Bus Rides, Ice Maidens, and Nuns

From Santiago, we took a 28 hour bus to the border town Arica. The ride started off pretty nice. We paid the extra $20 for the “first class” seats, so we had a bit more leg room and butt room. The highway followed the shore for a couple hours, and it was really cool to see the ocean for so long. Some of the waves were incredibly big too.

About 4 hours in, I realized I was sitting next to the vent for the engine. It was very unfortunate, and very hot for a long time. I had just been complaining to Dorothy that I was cold, and this is what I got. Go figure. There were points when I had to stand up and walk around so I didn’t throw up from the heat. Thankfully, that didn’t last the entire time—only when the AC was off.

We made periodic stops every 5 hours or so, which was nice because the bathroom on the bus was disgusting. Worse even that some of the Chinese ones I used. At the rest stops though, the toilets weren’t much better. Sometimes they had toilet seats, sometimes they had toilet paper, but you always had to pay.

The scenery got more boring as we crossed the Atacama Desert. About 200 miles to the East the desert is really pretty, and its charm almost enchanted us to go visit the Salt Flats in San Pedro and Bolivia. But we decided we weren’t prepared for spending the night in a freezing desert with a tour guide who may or may not speak English.

I spend most of my time listening to music. Sometimes I would try to understand the dubbed Spanish on the horrible American movies they played, but that got old fast. I didn’t sleep as much as I wanted because of the heat, but other than that, the ride was fine. Well, as fine as 28 hours in a bus can be.

When we got to Arica, we had to find our way to Peru, hopefully the town called Arequipa. I had read in guide books that you can get a shared taxi/bus to cross the border until the town of Tacna, and from there catch an overnight bus to Arequipa.

Once we stretched our legs a bit and got some fresh air, we looked into our options. We decided to go with a company that did the border transfer for us, so all we needed was on one ticket. That sounded trustworthy, right? Just get the ticket and they will take you where you need to be and tada.

Well. It was all fine and dandy until they took Dorothy and I to an unmarked car and asked for our passports. Since they were with the company, I handed it over. I did not want to let it out of my sight, and I was quite terrified when the driver said he would be right back.

Another 3 people joined our car, but they were either Chilean or Peruvian, so they didn’t have the same hassle with the passports. It took about 15 minutes for the driver to come back with our passports, the entire time Dorothy and I were laughing at the sketchy situation we had gotten ourselves into—laughing to avoid freaking out.

Turns out they had just filled out our customs forms for us so that we didn’t mess it up. But I’m not about to let my passport out of my sight again.

The taxi/private car lasted about an hour. We crossed the border without any problems. It was significantly easier to get into Peru than it was Chile. The guys operating the xray machine weren’t even looking at the screen.

When we got to Tacna, the driver told Dorothy and I to stay in the car while the other 3 people got out. Here we go again with the sketchy situation. At this point I was worried because the one ticket I had (the supposed ticket for everything) had been taken from me when I got in the car. So we didn’t have any proof that we had paid for the long bus to Arequipa. I was starting to get more freaked out.

The woman who was getting out of the car (who I didn’t think spoke English) asked Dorothy and I where we were going. She said that we have to be careful here, because we are foreigners. She said it is a dangerous place and people are not friendly. She told us to never ever take a taxi from the street, always call them. Then she told us to have a good trip and good luck. Thanks for the advice.

Thoroughly freaked out now, we waited another 15 minutes for our driver to get back. This time he had our bus tickets in hand, and I started to feel better. He drove us to the terminal, helped me get my suitcase out. Walked us inside where he pointed out where we board, and told us what to do. I felt much better.

Until it was time to board and he forgot to mention that we needed to buy checked luggage tickets (only for $1, but still hard to do when you don’t know what’s going on.) We figured it out with the help of my botched Spanish and finally made it on the bus. I tried to watch my suitcase get put underneath, but they have a weird system. I had to go on faith that all my stuff would make it there too.

The bus wasn’t as comfortable, and they only served us crackers and cookies for dinner, but I was happy to close my eyes and try to sleep. The people we bought our tickets from told us we would arrive at 8 or 10 in the morning, depending on traffic. So I was pretty surprised when we pulled into the terminal at 5am and they told us we were there. I did not like getting into a foreign city/country in the wee hours of the morning when it was still dark and scary.

Yes we made it to Arequipa, Peru from Santiago, Chile. But looking back, I would not have done it that way again. We hung out in the terminal for 4 hours, warding off beggers and vendors as we tried to find internet and book a hostel. Thankfully the internet café opened at 6 and we were able to plan the next part of our trip, as well as get bus tickets to Puno (this time we went with the highest recommended company in the guidebooks).

We decided that 9 am was an acceptable time to arrive at a hostel, even though check-in wasn’t until noon. I spend awhile trying to figure out how to call a taxi, since my Spanish is horrible and would not be effective at all over the phone, and I didn’t even know the name of the terminal I was in or where the taxi should find us. So we went against the advice of several and got a taxi on the street. Before you yell at me, know that I would not have (and will never) get in a car that I’m not comfortable in. We waited for about 10 minutes in the taxi area before picking the one that looked safest. It was a much newer car, had a reputable sign, and an American girl about our age was just getting out. This was the one.

After 15 minutes of crazy driving and horn honking in the taxi, it was clear our driver didn’t know where the hostel was, even though I told him clearly the closest intersection. He drove around in a big circle, trying to call the hostel and then his dispatch, before I pointed out the way. Even in a town where I’ve never been before, I seem to find my way just fine.

The hostel was really nice. Dorothy and I got a private room and we shared a queen bed. It was really comfortable and the showers were nice and hot (as long as you used them between 10 and 4 because it’s powered by the sun…). We rested a bit in the hostel and then ventured out.

We got pizza from a place recommended by the hostel, and it was really good. I was afraid that eating cheese in Peru would be bad (since the water and milk should be avoided), but I felt fine. We then found the Plaza de Armas and saw the nice cathedral.  We also stopped at the grocery store and picked up some supplies for the next few days. The boiled eggs turned out to be a life saver a couple of times.

The next day, after freezing the night before (they don’t believe in heating the rooms, and it got really cold), we went to the archeological museum to see Juanita, the Ice Maiden. She was and Incan girl, around 12-15, and was chosen to be sacrificed for her people and live forever with the gods. She was pure, beautiful, and young—exactly what they wanted their gods to think of her people.

550 years ago, she went on a voyage to the top of a mountain (we could see it from town). She wore expensive clothes and fine jewelry. Through snow and ice, she hiked almost 20,000 feet, to meet her death and live with the gods. The people believed that sacrificing her would make the gods happy, so that the people would have good crops, healthy lives, and beautiful children.

Juanita was given an intoxicating drink before she died, as part of the tradition. Recent studies show that she was killed by a blow to the head, whereas before they thought she had frozen to death. Indeed, she froze just minutes after her death, which is why all of her internal organs are still intact and her body is in surprisingly good shape.

About 10 years ago, a nearby volcano was erupting and melting the snow and ice on the top of the mountain where Juanita was. She had fallen from her original place at the summit, and someone found her a few feet down on accident. So then a team of scientists went to discover what other secrets the mountain held. Turns out there were 4 children sacrificed on this mountain, but Juanita was (and is) the most important of them. She was the highest, and therefore closets to the gods, and frozen the fastest.

It was really interesting to see her. I had been to the museum in Salta where they found another group of kids on a mountain in Argentina, so I was kind of prepared to see a body in a state of such decay, yet such preservation. This time, however, I kept thinking, what right do we have to see her? What right to we have to take her down from her mountain, where she is supposed to be living forever with the gods, and set her in a dark room so thousands of noses can press against the glass trying to get a better look. On one hand, we know more about the Incans because we discovered her. And more people know her cause and her martyrdom. But on the other hand, we took her away from that cause, sacrificed her sacrifice in the name of science. It doesn’t matter if we don’t believe in the same things that the Incans did. They believed it enough to kill their own children. That’s a powerful belief; and if it were up to me, I wouldn’t be messing with that…

After the ice mummy we went to a monastery. Stark contrast, right? This place was built in the 1600s with the volcanic rock sillar. This would be a horrible place to play hide and seek, unless you never wanted it to end. There were several different streets and countless “cells” as they call them, or rooms where the nuns lived. At first it was really peaceful to be there and feel the calm way of life they live. But then it got oppressive. I can’t imagine living there for a few days, much less my whole life. The nuns would get up and five and start their prayers, and the day devoted to God would continue from there. I admire that lifestyle, and their devotion, but I could never do it myself.

It was also interesting for me to see a monastery after seeing so many temples in Asia. The Buddhist way of life is similar, but with a completely different purpose. Or is it that different after all? I don’t really want to get into the religious discussion here, but I was thinking about it. I will say that I was surprised at how bloody and violent all of the depictions of Christ were.  I know it’s not a great history, and the whole point of Christianity is to live without that fear and violence, but I was still surprised how depressing it was.

For lunch, Dorothy tried Alpaca steak for dinner, and I had a safe chicken sandwich. You can also eat guinea pig here, it’s called cuy. Neither of us has been able to stomach the idea, considering we saw where they kept them alive, only for slaughter. They serve you the whole animal, head and all… Shudder.

To end on a better note, there was an awesome old library in another monastery. I love the smell of books, and being surrounded by so much old literature calmed my soul. It was good to just take in the pages (although none of them were in English). Being there made me appreciate the evolution of language, stories, ideas, and truth.

Peru is an interesting place. Crazy, calm, old, new, historic, touristy… I like it.