Over the past few months, I’ve had some readers email me about various countries I’ve traveled to and/or stories that I’ve mentioned on my blog. In short, they wanted to hear more details about some of the mischief I’ve managed! So…ask and you shall receive! Sidenote: don’t do the stupid things I do. Promise.
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Steve and I finished our cross-country cycling trip in Miami in December, 2005. After spending a few weeks at my aunt’s place and getting accustomed to NOT living on a bicycle, we caught our one-way flight to Quito, Ecuador on December 12. We spent a year traipsing around the continent, but today’s story directly pertains to Peru…and their “spectacular” bus system!
Many think of Machu Picchu when they think of Peru… this story isn’t about that 🙂
While receiving my Open Water SCUBA diving certificate in Montanita, Ecuador, I had accidentally cut my ankle on some loose coral. The cut was minor (although it would be far cooler if I told you it was from a shark bite!), but because we were living on the beach at the time, the wound got wicked infected. I woke up one morning to an ankle the size of a softball and the complete inability to walk. Unfortunately, this was two days before we were catching a 24-hour, overnight bus to Lima, so both Steve and I were a bit concerned. After all, South American hospitals are not an ideal place to end up! I eventually ended up on oral antibiotics and the staunch promise that I would take my pill, like clockwork, every 8 hours.
The next morning, we loaded ourselves onto our double decker bus, headed for Lima. Because we were backpackers on a budget, we rarely took international flights and instead opted for insanely long bus rides. It was a great way to see the countryside, and both of us could (relatively) handle the chaos that came along with the long road trips. Protests involving fiery roadside blockades? Check. Armed guards sniffing through our packs with drug dogs? Check. Disgusting bathrooms with an inch of urine on the floor? Double check. And that’s where this story gets good!
For those of you that don’t know, northern Peru is just lots and LOTS of sand…and more sand…
…so much sand that the entire city of Chan Chan was built out of it!
It was around 10pm and both Steve and I were starting to fall asleep. This was awesome because sleeping through the night really made the long bus voyages pass quickly! I roused myself from my sleepiness to take my antibiotic pill, and while awake, I decided to go use the bathroom in the back of the bus. I figured I’d take care of business now so I stood a better chance of sleeping through the night.
Y’all, bus bathrooms in South America aren’t quite the same as what we’re used to in the States. At the time, sanitary concerns were non-existent, so most bus toilets involved a seat with a hole that eventually opened up onto the highway. So yes, you were peeing (or whatever else) straight onto the road. I liked to think it was just like camping….right?!
And on that note….I’m about to get graphic. Luckily, most of you don’t know me in person because I assure you, the details are more specific when I share this story over a few beers!
I used the hover-technique to pee because I wanted to touch as little as possible in the bathroom. I was used to standing in inches of urine so although unpleasant, I had just accepted that to be what it was. I felt the warm air from the road and the engine hit the back of my legs and I vaguely remember thinking that I felt guilty for peeing directly on the road. However, I then realized that the back of my legs (and other areas!) felt TOO warm. This couldn’t be all heat from the road!
I stood up quickly and turned around to figure out what was going on. To my absolute horror, I realized that the wind outside of the bus had kicked up and a gust had somehow made its way under the bus to the toilet opening. The heat I felt wasn’t from the engine on the bus: the wind had been blowing the contents of the toilet back onto my skin.
Insert gagging. Because yes, I did a lot of it.
I stood there, not knowing what in the hell to do. My pants and underwear were soaked with urine and I had absolutely no clue as to what other substances were covering my skin. I just knew that I was damn sure that it wasn’t all mine! I didn’t want to pull my pants back up but I didn’t really have another option. What was I supposed to do– walk down the aisle of the bus freaking naked?!
We needed another Peru photo! This one is outside of Huaraz, on our way up to base camp of Mt. Artesonraju
I walked back to my seat and tapped Steve on the shoulder. He turned to look at me and once again, I immediately burst into tears (I swear, I don’t cry this much usually; I just share the really epic stories with y’all!) I told him what happened and even though I’m sure he was utterly disgusted at the thought of touching me, he gave me a hug. The catch? Out backpacks were under the bus so I had absolutely no way to change out of my clothes. I was stuck sitting in unknown toilet liquids for at least another 12 hours. Yup, sure did.
I eventually calmed down and forced myself to realize that I had no other choice. Bus drivers refused to stop, and they sure as hell weren’t going to stop for a crying little white girl. I promised myself I would burn the clothes when we got to the hostel, and follow that up with a scalding hot shower. I mean, what else could I do? At least I was wearing quick-dry clothing, right?!
I’m positive this bus photo wasn’t from this specific journey, but at least it makes you feel like you’re on the bus with me, right?
Obviously, I couldn’t fall asleep so I stared out the window and watched the scenery fly by through my swollen, tear-stained eyes. And for most, the story would end there…but alas, luck wasn’t with me!
Our freaking bus broke down. Totally dead, on the side of the road in northern Peru. Yup, that also happened.
Maintenance couldn’t fix the engine, so instead of sending a new bus to pick all of us up, they started shoving passengers in any open seats of passing buses. If a bus came by that had 10 open seats, they’d shove 10 of us on. Steve and I chose to wait for the very last bus because we wanted to remain with our luggage. This also meant we sat through the night on the side of the road…. in my urine-soaked clothes. I swear, it was like I was destined to wear other peoples’ shit for the rest of my life!
After hours on the side of the road, the final bus came and the luggage was all loaded on. Naturally, because nothing about this night could go right for us, this particular bus was full; there were no empty seats, so Steve and I now had to stand for the remaining 10-hour ride.
Let me sum this one up for you: our 24-hour bus ride had turned into a 12-hour ride on bus #1, a traumatic bathroom episode for me, 3 more hours of sitting in filth on bus #1 followed up by 2-3 hours on the side of the road….and now I had to stand for the remaining 10 hours on bus #2 while STILL WEARING MY GERM-INFESTED PANTS?! What in the hell did I do to deserve this?!
As with many things while traveling in third world countries, the situation was what it was; there was nothing I could do to change it other than accept it and survive it. Period. However, that didn’t mean I wasn’t above using my female wiles to score a seat on that bus! South American men are nothing if not chivalrous and I managed to convince the bus driver to allow me to sit up in the front of the bus with him. He said yes, largely because I was a white female with “blonde” hair and he couldn’t handle seeing a woman stand for 10 hours. I begged him to allow Steve to come with me, and he finally agreed.
We ended up concluding our bus journey after 30+ hours of traveling, and I arrived at our new hostel, still wearing my urine and feces-covered pants. As promised, they promptly went into the trash can and I took the longest shower of my life.
So who wants to go traveling with me now?!
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What’s the most disgusting thing that has happened to you while traveling?
Not sure if this is the #1 incident, but at present, it sure is at the top of the list!
What’s your favorite place you ever visited?
That’s like asking to choose between your children– I love them all! If I had to choose, I loved Argentina and Spain and Thailand.
Any interest in hearing more stories or is this mind numbing?
