Journeys

 

The photo above is the inside of the bus which carried us on a 21 hour journey that will always remain clear in my memory. We needed to travel between two mountain towns and could take the reliable route, down to the coast and then back up into the mountains in an enormous loop, or take the direct route through the mountains on an unpaved road across high passes. Several other travellers had highly recommended the route through the mountains on the twice weekly bus and so we decided to take it.

It is just nearing the end of the rainy season in Peru’s mountains and it was a characteristically damp day when we got back from four days trekking and decided to get the tickets for the next day’s bus. As we set off across town, in completely the wrong direction, the heavens really opened. We made our way to the bus station, piecing together directions from different people and leaping across puddles as we cursed our flip flops. We got our tickets and chatted to the driver before going to the San Jose cafe for the last time to warm ourselves with hot chocolate made from fresh cocoa beans.

The next morning we dragged ourselves out of bed and made it the bus station for five o’clock and found the bus almost full already. The roof of the rickety bus was just being loaded and we watched while we waited to pass our rucksacks up. It looked like someone was moving house and had decided to save on the hire of a removals van by putting everything on the top of the bus. There were five dining chairs and a matching table, another large kitchen table, a bed – complete with mattress – as well as a motley assortment of cardboard boxes and sacks. As we climbed onto the bus we made our way over the full sacks of rice and vegetables that were filling the aisle and sat down.

Before we knew it we were chugging out of Chachapoyas and up into the mountains, marvelling at the lack of suspension that made sure we were well aware of every bump in the road. Within ten minutes we had turned on to the dirt road that would carry us the rest of the way through the Andes. The huge weight on the roof of the bus meant that it rolled around alarmingly where the surface of the track was rutted. As the sun began to brighten the sky we saw the clouds that were rolling across the peaks and valleys, suddenly revealing beautiful vistas and then quietly clothing them again. The bus moved up into the cloud forest and high pasture. Small storms would unleash ten or twenty minutes of rain which would then vanish as we turned a corner in the valley and entered startling sunshine.

 The bus appeared to have a family team running everything: the father, two brothers in their mid twenties,  a younger brother of fourteen and the mother. The reason for such a large team rapidly became apparent. The road was often covered by small landslides, whenever a slightly larger one prevented us continuing the sons would all jump out and move the rocks out of the way. Before long the bus stopped dead in front of a landslide that had completely blocked the road. All the passengers were shooed off the bus and walked across the landslide while the family team broke out the picks and shovels and began clearing the debris. The youngest son was sent up on top of the verge with a machete to clear away any plants or trees that may be in the way. Erika and I stayed close by to watch what was happening as the rest of the passengers disappeared around the next corner in the road. Before we knew it the family team were shouting for help and I found myself with a shovel in  my hand, desparately trying not to let the effects of high altitude show. within half an hour enough of the road was clear for the bus to make it through.

 A few hours later we stopped for breakfast in a beautiful mountain town. I had spotted another Gringo on the bus and this was when we got to chat to him. I had thought he looked eccentric when I spotted a slight westerner wearing a cowboy hat with leopard skin trim. Eccentric falls far short when trying to describe this 75 year old Canadian; travelling by himself, without a single word of Spanish. David turned out to have spent much of his life travelling and was not slow to wheel out the stories that began with his 1974 overland trip from Nepal to Europe, traversed avalanches and earthquakes and had put an end to three marriages. He also revealed to us that the secret to these long journeys was his most treasured possesion: a pee bottle. He could relieve himself whenever necessary without having to ask the bus driver to stop (I was just glad it wasn´t me sat next to him).

 We slowly ground our way up to 4000 meters as the “road quality” decreased and the clouds and storms became heavier. Along the way passengers were picked up and dropped off whenever they appeared in the road, many of them almost overwhelmed by their enormous sombreros. Soon not only were all the seats full but the aisles were crammed with people as well. Once we crossed the pass we began to descend following the crests of enormous ridges. Suddenly the bus came to a shuddering halt, a massive landslide had quite literally removed the road ahead of us from the side of the mountain. Everyone climbed off the bus and the westerners stood scratching their heads and wondering where the bus would be able to turn around.

 Before we knew it the picks and shovels had been unloaded again and the herculean task of building a new road across the path of a landslide with two shovels and two picks had begun. This was gender divided labour as the women got back onto the bus to shelter from the rain and the men began working. The idea was to dig into the U-shaped mound of loose rock and mud until a relatively flat and stable platform had been formed linking the two isolated ends of the old road. The vast majority of people did not have any tools and simply used their hands to move whatever they could. Everyone took turns working with the picks and shovels. Even the deaf, dumb and almost blind farmer we had with us stood on top of the landslide and went at it hammer and tongs whenever it was his turn with the shovel. He also kept the kids (those under 8 who couldn´t really work) out of the way by producing the pet lizard he kept in his pocket and chasing them away screaming.

 The main difficulty was that the earth that we were trying to dig into was very unstable. Alot of the time was spent watching the continuing rock and mudslides and running out of the way when debris came crashing down from the mountain side above, or the platform we were building threatened to collapse into the gorge below. As time passed other vehicles and mule trains began to arrive and slowly the number of people and tools increased. The photo below is about halfway through the work and the new road can clearly be seen taking shape.

As the hours passed and the storms raced past us we were reminded of the power of nature; not only by the task we were involved in but also the incredible views that would greet us whenever we turned around. The photo below is the view that was at our backs as we worked. Ours to lose ourselves in whenever we took a break and looked away from the landslide.

After five hours knee deep in mud we stopped blistering our hands, feeling that we had finally managed to create something that a vehicle may be able to cross. The first to try would be a jeep. Everyone crowded the edges where the old road disappeared into the abyss hoping that the new platform would hold. The jeep took a long run up and almost made it to the crest of the new track, the wheels spinning and skidding as desparately tried to make the last few feet. It rolled back down to the old road and space was cleared to allow it a longer run up as the ramp was slightly resculptured and the driver discussed exactly where the best line would be. This attempt looked far better but as the wheels began to spin just before the crest loose rocks began to fall away from underneath the platform and a hurried retreat was called for. Before the next attempt people were positioned on either side of the critical part of the platform. As the jeep got close to the crest everyone began to push, so that there was no skidding. This time the jeep made it all the way to the old road on the other side of the landslide.

 We all exchanged smiles and unloaded everything else from the bus, the passengers carried themselves and their belongings to the other side of the landslide and waited for the bus. The driver clearly knew exactly what he was doing and made it across the platform without any problems. Once everyone had crammed themselves back onto the bus we began crawling through the mountains again and everyone relaxed safe in the knowledge that we were on our way once more. Suddenly a loud bang shattered our calm and the bus came to a halt. Yet again the family team rolled into rapid action and pulled the spare tire off the roof to replace the one that had just blown. In the photo below you can see the family team´s father, in a pink shirt, directing one of his sons on the roof. This is him in his role of manager, far more relaxing than any of his other professions: driver, engineer, labourer and mechanic.

 The most beautiful part of the journey was still to come. It was only once the bus began to descend from the last of the high passes that night fell. As the sun set the clouds lifted and became a light blanket only touching the very highest peaks. The clouds began to break up and the stars shone brightly through the gaps. The moon was full and could be seen through the clouds surrounded by a perfect halo. As the moon became brighter and the clouds continued to recede, the true majesty of the mountains was reavealed; the enormous dark ridges towering above us with the moon picking out the details of the landscape with razor sharp shadows. I sat with my head against the window as the bus continued to trundle through the mountains, its headlights illuminating the road ahead and the bushes on either side, the moon taking over behind the arc of artificial light. The bus continued to roll from side to side, although I was no longer alarmed by the movement. When we traversed platforms that had been cut into the path of earlier landslides, the road would become very narrow. As the bus rolled to the side I would find myself looking straight down but unable to see the side of the road – looking directly down the path the landslide had taken to the floor of the gorge thousands of feet below.