Tag Archives: bus

I was sitting on a Cruz del Sur bus in the downstairs VIP area feeling a little bit pukish after eating my dessert, a fluffy, overly sweet slice of chocolate roll. And I also felt pretty zombiefied. This was day three of a week’s worth of travel back up to Quito, Ecuador and onwards to New Zealand via Houston and Los Angeles.

I had left Arequipa, right in the south of Peru, Monday mid-afternoon, waved off by the lovely, smiling Cristina. Initially intending to set off for Lima much later at night, a surprise travel buddy turned up in the form of a friend who needed to get to Lima for onward travel to Argentina. This first fifteen hour leg was therefore more fun and social than anticipated: seats at the front (upstairs, economy) meant extra space to spread out so we put our feet up, we chatted, we laughed and we watched Peru pass by, great, chunky sand dune landscapes and glimpses of the Pacific Ocean as the sun set.

Driving through the desert a few hours after leaving Lima

Sand and sea: dusk by the Pacific Ocean

The following day, Tuesday, started early with an ejection from the bus at just gone 6:00AM. Lima felt pleasant and fresh, the sun not yet melted the morning mist. Sitting for a while to await a more appropriate arrival time at my great aunts house, I watched a constant stream of buses turn up at the terminal, sleepy passengers getting off and waiting for their luggage in a bit of a daze.

After a great night’s rest, I was ready for the biggie: twenty-eight hours from Lima, Peru to Guayaquil, Ecuador. For S/.30 extra, I’d treated myself to an upgrade, my first time downstairs in VIP. Additional comfort and attention and food and space were part of the deal (although I would argue that the front of the Cruz del Sur upstairs had as much if not more leg room than my downstairs VIP front seat). And a seat by myself, no sleepy stranger nodding off and slobbering on my shoulder. Space to sit and think and write. To be by myself, no, to be with myself. Needed.

It didn’t feel like long before the breakfast wake-up blasted out over the tannoy, preceded by soothing classical music and booming deep voices belonging to two noisy Peruvian guys who I’d been trying to block out with ear plugs. Clearly, I’d slept a bit, my eyes unable to stay open despite an attempted mental override (I had wanted to finish the film). It had almost felt drug induced, such a strong, all-consuming tiredness that has made a fair few appearances during my time in South America. No point trying to fight it.

Finally, by nearly 2:30PM we had cleared all border controls at Tumbes. Compared to the night-time crossing at Macara, the daytime Tumbes crossing was an extended, hot process involving hours of queuing in 35°C heat, once for the exit stamps for Peru and a short bus ride later again for the entry to Ecuador. A further four and a half hours along, back into the greenery and banana plantations of Ecuador and a setting sun, and we arrived into Guayaquil, a city which seemed to have a surprisingly low-level of light pollution.

And the last stretch to Quito? Well, I was back in Ecuador, back to upright seats and lack of air flow. Out came the fan, off came my shoes and I snuggled down for another night on a bus. The young guy next to me plugged into his MP3 and didn’t utter a word and we both nodded off, unavoidably resting into each other. The only disturbance? A sudden sleep sing from the guy next to me; a repeated phrase, clean, tuneful and haunting. Three times he repeated the phrase, and then nothing but shut-eye and an eventual arrival eight hours later into Quitumbe, Quito just before 6:00AM. Home.

Dawn broke and the immediate comparisons with Ecuador were the colour palette and landscape: where southern Ecuador had been about lush hills and mountains covered in rich, green vegetation, the scenery on the approach to Piura was yellow and brown dominant, and flat into the far distance, a sandy, dusty scrubland occupied by some spindly bushes and trees. Rubbish evenly littered the place, introducing a splash of colour to the otherwise neutral setting. The sun rose quickly, highlighting a bright blue sky strewn with a splattering of cirrus clouds.

I rubbed my eyes. It had been another long night but the surprising comforts of the Loja International bus had enabled me to grab some dozy snatches of sleep on the trip from Loja, Ecuador to Piura, Peru.

At daybreak the roads were dominated by hoards of moto taxis (think tuktuks) – red, yellow, blue and white – whizzing along and darting in and out of traffic. By 7:00am they were matched in numbers by cars and collectivos (minibus taxis/buses). There were people everywhere, crossing roads and catching lifts and rushing about to get to work and school. The city was alive with voices and traffic and movement.

The bus had left Loja at 11:00pm, making what felt like a continuous downhill journey, the brakes grinding and the vehicle lurching for the first few hours. At 03:30am we reached the Ecuador-Peru border at Macará. Everyone had to disembark and queue for an exit stamp (it was also necessary to hand back over the immigration card from when one entered Ecuador, although those who had lost it or never received it simply had to fill out another one then and there).

Walking across the unlit bridge of what was effectively no-man’s land, Peruvian immigration were waiting to check you into Peru – another passport stamp for a 90 day tourist visa, another Andean immigration slip. I passed up on changing some dollars from a short, old guy offering ‘soles, soles…’, but it’s good to know there is that option (instead I took a taxi to a dodgy little street in Piura where I was given a crap exchange rate, but at least the money was legit and it was enough to get me out of the place). A few hours later I arrived into the early morning energy of Piura.

So here I was, in Peru with it’s dry heat and what already felt like busy, crazy chaos. I had a few Nuevo Sol and a bus ticket onwards to Trujillo. I felt ready for some new adventures and places and people. I was curious and a little apprehensive, having been told all sorts of stories about this country. Please be a safe place, Peru.