Saturday, May 20, 2006

The extra day in Aguas Calientes wasn't so great. Getting booted from our hotel last night put a sour taste in our mouths that made all the other minor problems seem worse. And Aguas Calientes is surprisingly attractive, with the river rushing and burbling right through it like that, and all the mountains around it, but it's still just a touristy town of restaurants and souvenirs. Not much to really do, unless we wanted to see Machu Picchu again.

In the morning we went to one restaurant solely because of the humongous coffee machine in the window. Michael wanted not-Nescafe for a change. So we ordered, and then Michael clarified, "Cafe de machina, no?" to which the waitress replied that no, no, the machine was cold and couldn't be used. We left. Politely, but we left. It's one thing to get a cup of Nescafe in a place where you can see that you're going to get Nescafe, but another when there's the big fancy machine right out there in the window. I like Nescafe better than coffee, but I was annoyed on principle.

And then at lunch I ordered the trout and was presented with a plate of chicken. Having had chicken for dinner last night and for breakfast this morning (Aguas Calientes is cold enough at night so that leftovers placed on the other bed stay fresh enough to eat in the morning), I didn't feel like more of it. Michael brought the plate to the kitchen, saying I'd ordered trout.

After ten minutes the girl came out with the same plate and said they were out of trout. Why not just tell me when I order? Or if not then, at least before you just arbitrarily bring me chicken? Or, as a last resort, right at the moment that we attempt to send it back and before you spend ten minutes in the kitchen of this completely empty restaurant, doing God knows what and letting my chicken get cold?

Naturally the restaurant did not have change. The bill came to fifteen soles and the smallest we had was a twenty. We trailed along while the woman ran to literally six different places begging for change before achieving success.

Plus we had a big fight. Not a fightscussion, a real "why don't I just see you later" fight. The whole day was just irritating in general, and I'm beginning to think a year is too long for me to travel. To date, the longest I have been out of the country is three months, and I wonder if three to six months might be a better amount of time for me. Because these little things that I could have laughed off back in Mexico or Panama are just too irritating now. If that is my limit, it's good to know for the future, but I don't know how I'm supposed to feel better now.

It's something that's kind of embarrassing to mention after all the preparation and all the looking forward to this trip. Like, maybe I'm not a "real" traveler. Maybe I'm going to attract some more deliciously ironic judgmental comments telling me not to judge. Maybe the googling exes are going to laugh. But these little inconveniences that probably seem so minor to the reader, and probably would have seemed minor to me a few months ago, are beginning to really get under my skin. So I'm sharing these thoughts in case someone else experiences the same thing and wonders if they're alone in it.

So... anyway, we found out that the Vistadome train tickets United Mice had bought for us were only good as far as Ollantaytambo, a town about halfway between Aguas Calientes and Cuzco (and of great historic Inca interest). I can't blame them, because the train is just ridiculously expensive, but still, how were we supposed to get to Cuzco?

We ran the gauntlet of ladies selling dolls and embroidered duffel bags to exit the train station, only to find more commotion and confusion. Our trekking group was supposed to have been met by a tour bus to take them the rest of the way to Cuzco. But that was yesterday. Now it was just the two of us, and there was no tour bus.

It was dark by then. We spent a confusing and frustrating half-hour circling the dozens of buses parked outside the train station, looking for a public bus among the charters. Taxi drivers called out to us, wanting to take us to Cuzco for twenty-five dollars. Men eddied around us trying to help and yet not helping, because none of them knew or would admit to knowing about a public bus and they all thought we should take a taxi instead. After a while our entourage included a boy whom we'd acquired from one of the bus drivers. The driver said the boy would find us a bus, but the boy could do no more than what we were doing: going from bus to bus and asking.

Finally we found two busses that would be leaving for Cuzco in an hour. One would take us for eight soles and the next one over, identical, only wanted five. So we sat at a little restaurant which had a lovely fairy-tale menu full of all kinds of things they didn't actually serve. After a couple of "no hays" I gave up, and Michael had a bowl of tomato soup, and when the hour was almost up, we went back to the bus.

It's a good thing we went to the bus when we did, because just a few minutes later the next train pulled in and a mob came running down the open area between between the food stalls. I was scared at first, until I realized they were all just people trying to get seats on the busses. When they reached our bus and the eight-sol bus next door there was pushing and shoving, and guys were throwing their backpacks through windows trying to hold seats for themselves. These backpacks were tossed aside by those who had made it onto the bus, prompting time-wasting arguments by the foolish, and mad scrambles for other seats by the smart.

And through it all the choclo lady calmly struggled up and down the aisle selling her steaming-hot ears of giant-kerneled white corn and slices of white cheese. She was pushed and shoved mercilessly, but she calmly held her choclo! choclo! choclo! out of the way and sliced up her cheese and inquired as to whether or not people wanted salt. When the bus started, she was still in the middle of the aisle but she just calmly yelled out, in Spanish, that the choclo lady ("choclera," she called herself) was still on the bus, and she wormed her way out through the packed aisle and down the stairs and off the moving bus.

I admired her deeply and felt stupid for being so irritated about everything today. But traveling can be hard sometimes, and even though it's a vacation and I'm lucky to be here and all that, not everything that happens is fun and games, or even educational. Things can get annoying. Batteries run down. Travel is work, sometimes. Not work like digging ditches, but work nonetheless. I'd still rather be here than at a real job. Probably. I don't know. I have bad days at home too, but when that happens I can go home and climb into my own bed.

Back in Cuzco we found our way to the Suecia II to find that our reservation had been kept and our bags had been moved from the luggage room and were waiting for us side by side in our old room. It made up for a lot. The night guy was there, the one who goes to sleep so early and so soundly that everyone ends up standing outside and shivering and knocking for at least ten minutes even though he's lying on a couch just inside the door. We were thrilled to see him after what felt like such a long time. He's familiar, we know him.

**

If anyone, especially long-term travelers, has any thoughts on these travel low points and frayings of patience over small things, please feel free to share.

 

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Aguas Calientes.

Cafe along the train tracks through Aguas Calientes.

Fresh new gringos roll into Aguas Calientes.

Eat at my restaurant... Aguas Calientes.

KIds, Aguas Calientes.

Vistadome to Ollantaytambo.

Back at the Suecia II, Cuzco.