Titi Titi BANG BANG

The ¨50 yard line¨
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In my opinion, an eight hour bus ride is worse than just about anything.  While seemingly mellow on the surface, the eight hour bus ride is a trojan horse that, once accepted, unleashes its terrible and painful evils over the course of, well, eight hours.  While not quite long enough to allow for any real sleep, when crammed into a child seat, hot to the point of sweating, and wide awake with your eyes shut, eight hours is a good definition of eternity.  Compared to the size of this continent, eight hours in a bus is a rather short and meaningless trip.  Such a stigma does not make bus companies think very highly of the eight hour ride.  Invariably, eight hours warrants the worst of buses, without a bathroom, or perhaps worse, with a bathroom whose door doesn´t open.  But not to worry, eight hours means you will stop at the best of the roadside eateries home to the best of the roadside Public Baños.  If you´re in a major city and going eight hours away, you´re probably going to the middle of nowhere.  If you´re traveling to a big city and the bus ride takes eight hours, you´re probably in the middle of nowhere...Hence, the roads are dirt if they are considered roads at all, and eight hours probably constitutes a major change in altitude, meaning, the path is not straight.  Eight hours in the day involves blazing high altitude sun.  Eight hours at night means you arrive at three O´clock in the morning.  It´s the biggest scam in South America.  Eight hours means you can´t win.

Smile for Bolivia!
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...Eight hours south of Cusco is Puno.  We arrived defeated, but were surprised to find ourselves in the happiest and friendliest town in Peru.  Puno is effectively a border town with Bolivia.  It´s right on lake Titicaca and seems to understand that most travelers who arrive are simply passing through.  Having missed our Bolivia bus by 15 minutes, however, we didn´t exactly pass right through.  As it turned out, we actually had business in Puno.

And the bands played on...and on...and on...

Going nowhere fast on an 8 hour bus ride
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Following a less than diplomatic experience in the United States, the President of Bolivia established a visa specifically for American citizens.  Supposedly, President Evo was recently detained and temporarily denied admitance to the US.  As a result, the Bolivian government decided to treat Americans entering Bolivia just as America treats every foreigner entering the United States.  Not only is a visa necessary, but in order to obtain a visa, one needs to provide a picture, an itinerary, a letter of invitation (hostal reservations suffice), the proper vaccinations, financial solibility and, of course, pay a fee.  Puno turned out to be a perfect place to get all of our documents in order.

Its just fun to say
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Like much of the rest of Peru, our stay in Puno coincided perfectly with Carnaval.  The same water throwing, foam spraying antics were rampant, however, Puno had a twist all its own.  Over the course of the evening, Cassidy and I watched as marching band, after marching band, after marching band made their way down the main street and into the plaza.  These bands didn´t seem to be lacking in any element.  They had big shiny brass horns, even bigger drums, and a whole lot of noise.  They were an interesting and festive touch to the previous Carnaval celebrations...at first.

Usually a desirable feature, our hostal in Puno happened to be very centrally located, i.e. right next to the plaza.  We watched first from the street, then listened from our room as the bands played the exact same song over and over again.  At first it was interesting, then it was annoying, then it seemed impossible.  It was always loud, sometimes funny, mostly aggravating.  At four O´clock in the morning it was enraging, five O´clock frightening, six O´clock maddening.  Ultimately, as we left our hostal for the bus station at 6:30 in the morning to find 15 marching bands in the plaza all having played the entire night and coninuing to play into the day, I think I was finally impressed.

-Worth