World Peru Cusco Huayna Alcalde

Scott Kennedy's Travel Blog Peru 2006

Viva Para!!! **NEW ENTRY*** May 25, 2006

there is a fine line between a spirited public demonstration and violent protest. we crossed that line the moment the first rock hit the side of the bus....

The ride from Cusco to Puno was supposed to last about six hours, we would stop along the way and do some mountain biking, visit a hot springs and check out some ruins if there was time. we left early from the hotel in cusco to a clear, beautiful day. I dozed in the seat watching the scenery go by. the rough cobbled streets of Cusco soon lead to the open road.

about an hour into the journey a police officer was standing in the road, stopping the cars to tell the driver something. there was always random stops in this country, we had become used to it. but this was different, somehow more ominous. the cop spoke in typical rapid-fire Spanish to the driver. Dean, sitting in front of me, the lone Spanish speaking gringo on the bus, said what I was dreading to hear, "oh, no..."

Peru was a week or two away from a presidential election and for a country seemingly filled with simple farmers, the outcome was anticipated like nothing I had ever seen. every house was painted floor to roof with election slogans and propaganda for their chosen candidate. I remarked to Soph earlier that day that everyone in this country was so involved in the democratic process that it was inspiring...

the bus drove on, and rocks began to appear on the road. small stones at first covering the opposite lane. as we drove the stones increased in size and number, soon there were boulders covering all but a car width of the road. the traffic began to slow as we approached a village. as we pulled through the main square the line of busses, trucks and cars ground to a halt. our guide stood at the front of the bus to explain the situation. the local farmers had decided to hold an impromptu strike, blocking the road. they were protesting a proposed free trade agreement with the States. it was unclear why they didn't want the agreement to go through, but they were pretty dedicated to this protest. the road would be closed for an hour and then we would be allowed to pass.

getting out of the bus having a look around was a real treat. all the farmers had dressed in their Sunday best, traditional clothing to emphasise their traditional ways, fighting the insurgence of western intervention. they were proud of their culture, proud of their traditions, and proud that they had the power to shut down a road, disrupt trade, tourism and get noticed. they gathered on the road, chanting, singing and waiving their hand made placards. the whole valley was in the tiny village all as one.

we walked among the protesters, laughing with the children as we tried to make ourselves understood. there was no malice shown towards us, we were simply caught up in their fight for democracy. we weren't mad either, we were seeing a small group of people fighting for what they believe in a peaceful way, in a strange way it was inspiring.

after an hour, under the watchful eye of the police (complete with riot gear, tear gas and sub machine guns) the protesters walked down the road in a defiant parade and we were allowed to pass.

we thought we had experienced South American politics for the day, but we were far from finished. fifteen minutes down the road we got to a second town and the line of cars began to slow down. there was another road block. hundreds of people filled the road, chanting the same rhymes. the police arrived again and the negotiation re-started. every village wanted to have their fair share so once again we waited for an hour and started out again, hopeful that the protests would finish.

another 15minutes down the road and we hit the next village. our driver was getting frustrated, he wanted to get this drive over with and we were already two hours late, and we had only just begun. when he hit the town he took a hard right down a side street, hoping to get around the protestors and avoid yet another delay.

bad idea.

we did a loop through the town and came out at the other end of the tiny village, expecting to be behind the protestors. only we had misjudged the volume of people and we had driven right to the heart of the crowd. the bus jammed on its breaks as the crown noticed us. you could see the anger in their faces even from a hundred meters away. we had tried to foil them and we just got caught. the attention shifted from the front line to the side where the busload of gringos were trying to bust through the line. they began to roll boulders down onto the side road where we stood motionless. yells and taunts from the crowd were hurled at our bus as we held our ground. and then, "WHAM!" a rock the size of an apple hit the side of the bus just in front of me, it sounded like a gunshot and scared us all as much. The driver power shifted into reverse and began backing us up along the narrow street, "Bam!" another rock hit the roof followed by victorious yells. a sketchy three point turn and we hightailed it back to the crown and the safety of numbers.

we breathed a sigh of relief as the police passed us and went to the front of the crowd. another hour of allotted protest and we were allowed to go.

this went on and on, village after village, each protesting, each given their time to do so. but as we went on the crowds began to change. what we didn't realize at first was that the protestors were all starting to drink heavily. this was quickly becoming a very sketchy situation, drunken protestors throwing rocks at us was a scary proposition indeed....

as darkness started to fall they became more bold, pushing the bus as we passed through he line of protestors, rocks peppered off the sides and they painted their slogan Viva Para (long live the strike) on the side of the bus. when it was dark it became scary, the police were on the edge of controlling the crowd and we were the most visible target, a shiny bus filled with white faces.

one roadblock morphed into the next and before we knew it, we had driven 20 minutes, then 30 then an hour without being stopped. we had gotten through it, exhausted and mentally worked we dozed in the bus as it pulled into Puno, 18hrs after we started....

am I mad at the protestors? no, not really. I'm pissed at the people who threw rocks at us. sticks and stones do break my bones and make me forget the words they were saying. they stood up for what they believed. maybe it was a drunken rent-a-crowd, but it was Peruvian politics up close and personal. it may not have been pretty, but I will remember this day as much as I will remember the Inca trail and Machu Picchu.....

Scott