The most terrifying journey I have ever experienced…
The most terrifying bus journey I have ever experienced took place over fourteen hours from Cusco to Ica.
We continued to travel northwards to our eventual destination of Huaccachina to experience sand boarding and the notorious sand buggy rides in the idyllic but tiny oasis town. Despite booking the highest level of Peruvian luxury coaching (Cruz del sur) we were subjected to a intense level of travel abuse that was seemingly malevolent but gruelling, irresponsible and pant-wettingly scary.
The journey started off well with actual waiters/attendants serving us some quickly offed chicken and chips. Security was reassuringly high as the driver took video of each passenger that boarded the bus. He assigns a passengers face to seat number as the dialogue to the video. The staff are friendly and respond politely to our needs but as the journey and the night progresses, the driver seems to pick up speed and a penchant for heavy steering as the asphalt ascends into exceptionally windy mountain roads.
One can only surmise he is driving in one or more of the following states:
- The driver is angry…
- The driver is drunk…
- The driver is hungry and late for his dinner…
- The driver has no licence…
- The driver is a victim of demonic possession…
- The driver is asleep…
- The bus is stolen and we are being pursued by Peruvian police.
- All of the above.
We are continually thrown about like a hamster in a washing machine that has been pushed down a mountain experiencing a plate tectonic shift. Sleep is impossible as our heads bounce between the headrests. Temples bruise and ears are tenderised by the sideways pendulum motion. Our seat belts have little effect as we are bounced uncomfortably from side to side for the next ten hours.
The waitress is thrown around the aisle, narrowly escaping the act of dousing her passengers in a tray laden cocktail of inca cola and hot coffee. She looks embarrassed and has my utmost sympathy when I attempt my doom laden toilet trip. Inside the urine sprayed interior, my shoulders bounce off the walls, only contributing to the condition of the toilet seat and floor as I try unsuccessfully to keep my micturate inside the bowl. The driver continues to throw the bus into the corners, seemingly performing drift skids for the next fast and furious film. Visions of dying in the toilet cubicle flash before my eyes and I get really close to praying for that not to happen. “Not like this God! Please! I don’t want to die in this toilet”.
A view of the terrain through our window makes the experience worse as we see the precarious position our bus occupies on the mountain desert highway. Desolate precipices plummet underneath the tires in the hot dusty landscape. A digital watch with its alarm incorrectly set goes off every five minutes and just happens to operate at a frequency that can travel through our earplugs contributing to the torture. Finally, on the seat in front of us, a baby wrapped in multicoloured swaddling screams through the night, simply vocalising what the passengers on the bus were all thinking. The baby then produces a stinky old turd of fearsome pungency. An eye watering blast of fatal post-foetal faecality.
Eventually we arrive in Ica. Scathed, battered and weary, the taxi driver rips us off claiming a pre-agreed price was for each passenger (we pay double) but we arrive at Huaccachina and the Banana adventure hostel which sits inside a huge sand bowl complete with desert oasis in the middle. Local school children learn to swim whilst pedaloes bob nonchalantly along the shores of the Huacachinan oasis.
We are shown around the Banana hostel by barman/receptionist/mechanic Alan, who smiles infectiously whilst wearing a pair of red, lensless, hipster glasses. He makes a mean milkshake that fixes the hangovers we accrue in our stay at the hostel. Our room is poolside and feels luxury compared to some of the rooms we have stayed in recently. The hostel is lively with a large turnover of travellers with numerous origins. English, American and Australian travellers seem to be the most prevalent, commandeering sunbeds and prime poolside real estate. Inside the bar also is a pair of grumpy, scabby, mongrel dogs who weakly bark at passers by, possibly winning the award for worst guard dogs ever. One of the dogs sports a class 3 protrusion underbite like Ludo from the eighties fantasy fest “labyrinth”
We have a beer and immediately sign up for the sunset, sandboarding/dune buggy combo trip. The oversized buggies are custom made and can carry sixteen people plus our slightly unhinged driver. Our buggy fills quickly and as the engine starts up, it produces a thunder like crack, feeling excitingly powerful as the vibrations flow through the chassis.
We set off into the sand dunes at a surprisingly fast pace. The rise is steep with the buggy easily eating up the ascent, deep into the desert. The driver reaches the top of his allocated dune range and floors the accelerator, pedal meeting metal. What follows was an experience tantamount to an extreme roller coaster showing off in front of its mates. The driver pushes the buggy hard over dune peaks, sending us weightless, only to smash back down to the sand with extreme gravitational force. It’s dangerous but exciting and occasionally ball bruisingly painful. Our guide continues to ramp up the speed and the buggy smashes once more into the sand. Only this time the transmission and exhaust pipe can’t take it. We look backwards as a variety of fluids spew out of the undercarriage onto the sand. Parts detach themselves from the buggy and attempt their own sandsliding adventure.
The buggy stalls and the driver picks up the various assortment of pieces from the desert floor. He shrugs his shoulders, throws the pieces into the passenger seat and manages to start the V12 buggy engine. He drops us off at our hostel, head hung low with an explanation to formulate and deliver to his boss.
Our days in Peru begin to come to an end, but also mark the near completion of South America. A trip to Paracas is underwhelming with a number of trips to the Ballestas and the surrounding areas failing to excite. We are taken in a speedboat to see an overcrowded bird paradise that is covered in bird poop. It also features an overwhelming ammonia stink, that is only made bearable by the cool harem of seals playing on the rocks.
After leaving Paracas to reach Lima we make the wrong decision to do it by the local bus company and get robbed in the station. Unbeknownst to me somebody takes a razor blade and slashes the bottom of my backpack. From the hole they remove our ipad and hard drive with the first month of photos and video. We don’t realise until we reach Lima and I practically fall to my knees when I realise what we have lost in footage. There is also a scramble to wipe the contents of the ipad remotely which has our bank/amazon/eBay/ details accessible to the thief.
We end our South American adventure a little deflated but philosophical about our journey so far. Physically unscathed we feel lucky to have made it through the vast expanse of the continent unharmed and optimistic about North America.
Thanks South America, it’s been a blast.
