Taking the Express

We have put together several potential plans along the way for the end of our trip. First was a dramatic train ride through the Andes that would have included several mountain towns, but the train doesn't take passengers anymore. Then was the flight to the jungle. Then came the bus to the jungle. You know how those panned out. Then we thought we would take a bus to Cusco and several additional buses to stop at the various Andean mountain towns from the original train plan. That plan got scratched when we learned that it took 22 hours to go just one of the 150km legs due to excessively poor roads.

The plan that actually came to fruition is the simplest, by far. We're in Lima approximately four days ahead of schedule by way of a luxury bus featuring two meals and black leather seats that reclined to a full 180 degrees. I actually got about seven straight hours of sleep at one point. Best of all, I even got to have a small laugh attack when a woman came to the back, where we were sitting, to use the bathroom, except the door that she thought led to the bathroom could not possibly have been a door meant to be walked through by a human as it was only three feet tall and one foot wide and was obviously a small storage closet (story funnier if you picture it for yourself). Yes, it was a glorious 16-hour ride from Arequipa to Lima, all the better in comparison to the initial trip from Puno, where we had been stuck, to Arequipa.

Upon our arrival at the bus terminal in Puno by taxi, we were approached by a uniformed man who identified himself as being an officer of the tourist police. In a mix of broken English and rapid Spanish, he said that the police often conducted searches of travelers' luggage as such individuals were often carrying marijuana and/or other drugs. The man asked me if I had any drugs on me, and if I smoked marijuana. I said no. Regardless, we were informed that we would be the subjects of searches before being allowed to enter the terminal (or allowed to see the light of day again). Exchanging what in retrospect may have seemed like furtive glances, Dylan and I had no choice but to follow the man into the small tourist police office just a few feet away.

The man motioned for Dylan to proceed into a side room, where I could hear another man take Dylan's backpack from him and start to open it. The first officer stood in the doorway, keeping an eye on me and on the search of Dylan's bag. (Note: Although this is hopefully obvious to all readers, neither Dylan or I had anything at all to hide.) I heard the man in the room ask Dylan if he had any drugs, and then grunt in response to the obvious answer. After a few minutes which I spent pacing around the outside room, the man in the doorway indicated that it was my turn.

Everything seemed to be in order with Dylan, but I couldn't be sure if he was being quiet because he was fine or if he was being quiet because he was under duress. As the first man led Dylan out of the room, the second pulled my bag onto the table. Then the first came back into the room and went around me to stand next to the man handling my bag. The second man undid the clasps that secured the top of my bag and began feeling the contents from the outside, which seemed to me an utterly ineffective technique for finding anything at all that I might have wanted to hide. Meanwhile, the first man told me to empty the contents of my pockets onto the table. And so I placed everything of value that I have on this trip in front of him - my camera, my passport, my iPod, and finally my wallet.

He picked up my wallet and examined its contents. The second man had stopped all pretense of searching my bag and was now just observing the wallet inspection. They asked me to explain my vaccination card and took out my credit, debit, and insurance cards and put them on the table. Then the first man took out all my cash and thumbed through the bills very deliberately while the second man looked at me. They asked me how much I had. Having just visited the ATM in preparation for paying for bus tickets, I happened to know that I had exactly 450 soles, which is $150, and $2 in American singles. So I told him how much I had. He looked up, surprised by my precision, and then over to his partner, who gave a look and shrugged. He looked back at me, staring me right in the eyes and slowly asked again if I had any marijuana. I said no. He paused, then put the cash - which I had not taken my eyes off of - back into the wallet, threw the wallet on the table, and just said "OK. You can go.".

All things considered, I feel like they could have done a helluva better job at soliciting a bribe.

The ride from Puno to Arequipa takes between five and seven hours. I want you to imagine for a moment five of the worst odors you've ever smelled. OK. Now blend them all together. Not too much; you should still be able to distinguish the unique qualities of each. Good. Now put them on a bus. No, not that bus; that bus is too nice. There you go, yeah. That piece of shit bus over there. Perfect. Now sit in that bus for seven hours, and put on a three hour long '50s-era Western action flick - dubbed in very loud Spanish - for garnish. Serve at 85 degrees and humid and no air conditioning. Best experienced by sitting between a friend who is just nauseous and a little girl who actually vomits onto her neighbor's lap.

So, like I said, the ride from Arequipa to Lima was way better.

Lima itself has been terrific so far; we had Pizza Hut and KFC for lunch and watched the new Harry Potter movie - in English - at the local mall and went to the grocery store to get pasta and tomato sauce for dinner. Ready to leave? You bet.