Anyone who has traveled very much at all knows there are just those days that things do not go as planned. Two days ago was one of those days.
My son and I were on a very comfortable well-recommended overnight bus to Puno where we planned to take a 2-day, overnight trip to the Islands of Lake Titicaca. As we began to close in on Puno in the very early morning, I saw a long line of locals dressed as if they were ready for work walking away from Puno's suburbs. No vehicles were coming toward us on the highway. Surely, something was amiss.
The bus began slowing down and through its front windows I could see 16-wheelers directly in front of us also barely moving forward. Accidents can happen anywhere so at first I was not unduly concerned. Eventually, from my second-level perch I could see that although quite a few people lined the road, just a very few were dragging large rocks out of the northbound lane. Aha! That explained it. A rockslide. But peering out of the front windows again I could see that many rocks of all shapes and sizes were strewn on both lanes.
Our bus was at a standstill at that point and I began to think that one of the persons moving rocks might be our bus driver or drivers of the big rigs lined up in front of our bus. My son and I had heard about the impending strike of train and bus drivers and employees between Cusco and Puno but had been assured the strike would begin after we were due in Puno. No problem. Won't affect us we were told. I'm actually certain the young man who sold us the tickets believed what he said but it was now equally certain that we would indeed 'be affected'.
The bus began zigzagging very slowly through the minefield of rocks intentionally placed in order to impede traffic in and out of Puno. All those people walking weren't doing it for their health; they were walking to work because they had no other choice. We passed an actual barricade and a burned out old car which had been dragged into the streets to form a roadblock. Two men carefully and with great effort tugged the barricade just enough out of the way that the line of trucks and long-distance busses could get through. I wondered if the many onlookers, obviously unwilling to assist, either supported the strke or were at least sympathetic to the strikers. I could no longer take comfort in the fact that the 'situation' was 'someone else's' problem.
A little background here. I am the child of a labor leader during times when the union not only pushed for higher wages but also better working conditions. While I don't always agree with a particular strike, I know that some strikes are about very serious matters that benefit the shrinking middle class in my own country. I certainly was concerned about crossing picket lines if they existed.
Not knowing what other choices we had for getting to our destination in a town we knew nothing about, we felt our only reasonable course of action was to let the bus company take care of the situation until they could no longer do so. In general, Peru has been in the tourism business for a long, long time and its transportation services have proved to be reliably clean and efficient. For now, we would stay on the bus.
The bus continued its tortuous path inching closer to the Central part of Puno. At one major intersection, riot police stood in a line with their shields ready. This, too, was not reassuring me that we would be unaffected by the strike.
Just a few blocks from the riot police, we stopped for what seemed like a very long time. Finally, the young woman who acts as an attendant for the night busses began informing all of us that the bus could go no further and we would all have to walk wherever we might choose to go. Puno was effectively shut down.
The bus driver pointed the way we should go to find the Plaza where we would perhaps find at least tuktuks we could hire to get us to our hotel. One older couple traveling with luggage that bespoke of them not being used to toting their own bags (and clearly unable to do so) concerned me. How would they get to where they were going safely? I decided to enlist my son to help but we were already loaded down with our own gear. This plan was not optimal.
A young Peruvian woman, chattering away on a telephone, approached us to suggest they let her friend, who lived in the city, come to meet them where they were and drive them to their hotel. Although I have experienced kindness wherever I travel, I was very pleased that someone else recognized their distress and acutally had an operable plan of assistance.
Dan and I, backpacks affixed to both our fronts and backs, began walking the direction indicated by the driver. We finally came upon a taxi, the only one on the street, that was willing to drive us to our hostel. We honestly thought the affect of the strike on us was mainly over.
That night we decided to walk down to the Main Plaza to look at the church and find a restaurant for dinner. The Plaza was eerily vacant. The church was open but no one was around to give us a tour. We saw police in heavy presence around the Plaza but decided to continue down one of the main pedestrian lanes for food. Most of the restaurants we found were closed. Aha. No tourist busses; no need to be open.
We were looking for a tourist information center as well but even most of those were closed. Finally having found one of the only tourist agencies open, we finished our business (how to get to the airport after our island stay) then found a lone open restaurant. After a delicious dinner, our luck held out and we were able to hire one of just a few available taxis to take us to our hostel in the gathering dark.
Two evenings later, having returned to Puno after our sojourn on the Islands, we found a very different city. Traffic was heavy and pedestrians filled the sidewalks and sidestreets. Some fiesta was happening and (mostly) mothers with gaily dressed little girls were walking toward the party carrying what looked like miniture floats on sticks. Puno was back in business.
When traveling, it is easy to get caught up in the drama of the country you are visiting. But events like this strike are rarely cause for concern for one's welfare but rather inconveniences that test one's patience and resourcefulness. Personally, I like being tested and feel that such inconveniences are part of what makes taveling in foreign countries most interesting. And such inconveniences nearly always require interaction with your hosts in some way. Most of the time, these interactions lead to a much greater appreciation for your host country and its people. I have come to expect my hosts to understand and assist when I need help. Rarely have I been disappointed. For me, traveling reinforces that we are all sharing space on the same beautiful blue marble.
