Travel Nuisances: Strikes and ATM Booths

When my sister and I recently met my parents in Lima they were wearing matching outfits. Both of them were sporting the typical tourist uniform: khaki, neutrals, quick dry, and outdoorsy. I had a great time making fun of them until it was pointed out that I fit right in. Matching we were.

My sister came to my site after finishing her semester abroad in Ecuador. She spent $30 and roughly 20 hours on sketchy buses to get to my site. With the help of a 7th day Adventist named Ralph she managed to cross the border. For the good part of one week she stayed with me in my site before we headed to Lima to meet our parents.

As this was my family’s second trip to Peru, we opted to visit the famous Gringo Trail. Starting off in Cuzco, we visited colonial churches, Incan ruins (Sacsaywaman, Pisac, Ollantaytambo), the Sacred Valley, Aguas Calientes and Machu Picchu. Our visit was more stressful than I would have hoped, especially given that I had planned it all out in advance. The farmers of the region went on strike the very day we were supposed to go to Aguas Calientes, blocking the roads and preventing our train from running. We ended up going the next day but it was a hassle trying to reschedule everything. The very day we went to Machu Picchu, my sister and my mom fell ill. My sister was down for the count for a number of days. I have numerous pictures of her sprawled out at the various Incan ruins we visited. Basically I took pictures of ruins and I took pictures of my sister sleeping on ruins.

In Cusco one afternoon my Dad decided to withdraw money from an ATM machine located on a busy corner of the central plaza. A couple of moments later I turned around to see my Dad pacing back and forth in the booth looking trapped. A look of furor flashed across his face. He couldn’t figure out how to get out. The booth was primarily constructed of glass walls, making his plight all the more obvious. On the outside of the booth I noticed that it had one of those things which requires you to swipe your card through to enter. I figured that we would have to wait for someone to come along who was a member of the bank to swipe his/her card and open the door. Turns out there was a button right by the handle ...

From Cusco we took a bus to Puno. Stunned by the price of the tourist bus, I opted for the more economical, local bus. Later my parents gently hinted that I could spend more the next time. Regardless, the ride was gorgeous. Puno is not gorgeous but it makes no false claims. Puno is cold, so cold that I actually used a down jacket.

In Puno we took a tour which visited Lake Titicaca, the Islas Flotantes (floating islands), Isla Amantaní, and Isla Taquile. The Islas Flotantes are tiny man-made reed islands where members of the Uros culture live. Only a few families live on each island. Our guide said that the Uros people have always lived in the lake, suggesting that they have never lived on land, but I’m fairly certain that there had to be a decently strong motive for them to just up and start making their own islands. You don’t just randomly do that. We spent the night on Isla Amantaní in the house of a local family. Amantaní is isolated to a certain extent from the mainland so visiting it feels somewhat surreal especially at night. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen stars quite as brilliant as I saw that night on Amantaní. While there, we ate a ridiculous number of potatoes or I did at least. Not even my Dad managed to put a dent in his. We also drank delicious muña tea.

The last stop of the vacation was Arequipa, the second largest city in Perú. Kelly and I only stayed for two days before heading on to Lima for Kelly’s flight back to the States. My parents stayed behind, albeit apprehensively, to visit Colca Canyon. On the taxi ride to the airport our taxi was stopped twice, once by a frantic French woman from the consulate and once by a police woman, to write down the driver’s info. Apparently, there had been an assault on two young tourists the night before. Flustered, the taxi driver spent the entire ride explaining what we should do every time we take a taxi: Call someone to let them know where you are going and discreetly detail the driver—his name, taxi number, characteristics—making it seem like you are just having a normal conversation. Make sure to include observations about his mental state. For good measure he added that it was not recommended to get in a taxi with a driver that looks sketchy. Is the driver wearing dark sunglasses and a hat? A ski mask? Don’t take his taxi.