My Unexpected Adventure from Puno to Cusco, Peru

Last Updated on October 21, 2020 by Adam Watts

If I get a ticket from place A to place B from a bus station, I expect the entirety of that journey to be made by bus. So when I bought a bus ticket in Peru from Puno to Cusco, I was expecting to heave my rucksack onto a bus, then curl up in my hoodie, press against the window, and go to sleep.

Knowing South American buses, it might have been a bus that was a rusted piece of junk that would barely make it out of the station before breaking down, but it would look and sound like a bus.

And after buying my ticket from Puno to Cusco, I did get on a bus. But that bus became the back of a jeep, a cross-field hike, then a ride on the back of a bicycle…then another bus. Let me explain.

Firstly, here’s part one of the journey, from La Paz to Puno, i.e. the account of my time stuck in the middle of nowhere in Bolivia, if you want to catch up and set the scene. But it’s not important. This is just about the journey onwards from Puno to Cusco.

Secondly, for some context, during the time I was in Bolivia and Peru, a lot of locals were upset about a lot of different things: low wages, poor infrastructure, the annoying number of backpackers with lame WordPress blogs, among other things, and apparently while us westerners write letters or sign online petitions, Peruvians like to set fire to tires and put giant boulders in the middle of roads.

Basically, when Peruvians are pissed off, they make people take notice.

And in my experience of these protests, the police don’t really care. Maybe they’re involved in the strikes themselves, I don’t know. So when my bus came to a stop some way outside Cusco at the top of a hill, it came as no surprise to me that there were about 50 local people in the road in front of us, standing around a smoldering tire. Some of them had picket signs which I couldn’t translate but they included exclamation marks so they must have been serious.

After almost an hour of rumors and gossip spreading around the bus, a self-appointed leader of our ragtag bunch of travelers decided he was going to start walking. Apparently the next town was “about 10km” away and we he invited the rest of us to join him. Everyone did except the Peruvians on our bus who presumably just joined the blockade.

I walked with an Israeli girl called Jacqui that I’d been sitting next to on the bus. She was more enthusiastic about this adventure than seemed reasonable given the combination of poor infrastructure, flaming tires, and lack of any solid plan. [I should also note this was in a time before cell phones were common and smart phones were still just a design in Steve Jobs’ notebook.

When we’d navigated past the flaming tires and angry locals (who had no beef with us and cheerfully waved us on our way), it was actually a beautiful place — there were bumpy hills on all sides, a still blue lake on our left and a winding empty road ahead of us.

After a mile or so, there were no more huge boulders and a few hardy car Jeep owners who were having fun swerving around the smaller ones. One particular driver stopped and let four of us hitch a ride on the back.

After an hour of that, which was exhilarating and cool and felt like we were actually making progress, our driver told us he could take us no further: there were more huge boulders ahead, according to the Quechuan among us who could speak a little Spanish.

We’d been dropped outside a tiny store that was nothing more than a big shed with a metal grate on the front, so we grabbed some snacks and water and followed our Quechuan guide across some fields. He seemed to know where he was going and we didn’t have any better ideas. Maybe he’d take us to his family and we’d all be adopted and would live happy, rural lives in the Andes.

“I hope we get free alpaca clothes,” said Jacqui to nobody in particular.

Carrying all your belongings on your back is useful for adaptability and speed when you’re in the middle of a cross-country hike in a strange country with no map or compass or anything practical, but it sure is uncomfortable and hot. I kept stopping to readjust myself and take a breather.

“Come on lazy Englishman,” said Jacqui, this time specifically to me.

At the next major road – sorry, just road – we found some kids on BMX’s. They volunteered to give us a bunk for a little while.

“What about our rucksacks?” We queried.

And in a show of resourcefulness that impressed me, one of them sprinted off somewhere and came back 20 minutes later with another friend and a small cart, which they pulled along on the back of another BMX.

Then we weary backpackers jumped on the back of these Peruvian kids’ bikes and got a ride for a mile or so. We gave the kids 50 centimos and headed onwards.

Thankfully, to avoid this blog post needing a part three, we found another bus not long after that to take us the rest of the way from Puno to Cusco. We showed our tickets from the previous bus and met up with some travelers from the bus we’d left who had somehow beaten us here. There’s probably another blog post out there somewhere from one of them exclaiming how great their ride on a helicopter was.

Puno to Cusco in Peru was one of the more eventful journeys of my life and maybe next time I’m at the bus station I’ll ask, “will the journey be by bus or bicycle?”