6 inches from death
Trip Start
Oct 20, 2008
1
13
19
Trip End
Dec 06, 2008
Chachapoyas,
Peru
Sunday, November 2, 2008
No the title wasn´t an exageration. You here i ton the news every year that some British tourist has been killed in a bus accident. What you assume is two buses have collided or one has crashed into a tree.
It´s not until you´ve taken the crazy trip from Chiclayo to Cajamarca by bus, or worse Cajamarca to Celendin, or the worst of all Celendin to Chachapoyas, across the top of the World!
The book says spectacular mountains and luz green hills. It doesn´t say ´less than 1ft away from 2000ft drops´.
Unfortunately I don´t have any photos of the worst parts because I was too busy gripping my seat so tightly my hands started to bleed and thinking I´ve killed us all.
Ok the bleeding hands bit is a bit of an exageration, but the danger was very real. This trip is probable dangerous in the dry season but in the wet, which we are in now, it is a real risk.
First of all, the bus we took had seen better days, and the day we bought the ticket it was a three wheeler. That is tos ay it was on a jack with the right front wheel missing.
´Ok, so they are maintaining it, that´s a good sign in a way´
At this point the penny didn´t drop with Ewa that this was the bus we World be going in. That penny dropped pretty damn hard when we boarded it the day after (Sunday) and she freaked out majorly that it was too old and that they were still try to weld the wheel on that they had obviously been unsuccessful with the day before.
To be honest, this got my blood pumping a bit too.
I was pretty sure though that other than this vehicle only minibuses would be able to traverse the trechorous route across the mountains. Something the luxurious coach we travelled to Cajamarca in would not have survived.
´It´s the mountain goat of buses´ I told her, which met with a frosty response.
´If we take this bus we are going to die´ was the come back.
It was at this point whilst two men rolled the old wheel down the street for god knows what, that I looked out the window and notice the license plate of a minibús parked up next to us.
RIP116. I kid you not!
I´m not to sure about the numbers but I was a bit predesposed with the R.I.P. and Ewa saying ´I want to get off, Iwant to get off´.
She had an arguement with Wojtek about it. I had to warn again about being aggressive. The last couple of days there had been some arguements, between tose of us that wanted to sleep early and get up early (me and Ewa), and Wojtek, who prefers the late to bed, late to rise, philsophy.
It was and is still in a way a tense atmosphere, for a few days. But I know this was going to happen. We will just have to see if we can keep the lid on it for now...
Anyway, result of the arguement and my insisting it will be ok (which gota n even frostier reception, probably because I wasn´t to sure of my words Esther), we stayed on the bus, and after half an hour tinkering and a new wheel, we were off....
...to the auto shop to pickup a spare.... and then we were off....
...another hundred yards down the road to pickup some passengers and some more bags of potatoes (or some other vegetable, or some such)...
..and we were off, on the scariest 8 hours of our lives.
As we left Celendin, with Ewa´s words ring in my head ´we´re gonna die´ I noticed my second bad omen. A half painted over skull and cross bones on the wall of a house.
This is when I turned to prayer. I haven´t prayed in a long time but now seemed like a good time to start.
The one comfort was that the bus was full of locals that had probably done the trip 50 times, and seemed very calm about everything, so I relaxed a bit.
The first half an hour or so was fine. Not as bumpy as the guide describes and the lady at the Museum of Archaology in Cajamarca mentioned that they had improved the route somewhat. So all seemed well, and the drop at the side of the road was only 200ft and certainly fatal, so nothing to worry about there.
At the half hour mark though, the third and most poinient bad omen, and greatest reminder of exactly how dangerous this trip would be. A group of 6 or 7 crosses and a small street florists bundle of flowers, and on one cross a date just three weeks ago.
I don´t know why the driver stopped right next to it, but if it was to shit me/us up, it worked pretty well.
The next 6 and a half hours of my life was spent, no more than 2 foot away from meeting the maker.
The road is cut onto the side of 3000 meter high andean peaks, and goes up to the very shoulders, even the head of the world. Most of the time with vertical or near vertical drops right outside the window.
The view is certainly amazing, but enjoying it is almost impossible when you are one burst tyre, mud slide, attention lapse of the driver, collision with another bus, away from a fatal fall.
It was then quite amuzing to me later when Ewa told me that one of the reasons that she was so scared was that none of the cargo in the bus was secured and there were no seat belts.
I thought it superfluous to mention that on the sturdiest built bus, even if it were just us and the driver. Were we to go over the edge even the safe craddling effect of a decent European seat belt and a nice travel pillow to cushion the effect of the 1000 - 2000ft descent, there´s pretty much bugger all chance of survival.
Ok, so the kids in Jurrasic Park were lucky enough to get wedged in a tree. But life doesn´t always imitate art in this fashion. Even if I had thought of this metaphor at the time it would have brought little comfort is what I´m trying to say I think.
Anyway. After two hours we descended into a valley to the small village of Balsas (and you have to have Big Balsas to get this far) where the bus was moved with locals selling bananas, mangos, grapes, oranges and small bags of peanuts (in the shell). We bought some bananas and nuts and we moved off after twenty minutes.
About ten minutes outside the village our trusty bus ran out of poop, so we sat another twenty minutes while the mechanic crawled underneath onto the wet muddy road with a bag of spanners, and somehow got the beast to breath again.
I didn´t mention the rain did I. It´rained all day and torrents of water crossed the high roads at certain points and melted away the flat surface into squidgy trenches.
About half way though the journey we stopped at a lonely mountain house for a break. The locals had dinner, some people pissed of the side of the mountain, we took a few pics and curious me took a look at the dodgy wheel and it´s counter part on the front left.
Hmm, front left has six nuts, front right five. Hmm, should I point this out to the guys.
Uh, no. I´ll wait and see if it stays on for the whole journey.
Thankfully it did.
After Balsas the road climbs again and at points, cuts through chunks of mountains, where you have lovely rock on both sides. However these little respites are usually followed by harrowingly sharp turns.
And eventually we descended to the flatter plains and the town of Leimbamba. Where there are supposed to be more horses than people. I was unimpressed.
What impressed me most at this point was when the bus driver, who had been playing a mix tape of traditional Peruvian music for 6 and a half hours, switched the tape to hits of the 80´s.
Top corner my son!!
First it was ´Men at Work´ I come from a land down under, then ´Rod Stewart´ If you think I´m sexy... I hated this song for so long, now we were bossom buddies... then ´Aha´ Take On Me, then Girls just want to have fun. I was in eighties heaven.
From Leimbamba the road followed a river on the valley floor and we all relaxed in the comfort of knowing the worst that could happen now is that we could end up in the river, and I´m a strong swimmer so I didn´t care at all. Resides, there was a healthy grass verge with trees to cross first and the road was wide enough for three buses.
Less than an hour we were in Tingo, where we got out in one piece, (covered in peanut shells and damp from the leaky Windows, but in one piece).
We had a small fracour about if we would stay into the tiny Tingo or make our way to the confortable civilisation of Chachapoyas, after which we found of Colectivo Taxi (or shared taxi) to Chachapoyas, driven by Peru´s answer to Colin Mcrae.
Splashing through rapids and screeching around tarmaced hairpins. We found our first proper road in a week and a half. We made our way to Chachapoyas, the Hostal Johumaji and a hot shower for me.
And then to Mari Pizza, the nicest Pizza I´ve ever had... and not just because 8 hours ago I was thinking I´d never have another... genuinely tasty, and worthy of a mention in Lonely Planets next guide to Peru if any one from LP is reading this.
The guy who runs it is a really top guy. Here we saw travellers that had obviously take the easier route here... suckers... and locals all in mid dinner banter.
We got a complimentary shot of Pisco, which on it´s own is not disimilar to vodka but with a nice tang.
We sat quietly shell shocked by the experiences of the day and returned to the Hostal to sleep.
Chachapoyas, if no other town in the north, is definately worth a visit. It´s cheap and very cheerful, just don´t come the same route we took unless you like riding rollercoasters with no safety bar.
Phew.
