Leaving Quito
It was even more uncomfortable to be alone on the dark street. More questions popped into my head. What if the bus came and my husband Sergey was late? Would the driver wait for him? We did not have cell phones; I could not tell Sergey that the bus was already there.
Soon, a young woman with a small boy showed up. The boy, 4 – 5 years old, quickly became bored with standing there. He opened the suitcase and starting taking belongings out of it. His mother put them back. The boy liked the game. Both, mother and son, laughed as one was emptying the suitcase and the other was trying to keep everything in it. Watching them play, I forgot about my fears.
A few more passengers turned up. When it was close to midnight, a uniformed Ecuadorian came and unlocked the door of his office. He registered all passengers, weighted our luggage and collected luggage fees. While he was doing this, my husband returned from his refuge at the hotel.
The bus arrived one hour behind the schedule which was good considering that it came from Colombia. I found an empty row of seats and stretched on it intending to sleep for the rest of the night.
My sleep did not last long. I woke up feeling sick. The bus was supposed to be air-conditioned, so the windows did not open. The air that came from the vents smelled of sewage. Perhaps, the lavatory in the back of the bus had something to do with that.
I sat up and decided to distract myself from nausea with views. It took time for my eyes to adjust to the darkness outside but when it happened I was stunned. We were descending from Quito’s altitude of 2,850 m (9,350 ft) to sea level and we were doing it fast.
The road through the Andes was all sharp switchbacks. The bus was like a ship in a storm. It listed heavily to one side as it entered the curve, righted itself up for a moment and listed to the opposite side. Wooded mountain slopes were on both sides of the road. The peaks were so tall that it was impossible to see their tops. It was beautiful and scary at the same time. To drive our huge bus on that curvy road where light came only from the headlamps and at this speed required incredible skills from the driver.
I dozed on and off until dawn hoping to take a good look at the road when the sun was up. But by morning, we were out of the mountains and going along the coast through the slums. The shacks were made from sheets of metal and plastic, odd boards, and other material that can be found at a trash dump. In between rows of the shacks, there were sewage gutters. The slum dwellers were busy with their daily chores or simply sat there smoking or doing nothing. The road became flat with no more beautiful views to enjoy.
The bus stopped at a gas station for refueling and the passengers were given time to have breakfast. There was not much to eat at that station. I had a cup of coffee and felt better.
Closer to the border with Peru, banana plantations replaced the slums. This area looked prosperous with nice houses.
At the border, all passengers left the bus. After much confusion and commotion, we joined a long line of people who were crossing the border. When we reached border officers, I understood why the line moved so slowly. They did not have an automated system. Each officer had a huge logbook in which they manually entered everyone’s passport details. The poor guys had no time to check passports; they hardly lifted their heads from the logbooks.
It was even crazier on the Peruvian side. We all crowded by a single window where the only tired officer stamped passports as fast as he could without looking at them. Anyone could cross the border in such mess.
The bus final destination was Lima, the capital of Peru. We needed to get to Lima too but bought tickets only to the border. After 14 hours on that bus, I was barely alive. I would not have survived a 40-hour ride from Quito to Lima.
We got off the bus at the first stop in Peru – a town called Tumbes, found a hotel and spent the rest of the day recovering from the trip.
