Peter's South America trip (cont.)

This is a journal entry in the form of a letter to Peter's family. It ends abruptly so I do not know if he ever sent it:

Dear Everyone,

I went to the music/folk evening on Tuesday night. It was quite good. There was a band/orchestra playing music with guitars, panflutes, drums etc. and 6 men and 6 women dancing 5 or 6 different traditional dances. Between each of these dances, while the performers changed costumes, a woman came onto the stage to explain the following dance, first in Spanish then a shortened version in English. As usual the Spanish introduction made as much sense to me as the English (the accents here are very thick. The performance was quite well attended with about 1000 people of which only about 7-8 gringos.

The next day I just wandered around Cuzco. In the morning I decided to walk up to the one of the ruins which was only less than 30 minutes walk from the central plaza. Somehow I got lost. I knew I was lost when I was chased off a property by the owner who told me the ruins were over the next hill. A mountain or a hill which started off at a stop of about 45 degrees rising to that of about 85 degrees near the top. It wasn't until I was near the top that I realised the gradient, by which time it was easiest to keep going than to brave the farmer.

Once on the top I followed a llama trail which lead to the trail o the main herd and gradually to a river bed. Here I met a native who offered to take me to the ruins, he was from Lima, so was a tourist himself.

We walked for about an hour, always upwards, then came to a pond. The guy turned out to be a Peruvian poofter who wanted me to go to swimming with him. I ate half of his lunch and then left!

I walked back along a dirt road toward Cuzco. Soon I saw a group of 4 people walking ahead with backpacks. They suddenly started across a paddock. I didn't know whether to follow them or not, until two fairly vicious dogs started chasing me, then I decided there was safety in numbers.

The Germans were going toward the ruins I'd originally planned to see, but by the time I got there I couldn't be bothered so I just kept walking, taking a couple of photos on the way..

I got back to Cuzco, had lunch, then went to the train station to buy a ticket to Machu Picchu. The queue was about 150 people long, which translated into 1 1/2 hours. A policeman was there to make sure the queue remained orderly(ish) along with a chorus of "Olahhh" from those in the line whenever someone tried to push in.

Every little while the guard would let a few more into the office. After about an hour and a half a sign was posted with was eventually translated by someone in the line into "20 tickets left." Fifteen minutes passed, and probably 20 tickets, then the guard disappeared. Everyone looked at each other for a second or two, then there was a mad scramble into the office. Fortunately everyone covered the 50 metres in about the same length of time, so that the queue was more or less the same.

I ended up getting a ticket (it cost me $2 instead of $1.50) - but after 1 1/2 hours I wasn't going to quivel over 10 cents per hour.

Next I went to the market. While walking through I had some detergent sprayed on my shoulder and side of my face. Having been warned, I kept walking and didn't lose anything.

I got up at 4:30 AM and was in the line for the train at 4:45. The train left at 5:30 and the line was already about 100 metres long. As the time got closer to 5:30 the line got longer and longer. Being near the front I got a seat on the train. There were almost as many unfortunates (standing) as we fortunates.

The train tracks are in a ziggy fashion to enable them to get out of the valley and up into the hills. To those of us not knowing what was happening it seemed like we were just going backwards and forwards over the same ground. This happened four times before we were out of the valley.

The trains in Peru have a habit of not stopping long enough at stations, so for km 88 (where the Inca Trail begins for trekkers - also 4 hours from Cuzco ie 88/4=22km/hr) those wanting to get off stood up about 1/2 an hour early, wormed through the crowds waiting impatiently for their stop, counting the km's, an agonisingly slow one every 3 minutes. When the train did stop it was like the Marx bro's, when the door was opened, everyone tumbling out.

My turn came an hour later. It was the station 2 km from the Macha Picchu ruins, the town with the hotels. The train stopped but only a few of us got off, most seemed to be getting on.

The people in front of me got off easily enough, but by the time I came to the door the locals patience had dwindled considerably. There was a group of 7 or 8 all moving as a wall up to the stairs onto the train. Realising it was get off now or in an hour at the next stop, I did a sort of Errol Flynn kick/push (with my hands on the trains handrails instead of a chandelier - I couldn't find one at the time) and as the natives were realing I pushed my way through.

I then headed straight for "Gringo Bills" which my guidebook "couldn't recommend enough." It was ok, but nothing to write home about (I'll keep it short anyway.)

At this place I met the Pakistani and two Americans I'd seen on the train from Puno. I went to Machu Picchu with them. This involved walking the 2 km to the Ruinas Station (only the Tourist and Antasagen trains stopped here approx. 10x local) and tunning through the two short tunnels on the way. Then waiting for the bus up the hill (the return fair for the bus was more than the 5 hr train!)

My 2 year old student card came in handy at Machu Picchu, so I got in for $4 for two days.

Wandering around the ruins was good except for the hundreds of others doing the same thing. I was there for a couple of hours then it started spitting, so I joined the bus queue (always queues) and eventually got one down to Ruinas Station. The road is so windy that the Indian boys can and do (for tips from tourists) beat the bus down. The kid which outran ours was ahead all way (standing, waving as we turned the corner each time.)

The next morning I woke up to here the sound of water. I decided I'd catch the first train back to Cuzco rather than wander around in the rain. I got up to find a leaking tap, and a brilliantly sunny day.

I went to the market, had some fruit, then caught the first bus up the hill. It was around 8:30am and already the ruins were becoming crowded. I decided to climb Huaynupicchu, the moutain behind Machu Picchu.

To do this, I had to sign my name in a book, along with the time (so they'd know to come looking for me) and then walk/climb for about 1 hour. Luckily there were scenic spots along the way to stop, rest + take photos.

I made it up in 45 minutes to find about 6 others. I stayed there talking to a Swiss girl for about 2 hours and in that time only about 10 people came to the top.

The trip down was almost as tough as the one up (the Swiss girl almost ran all the way.) When I signed the book again I noticed about 50 people had started up after I had!

Once down I treated myself to a cake (4x the price of the Cuzco markets) then caught the bus down to buy a train ticket. The tourist train was book out so I had to local train (the train didn't originate at Ruinas, so the chance of getting a seat was remote.)

Between getting my ticket and the train arriving was 1 3/4 hours. I decided to get something to eat at one of the trackside restaurants. One hour and thirty minutes later my food came, along with a small hurricane. At first I was just trying to get the flies out of the food, then dust, and finally corrugated iron roofing. I moved inside the restaurant just as the train arrived. I had spaghetti, so I had no chance of gulping it down, I ate the sauce off the top, paid the bill (the woman charged me 2/3 as they were so slow) then go on the train. It was so crammed it was impossible to go through the doors, so I went between the carriages, and with the help of a Kiwi backpacker (obviously pleased to have company) found some foot space. There were 8 of us in the little section at the end of the carriage near the toilet for the next 5 hours (plus anyone trying to get through to the toilet, or moving from carriage to carriage selling cigarettes, drinks, etc.) There was so little space some people reverted to staying in the toilets, which were putrid (the occasional opening of the door was enough/too much for everyone else.) We discussed the usual touristy stuff (the Kiwi and I) and I'd just been telling him about my not losing anything when I saw a guy going through my shirt pocket. I'd put my passport and wallet in my left shirt pocket and buttoned it closed. This guy got on at that station, took advantage of the cramped situation using his bag to conceal what his hands were doing. By the time I saw what he was doing, asked him just to make sure, and then checked to make sure my passport/wallet were still there, he was gone. No one, not even the Kiwi, had seen it!

The next day I went to a travel agent to confirm my airticket to Lima (I'd bought it just before going to Macchu, and had been a bit worried as she'd written "cancellado" on my receipt, explaining this means "paid in full" in Spanish.) I was supposed to have confirmed it the day before, but being it wasn't possible.

It was a holiday (tourist holiday?) so the agency didn't open until 10:30am. When it opened I was told that when I hadn't arrived the day before, they'd confirmed it anyway! They told me to come back at 4pm. I did, and at 4:30, 5, 6, 6:30, 7pm; the agent wasn't there. The shop doubles as a jumper/souvenir seller, so the woman in charge of this department gave me my ticket, told me to get to the airport at 5am, and it would be ok. I went out to dinner with the Italian (Fabian) and Spaniard (Juan) Said goodbye to them went to bed.

I woke up at 4:30, got a taxi and was at the airport before 5am. The airport was dark, I was let in by two soldiers with machine guns. One other non-military person was at the airport.

At 5:30m, from behind the ticket counter rose about 10 soldiers, previously asleep, in uniform, armed.

At 6am people started arriving so I formed a queue.

At 6:20, someone started a standbye list, by the time I realised I was No 6.

At 7;20am, the ticket/baggage checks started work. My name wasn't on the confirmed list, I'd have to take my chances with standby.

By 10:30 we were informed the plane was full. I was still No 6 on the list, about 20 behind me.

I went back to my hotel but my room was gone. They put me into a room with 3 beds at $1 a bed. Unfortunately I could only sleep in one at a time.

Being a holiday, there was a military procession in town along with kids in boy scout, nurse costumes doing a sort of Nazi goose step.

In the afternoon I took a ute to Pisaq to see some ruins with Fabian and Juan. There I met the two Poms I'd seen in Belem and Foz (Adrian and Sue?) I stayed and talked to them instead of climbing the mountain.

They were waiting for transport back to Cuzco but everything was full.

Eventually a truck came and some French travellers clammering on urged us to do the same. It already had about 50 or 60 people so we decided not to. (We looked at each other and the British pride wouldn't let us do anything so undignified. Almost immediately a ute came with only about 5 people in back. This being more our style we walked toward it. Suddenly we (+ the ute) were swarmed by natives all wanting a place. Sue + a Kiwi girl jumped in and moved forward out of their way. I wasn't far behind. Adrian, however was caught in the rush. A woman was climbing on at the same time and place he was, so that he had to climb over the pickup walls and her. They went at the same pace for a while until it was obvious that only one could go at a time. She started elbowing him in the ribs, he kept going. Her hat fell off (I caught it) and then her baby started crying (no one realised she had a baby until now; it was in her bag on her back and was almost slipping out. It ended up being a tie everyone laughing, all 21 of us in back. The trip was a long 32 km, at 1 cent per km for the ride.

Fabian had given me his jumper to hold while he was at Pisaq, so when back in Cuzco I looked for him to give it back. Instead I found an Australian couple I'd met at La Paz who invited me out to dinner. I still had the jumper when I returned to my hotel.

The next morning at 7am I went to the airport. I met Fabian there and we waited around for a guy we'd met the day before who'd promised us seats on the plane through a contact of his, he failed to show. I checked into Fabian's hotel (1/2 price) then went down to the travel agents to see about either a definite seat on the plane or a refund. They needed time so I gave them until 12 noon. Fabian had until 10:30am to decide whether or not he wanted a flight for the next day; that's when he had to pay for it. Also the twice weekly bus to Lima was waiting on a "Si or Non" at 10:30 am as seats were selling fast. I told Fabian to take the plane (the bus cost $24 and took 50 hours, the plane once you're on it 55 minutes, and $34), and if I couldn't get a seat I'd take my chances with the bus.

At 12 noon I went to the agents. The woman had got me a seat on Faucett (my ticket was on Aeroperu, Faucetts competition) for the next day - she'd even been out in the rain to do it.

All being set we wandered around town taking in the sights yet again. In the evening I splashed out and bought a jumper, $14, pure alpaca, no label, so I guess it's hand made.

Tuesday morning we took a taxi to the airport (75 cents each). Fabian was on Aeroperu, I on Fawcett. We were both about 3rd in line. After a little anxiety at not being able to find my name straight away I had my boarding pass + my luggage checked in; though no luggage receipt.

We went to the cafeteria, had breakfast, then 20 minutes before take off time we went to the departure lounges where we waited. I met some Dutch guys I'd seen around since Puno and we talked. Soon some Peruvian girls came over to get some photos of us and ask if we were married; liked Peruvian girls; wanted to get married. At 11:30am it was announced that the flights were cancelled (at which the Peruvians cheered???) They would put us on planes tomorrow morning at 7am.

I then went to get my luggage. First I stood in line then remembering the Peruvian theft situation, went behind the counter to look for my bag; it wasn't there.

I saw some people forming a queue toward the tarmac, so I joined it. It was for my flight's luggage. They were very careful with the baggage, checking receipts, so I joined a group of elderly Americans and just pointed to the group leader when asked for the receipt.

We took the bus back to town, got back to the hostel, then I just wandered around writing postcards. That night Fabian and I went and ate out at a vegetarian restaurant. Somehow I got soya and rice and yogurt. It wasn't very nice so I only ate about 1/2. A boy came in selling postcards. We didn't want any, so he asked if he could finish my meal. Soon his friend came to finish off Fabian's.

The next morning we again went to the airport. Fabian's flight due to leave at 8am, went at 9:30. My flight was supposed to leave at 7am, at 10am we were called to board. When paying the departure tax, they'd mistaken me for a Peruvian (?) and so 'd only paid 1/12 of the usual US $2. At the departure gate I merged in with a lot of others and so got through undetected.

At the stairway to the plane a stewardess checked the tickets. The Dutch guys were in front of me with their backpacks, hoping to be able to carry them on the plane (theft is phenomenal here, even on the cargo holds of planes.) The packs were too big and so were taken off them to be placed with the cargo. This started a procession of anything oversized following, my bag included. Everything was in my bag; camera; clothes; traveller's cheques. We boarded and the door closed. The plane revved up its engine, then suddenly a sound (like that of a loose hose spraying water under high pressure) was heard. Everyone had to get off while the pane was fixed. It was announced that the plane would be ready in 1/2 an hour. One hour later it was announced that it would be a further 1/2 hour. Another announcement followed; it would be one hour. All this time I was standing (all seats were taken as 3 flights to Lima, 1 to Arequipa, and 1 to Porto Maldonado were all waiting in the same room) walking from one overpriced souvenir shop to another. I decided to go for a walk. I left the airport lobby and walked outside to the carpark for 20 minutes. Then I went back to the airport and up to the cafeteria. There I met an American woman I'd seen at Machu Picchu (she'd been in a group of four; speaking the best Spanish she'd been left behind?) We talked over a coffee, then when my hour was up, I went back to the departure lounge. I looked around but couldn't see the Hollanders, nor anyone else from the plane. I went to information only to find out that the plane had left at 11:35, 15 minutes after the one hour announcement, while I was in the car park.

I went to the Faucett office at the airport, but after an hour of waiting at the door, pushing and shoving to hold my position, I gave up and decided to go to the head office in Cuzco where they might actually open the door!

I took a bus and got to the office pretty quickly. The girl there was great. She spoke English! Telexed Lima for me and got them to hold my bag, and put me on a flight for the next day! (Others I talked to were told it would take 6 days to get on a flight.) I had no ticket (they'd taken it when I boarded the plane) just the boarding pass and the ticket cover/carbon copy. The girl said there shouldn't be a problem just explain the situation, and being on the list it would be ok. Once again I went back to the hotel, explained that my amigo had gone but I was back for another night. My room had been given to another couple, so I moved to one with 4 beds, which I had to myself for the same price, 1 1/2 dollars.

I started thinking about my situation. I had only the clothes I was wearing and fifteen dollars. My travellers cheques, camera, credit cards, and plane ticket to Australia were in my bag. The travellers cheques could be replaced in Lima, but being South America chances are it would take 4 or 5 days to get replacements; it's a common practice to sell the cheques at half their value to someone who "launders" them, you then get replacements. Being aware of this Am. Ex makes it as difficult as possible. Before getting replacements I had t get to Lima! I didn't have enough to take the bus ($24) so I had to go by plane.

Not having insurance I could do nothing about the camera. I should have cancelled the credit cards, but to do that I'd need to phone Australia. It's impossible to telephone Australia collect, and the $15 wouldn't have been enough for the 3 minute minimum (even if it had that would have left me without any money for anything up to a week.)

The plane ticket I could do nothing about except hope that my worries were unfounded and that my bag was waiting for me at the Lima airport Lost + Found!

I started to budget my money, finding it possible to survive on $3 a day.

The next morning I took the bus into the airport (I couldn't afford taxis anymore.) I lined up for the check-in counter and when I got to the front of the line I was told I'd have to see the manager. Being early in the morning, before any flights had been cancelled, there was very little trouble in getting to the door, and then walking into the office. I soon found someone who spoke English, who needed proof I was on the flight the day before. He telephoned Lima's Lost + Found, but since my bag wasn't there ! he hadn't the proof. He went to his superior who told him that they didn't have the power to give me another ticket (nor a seat on the plane), I'd have to go back to the head office in Cuzco and come back with written authority from them; I had one hour!

Even with the urgency I couldn't afford to take a taxi; the bus (6 cents) got me to the officer in 15 minutes.

I didn't have the time to join the 20 person queue, so I just walked into one of the offices. Bingo, it was the secretary of the manager. Having the manager's name, the secretary must have thought I was important so she sent me straight in.

I explained the situation and the manager was straight on the phone to Lima's Lost + Found. (They didn't seem to have a record of the day before's flight list to check!) Without my bag in Lima, she didn't have the authority to issue me with a ticket either. She Telexed Lima to get permission which she said would be ready for me to pick up at 4pm. I explained about my flight which was to leave in 30 minutes, she said she'd have me on the next day's flight and that my flight on that day had been cancelled anyway.

I went back to the Hostel San Cristobel to secure my room. There were 2 Aussie girls there who'd been given a newspaper by an American woman. I borrowed it and read for a few hours (one article was on Cape Cod in winter). I then started to talk to some Israelis about my adventures with Faucett. They were amazed and told me how they and/or friends had had similar things happen and had got compensation, urging me to do the same.

I started working out the value of all of my belongings that I'd lost.

I washed my socks + jocks and went to the market while they were drying. I'd found out that the hostel had a portable stove so I decided I'd cook up some things. I came back with my pockets + arms full of rice, vegetables, fish and eggs. It had cost me a dollar, but since the food would be lunch, dinner and possibly breakfast, I felt the cost was justified.

I started the rice going, then asked the landlady for a can opener. She didn't have one but gave me a knife + rock instead. I decided to ask some of the other travellers; one came out with a life Paul Hogan would've been proud of, and started butchering the can, and another came out with an Israeli Army can opener, and with the 3 cm contraption, took over from Crocodile Goldberg.

I got back to the rice to find it was cooking very slowly. I wanted to eat before going to Faucett at 4pm so I threw everything in the pot, turning my friend rice into sardine stew. A Swiss guy came soon after and got the stove going properly. Being very hungry the stew was edible.

I got to Faucett a little before 4pm and left a little after 7pm with the telex from Lima which was to act as my ticket. I think they'd forgot about the telex until I arrived. I celebrated with a Coca Cola at a cafe.

I woke up early (I'd long since got into the habit of getting up at daylight 5:30am which was fortunate as my alarm clock was also in my bag), packed my things ! and went to catch a bus to the airport. I was supposed to be at the airport at 7am so when no bus had been past at 7:10am I started to worry. I stopped a taxi and got his price from Tourist to Traveller and finally sub-local (just over a dollar) for the ten minute ride to the airport. He actually threw the change at me (luckily it was a note) on arrival.

Although 20 minutes late, the checkout counter hadn't opened yet. I got in line about 40 people back.

When the counter did open and I got to the front, my Telex ticket was scrutinised thoroughly, but I was given a seat reservation when my name was on the passenger list.

Once in the departure lounge I found a seat, and a feeling of deja vous came over me, but today, I felt would be different.

The plane arrived from Lima, more or less on time. And immediately a queue formed. I careful positioned myself near the front, but not too near. The usual practice was for the officials to open only one door so as to scrutinise tickets and departure tax stamps carefully. The first 4 or 5 people would be checked, then the crowd would get impatient, opening the other door, and pushing through. The next 20 people would get through before the officials once again gained control. I was in this next 20, because I had a local (Peruvian) departure stamp (16 cents) and not the Foreigners ($3). The telex would have brought this up to the officials attention, and my quickly dwindling funds couldn't take the $3 hit.

The first few were checked, the push came, but the doors remained secure. The official read all of the telex, looked at the stamp, and at me, then with a look that said "If I could be bothered, I'd make you go back and pay," motioned me through.

On the plane I was placed between two women, one in Western clothes, the other Indian rags. They were probably the same age although the Indian looked about 15 years older.

As the plane taxied both women crossed themselves, the Indian woman also crying. This continued until the plane was airborne. The woman cheered up even more when the food was brought around.

The plane landed an hour later, and I walked straight through customs while everyone else was waiting for their luggage. I'd long since ceased the custom Chris and I had of scanning the crowd meeting the plane for someone I knew, so I was completely surprised to find Fabio there waiting. He took me over to an office, and there was my bag. The guy watching it got me to open the bag, saw that the top layer was clothes, then said I could go, asking me if everything was all right. Of course, everything was fine, I thanked him, then went back out to Fabio. My bag had been taken off the reclamation conveyer belt by the Hollanders, who realised I'd missed the flight. They carried it through customs and seeing Fabio waiting, gave it to him. Fabio had waited at the airport that day, came back the next day and again that day. He couldn't afford any more days in Lima, so he'd given my bag to some guy in Lost + Found, and was going to wait until the last flight of the day and then leave.

We took the bus in to Lima to Fabio's room at a hotel, a double. I changed out of my clothes and was about to take a shower, when I noticed that the bag I kept my camera in was missing a camera. The two t-shirts I bought in Rio were also gone. My money belt was there so I looked inside it. The travellers cheques were there, all except 3. One $20 and two $50 cheques were gone. The guy had left a gap of cheques between those he'd taken, hoping I wouldn't notice. It was because of this I did notice, I always use the cheques in numerical order. Also in my money belt was $3 where there had been $6!

We went straight to America Express (with the help of a policeman directing us the wrong way, and finally 2 girls collecting money for some church fund who took us to the place. Once there I was given a form to fill out by a guy looking like a cross between Mr Humphreys and Steve Downes. This form included everything from where when + how many bought to where and with whom my last cheques were used (difficult as they'd been changed illegally in a room behind a craft's shop.) Next I talked to a guy in America, via telephone, about what had happened. Before I knew it I had the replacement cheques in my hand, all within an hour or so!

Fabio had decided to stay an extra month or so away from Italy (he's a ski instructor and so doesn't need to be back until the first snowfall (December)), so went to his airline office.

After lunch I borrowed some money from Fabio and telephoned Mum, then went to change some money. Everyone wants cash but few want travellers cheques. One guy offered 53 intis for US$1 (Cuzco had been 43:1) but he wanted to change $50 and I only wanted $30 worth, he also looked suspicious. I eventually changed with a woman in a cafe. The transaction was something straight from some spy film. A guy was standing by an elevator, looking our way. He nodded his head slightly, Fabio did the same. We kept walking, he followed. We agreed on 47 intis and met in a cafe a few minutes later. A woman handed over the money to Fabio while he counted. I signed + authorised the cheques. We finished at the same time, everything being ok, we got up and left. She'd given us 48 intis to 1. The stupid thing about these cloak and dagger exchanges is that they are unnecessary. So few people exchange in banks that only one group of banks handle it. For a tourist the danger in changing is purely in being short changed; if the police were to come over the tourist can't be touched as it's so common ignorance is understandable. On the other hand the Peruvian can be in trouble so it's done for there benefit.

In the evening we went to the house of some people Fabio had met at the airport on the first day. It was for someone's birthday. We sat around talking a little (one was a law student), another an architect, and an accountant - so they spoke a little English), drinking a little, and playing a lot of music (Fabio got the panflute, I got the bongo drum.)

At 9pm we set off for the birthday party, catching a bus into the centre. We arrived at a house which by Peruvian standards was luxurious (it had carpet, stereo, coffee tables, couch, the lot!) It was the house of one of their cousins, a lawyer. When we arrived the lawyers 4 friends departed to another room, we didn't see them again until we left.

We had missed the birthday girl, who had just left for an evening out with her friends, so we hung around talking politely being fed snacks. Most people were so bored that when the tape that was playing quietly in the background stopped it was immediately noticed and requested to be turned over - by almost everyone at the same time.

The party livened up a bit when some more relatives came and one of them, the father, raided the liquor cabinet. He'd obviously started a few hours before everyone else, though his drunkenness was explained to me as a mixture of alcohol and medication.

At around midnight we left the "party", not having seen the birthday girl and much to our hosts delight. We walked back to our street, said our goodbyes agreeing to meet for breakfast the next day. The next morning we awoke as usual at 6am. Breakfast wasn't until 9 so we decided to pace out the route to the bus terminal to find food for the journey. Getting to the terminal was easy enough but finding a supermarket wasn't. Everyone we asked told us to continue the way we were going instead of "I don't know where there is a supermarket," so we didn't end up finding one.

At 9am we went to breakfast at our friends house. They were just waking up, so once again while we waited we had a few Argentinian and Peruvian folk songs.

Being the guests Fabio and I had the largest helping of breakfast meat + onions, mashed potato + salad, coffee + rolls - while our host had very little. Again we sat around talking until more relatives arrived; one wanting to change dollars for his intis, as he was going to Buenos Aires and on the street they wanted 65 intis for one dollar. Fabio had already changed about $50 too much so didn't, I only had traveller's cheques so I couldn't.

We said goodbye and exchanged addresses, the I went off to buy a harmonica, before catching the bus to Pero/Equador frontier. The bus trip took about 24 hours. Once in Tumbes we found a hotel, showered and changed hen went out for lunch. We went to a fairly cheap looking restaurant + ordered the menu of the day. The menu card didn't have prices but it would cost less than a dollar anyway. While we were waiting for our meal a few guys started playing some fairly bad music. Our food arrived, the usual rice, beans, meat + salad, but it being our first proper meal in a day it was very welcome.

We finished eating after 3 songs and wanting to leave called for the bill. Four dollars! Fabio almost threw the money at the guy.

Next we asked about transport to the border. Buses and collectivos (cars which cram 5 passengers + luggage in, then leave - in Tumbes they were hotted upo Fords, Chevys, etc.) cost about the same so we decided we'd take a collectivo the next morning.

Back at the hotel everyone was engrossed in a game of soccer being played on TV between Argentina and West Germany.

Earlier in the week Fabio had read in a newspaper about Maradona (an Argentinian player) who had been hospitalised in Italy, and seeing him playing on TV he asked when the game was played. "Now, it's live from Buenos Aires." Fabio seemed a little confused but continued watching, then after a while left. Apparently the game was at least 5 years old as some of those playing then, had retired that many years ago. When we left to go out for dinner they were still watching keenly.

We walked into town, planning on seeing a movie then having dinner but in this part of town the electricity was out. We went for dinner at a restaurant on the same street as the lunch time one. This cost us 30 intis ($1), and was better than lunch. We then went back to the cinema which was still closed. On the central plaza a religious parade was starting, complete with priests, decorated floats, and armed guards. The crowds were enormous, everyone pushing to get closer. All of a sudden, a scream, followed by many screams and a stampede of people running away from the procession. Seeing the frightened look in their eyes, we ran too, then I decided to have a look at the source of the fear. I walked toward the direction people were running from. There was nothing there but the guards and float. Soon everyone returned moving along with the float. Being at the front I was being pushed along.

This got boring after a while so I found Fabio and we went for a drink before going back to the hotel.

The next morning at breakfast we met an English guy who was also going to Cuensa in Equador. We talked for a while then arranged to meet at the collectivos after getting our from our hotels.

When we got to the collectivos he was there. We ended up taking a bus as the collectivos were few and far between, when they did arrive they were mobbed by people, and so left full within seconds.

The bus took us to the Peruvian immigration office, where, being gringos, we had to get off to get our passports stamped and tourist card taken, the bus then continued on without us.

We caught a collectivo the remaining 3 km to the Equador/Peruvian border (30 cents) where we were swamped by money changers, one of whom took us to the Equadorian immigration while trying to talk us into exchanging.

At Tumbes we'd been told that the rate was 6 Equador sucres for 1 Peruvian inti, but we were only being offered 4-4.5. We didn't change.

The Equadorian customs gave us a form to fill out which some hopeful money changers helped us with, then another one to fill out correctly! There was a rumour that I'd heard about a $20 fee charged for entry but we got in for free.

The money changers upped their price to 4.8, but being sure our information was correct we kept walking until we came to the bus terminal. We had no money for the bus to Cuenca, so asked the ticket office what exchange rate they'd give us; 3.5.

Fabion went to change some money (mine + his) while I watched the luggage. He came back a little later not looking at all happy. He'd been offered 5:1, the guy had counted out the money, then taken Fabion's intis. Instead of giving him 2500 he'd given him 2x1000 + 1x 50 (2050.) The rate we ended up getting was 4:1! Just as well we only changed enough for the bus ($8).

We met the English guy just before getting on the bus; he'd beaten us to the collectivos and gone before we'd arrived - he was catching the same bus.

The journey, 250km, took 5 hours. We had to stop 3 or 4 times for luggage searches and passport checks, but we arrived in Cuenca before dark and found a hotel for $1.25, the Hotel Siberia. After dinner the English guy (born in Australia) went to see the film Platoon and also a film. How they could show such a lousy film (one of the worst I've ever seen, so bad I can't remember the name) with such a good one is unbelievable.

The next day, with the information of a Spaniard of Irish descent from Colombia currently living in Equador, we went to some casa de cambios and changed some dollars for sucres. I also changed $370 worth of traveller's cheques into $370 cash for $4 commission. (T.C. are very difficult to cash in Colombia - a 10% charge! So I stocked on dollars.) We then went from travel agent to travel agent gathering information on the cheapest way to Jamaica (Fabion) and Northern Central American for me. The only problem was most agents quoted prices from Equador and not Colombia which is cheaper.

We caught the 6am bus for Quito (the capital.) This bus, like most others, had the maddening habit of picking up anyone and everyone on the side of the road, even if they were only going into the next town. The bus driver and conductor split the money from these people between them, which would be ok except it adds about an hour to the time of the journey.

On the bus was an Israeli, who'd been in South America for 9 months, mostly in Chile and Argentina. We shared a room with him at the Hotel Gran Casino, nicknamed the Hotel Gran Gringo because of the number of tourists staying there. It was quite good for the $1.80 with carpeting a restaurant and hot water in the shower.

I'd been thinking of going to the Galapagos Islands but changed my mind when I found out the cheapest airfares were $400 return (2 years before it had been $150) plus about $400 more for a boat tour.

I needed a visa for Colombia so I got this in Quito, again it was free which was $20 less than I expected it to be. I tried to get a Guatemalan visa but not being able to find it after trying 4 or 5 places I gave up, deciding to get it in Colombia. (My book had said Australians didn't need visas for Guatemala but I found out through the newer S.A. handbook that in the past 2 years things had changed.) We left Quito at 1pm for the border town of Tulcan, getting there at dust. We took a bus to the town centre, hen a collectivo to the frontier. The Equador officials stamped our passports and took the tourist cards, then we walked through the money changers to the Colombian office. Here passports were checked and stamped and that was it.

We waited around for 20 minutes or so before anyone of the numerous cars would agree to take us the 5km into town for the usual .30 cents.

Once in town we went straight to the bus terminal found out the bus to Cali left at 8pm for $9. Being only 7pm we went to have some dinner then came back and bought the tickets. Since dinner the price had risen to $10. Inflation in these South American republics is running rampant!

We arrived at Cali at 8am, checked our luggage into storage then went into town to have a look and change some money. Again we tried to get some information on flights out of the country by everyone seemed to give us different advice. We then saw "The Untouchables", a great film to see in a place like Colombia.

That evening we caught a bus for Medellin. The bus had a TV and videos (the usual machine gun type, Mr Majestic - Charles Branson and Rawdeal - Arnold Schwarzenegger.) The bus was stopped 3 or 4 times for baggage/passport checks twice with body searches.

The bus arrived in Medellin at 5:15am. We caught a bus into the centre and went to a hotel my book recommended. It was full. Fabio and I took turns watching the bags while the other looked for a hotel btu we couldn't find any. Medellin's streets were numbered; Carrera 48, Calle 58, btu we wanted Calle 49, Carrera 58 so although we didn't realise it til later we were about 20 blocks off.

The woman in the hotel "Rumania" eventually took pity on us, telling us to come back at 9am when she might have a room. We left the luggage there and went for breakfast. When we returned she said she'd have a room for us at 11am.

Dead tired form 2 nights without sleep, we went back to the information stand at the bus terminal (being a Sunday everything in town was shut) where two girls gave us everything they had on Turbo (for Fabio to catch a boat to Panama then on to Jamaica) and Cartagena for me, drawing us maps, suggesting cheap hotels and giving me the address of the Guatemalan embassy (for the next day). We then returned to the hotel, changed, showered, then went for something to eat. In the afternoon I slept for 4 or 5 hours then went back into town for dinner before returning to bed.

The next morning we went to the Guatemalan consulate. We asked what we thought was tourist information (it was some sort of immigration police) which bus to catch to the consulate; and had a woman telephone to see if it was open, write out instructions on how to get there + take us to the road the bus went down. She then flagged it down giving the instructions to the driver and wished us luck. The bus driver looked confused, and wouldn't take the bus fare from us.

After about 35 minutes he dropped us off at the side of the highway. The only road nearby was where he'd let us off so we walked down it until we came across someone. They didn't appear to have heard of a Guatemalan consulate, whatever it might be! It was the same with the next 3 people we asked. It was a little frightening to think that they weren't confident enough to just tell us to continue on, that we were going the right way, as is the normal thing. Having the telephone number we were able to call the consulate. It turned out that the driver had let us off 2 stops early, so we walked down the highway until we came to the consulate - an office in a "car part recyclers" enclosed by a fence protected by a dog and a guard. It wasn't until we were in the office that I was sure I wasn't going to be sold a second hand carby.

The woman assured me that I didn't need a visa- she was looking under Austria. Luckily I was looking too and she eventually came to Australia which did need a visa. I needed some US dollars - check - photos - check - a ticket to Guatemala - oh. She had to have a ticket to Guatemala before she'd give me a visa. We were leaving for Cartagena that evening so it wasn't possible to get a visa the next day. Luckily Cartagena also had a consulate.

Fabio went back to the bus terminal for more information, I decided to go see a movie. With very little of a selection to choose from, I saw "the Predator" - Arnold Schwarzenegger.

We caught the 6pm bus to Cartagena (Fabio deciding go to Turbo would take too long). The bus took 14 hours and again we were stopped to be searched. This bus was supposed to have a video but the TV had been ripped out.

Once in Cartagena a guide picked us up and took us to a hotel which would cost us $5. When we got there and asked the woman the price we were told was $3.75ea!.

I checked around a few travel agents for prices on tickets to San Andres (an island of Colombia's off the coast of Nicaragua in the Caribbean - being Colombian, the flights are domestic and so quite cheap) and then on to Guatemala, via Honduras. The prices were always the same $70 to Andres, Guatemala from San Andres $170 + $20 departure tax.

In the afternoon I was wandering near the docks where I was asked by a Costa Rican if I wanted to go to the nearby islands/a job on a boat/a woman for the night/a cheap airfare to San Andres? I got him to take me to his travel agent friend who would give me a 20% discount on the ticket I wanted Cartagena - San Andres - Guatemala. He took me back to the first place I went to. The two men talked for a minute then, asking me my name, started writing me out a plane ticket. I asked how much it was - $240 + tax. I asked about the discount - the price quoted was with discount. I explained I'd been there earlier - oh, ah, we can't give discounts on this fare. I decided to wait until the next day before buying a ticket from anyone. Once outside the Costa Rican demanded some money for his help!

The next morning Fabio bought his ticket to San Andres (where he'd try to get a boat to Jamaica, or else fly to Panama), I went to the Honduras consulate to see about a visa. The flight was about $30 cheaper to Honduras and it would work out easier to see a set of ruins in Honduras and near the Guatemala border that i wanted to see, coming from Honduras.

As it had the day before it rained only this time continuously. I ended up walking for 1 1/2 hours in the rain before finding the consulate. Even then I had to speak to a woman, via telephone, in Spanish, who insisted on yelling. It was really difficult but I made out the air ticket to Honduras as well as the usual US $ + photo's were required. (I didn't want to buy a ticket and then find out I couldn't get into the country - so I wanted the visa first.)

I decided I didn't want to go to Honduras (just to spite the telephonist - who was probably Colombian), so I went to the Guatemalan consulate which was within 10 minutes of my hotel. There I was told to return at 4pm for my visa.

That afternoon I found some people who'd change my Peruvian soles and Equadorian sucres I had left for about 4/5 of their value - better than nothing. The day before as I was on my way to telephone Jen for her birthday, a guy offered to change at about twice this rate. I agreed to wait for him, but after a minute or so we decided it might not be a good idea, so we left. A few seconds later the guy caught up with us, with the cash in his hand. He gave it to me to count, it was the right amount, then he took it back. I showed him the money I was going to change, then instead of giving me his money, he kept hold of it. I kept hold of mine and one end of his, he did the same. He asked if that was all I was going to change - Yes. Maybe you'll change some more later - I doubt it. He snatched his money away and made a grab at mine, which I held on to tightly, then ran away. I'd previously given my wallet to Fabio, and I still had my money but I couldn't help feeling he might have ripped me off, somehow.

I went to buy my plane ticket but couldn't get a seat reservation on the Guatemalan flight until 4 days after I wanted it. The guy was really shifty about not putting a date on my ticket from San Andres to Guatemala, and yet wanting to be paid. If I hadn't noticed I would have been in San Andres waiting for a flight I wasn't on. He said there was a chance he could get me one the day I wanted but wouldn't know until the following day. Visas usually take 24 hours to issue, so I couldn't wait until the following day. I'd need the plane ticket to show the consulate before getting a visa. I asked him if I could have the ticket for 20 minutes to show the consulate - not until you pay for it. Could you write a note explaining to the effect I have a ticket - No. If the consulate wants proof can I have him phone you - Not unless you've paid for the ticket. I went to a different agent, bought the ticket for 30th of October to San Andres and the 6th of November to Guatemala with the possibility of getting on a flight on the 2nd or 4th Nov. on standbye.

I then went to the consulate, where within 10 minutes, I had my visa. For $20 oz, no photos, no plane ticket!

The next morning Fabio left for San Andres. I met some guys staying at the hotel - both Colombian - and we went for a ride to the beach to watch some fishermen. One of the guys was going to go for a swim but decided it was too cold. The other one spoke very good English - he'd had a N.Z. girlfriend for 2 or 3 years. In the evening I went to see a film (they cost only 60 cents and are in English with Spanish subtitles) then met up with the guys again and went to see an artist friend of theirs.

I was supposed to be at the airport at 7:20am, so at 6:20am I started out. After an hour of trying to find the right bus I took a taxi ($2.30). I checked in, got a drink, then waited another 2 hours before my plane arrived. For the fourth day in a row, it was raining.

On the plane I sat next to a guy who was some sort of trouble shooter for one of the hotels on San Andres. He told me about his job and his house he has, plus the one for guests and seemed about to invite me to stay when I blew it by telling him I would be on San Andres for a week.

At the airport was Fabio about to leave for Panama. He told me where the hotel was ($5), and goodbye.

I walked to the hotel, and past it 4 times - it looked like all the other houses - no sign, and after waiting for 20 minute I was given a room ($3 if I'd share it when someone else came - $6 if I wanted it to myself. I think Fabio paid for 2, I'm paying 50 c too much.)

I washed most of my clothes then went for a walk into town. San Andres is a really touristy place - most things costing twice as much as Cartagena! The natives speak a sort of English only they understand.

This is the end of the letter. I do not know if he wrote more about his adventures in South America. Unfortunately Peter's family refuses to speak with me and also refuses to participate in this project or share anything that they may have. I only have a very rough idea of when he was in South America and for how long. I know eventually he ended up in Brazil, and on the way to Manaus he rode on a hammock on a truck on a ferry, where he caught Chagas Disease, which may have killed him all those years later. I wish I could fill in the rest of the details of this trip; but as it was well before we met, and as his family refuses to help with this project, this may be all that I have.