Of Buses and Beaches: Quintay, Chile to Mancora, Peru.

I guess it happens to everyone. You make a plan that seems like a great idea at the time only to have the ramifications become plainfully clear upon closer inspection. Like General Custer at Little Big Horn turning to his troops and saying "Oh, come on men, there are only a few Indians down there" or Napolean's idea to invade Russia in the winter (They'll never expect it!), your intrepid travelers also fell victim to one of the classic blunders. The most well-known of course is never get into a land war in Asia, but only slightly less well known is never try to make a four day, three thousand mile journey up the coast of South America  BY BUS!

Ah, the best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft angley. But, as many of you may know, the key to traveling is adaptation and improvisation. Fortunately, we are masters of both and everything turned out alright in the end. The solution, as it is so often in life, was to head to the beach.

Whale loading ramp in 1944

We spent one of our last days in Chile in the small whaling village of Quintay. Thankfully the whaling industry has been long since shut down leaving only a few rickety buildings on the outskirts of town as a reminder of the slaughter that was once an everyday occurrence. 

Whale loading ramp today

Nowadays, the town is home to waterfront restuarants and international diving schools. The small harbor of Quintay is quiet and relaxing. We stopped for a while to enjoy one last bowl of camarones al pil pil and revel in the spectacular views of the jagged coastline as it was pounded by the mighty Pacific. It was the deep breath before the plunge.

With the date of our return flight from Quito to New York rapidly approaching, we were feeling the pinch to get north as fast as we could. Our original plan, which was to fly from Santiago to Quito, had been scrapped due to cost so we were left with only buses. On the map it was only 4 small inches from Santiago to Mancora, Peru. How bad could it be? We were about to find out.

We left the bus terminal in Santiago at 7:30 pm and got into Copiapo in the Atacama desert around 6 the next morning. Copiapo is a mining town without much to do and we didn't want to spend the night there. This meant that we also didn't have a hostel and were, in effect, homeless. So we did what most homeless people do, we went to the park. Along with the usual vagrants and stray dogs, it seems that Copiapo also has a sizable population of Gypsies. I know that is not the politically correct term but that's what they were, right down to the long flowing skirts and tarot cards. We spent 17 hours in Copiapo turning down offers to have our fortunes read while fending off overly friendly dogs and keeping all our packs directly under us so that nobody could steal them. The life of the homeless is not all it's cracked up to be. At least the park was nice.

Around midnight we boarded a bus to Arica, just south of the Peruvian boarder and a mere 18 hours later we arrived. It was time for a break. We spent the next two days running on the beach, sunbathing and trying to gear up for the next part of the journey. Those two days, incidentally, included Thanksgiving so we went out for the most American meal we could find; burgers.

After a short one and a half hour train across the border we arrived in the Peruvian town of Tacna only to jump onto the bus for a 19 hour haul to Lima. The capital city of Peru actually has some of the best food in all of South America. It's placement on the ocean makes it home to some of the best ceviche in the world and the intermingling of the indigenous, European and Asian cultures that thrive there make for some top-notch cuisine. We spent the night and refueled our tanks on the ocean's bounty before starting the final 18 hour leg of our sojourn to the surf-town of Mancora on the Equadorian border. 

Yes, the even deep fried the shells

This is all Molly ate for 3 straight days

Luckily, the bus gods took pity on us that night. Some of the buses in Peru are really nice and actually have stewardesses that come around and give you snacks and drinks. Now it's not an easy task to pour and carry a tray full of drinks on a bus that is knocking down the highway and around curves at 100 kph and I noticed our girl was having a little trouble. I offered to help her with the service and she was very grateful. ln fact, a little later she noticed that the overhead lights on our chairs were not working while we were trying to read. She said that that wouldn't do and took us down to two empty seats in the first class cabin. Some good deeds really are rewarded. We spend the remainder of the bus ride lounging in double wide leather recliners as soft as clouds while watching badly dubbed Wayans brothers comedies on flat screen TVs. I really didn't want the bus ride to end.

We arrived at our destination the next morning and stumbled off the bus into the bright sunshine of northern Peru. All in all, we'd taken 67 hours of buses in a little over a week, and traveled about 2,995 miles. Needless to say we needed a break and Mancora was just that. It's really just a tiny surf town right on the edge of the desert but it is all we needed. It has palm trees, white sands and warm, blue waters. We spent the next few days surfing, sunbathing and eating ceviche. Not a bad way to start the month of December, but I really feel like we earned it.

My life in a Corona commercial