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Going again.

FIVE-HUNDRED-AND-THREE

November 25th, 26th & 27th, 2025

Cusco, Peru

Various times…both morning and night ^.^

Phase One:

Travelers! Hello to you:)

Despite us still undergoing the LAST MERCURY RETROGRADE OF THE YEAR…against my better judgement, I’m going to another country because I cannot stand Peru any longer. Luckily the retrograde ends on the 29th…but the plan is to go to the bus station tomorrow and find out my options for getting to Chile. This accommodation ends on the 27th, so I’m trying to plan ahead of time, not spur of the moment (and spend half the day in a bus station where the custom is shouting out the destinations every other minute all effing day) I don’t want to stay in this country any longer, jungle or no jungle, it’s time to go.

I’ll give you a perfect example of why I don’t like it….besides the garbage, and the dogshit, and the overall ghetto aesthetic they have going on here.

Instead of walking a half hour to the market every day…right down the block, there is a tiny hole-in-the-wall store that sells almost everything the further market does, only crammed in a minuscule space. You can’t even see the walls because it’s so packed with: fresh produce, canned goods, bottles of olive oil, various animals inside the refrigerated counter, a six foot fridge crammed with drinks, dry goods like quinoa you can buy according to weight, pre-shelled peas (they do the shelling), pre-chopped veg (they do the chopping), toilet paper you can buy by the roll or by the pacakage….it’s where I started doing all of my shopping. The first time I went there, two ladies worked with me—I assumed they were a mother and her much older mother. They were paid in tiny coins for a few gallons of water, barely even having enough, had to give them exact change in the smallest coins I had…..but they were really nice to me, very patient as I counted out all the unfamiliar pieces of currency, they didn’t make me feel bad about it. So I started going back almost every day to pick up fresh produce for dinner.

However.

Sometimes a man is there, a man who I presume to be the younger mother’s husband….and I don’t like him. The first time he was there, he spoke to me in near-perfect English, even though I was speaking Spanish. I find it rude when people do that, it’s clear they’re trying to be helpful, not superior….but sometimes superior, sometimes it’s obvious. I continued answering in Spanish, but he kept asking more questions, and I ran out of Spanish words. That was the first time I met him, and then I didn’t see him for a few trips, but the second, or maybe third time I saw him there, he specifically asked if I had a boyfriend, and when I shook my head, he asked if I had a friend with benefits.

My jaw actually dropped.

I wish I had asked if he questioned all of his customers on who exactly they’re all having sex with….but instead I gave him a severe look and remained silent. Trying to save face, he explained he knew the terminology from what the young people say, then went on to explain it’s unusual that I’m traveling alone, but then again….you are not a usual girl.

He actually said that.

Just like that.

As his exclusively Spanish-speaking wife and mother-in-law are standing RIGHT next to him in this tiny hovel filled to the ceiling with muddy produce. I should have dropped what I had right there, but I paid for it and left. Decided I’d never go back. Better yet, I thought about leaving this country, and by the time night hit, I made a plan to buy a bus ticket, a nice LONG one, and get FAR AWAY from here.

Phase Two:

Indeed I did walk to the bus station the very next day, which took a similar route to the movie theater, though shorter by more than half. This was the station I arrived in, the one with the shouting bus clerks. It was more or less a straight line from my apartment to get there, which caused me to realize that the taxi man gave me QUITE A RIDE upon my arrival here, especially because everyone knows the airport will have an ATM, WE DIDN’T HAVE TO GO TO THREE SEPARATE SHITHOLE PLACES ALL OVER THIS CITY WASTING MY MONEY, but whatever I’m leaving, I’m LEAVING. I found the right bus station, inquired about Chile, and the guy told me it would be about a day and a half to get there. Cool. They don’t take cards though. …..I should have known.

Turned around and walked out of the station, away from the shouting bus clerks, over to where the shouting taxi men were, and chose the one closest to me. With no hesitation, he led me over to the most dilapidated burner car you could imagine…the door handle didn’t even work, he had to open it for me from the inside, which appeared to be a rusty, dirty, claustrophobic tin pot…with holes. He was nice though, and we chatted a little bit. He told me about a giant Inca statue we passed by in a traffic circle, and seemed very proud to tell me….I was proud to understand what he was saying! My Spanish is getting better:) He brought me directly to an ATM, no scenic tours through the city, cash was deposited…afterward I walked back over as he waited in his clown car, and then drove me right back. The entire interaction lasted less than ten minutes. I shook his hand upon departure and skipped back to the bus clerk who stamped me in officially (and gave me change straight from his wallet). I’d be riding in the top deck of the double-decker, very first row. High style!! The first bus will take me to the edge of Peru (about 14 hours), then immigration, then onto another bus which takes me to Santiago, Chile (in over 24 hours). I’m so excited and completely looking forward to a brand new country. Patagonia is in Chile, and it looks freaken gorgeous (based on my research)…I’m desperate to start enjoying myself because this whole Peru adventure has been disappointment after disappointment. As I was looking at the calendar, I was shocked to find Christmas at the end of next month…time has been flying, and I want to have some fun. So we’ll see, we shall see. It’ll be a multiple-day bus ride, but I’m kind of craving a nice long one.

Phase Three:

I woke up very happy on departure day, beyond excited to get out of here and GO. Before actually leaving however, there was laundry to launder. The previous night, I’d handwashed some essentials in the sink with dish soap (having not done laundry since Arequipa) they drip-dried overnight, hanging from various levels in my bathroom, but because the method wasn’t super effective in the minuscule space with teeny slots for ventilation….they needed to be clothespinned up on the roof.

My escape from it all.

I love it up there, the cement staircase leads to the roof, that is heaped with all kinds of things their keepers abandoned up there….but I would go sometimes before sunset, when the sky is changing colors, sit somewhere close to the edge of the building, and watch all the lights of the city flicker on. Above me, the giant planes from the airport are flying people away, over the surrounding mountains that are growing darker and darker as the sky is lighting up with stars. It’s been the best part. The single happy surprise of my time here in Cusco. The sky was on fire the very first time I made my way up there and I was sooooooo happy.

This was the first time I was up there during the morning and it was mighty sunny, too sunny to sit and stare but perfect for drying my clothes on time, so I hung them up and descended back down, all the way down and outside the building to go get a haircut.

I knew where I’d go, having passed it often enough during my time here, however upon arrival, no one was there, the door was open, but I stood alone in an empty salon. Not a particularly nice salon either, bare bones, with pictures of more men than women on the walls, modelling different haircuts from awhile ago. Plus, wrapping paper was taped next to the pictures, Christmas-themed, as if it were a big gift waiting just for all of the customers, instead of just a wall. I stood there staring until a lady came rushing in from the outside, apologizing and asking what I wanted. I showed her a picture from my phone, and she motioned toward the chair in front of the mirror. Uhm. I want a wash too.

Agua?

She’s balking.

Now I’m balking.

Next she’s nodding and going behind the curtains in the back, leaving me alone again. After a few minutes, she’s back and lugging a big bucket filled with water. The bucket is filthy. I mean….probably not on the inside, but the outside was filthy, looking as if it were a fifty-year-old bucket, not a good fifty years either, rough ones, and she’s telling me the water is cold.

Frijo?

Si. Poquito.

Oh boy.

I sat in her chair, and….very tenderly she attended to my head. Had I not seen the bucket (that came with a verbal warning) I’d have no idea that there was no running water. She was so skilled in the way she did it, a true gift. The water wasn’t cold either, it wasn’t hot….but it wasn’t cold. She gave me the best haircut since Colombia, and I tipped her well for it. Best I could.

I was feeling especially free with my new cut and speedwalked all the way back to my apartment, up the five stories for the last time, fetched my laundry, packed it up, down the five stories for the last time, hailed a taxi, and finally was off to the bus station, where I would wait less than an hour to be on my way to Chile. I knew EXACTLY where to go, so there would be no joyrides around the country this time.

Happy Thanksgiving to me:)

And Happy Thanksgiving to you xo

Melissa Ryan