Things you need for a long Peruvian bus journey: a fully-charged iPod, a good grasp of Spanish numbers and a tolerance of small crying babies.
My first experience of the famous (well, famous in these parts) Cruz Del Sur buses was a good one overall. I saw out the last couple of days in Mancora doing very little: chilling by the pool, eating amazing tuna and wandering along the almost-deserted beach:
I was aiming to party on my last night, but hit a wall early on. Luckily the people I was with hauled me over it using a combination of ping pong and Jagerbombs. It turned into one of the best nights in a while and was a good send-off to almost a week's 'holiday' in Mancora.
Like Varkala in India in a couple of months ago, a bit of beach and pool time was just what I needed after Ecuador. It was a good place; difficult to leave.
But leave I did, and boarded my Cruz Del Sur bus at 5pm on Wednesday. There are loads of bus companies that scoot up and down Peru's Panamerican highway, but only one of them has seats like this:
The only thing they didn't have was free champagne (apparently you have to visit Argentina for that). It was the height of luxury though. National Express will never feel the same again.
Having had minimal sleep the night before, I was all set up for a lazy overnight slumber. Unfortunately, as often seems to be the case for me, I was sitting behind a small newborn baby.
Luckily she was accompanied by her mother.
I felt sorry for mum. She can't have been more than twenty, and she was struggling to keep baby happy. Frequent trips to the bathroom to change nappies, feed and provide a change of scenery weren't working. Finally, several hours in, baby gave us all a break.
We were treated to several films and TV shows en route, including one that will live particularly short in the memory. It was called Fireproof and started out with a husband-and-wife-hate-each-other-and-argue-all-the-time plot. So far, so normal.
About halfway through it turned into a Christian caper as the husband found The Lord and proceeded to follow the bible's teachings. Inevitably, marriage was saved and they lived happily ever after. I didn't realise we'd be served religious propaganda alongside our chicken and rice dinner, but there you go.
In the morning, after sticking my Sigur Ros albums on iPod shuffle (great music to sleep to), I was woken by the smiley staff handing out breakfast and... a bingo card.
We all played a game of bingo where the Caller was upstairs saying the numbers (in Spanish) into the microphone. After half an hour or so I had one number left - 18.
Then she says 'deiciocho', and I say 'bingo!' and get out of my seat, go upstairs, walk down the aisle as all the passengers congratulate me (and probably slag me off under their breath for beating them to the punch).
At the back of the bus, Caller checks out my numbers against the ones she has called out. She does this into the microphone so everyone can hear my winning lines. She reaches the penultimate number (of 25) on my card. Number 74.
She looks at her list, confused. She then asks the rest of the bus in Spanish if she had called out 74. No, she hadn't. I then realise that my grasp of Spanish numbers, or at least the pronounciation of them, is not what I thought it was and that I have royally f**ked up.
With the rest of the passengers smirking, I have to take the walk of shame all the way back down the aisle, and then back to my fellow passengers downstairs with tail firmly between legs. She'd called seisenta-y-cuatro rather than setenta-y-cuatro. Close, but no cigar.
Arriving in Lima, I got a cab to the other Kokopelli hostal. The owners opened this one first, a couple of years ago, before opening the one in Mancora last year. And it's much the same: decent lounge areas, friendly vibe, perfect location, cheap as chips.
I watched Liverpool getting knocked out of Europe on TV (always a good way to spend two hours) and then joined in with the St Patrick's Day celebrations on the roof.
Green dye in the beer (no Guinness unfortunately), green balloons everywhere, green hats, and an arm wrestling competition involving men and women wearing green:
Normally after a night like that I'd be feeling distinctly (pale) green myself but I was tired from the bus journey and had an early-ish night. That meant I could get up early in the morning and take a good wander around this city.
It's a really attractive place. Lots of wealth in this particular area (Miraflores), with some amazing houses, high-end restaurants and flash boutiques. The weather is ideal - quite hot when the sun comes out, with a Scotch mist that forms over the city each afternoon cooling everything down.
I spent a few hours walking around, first visiting the Alianza Lima FC club shop - where I bought a couple of tickets for a game tonight (for Irish Kevin and I) - and then through Miraflores and along the clifftop overlooking the sea:
Last night I ventured out with a Peruvian local girl and her American friend to a 'variety night' house party a few miles away. We got there and it was basically a house party with a small performing space, where jugglers, acrobats and dancers attempted to wow the (small) crowd.
After being there less than an hour I started to feel feint, and sick. I ran to the bathroom, threw up a Chicarron (deep-fried pork meat) sarnie that I'd eaten earlier, and got a cab home on my own. I think that may be the last invite I get from those two!
I'm planning things as I go at the moment, with my next port of call being Huacachina. It's not actually a port, more of a desert oasis with amazing sand dunes. Sounds good.
The only other bit of news to report is that I'm sharing a dorm room with a man whose snoring sounds like a particularly loud foghorn on a ferry. Well, a foghorn mixed with the sound of a strangled pig.
I might get a private room in Huacachina.
My first experience of the famous (well, famous in these parts) Cruz Del Sur buses was a good one overall. I saw out the last couple of days in Mancora doing very little: chilling by the pool, eating amazing tuna and wandering along the almost-deserted beach:
I was aiming to party on my last night, but hit a wall early on. Luckily the people I was with hauled me over it using a combination of ping pong and Jagerbombs. It turned into one of the best nights in a while and was a good send-off to almost a week's 'holiday' in Mancora.
Like Varkala in India in a couple of months ago, a bit of beach and pool time was just what I needed after Ecuador. It was a good place; difficult to leave.
But leave I did, and boarded my Cruz Del Sur bus at 5pm on Wednesday. There are loads of bus companies that scoot up and down Peru's Panamerican highway, but only one of them has seats like this:
The only thing they didn't have was free champagne (apparently you have to visit Argentina for that). It was the height of luxury though. National Express will never feel the same again.
Having had minimal sleep the night before, I was all set up for a lazy overnight slumber. Unfortunately, as often seems to be the case for me, I was sitting behind a small newborn baby.
Luckily she was accompanied by her mother.
I felt sorry for mum. She can't have been more than twenty, and she was struggling to keep baby happy. Frequent trips to the bathroom to change nappies, feed and provide a change of scenery weren't working. Finally, several hours in, baby gave us all a break.
We were treated to several films and TV shows en route, including one that will live particularly short in the memory. It was called Fireproof and started out with a husband-and-wife-hate-each-other-and-argue-all-the-time plot. So far, so normal.
About halfway through it turned into a Christian caper as the husband found The Lord and proceeded to follow the bible's teachings. Inevitably, marriage was saved and they lived happily ever after. I didn't realise we'd be served religious propaganda alongside our chicken and rice dinner, but there you go.
In the morning, after sticking my Sigur Ros albums on iPod shuffle (great music to sleep to), I was woken by the smiley staff handing out breakfast and... a bingo card.
We all played a game of bingo where the Caller was upstairs saying the numbers (in Spanish) into the microphone. After half an hour or so I had one number left - 18.
Then she says 'deiciocho', and I say 'bingo!' and get out of my seat, go upstairs, walk down the aisle as all the passengers congratulate me (and probably slag me off under their breath for beating them to the punch).
At the back of the bus, Caller checks out my numbers against the ones she has called out. She does this into the microphone so everyone can hear my winning lines. She reaches the penultimate number (of 25) on my card. Number 74.
She looks at her list, confused. She then asks the rest of the bus in Spanish if she had called out 74. No, she hadn't. I then realise that my grasp of Spanish numbers, or at least the pronounciation of them, is not what I thought it was and that I have royally f**ked up.
With the rest of the passengers smirking, I have to take the walk of shame all the way back down the aisle, and then back to my fellow passengers downstairs with tail firmly between legs. She'd called seisenta-y-cuatro rather than setenta-y-cuatro. Close, but no cigar.
Arriving in Lima, I got a cab to the other Kokopelli hostal. The owners opened this one first, a couple of years ago, before opening the one in Mancora last year. And it's much the same: decent lounge areas, friendly vibe, perfect location, cheap as chips.
I watched Liverpool getting knocked out of Europe on TV (always a good way to spend two hours) and then joined in with the St Patrick's Day celebrations on the roof.
Green dye in the beer (no Guinness unfortunately), green balloons everywhere, green hats, and an arm wrestling competition involving men and women wearing green:
Normally after a night like that I'd be feeling distinctly (pale) green myself but I was tired from the bus journey and had an early-ish night. That meant I could get up early in the morning and take a good wander around this city.
It's a really attractive place. Lots of wealth in this particular area (Miraflores), with some amazing houses, high-end restaurants and flash boutiques. The weather is ideal - quite hot when the sun comes out, with a Scotch mist that forms over the city each afternoon cooling everything down.
I spent a few hours walking around, first visiting the Alianza Lima FC club shop - where I bought a couple of tickets for a game tonight (for Irish Kevin and I) - and then through Miraflores and along the clifftop overlooking the sea:
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| Mist hangs over the Marriot Hotel |
Last night I ventured out with a Peruvian local girl and her American friend to a 'variety night' house party a few miles away. We got there and it was basically a house party with a small performing space, where jugglers, acrobats and dancers attempted to wow the (small) crowd.
After being there less than an hour I started to feel feint, and sick. I ran to the bathroom, threw up a Chicarron (deep-fried pork meat) sarnie that I'd eaten earlier, and got a cab home on my own. I think that may be the last invite I get from those two!
I'm planning things as I go at the moment, with my next port of call being Huacachina. It's not actually a port, more of a desert oasis with amazing sand dunes. Sounds good.
The only other bit of news to report is that I'm sharing a dorm room with a man whose snoring sounds like a particularly loud foghorn on a ferry. Well, a foghorn mixed with the sound of a strangled pig.
I might get a private room in Huacachina.
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| Boat in Mancora |
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| Heading south on the Panamerican highway |
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| Sunset from the Cruz Del Sur bus |
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| The view in the morning, a couple of hours north of Lima |
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| Read all about it in Lima |
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| Lima coastline |