After a lovely relax in Easter Island I meant to continue with three weeks at an eco lodge. After stocking up on toilet paper and ebooks (I didnt actually want to talk to anyone else who would go to an eco lodge), I set off from Lima.
I made it first to the scary out of town bus terminal and my taxi driver helped me get on with all the locals and their chickens. Twenty minutes of dusty scenery later we seemed to be off and away, out of Lima city into the reams of rickety suburbs.
SUDDENLY, the bus ground to a halt and the driver came to motion me to get off. I followed him outside, completely bemused, whilst he unloaded my bag onto the street. There was a little bus office right there so I hoped I was just changing busses, although not sure quite why. Maybe the chickens wanted another seat.
You´ll be very proud of me as once inside the bus office, I managed not to cry for at least thirty minutes. I sat down and a bus staff man called Hector sat beside me and proceeded to question me in Spanish for that same amount of time. Sometimes I understood the question, sometimes not. I definitely did not understand what I was doing there.
Then a police lady turned up and wanted to know what Hector was doing with me. I was glad I know the Spanish for "its too dangerouus, be careful, be careful, and alone is bad, and where is your mother, your father, your sister, your friends?" as that´s what she repeated over and over. She then got her English speaking daughter to ring the bus office to tell me the same in English.
But when is my bus coming? Never apparently. Through my sobs I managed to convey after nearly two hours of waiting very confused, that I would go back to Lima. Danger lady was very pleased about this and like a mother hen sternly took me by the elbow and said she´d take me somewhere safe.
After twenty minutes of Spanish scolding whilst walking we arrived at a shopping mall she deemed safe enough for me to get a taxi from. She popped me in one and rapped my knuckles for having the window open. Bye bye Mother hen.
Talking of chickens, that´s all i´ve eaten here in Peru. Fried chicken, chips and rice seems to be their national dish. Now i´m safe back at the hostel I´m hoping the fat will clog up my tear ducts and i can stop crying.
I made it first to the scary out of town bus terminal and my taxi driver helped me get on with all the locals and their chickens. Twenty minutes of dusty scenery later we seemed to be off and away, out of Lima city into the reams of rickety suburbs.
SUDDENLY, the bus ground to a halt and the driver came to motion me to get off. I followed him outside, completely bemused, whilst he unloaded my bag onto the street. There was a little bus office right there so I hoped I was just changing busses, although not sure quite why. Maybe the chickens wanted another seat.
You´ll be very proud of me as once inside the bus office, I managed not to cry for at least thirty minutes. I sat down and a bus staff man called Hector sat beside me and proceeded to question me in Spanish for that same amount of time. Sometimes I understood the question, sometimes not. I definitely did not understand what I was doing there.
Then a police lady turned up and wanted to know what Hector was doing with me. I was glad I know the Spanish for "its too dangerouus, be careful, be careful, and alone is bad, and where is your mother, your father, your sister, your friends?" as that´s what she repeated over and over. She then got her English speaking daughter to ring the bus office to tell me the same in English.
But when is my bus coming? Never apparently. Through my sobs I managed to convey after nearly two hours of waiting very confused, that I would go back to Lima. Danger lady was very pleased about this and like a mother hen sternly took me by the elbow and said she´d take me somewhere safe.
After twenty minutes of Spanish scolding whilst walking we arrived at a shopping mall she deemed safe enough for me to get a taxi from. She popped me in one and rapped my knuckles for having the window open. Bye bye Mother hen.
Talking of chickens, that´s all i´ve eaten here in Peru. Fried chicken, chips and rice seems to be their national dish. Now i´m safe back at the hostel I´m hoping the fat will clog up my tear ducts and i can stop crying.
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