The Coming of the Paper People

It was on Sunday the 23rd of May that life as we knew it changed forever. As the metal tube in which we sat accelerated across the darkening nebula-impregnated abyss between Auckland and Santiago, the delicate weave that we once knew as time and space was rent in twain.

We had spent the morning at Lisa’s church, where her dad is the pastor and had enjoyed a hot chocolate at the church cafe. Maude had then treated us to a tasty lunch of salmon plus accessories and we were taken to the airport to leave NZ. The plane arose at 17:10 and we got ready to say goodbye to Sunday.

BUT WAIT.

NO!

Sunday was preparing to hang around like a weird guy with glasses late the next day after a party. After 11 or so hours of films, Tetris and ‘How It’s Made’, we arrived in Chile at around 11:30am on the very Sunday we had left – around the time we were moving into the church cafe for that hot chocolate. After claiming our baggage and clearing customs I curled up on the cold arrivals lounge floor into a warm tight bundle and cried, rotating slowly in pensive circles as Hannah stared darkly into the cavernous hollow opening as maths and physics unraveled before us like a badly knitted festive jumper.

A greying and crusty man brought us back to reality by using his Spanish words to chastise us for our foolish choice of footwear – flip-flops – in a place so cold as Chilly. He was right but we are insolent gringos. We advanced onto a waiting bus and were taken directly to the international bus terminal where we queued up outside window 69 and ‘chatted’ with a bubbly Ecuadorian called Anje employing her ten words of Ingles and our five words of Espanyol. She helpful tripled our vocabulary by adding the phrase, “Quanta questa este el pasahay a Bogota?” Which I hope means, “How much is a ticket to Bogota”. I assume it does because she seemed too nice for cruel lies and we made it to Bogota. The ticket was 260,000 Chilean Pesos. Thankfully the exchange rate isn’t 1:1. In any case no cash machines could be persuaded to give me the final 60,000 pesos but fortunately we had the US$100 we’d taken out in NZ ‘just in case’. 60,000 pesos = $108. The kind, bald ticket man (who now I think of it (and realise it has been secretly bugging my subconscious up until this moment) looked remarkably like this: http://lazytownpoint.com/slide/char/milford/Mayor.jpg) let us off the last $8.

The bus would not be leaving until the 25th so we found a cheap hotel to spend a couple of nights. When a smiling man followed us into the place to pretend he had shown it to us and then asked for a tip, I’m afraid to say we turned him down. The room was 10,000/night (11 pounds?) for a double with a shared bathroom. A lovely little room reminiscent of the Philippines with room for a solitary chair and a tiny table. When we turned on the unexpected TV ready to laugh at bad Spanish television but it turned out to be cable!

That evening we had a quick look around to get our first taste of South America. Santiago is a big city on a plain surrounded by bigger mountains. There was a haze in the sky but through it the enormous snow-covered behemoths could be seen in every direction that wasn’t consumed by skyscraper. The air was crisp and felt clean, the streets looked shiny and everyone seemed to have somewhere they were going. It felt quite multi-cultural and (joy-of-joys) apart from some nervous glances to our offensively clad feet, no one was staring at us! Our exploration ended at a supermarket where we bought a baguette (very Chilean), some cheese and some chorizo before returning to the hotel and the cabled TV. We fell asleep early, finally ridding ourselves of the persistent Sunday and awoke at 2am for a game of SkipBo before attempting some more sleep. In the morning proper I was able to watch 3 or 4 films before the ever-lazy Hannah finally roused herself and we went out for the day without a map.

We wandered for a couple of hours in one direction, me ever-certain that there was a tourist information site around the next corner. We paused at an underground museum full of ancient Chinese art and dress. There was also an exhibition on the terracotta army but for some reason we neglected to inquire about ticket prices, thus fleeing at a fear of the unknown. We eventually stumbled across a tourist information hidden inside some kind of castle structure clambering up the only hill for miles around. We acquired a shining map. The castle was composed of a maze of interconnected, worn stone staircases and brick arches, all higgledy piggledy and crumbling away. Of course I wanted to climb one of the various routes to the top and Hannah had to follow. The view of Santiago crawling over its plain and the distant encircling mountains made it well worth the effort of encouraging Hannah to climb. Right at the top of the castle, up the last winding staircase, lying in the highest turret we found not sleeping beauty (who I would have kissed in a heartbeat) but a lazing dog (which caused me to hesitate a little longer before placing a gentle kiss). These dogs can be found everywhere. Especially places where the sun is shining and humans might like to be passing – particularly important looking ones like guards outside of palaces.

After eating a couple of spring rolls from a man with a cardboard box outside a subway we picked up a huge fruity baked good to share for lunch. We then hunted down an internet cafe where we sent an email to my cousin Phil asking what were should do on arrival in Bogota. On the way back to our hotel we bought 32 rolls, 30 slices of cheese and more chorizo – the food we would be surviving on for the next 6 days on a bus, in order to prevent worrying about money changing etc as we travelled through 4 different countries.

On the morning of the 25th we packed up once again and enjoyed the last bit of hot water, or water for that matter, in our final wash. After throwing our equipaje at the bus-packer, Hannah lazily found a chair as I went to forage at the supermercado for sweets and breakfast. I chose a kilogram of cherry yogurt in a bag. We downed the yogurt and sat back feeling bloated and full of cream. We met bubbly Ecuador Anje who would be travelling on the same bus as us and as we all leaked onto the bus we were slapped in the face by an intense wall of wild cherry. With this delightful perfume on top of the kilogram of yogurt in our stomachs, we were riding high the cherry train that day. The bus was spacious and comfortable with reclining seats. At the back was a surprisingly clean toilet which was very welcome. We departed at 1200hrs.

Before too long the first of many badly dubbed films came on the tiny TV. Tiny TV, immense sound system. The volume was set high and requested higher. There were no complaints from anyone else so, being British, we quietly acquiesced. Around 1900hrs the bus pulled over in a dark carpark on the edge of an unknown town and we were ordered out into the night. We were all ushered into a restaurant and sat at tables. Rolls were deposited and we were concerned we were about to be forced to pay for a meal with money we didn’t have. A bilingual American called Merissa helpfully turned out to be on the bus and at our table. Anje communicated to us through her that the meal was included as a promotion for buying the bus ticket. Whoop! We gratefully accepted the two battered fish fillets and spiced rice. Unfortunately this would be the only free feed. Back on the bus we set off for a night of broken sleep and strange shapes moving past dark windows.

I was awake as the sun finally rose around 0630hrs to reveal an alien landscape of naked mountains of mud rising 1000ft high to the East and dropping to the churning coast in the West. About 30 minutes later when Mr Bus Driver must have decided that people needed to start enjoying the day, songs which sounded like they were performed by runners up in Spain’s entry to the 1984 Eurovision Song Contest began to blare through the speakers above every seat at ear-splitting levels. Again, no complaints or even looks of shock or surprise as people were awoken. Perhaps this was part of the service we all paid for? The mountains of smooth expressionless mud continued for most of the day but not long after dawn the ocean was abandoned. We began winding up steep roads edged by deep ravines hiding strips of green life far below. Around 1430hrs we stopped in Arica, the last town before the Peruvian border. When the bus spewed us out at a desert restaurant everyone ate and had what we could of a wash in the temperamental chlorine-scented water. More stray dogs and cats.

Chile’s exit border was a smooth 30 minute operation. The penetrating of Peru was a little more perplexing. All the equipaje had to be unloaded and our hand luggage scanned. My knees were knocking together as I felt the illegal meat, cheese and bananas burning through the bag into my back. The whole process was quite a pavlova, taking upwards of an hour and a half. Our contraband escaped detection. Unfortunately someone else’s didn’t and we had a further two hour wait whilst they were sorted out. We were sitting on the concrete outside the bus with Anje, Merissa and a Chilean girl taking sips of the Chilean girl’s strange herb tea – a cup of woody bits with a straw thin enough to only allow water through (supposedly). After eating Peruvian rice pudding from a little cafeteria we eventually completed the border crossing at 2000hrs Peru-time (an hour behind Chile).

Each time I woke up in the night we seemed to be on thin roads passing between close canyon walls or through rocky tunnels. Although I was sleeping better than the first night I awoke around 0400hrs to find the moon large and yellow over the sea as I looked down from the cliff edge we were grinding along. When I woke in the morning light I found the ocean inches from my nose, fringed by a strip of golden sand. Mr Bus Driver’s favourite Spanish tunes were not far away…

Peru consisted mostly of endless flat desert – at least for the daylight hours. There were a few mountain passes which were more dramatic but still a monotone monotony. The plan was to change to a connecting bus in Lima. We stopped for an hour before reaching Lima, I think purely to make the transition to the other bus a little more tense. We joined Anje and Merissa for their lunch (although only to watch, as we’d already eaten our sandwiches). The restaurant they chose served us all nuts and terracotta thimbles of sweet Peruvian wine! Anje then panicked that the food was taking too long to come and forced us to make a break for it! Hannah thought we were going to be arrested. We arrived in Lima after 1630hrs, our connecting bus leaving at 1700hrs. Our bags were weighed in and I used the opportunity to wash in a basin and change my clothes – even my underwear – crisp! There were a few rowdy girls who were unfortunately continuing on to Colombia with us. One of them was a lady-boy who liked to expose his chest to prove his femininity, another was a loud Colombian who loved to shriek “Ai-ai-ai-aiaiaiiii” in as loud a scream as she could muster at any hour of the day or night, regardless of the other 40 passengers’ silence. She would frequently screech for “Volumen!!” whenever music came on, especially if its intensity was already causing neural fluid to drip from our ears. What a joy it was to discover we would not be saying goodbye to them so soon. Many of the people joining the bus in Lima were English/American and equally as shocked by the crazy Colombians.

Unfortunately we did not get on the same bus or even the same class of bus, it was much more uncomfortable and had a foul toilet. One benefit was a much worse sound system.

A disrupted night, more Spanish films and we awoke to find ourselves in another desert. With so much stopping that day (Friday 28th) we did not seem to get very far at all. One toilet break lasted two hours. The border crossing into Ecuador was much simpler than the entry into Peru. Thankfully no bag searching and no risk to our meat and cheese. It wasn’t so easy for one English guy Rob from Aylesbury (who turned out to be good friends with a girl I was also good friends with who had been on my course at Southampton uni!), he had already been in Ecuador the allotted 90 days earlier in his South American trip. He was understandably worried. Sadly for him it was noticed at immigration and he was told to return to Peru to obtain another visa. His flight was leaving from Quito, Ecuador in two days so he obviously didn’t want to do that. The officer agreed to turn a blind eye as Rob climbed back onto the bus to risk the next couple of days as an illegal immigrant fearful of the frequent paper checks done at random along Ecuadorian roads. A kind bilingual Colombian lady was helping him out and told him to keep $20 in his passport… Within 10 minutes we reached the first check and I could see the whites of Rob’s eyes quivering. Luckily soldier boy did not check visas, only ID. In fear the entire journey he was eventually discovered when police came onboard. The kind lady helped him out and the $20 did the trick. He made it to Quito with no further trouble, it’ll be interesting to find out what happened next…

We had a treat that evening as we watched a film with English subtitles. Anje and Merissa alighted that evening in a town beginning with G. That night was probably the worst of them all, we seemed to spend most of it parked outside dimly lit petrol stations as the driver banged around in the engine. Now people had gotten off the bus there was space for 2 seats each and the chance to lie down. Unfortunately a guy who we were fairly sure worked for the bus company told Hannah she could not have two seats and lay on them with his feet across the aisle on a third seat next to another English girl. The girl wasn’t too pleased and so a disgruntled Hannah went and sat next to her on top of the man’s feet until he grudgingly removed his filthy appendages. Quito was reached at 0730hrs and half the remaining bus jumped off. The morning continued with a video of an awful salsa night in honour of some kind of salsa queen. It drilled into the brain like a deadly dancing worm. One night was left on our 128 hour journey and we had just driven across the equator.

Ecuador was refreshingly green after the barren deserts of Chile and Peru. Hills rolled past the windows luxuriantly. Isolated snow covered peaks broke through blankets of cloud hanging over fields of healthy crops worked by tired farmers. A few hours after leaving Quito we stopped for another now infamous toilet break. We sat on the ground waiting, just wanting to get going but then the drivers pulled out tool kits and climbed into the engine. We took our food off the bus, too hungry to wait but discovered in the light of day that our trusty rolls had gone mouldy who knew how long ago. We begrudgingly went to the ATM for money to buy food. I pressed the button for the least amount possible as we were leaving Ecuador that day. ’10′ turned out for some reason to be US$10! Weird but great – should have got more out! We bought a loaf of bread, cookies and crisps and now had money for the internet cafe next door. We checked for emails from Phil explaining what we were to do on arrival in Bogota and had received one but gained little understanding from reading it. We merely hoped we would arrive close to the 8pm arrival time we had been predicted and had told Phil and that someone would collect us and whisk us away to a hot bath. Two and a half hours after stopping we finally moved on.

Another couple of hours later we crossed the Colombian border – the easiest so far with no forms to complete and no equipaje checks. Still somehow managed to take two hours until the entire bus was through. Wow! What a stunning place Colombia is! We thought Ecuador was green…! For hours we drove along the sides of high green hills velvety from top to bottom, above deep gorges discreetly revealing angry rivers rushing over massive smooth rocks. What looked like fields and pastures were edged by hedges and walls at impossible angles and gradients, the odd waterfall appeared or splendidly placed hut. One oddity: an isolated bar at the side of the road had a long bamboo screen across the back of the building between it and the magnificent valley beyond – the side towards the road had no wall at all. Play to your strengths, people!

Stopping for dinner around 2030hrs our fellow passengers were once again showing concern at our apparent lack of consumption. They clearly never noticed us doing so on the bus. Hannah assured one worried man that we did have money – if she hadn’t I reckon we would have been treated to a free chicken dinner.

Although we had two seats each to lie across that night, the road was violently flipping every-which-way and causing us to concertina against the wall and the arm rest alternately for hours on end. Around 0130hrs the bus was halted at a road block – I think someone had set fire to a car further along the road and we were to wait until it was safely moved. This gave us a chance to snatch 3 ½ hours of sleep in a stilled bus before we were allowed to proceed at 0500hrs. Most people were deposited early in the morning at the first major Colombian city we’d come to (Cali) including the crazy ladies. We were down to siete (7) and were on schedule to arrive in Bogota by the evening.

The journey through southern Colombia included repetitious stops at army checkpoints where bags were searched and passports inspected. All good-humoured, apparently it was election day and a bad day to travel. A few hours before our journey ended we had our final restaurant stop. The remaining passengers were so worried about us still refusing to buy food that some of them urged us to join them. Others offered to lend us money that we could return to them in Bogota. They called a committee meeting and elected the kind bilingual lady as their spokeswoman who beseeched us to take money from her and eat something. It was very touching really, we felt cared for.

We finally docked in Bogota bus terminal at 1700hrs after around 125 hours on the bus. As Hannah guarded the bags I went in search of an ATM and an internet source. After being temporarily thrown by the use of the ‘$’ sign remembering Ecuador and searching the extensive terminal for a compliant ATM, I discovered that the Colombians are too lazy to create their own currency symbol so borrow the dollar even though they use Pesos. The email from Phil told us to phone on arrival the number he’d given us and then get a taxi. Colombians are clever and at the little snack kiosks in the terminal you can cheaply hire minutes on a cellphone attached to a dainty chain. Brilliant. I spoke to Phil’s daughter Elsie (although I didn’t realise it was her) who was surprised that we were a few hours early. Apparently my cousin (Phil’s brother) Steve was planning to collect us at 2000hrs. She asked me to phone back in 15 minutes so we drank the Colombiana I’d bought to get change for the phone. Think Irn-Bru. In 15 minutes I couldn’t get the phone number to work and on my way to find a dependable phone bumped into Diego (my cousin Louise, Phil’s sister’s husband(!)) who I had not expected to see. A delight and a joy. He manfully gathered our bags and led us out to Steve’s waiting Lada. We were taken to the apartment Louise and Diego had moved into only two days earlier and shown to the nicest bedroom of the house with an en-suite, which they have kindly sacrificed for the two weeks of our stay.

We are currently part of a household composed of Louise, Diego, Laura (10), James (8), Daniel (6), Samuel (4) and Jonathon (4 months). Upon arrival Daniel jumped into my arms like he’d always known me and Samuel attempted with all his might to crush my hand. They are endless fun and endless renewable energy. Someone should really attempt to harness it for the good of all mankind. Safer and more fun than nuclear power and the waste can be used to grow flowers.

Brownout.

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