I had kind of rough night last night, woke up very early judging myself for not taking a “harder” trip. Something where I wasn’t spending any money, where I’d removed myself entirely from civilization and was roughing it. Something, in fact, like what Cheryl Strayed did in Wild, which I finally finished reading.
I want to take a trip like that soon — and have been for a few years now. I guess I haven’t been sure what it’s going to look like yet, though I’ve having some ideas.
Feeling agitated, I jumped around a little in my room, doing my best impression of some yoga poses — not an easy thing in a space that’s 3 x 6 and on freezing floor tiles. Still, my mind felt clearer afterward, released from some self-judgement. Sure, maybe I’m not doing the hardest trip ever, but it’s certainly been challenging in a lot of ways. Removing myself from life and routine for a month, speaking another language, being alone on a mysterious island that seems another planet, and soon taking a 4-day hike in the Andes — all of these things are way outside my comfort zone.
A cup of coca tea later, my mood lightened more, and I was in an optimistic frame of mind as Seth and I made our way, early, to Puno’s small train station to take the Andean Explorer, which travels several times a week between Puno and Cusco. Buses are a lot cheaper and a lot faster, but I’ve always loved trains, and the idea of taking one through the Andes was pretty irresistible. So I’d bitten the bullet and laid out the extra cash.
Unfortunately, when we got there, the ticket office didn’t have Seth’s reservation. This wasn’t entirely unexpected, as he’d booked through an agency that had charged his credit card but then become unresponsive a few weeks before his trip. The short version of the story is that he ended up not being able to buy another ticket, and we had to separate: Me on the train, Seth to the bus station. A frustrating way to start out.
Once I accepted the situation and boarded, though, I luxuriated in my surroundings. The train cars were outfitted with small tables and cushioned chairs like your grandma had in her house. Beige and herringboned.
On each table was a single rose in a white vase with a desk lamp. Like a small office on wheels. That’s me journal!
It was definitely gimmicky, definitely Murder on the Orient Express, but as we pushed off gently from the station I sat back and smiled. This was traveling! It was both more sophisticated than the bus I’d taken to Puno and less cushy. The pleasant jostle of the car, the lack of mandatory Nicolas Cage movies and deeply reclining seats and individual TV monitors.
I sat across the aisle from a couple from Denmark, probably 5-7 years older than me, who were “on holiday” for a month and didn’t apologize for it like Americans would. They leant me their Lonely Planet guide to Peru so I could find restaurant recommendations and bookstores in Cusco. Behind me were some festive German teenagers.
The train clattered along at no more than 25 miles an hour as we left Puno and crossed some marshlands that surround Lake Titicaca, herons and other birds I didn’t recognize skimming over the water. Also grazing country for cattle.
And always, always the sun, so forceful and bright here. I had to pull the curtain slightly closed against the glare.
Dried grasses, witches’ broomsticks of straw and flat marshes led all the way to a horizon of purple-brown mountains.
I had another of those moments like I had on my last day in Valpo with Dan, of just letting myself relax, leaning back in my grandma-chair. I loved being able to stand up and walk around, through this big linear living room, with spectacular scenery gliding past. I loved being able to go outside on the rear observation deck, hugging one of the posts to support myself.
The scenery got ugly for a while on either side of Juliaca. But as we left the city, we went right through the middle of its enormous market area. Vendors had been using the tracks as space to display their wares, and as soon as the train passed, they’d set up shop again and cars and the little bug-mobiles I loved so much would cross. People waved as the train pulled away.
A band started playing in the lounge car. I would have written this off as pure tourist-cheesy if it weren’t for the fact that I’d seen the same band the night before performing in a nondescript storefront on the Plaza de Armas, before an appreciate audience of Peruvians. Most of the songs they played came from the Uros Islands.
They also had a dancer come out. OK, that was definitely cheesy. And probably sexist.
Across from me, a blond French woman was grimly determined to be “into it,” clapping her hands and stomping her feet with jaw clenched. The pressures of Enjoying Vacation.
The highway follows much of the same route as the bus after Juliaca, and so offers much the same scenery, but it was relaxing to go so much slower than the vehicular highway traffic beside us. I thought of one of the homonyms Alfredo the Spanish teacher had taught me: Es mas rapido a pie (it’s faster by foot). Meaning if you’re willing to slow down you often get where you want to go faster.
Lunch was a three-course meal. The highlight was the appetizer, an Andean potato with a mushroom sauce, mild and creamy with maybe some fresh basil or mint in the sauce. Free wine, too.
At the small town of Reyes, we reached 14,000 feet above sea level — the highest point on the train trip and what will be the highest point on my own trip. (Though I’ll come close again on the Inca Trail.)
We got out, and there was a craft market here with incredibly competitive women selling mass-produced Andean souvenirs. I picked up a hat and gloves for my hike for about $7. I talked here to a woman from England who was living in Paraguay and doing some traveling with her parents. The whole time, a woman held a black alpaca sweater out to us, alternately entreating me (amigo!) and then the British woman (amiga!). From here, we headed downhill, the train picking up speed.
As we continued downhill, the mountains started to look like big brown elephants’ feet.
Around 5:30, 8 1/2 hours later, we approached Cusco, the sun setting and turning the edges of the clouds luminous, not any color at all.
Cusco doesn’t make a great first impression by train — but then most cities don’t. We passed sheds with metal roofs, sidewalks that alternated between cement and dirt. Los perros de las calles were back.
We neared the center, the lighted streets extending down from the jagged blue peaks like rays.
Seth, unsurprisingly, had beaten me to hostal, Wifala Thematic Hotel Boutique. Waiting for me in my room was the most frightening headboard I’ve ever encountered: A comic-book Incan god extending his claw to exactly where my head would be.
I’ll report how my dreams go.
