a dusting of snow made my heart skip a beat returning from our Thanksgiving retreat in November.
It is at this point in the voyage that passengers are served lunch. A small styrofoam box with rice and something else, many chicken or mashed potatoes. Afterward we are offered a cup of Coke or Inca Cola, which are always in competition. I usually opt for sweet tea if only to warm my hands with the sudden chill in the air.
I didn’t realize just how cold it gets at this elevation until our bus broke down on my way to Trujillo in May. We waited roadside for at least two hours while some horrid clanking of metal went on under the back of the bus. The mountain air rushed inside as others swung open the doors and windows to see what was going on.
I sat calmly for the first hour, noting how miraculous it was to never have had any road trouble during my previous trips. I started feeling a little nervous when a woman across the aisle began vomiting in a plastic bag, affected by the lack of oxygen at such high altitude.
I then became officially anxious when I realized that the clock was ticking. We were still four hours from Lima and I had an overnight bus to catch to Trujillo.
In a sudden moment of clarity, I decided to get off the bus with a few passengers, hoping to wave down a passing bus. And as I waited outside, trying to stretch my shirt into a warmer article of clothing, I took a good look around.
I managed to disregard the stress of the situation and remark how gorgeous a spot of earth I was standing on - flanked by snowy mountains, resting above a pristine pool of rain water, in a place that I can only describe as the middle of nowhere.
The benefits of land travel do surpass its limitations. While I will never fully trust the top-heavy lumber trucks that barrel down the opposing lanes, I find I am transported into a quiet state of mind knowing the bends and contours of the land between Lima and Huánuco.
And while this trek is only a fraction of the beastly earthen formation that make up the Andes, it is a familiar glimpse that I have one last opportunity to encounter.
(Having written this before actually buying my bus ticket, I can now say that for the first time, seat 55 was already taken. A little reminder that change is good!)
