This morning we saddled up early, negotiated the scrum which always seems to accompany bus stations in developing countries – vendors selling indecipherable things in plastic bags, animals running around etc – and boarded our bus, me bunged up with Imodium as a safety precaution. A sensible one as it turned out the bus had no toilet, and would prove to make very infrequent stops – usually when the passengers mutinied when we had been stopped on the road. This happened frequently as travelling through the Central Highlands of the Andes the roads are rarely paved and just wide enough for one vehicle, so there is a lot of reversing and negotiating when we come across anyone else.
Blurred view of the Andes from the bus
Once we were away from the city we started to climb again, and soon enough we were rewarded with some of the most spectacular mountain scenery I have seen anywhere in the world. Huge looming mountains covered in mist surrounded us as we dipped in and out of the clouds, revealing breathtaking canyons and deep gullies, the tops of the Andes covered only in heather or grass in some points bizarrely reminding us of the brecons in Wales.
The landscape changed constantly, with lower areas peopled and with herds of pigs and cattle sometimes blocking the road; where agriculture could actually take place (ie not at the highest altitudes) there were picturesque pueblos made of mud and brick huts, with mountain people in their brightly coloured, knitted finery.
Stopping for lunch en route
After a quick lunch stop where Laura and I tentatively nibbled on some boiled rice and crackers, we were off again into this staggering scenery. However we were starting to learn that travel is not straight-forward in South America, particularly not during the rainy season when rock and mud slides are not uncommon. First we were diverted from one area which had been blocked off, then some 45 minutes from our destination, the tiny rural town of Andahuaylas, all vehicles on the diversion road also ground to a halt as this had been blocked too.
This was a good test for our developing Spanish as we tried to understand from the bus driver what was going on; we pooled our resources with the only other gringo we’d seen for a couple of days, a mad, elderly German guy who it turned out could understand less than us. Meanwhile the rest of the passengers had scarpered down the hill to meet the replacement bus at the bridge, a 30 minutes hike. In a bit of a panic we gather up all our luggage and strode after them as darkness fell in the middle of nowhere.
All ended well however as we were picked up on this remote road by an unmarked colectivo taxi (as it turned out), who stuffed us and all our luggage into the boot of a station wagon; not the most comfortable ride but we didn’t care as it meant we’d not be spending the night shivering on the bus. From our vantage looking out the back window we passed another small town before Andahuaylas which was having a celebration too, and the fiesta included fireworks and a giant fussball tournament with about 10 tables all lined up, a strange sight in this backwater.
Arriving in Andahuaylas we struggled through pouring rain to find a cheap hostel, most of which were pretty nasty, then headed out for a satisfyingly gringo supper of pizza. We had a good chat to some nice locals in a shop who warned us against using the big bus companies for the next leg of our journey, then hit the (odd-smelling) sack.
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