Keep Track of Me

We left Loja in southern Ecuador yesterday morning at 6am, 5am if you count the time we needed to get up, pack, and get to the bus terminal. We purchased tickets in Loja that were supposed to get us to Piura, some three hours south of the Ecuador-Peru fronterà. We made the 7 hour journey by bus south from Loja to Màcara. I should explain that while it takes seven hours to get from Loja to Macàra, the distance is only about 114miles (190km). It just takes that long because we were traveling roads in even worse condition than previous days´ journeys- and by worse, I mean 9-12ft wide dirt paths winding along 1000ft cliffs through the northern parts of the Andes Mountains... in a 10 foot wide MOTORCOACH!

 We knew that we would need to disembark from the bus and take a taxi to the actual point of exit/entry and then most likely would need to take another taxi to where we would reunite with the bus on the other side. Our guide books did little to explain the process except that the crossing at Màcara was ´´infinitely easier and safer´´ than the alternative at Huaquillas on the coast. To cross at Huaquillas, travelers must traverse the thief and con-artist ridden gauntlet between the two customs stations which are located 2km from the border on each side, so we thought we were making the better choice- and probably did... This lack of information was not made any easier by the less than ample information provided by the bus company and their glass-eyed representative named Julio, who was supposed to be our ´´guide´´. Julio and an unnamed bus driver simply pulled into Màcara and everyone started getting off.

For most of the other bus passengers, Màcara was their destination so we couldn´t even follow them. I had asked Julio where we needed to go, at which time he proceeded to get somewhat irate before motioning with one hand towards the border which was 3km away before making a B-line in the direction of what appeared to be a tavern. That was the last time we saw Julio or the bus.

So we got a cab to the border and just as the books said, we made it across almost effortlessly. Once across and through controls, we thought we needed to take another taxi to what we assumed was the bus terminal a few km down the road. We hired a taxi for 24 soles ($8) which seemed steep at the time, but when you have 5 short men shouting in your face, competing for your business with monopolistically fixed prices, you don´t even feel like negotiating. The ¨taxi¨ turned out to be a collectivo, or shared cab. The vehicle which was to be our collectivo was a 1987 Toyota hatchback which we didn't give a second thought to because we were still under the assumption that it would be a short trip to the bus terminal. We piled in with two women who between them, had approximately 180 years of age and 12, maybe 15 teeth. Then we started driving, and driving, and driving.. It started as an interesting drive, first with stunning vistas of more green mountains, our driver occasionally swerving to miss iguanas and goats crossing the road. Conversation was upbeat. Our elderly companions were very friendly, asking about where we came from and proudly informing us on the significance of every building whizzing past our windows in each dusty settlement we passed through. Then about 20 minutes into the drive we were stopped by the Policia Nacional. They wanted to see our passports and one gave Taylor´s backpack a quick poke. In hindsight, the locals accompanying us probably ensured our safety during the inspection. They all became vigilant with our Peruvian grandmothers almost exerting a maternal protection over their gringo grandsons. Shortly after that, I noticed a sharp change in scenery to a flat, desert landscape. Forty more minutes of driving down the straight road with no turnoffs, I asked the driver where the terminal was. He said ¨en Sullana¨. Sullana turned out to be almost 2 hours from the border, about 40 miles short of our final destination in Piura. 

By the time we reached Sullana, it was eminately clear we missed the bus (if it ever went to that depot in the first place). For those readers who have seen the movie Blood Diamond which takes place in war-torn Africa, Sullana´s bus depot was located in a run-down town that resembled just about every city depicted in that movie (see pictures). Also, if you are ever feeling starved for attention I highly recommend you pay a visit to this little desert oasis because from the moment we got out of the taxi, all eyes were on us.

We were in no mood to spend the night anywhere near Sullana or Piura for that matter, so we bought the next ticket we could for the small coastal fishing and surf village of Huanchaco near Trujillo which we hadn´t planned on visiting until the next day. To get there, one must take a bus bound for Lima so we double-checked with the booking agent at the terminal to make sure it would pass through Trujillo. Trujillo is about 8 hrs from Sullana on the way to Lima so we knew when we  left at 3:55 (it was supposed to leave at 3) we would need to look for our stop around midnight.  

Around 11:30, Taylor woke me up. We could see Trujillo in the distance, but we weren´t getting closer to it, in fact we seemed to be going around it. We asked a man sitting near us if we were near Trujillo and he started pointing behind the bus. We ran downstairs (double decker bus) and started knocking on the driver´s door and asking other passengers what to do. One lady informed us that after dark, the bus doesn´t make stops for safety reasons and that it becomes a ¨servico directo¨. We were unable to get the driver´s attention, though even if we could, neither one of us would have wanted to get off where we were, we decided it was onward to Lima. We spent nine more hours on a humid, cold bus until finally, at 9am Saturday morning, we were arriving in Lima.

The guidebooks said there was little to do in Lima and that it wasn´t a very impressive capital... At first, they appeared to be right. After fearing for our safety at what would be presumably the safest possible time (Saturday, mid-morning) in San Isidro where the bus station was, we made our way to the swanky suburb of Miraflores on the coast where we found a very nice and reasonable hostel called the EuroBackpacker. 

Today has been a recovery day as Taylor is feeling slightly under the weather with a headache, presumably from 27 consecutive hours of travel. I have been doing research about the area and Cusco and attempting to formulate a plan for the next part of our journey. While searching for our first real meal in a day and a half, we noticed a sports bar across from the hostel. We plan on watching the NBA playoffs tonight before seeing what nightlife Miraflores has to offer.