1979

Chances are that you wouldn't make this bus trip on a conducted tour, but on your own, you can take it for the most hair-raising and spectacular trip in all the world.

In 1979, at age 70, and all alone, I traveled six months in South America. During that time I traveled thousands of miles by bus throughout the continent, but the most unusual and frightening trip was the day long 163 mile journey from Huancayo to Ayacucho, Peru. I was one of seven foreigners on a dilapidated bus serving the route between these two central Peruvian cities, high on what is called the antiplano of the Andes.

If you are going from Lima to Cuzco en route to the famous Inca ruins of Machu Picchu, guide books suggest that you take the once daily train from Lima to Huancayo. This, the highest standard gauge railroad in the world, started in 1870 by an American engineer, Henry Meiggs, is one of the engineering wonders of the world. One reason for making this trip is to be in Huancayo for the big Indian market on Sunday.

There are only two ways out of Huancayo - either you return to Lima by train or bus, or you take the bus to Ayacucho, where three times a week, planes of Aero Peru will return you to Lima or on to Cuzco.

I chose to take the bus to Ayacucho. When I bought my ticket the night before, I was dismayed by the shabby and dirty bus station, by the absence of other tourists, and by the decrepid and uncomfortable looking buses.

All that night I worried, "What if I am the only foreigner on the bus?" "What if the bus is overbooked with all the seats taken, and I am crushed by the other passengers with their numerous boxes and plastic wrapped bundles?" "What if the bus breaks down and the trip lasts longer than the 12-16 hours it was scheduled for?" "What if the other passengers ganged up to rob me?" In South America, more than in almost any other place in the world, one is constantly warned about thievery, so that was not an exaggerated fear.

In the morning, however, I was relieved to find six other tourists - all Germans, two couples, and two back-packing young men - were to share my trip with me. We were assigned seats at the back, which was fortunate since we would not be stepped on and crawled over by those getting on and off. My big suit case was loaded on top of the bus with other bags, boxes, and miscellaneous freight.

We had gone only a few blocks when we stopped to fill up with gas; there was another stop for a minor repair, and before we had left the city of Huancayo, the bus was held up for another 15- 20 minutes by an incoming truck stuck in a mud hole.

Peru is divided geographically into three sections - the coast, the mountains, called Sierra, and the foothills east of the high Andes reaching into the Amazon jungle. The region between Huancayo and Ayacucho is all Sierra. Starting from an elevation of over 10,000 feet at Huancayo, the road rises to 16,250, and then descends to around 9000 feet at Ayacucho.

As it was the rainy season, the unpaved, mostly one-lane road, with almost no other traffic, was muddy with deep ruts. We drove for miles through what looked like good agricultural land. Only because the mountains are so near the equator can crops be grown here - grain, potatoes, and a hardy grass for the animals. Plots of beautiful green cultivated fields were terraced up the mountain sides. Other areas were green with native grasses. Llamas with red bows tied to their ears grazed on the slopes above us.

We went round and round the edges of the mountains, always going higher, and always getting more frightened. The curves were often so tight and the road so narrow, that the driver had to back up to make the curve, and then it often seemed that the bus would surely drop off the rim into the valley below. At other times two young assistants got out to guide the driver over the narrow reinforcing planks on the bridges. Two drivers took turns at the wheel.

About 85 percent of the people of Peru have some Indian blood - 32 percent of whom are pure Indian, 50 % mestizos, or of mixed blood, and only 10 to 15 percent are white or other ethnic groups. In the Sierra the population is almost entirely Indian and very sparse. During a whole day of traveling we saw very few people. From time to time we passed through a village with a few hundred people, and sometimes we had a rest stop. The local passengers could buy food, but the tourists among us had been forewarned that we probably would not want to eat at the native kitchens, and had brought along crackers and cheese, fruit, and maybe a candy bar, for the long day. Rest rooms were non-existent, and the women had to find a fence or wall for some small degree of privacy .

We had been traveling since 6:30 A.M. and the passenger complement had not changed much; some had left, others come aboard. The bus was overflowing when in midafternoon an

Indian woman and her two boys came on. The woman was wearing the typical dress of her tribe - full skirt with numerous petticoats and a striped blouse. The boys wore western type pants and shirts with hand knit, multicolored caps which buttoned under their chins. She seemed not to be surprised or discomfited by the lack of seats. She simply sat on the floor in the aisle, holding her small child, while the other boy stood beside her. At first she was engrossed in a story the older son - perhaps ten years old- was telling her. Her eyes lit up with affection and interest as he talked to her. She listened attentively while her baby fell asleep in her arms. Suddenly she became conscious of her fellow passengers, especially the foreigners. We had brought out our cameras to catch some of the spectacular scenery as best we could from the moving bus. She looked at us for the first time, and her expression became sad and meditative. Here was something new, an intrusion into her pleasant and seemingly pleasant life. What was she thinking? Was she curious, envious, resentful? But apparently a slight annoyance was all we were to this Indian woman, as she soon fell asleep, hunched up on the floor of the bus, and she didn't stir until her stop.

After she left, we continued for several more hours on the tortuous road through magnificent scenery until about 5:00 o'clock when we had an hour's stop while the drivers ate their evening meal.

Soon after that we started down the mountain, and immediately the scenery changed from the lush green of the west side to a desert environment. Saguaro, beaver tail cactus, yucca, and pepper trees reminded me of Arizona. Darkness set in soon after that, and we could no longer see the beauty or the hazards of the route, and most of us went to sleep.

It was 11:30 when we were dumped off the bus on a dark street in Ayacucho, several blocks from the tourist hotel. The Germans all managed their own luggage and headed for the hotel. I had to trust an old fellow to help me with my big bag, but I did get to the hotel safely.

That last half mile was almost the scariest time of the whole day.

(Published May, 1980, SEA COAST MAGAZINE, a short lived local magazine.)