The bus ride was not my worst, nor my best. All in all, it kept up appearances.
Getting into my seat was hilarious. I climbed aboard and up to the upper level and scouted my seat, #7. A window seat…. cool, I can sleep with my head on the window during the night ride!
But how do I get into my seat!?
A lady was sitting in the aisle seat and had a white 5gallon bucket of lemons on my seat.
Tengo asiento siete. (I have seat seven).
Tengo asiento siete, alla. (I have seat seven, there.)
Ok, here goes the moment of truth!
Clearly, she wasn´t going to move. She did move the bucket however, onto the floor between her feet. I unclipped my pack, and with one hand on the headrest of the seat in front of her, I swiveled, lunged, and stepped over her and the bucket, without clobbering anyone with my pack or my waterbottle (which was also in the hand holding the pack), and successfully, far from gracefully, plopped into the window seat. Exhale.
At about four in the morning, my seat partner got up and headed down the stairs. She hit the door three times, loudly, calling for her stop. …The bus driver kept driving…across a long bridge. She yelled and banged the door three times again.
He still didn’t stop. She just kept pounding the door and finally, a few minutes later, he stopped. They yelled at each other for a while and then we were moving again. I don’t know if she walked back, caught a bus in the other direction, or what. We arrived in Huaraz about an hour later.
I stepped off the bus and into the station, bleary eyed and half asleep. There was a barrage of paper pushing — men handing me papers about their hostels in town — until I stepped aside and a lady asked me, with words instead of pushing a paper, if I would like to stay at her hostel. She pitched it to me, I bit, and we walked. Good choice.
Sweet hostel upon first glance and immediately I hit the sack.
…When it started to rain, I picked up and left. Lots of laughter with the three brothers who run the hostel and finally, bed.