50. Andahualas, Peru

50.

Andahualas, Peru:

I am writing by yellow candlelight in a clean, cheap room in this lovely mountain village.


But there was some trouble getting here.

First the bus was stranded by a local gasoline shortage. Since there was no gas to buy, we passengers-- mainly Indians who had been visiting Lima-- camped out for a couple of days and nights in the stalled bus.

Next a collapsed bridge stopped us. The bridge had actually fallen into a raging river, but we passengers managed to cross the river, picking our way on unsubmerged portions of the steel bridge.

I helped carry children and luggage across in the moonlight. It was really very exhilarating to have strangers entrust me to carry their infants in one arm, move from girder to girder with the free hand like a monkey and carefully choose my footing across the slippery wreckage.

An empty bus from the same company waited for us on the opposite side to carry us onward.

I met a girl on the stalled bus, which made the long journey more fun for me-- an Indian who spoke Spanish and her native tongue, Quechua.

I had never heard of that language before.

She said it was somewhat like Russian, though I don’t know what she meant by that.

She was fascinated by my paperback copy of “El Retorno de los Brujos” (“The Morning of the Magicians”) by Pauwels and Bergier.


I ended the trip aboard the favorite transport of the Andes: the two and a half ton Dodge stake truck. All these vehicles are painted decoratively and most have a name painted on the front, something like “Jesus is my Salvation” or “Batman Number Two”.

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