July 29, 2009
It was time to move on from Cusco. Once again, I was up and running while my hostel remained silent. A lot of collective rest was needed after the wild and crazy Independence Day celebrations the night before. As I was heading out of Loki for the last time, I bumped into O.G. as he was exiting the bathroom. He was still wearing the same shirt he had on the night before, and on his bottom half was nothing but red briefs. The look on his face showed me that it was going to take awhile for him to recover from the previous night.
I caught a cab to bus terminal and found the company I’d purchased my ticket from a few days before. There was a problem. The date was July 29th and my ticket was for the 27th. I felt like such an idiot for not looking my ticket over after I bought it. I panicked. The people working at the counter brushed it off and said I’d be fine but did not explain how I could get a seat. They were too caught up with re-ticketing and refunding the entire bus.
They said the bus we were supposed to take had something wrong with it so they had to switch everyone from the nice tourist bus they’d paid for to a cheaper but junky one. One Canadian guy tried to insist on the nice bus, saying that it was what he paid for and what he wanted. But the only option was to take that bus or stay behind in Cusco. I nervously paced around until they finished the re-ticketing process. At the end, there was one seat available for me. Hallelujah!
Along the road to Puno
I was excited for my first real bus ride. Even though they can be long and uncomfortable, they are often a great way to see a country. I often find the space between major destinations more fascinating than the destinations themselves. Popular tourist cities tend to seem familiar because you’ve seen them on TV and in movies and pictures. They are also usually greatly influenced by the foreigners who frequent them. I love the rawness and realness of the simple everyday towns you pass through on the countryside.
We arrived in Puno in the late evening as the sun was about to set. Puno is the main jumping off point for exploring the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca. When I was planning my trip before I left, I tried to figure out whether I’d explore the Peruvian side, the Bolivian side or both. I opted for the Bolivian side. On the Peruvian side, most people go to Floating Islands and do homestays where they dress up in local clothing. Most people I’d come across either loved it because it was silly fun or hated it because it was too touristy. In the end, the determining factor was that I was itching to get to Bolivia. For me, this trip was more about Bolivia than Peru. You always have to pick and choose in travel and hope that you’re making the right decisions. And if you don’t, it’s not the end of the world– there will always be amazing things to see further down the line.
Welcome to Puno
Since I was already at the bus terminal, I decided to booked a ticket to Copacabana, Bolivia for the following day. There were two main Lake Titicaca border crossings mentioned in my guidebook. The Desaguadero crossing was more direct but known for being shady. The Yunguyo crossing was less direct, but more scenic and not shady. It was an easy choice. I booked a ticket with the bus company recommended in my guidebook for Yunguyo crossing. Since I was by myself, I wasn’t interesting in taking a risk when it came to crossing borders.
When that I was all settled, I caught a bus to a hotel. The general consensus I’d gotten from travelers who had already been to Puno was that it was really cold at night and worth splurging for hotel. I forked over $20 which is still cheaper than most budget hostels in North America or Europe. When I was using the hotel’s free computer in the lobby, I struck up a conversation with a girl who had been hanging out there and reading a book.
We made plans to meet up later to go dinner at a pizza place across the street. It had a wood burning stove, a nice bonus that provided extra warmth in the heater-deprived Andes. The girl was a science teacher from England and turned out to be very interesting. She was traveling with a guy friend, but he had gotten really sick and was bed-ridden for days. She told me she usually traveled by herself on a bicycle! She had done this in Cuba and India among other places. When she finished university, she was looking for a research job but went into teaching because that’s what was available at the time. But then she fell in love with the teacher’s lifestyle (breaks and summers off to allow her to travel the world) and never looked back!
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So interesting, I found the bus stations the only kind of scary part of traveling in S. America. I can’t wait to hear more about your trip.
Yeah I know what you mean. The bus stations were always chaotic and there’s a lot going on so you really have to keep an eye on your stuff!