Three clicks of the heel, there's no place like home.

Hey all. I realize I haven't updated in exactly a week, but boy what a week it's been. Let me begin by saying that I had my first genuinely out-of-the-comfort-zone experience here in Peru over this past weekend. And as of right now, it's still all that's on my mind, and therefore, the only part I'll be updating about in this particular blog.

After a wonderful weekend in Arequipa with the group (Liz, Jake, Matt, Yoeun), we boarded a bus (without Matt, who was on his way to Chile) at 8:00pm for a 9 hour ride back home to Cusco. We were all ready for a night of sleeping, a dubbed over movie, and a questionable dinner. Our seats were dispersed across the entire bus, but I suppose that was our fault for buying the tickets only 5 hours earlier.

But 2 am rolled around the next morning, and our bus was stopped. Still too early in the morning, we went back to sleep, figuring we'd be in Cusco soon enough. However, when I woke up again at 8am and asked Liz if we were in Cusco, I learned we hadn't moved at all. Apparently, there was a landslide up ahead and we had no way to get around it. Lame, I thought, but then again, we were on a random Peruvian bus, whose ticket we purchased for 40 soles; travel complications were to be expected. So back to sleep I went, not too disturbed at all.

And yet how scared was I when I later found out that the rock barricade was in fact man made, and the result of a protest we had wandered our way into. The length of the protest was uncertain, and it was unclear at what time we'd be able to leave.

Around 9:30, the boys and I headed down to try and find a telephone to call Marco for advice, and perhaps to come pick us up. Still, it was the sole telephone in the unnamed town. So we waited a while, only to not get through to Marco. We decided we'd try back in another hour, and returned up the mountain to our bus.

As the day went on, the locals got more hostile, and on the second walk down to the telephone, I had rocks thrown at me. I've never had anyone throw anything at me with the serious intent of injuring me, so I was getting a little frazzled. Still, I was far enough away to avoid being hit, and escaped unscathed. Our second attempt at calling was unsuccessful again, and so we decided it might be time to search for food. Liz and another person she had met told us about a corner store they had found about a 20 minute walk away, so we headed in that direction.

It was quite a walk, and I can't tell you how many farms we walked through, or offbeaten paths we took. We finally reached a store, though probably not the one described to us, and went in.

The place looked as if it hadn't been opened in at least a year, with boxes everywhere, and no method to any madness in the ordering of food. The place was dusty, and I would've never bought anything from there except for in that moment. The boys bought some crackers, and I some Limon Cremasitas, and we were soon back on the road towards the bus.

As we were walking back, police passed us, and we were excited to see the action that was about to unfold. Hopefully, everything would go smoothly, and we'd be able to go home. Like I mentioned before, besides the locals that were selling food and snacks to the tourists, the townspeople were not happy with our presence. So when we were on a rural road and Jake was taking some photos of the craziness, some locals ambushed him and chased him down the road. He tried to outrun them but they ultimately chased him into a larger group of guys, and he made the smarter choice of just handing over the camera. I couldn't believe that something like this had actually happened right in front of me, to one of my friends. It's the things you get warned about when people don't want you to travel to another country, but not something that actually happens within your own realm of travel.

Not wanting to go towards that direction any longer, we turned back until we saw the police up the hill gesturing for us to head that way. We figured that staying near the police would be the safest bet, and sat with them for a good deal of the day. We didn't dare go near the buses, where there was tear gas and angry locals, pelting rocks through bus windows. And though we were safe with the police, it was disturbing to just watch them sleep on the side of the mountain and eat ice cream, assuring us to just be patient.

Around 5 pm, we headed back to the bus, in need of food and a comfy spot. How we made it through the mob of protesters I have no idea, but I'm thankful nonetheless. When back on the bus, we simply ate, read, listened to music, and tried to pass the time. When night fell though, reality kicked in again. It was pitch black, and rocks were being hurled at our front window. We all rushed to the middle of the bus, stuffing blankets into the window curtains along the way, protection for our heads in the case that a rock should make it through the glass.

It was such a scary part of the night, and I don't think I've prayed so hard until that night. At some point in that night, we found a way through, and were able to drive off a bit until the next blockade. Knowing we would be unable to get through, we parked in a gas station for the night. At that point, our driver, Liz, Jake, Yoeun, John and Tash (friends we made on the bus) went in search of food. They forbade me from going along, insisting that one of us needed to stay behind, and after pulling the age card, deciding it should be me.

I could not stop worrying until they returned, which seemed like hours to me, though I had no actual means of measuring the time. It helped to talk to the other group of Canadians and Brits we met, though they still weren't the same as my friends. When they returned, they had brought me food for dinner, which was basically some crackers, bread, jam, and some cookies. Already Monday night, we were completely tired and made an attempt at sleep.

By 12:30am though, one of the Peruvians on the bus came running upstairs, screaming about how our bus driver had never returned, and all but one of the other buses had left once an opening had come up. The bus attendant kept trying to reach our driver by phone with no luck, so running off of fear and adrenaline, we all rushed to gather our things and try to beg the other bus to let on. But our bus attendant girl freaked out, telling us it'd be safer to stay here, because there was word of an angry mob of kids coming our way, and being in the bus would be the best option. Still concerned about the fact that we had no driver, but even more worried about a crowd of angry kids, we moved back onto the bus. And somehow, no more than five minutes later, our bus driver shows up. He's drunk, but our bus attendant swears he can drive.

At this point we have no idea what to do. Stay on the bus with a drunk bus driver, or wait to get mobbed by angry, and most likely agile and strong youth? We tighten our seatbelts, say our prayers, and opt for the drunk bus driver. Luckily, he manages to stay on the road, though we do nearly hit the back of another bus as we come to the end of the line of buses stopped at the next blockade.

Through the night, the bus driver somehow sneaks to the front of the line, making us the primary target. And therefore, when we woke up the next morning, we found two huge places in the windshield where the glass had shattered. Luckily, the windows were durable enough that the windows hadn't actually broken, but it was scary nonetheless.

It's Tuesday morning now, and we're in a town called Sicuani. To our knowledge, this town is the capital of the province that was protesting, and therefore, the rowdiest. Also, we finally found out on this morning what the protest was over: An annual five sol tax for water.

Seeing as we had already gone 24 hours plus, people were starting to concoct crazy ideas. The bus attendant threw out the suggestion that the townspeople had nothing against us gringos, and we could attempt to walk to the other end of town and persuade/pay someone to drive us back to Cusco. And because there was talk of the protest going until Wednesday, some people suggested that we find ourselves a motel/hostel for the night. But Jake, Yoeun, and I were determined to stay on that bus, or at least keep it within a stone's throw. Who knew when our bus would be able to make it through, and if at that point, our bus driver would actually wait for us. So eventually we all decided we would stick it out another night on the bus if need be, but there would be no alternative methods. Reinforcing the extremity of the walking to the other edge of town, we met an Argentinian couple who had no success driving past in their car. If they couldn't, a taxi wouldn't make it as well.

Eventually, we ran to grab a lunch, which completely hit the spot. Since it was a somewhat larger town than our first "stop" had been, there were more restaurant options, and we actually found a spot with a sign. I had chicken with a fried egg over rice, and instantly felt satiated. Also, there was Looney Tunes going on in the background, which made me feel like a little kid again, and ultimately helped me worry less and feel a little safer.

After lunch time, we decided we couldn't go back to the bus yet, and took the advice of our Canadian/British friends to go into a local sauna. So we grabbed our bathing suits and paid the five soles fee, gaining access to hot showers and both saunas. The first sauna we hit was the vapor room, which had eucalyptus leaves in it, and felt so wonderful. The second sauna was the dry room, and had lemongrass. I honestly couldn't choose between the two, but I know I can assure you I have higher standards for my future sauna visits. It was so amazing that the place was open, considering the strike going on, and the angry people right outside on the street. Yet the sauna did its job, and we were able to forget our worries for a short period, and just enjoy ourselves. And still our experience was cut short, no more than 30 minutes, as one of the Peruvians on our bus came in saying that it looked like a clearing was opening up, and our bus would be leaving soon. We all run to the locker rooms, changing haphazardly because this may be our chance at freedom. With our locker keys and towels returned, we thank the lady at the front desk and run back towards our bus.

Two hours later, we're still sitting on the bus in the same spot, and my hair is almost dry. Hungry again, we send Yoeun and Liz on a chocolate run, which shouldn't be tough with all of the old Incan women gathered around the buses. Jake and I just hang out, when the bus begins to move. We run downstairs and start screaming, TWO MORE! TWO MORE! They tell us that all of the Canadian/British group has boarded, we're okay. But I keep saying, NO! From my group! There are still two more from my group of friends! And we see Yoeun and Liz sprinting down the street, chocolate in hand, and they hop onto the moving bus.

We make it a good load of the way without stopping, as we have police escorts in front of us clearing the way. Everything is looking up until we reach the final blockade, with a mob as hostile as the group from the first day. It's getting dark again, and they have rocks in hand. My fear returns instantly, and again we have to blanket the windows. Lucky me, I'm sitting at a window seat this time, so if a rock is to come through, I'll intercept it. We're there for the longest time, and I begin to hyperventilate. But the clearance is here, and we're revving up to drive through, when I hear the absolute worst sound in the world. Air gushing out of rubber, one of our tires goes flat.again. Again, I find multiple religions and begin my prayers. I trace back to my childhood with mom, Grandma Hsia and Grandma Tasia, and pray to any and every spirit/god/diety/savior who will listen. The Our Fathers, Hail Marys and Glory Bes are running out my mouth repeatedly, followed by my usual Bai Pusa (spelling I know...) wishes, and then I'm throwing in my own beggings and pleadings, all while Uncle Lenny Cohen's "Hallelujah" is blazing at the highest volume in my mind.


And then it's over, and we're through. A lot of rocks were thrown, but nothing made it through. The bus is in horrible condition, yet we're all safe. And while I probably should've slept, as there was still an hour home, I just couldn't. So I stared at every single thing that passed, taking in every landmark on the way home. And at 11:30 pm, we're at the bus station, and there's nothing more I want to do than kiss the ground. We take a slew of pictures in front of our bus, and I swear our smiles have never been so big. Once we get home, we take more photos as well. We're documenting our life with so much more meaning than we ever had.

Fade out of our night as we crowd around the dining table, bowls of Corn Flakes and yogurt in front of all of us.

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I promise I'll bring updates of the ACTUAL Arequipa trip and some other highlights of this week in my next blog. But I figured this needed to go up first, as it has been the dominating factor of my past week.

I'd also like to express just how much more I miss you all and cannot wait to get home after that 52 hour Lord of the Rings/Hobbit type of...ordeal (Neverwhere, anyone?) Okay, that's enough of my dorky references for now, so good night, be safe, and can't wait to see you sooner than later.

With love, Morgan