Living in Peru : your everyday companion

Richard Nisbet

For the last three years I’ve been making one feeble attempt after another to see the ruins of Tiawanaku.   I had visited La Paz in the early 80’s, had spent several days there with friends I had met in the U.S.   I had crossed Titicaca in the hydrofoil, seen the Island of the Sun, the Island of the Moon and Copacabana.  But I had yet to see Tiawanaku.   It was a big hole in my education.   I had read about the site, had even spent $300 for Arturo Posnansky’s book “Tiawanaku, Cradle of American Man,” had seen many photographs, but still lacked that first-hand experience. 

I kept trying to locate my old friends, but they were not to be found.   I had planned to go in January when Jim would be in Cusco and could join me.  But then I got an offer I couldn’t refuse.

My Aussie friend Glen offered me a ride in his tourist truck.   This is a monster Mercedes, an off-road vehicle capable of carrying over twenty tourists with their gear.   It is the size of, and looks like a cargo container with windows.  It’s an ungainly thing.   I had ridden in the back of one piloted by Glen from Cusco to Ollantaytambo.  It’s a two and a half hour trip by bus, but only an hour and a half at Glen’s hands.   At the outset of that trip I was unsettled by his speed.    But I soon realized that Glen knew his business.   He had driven big trucks all over Australia, and he was a true professional.   He drove that buggar like a race car, flattening the curves, breaking coming in and accelerating through and out.   I’ve never seen anyone drive a truck like that.

Glen drove one of two trucks that are owned by  a South American touring company..   One of the two had burnt out a bearing in the transmission in Cusco.   The other driver had packed all the tourists into the functioning truck and taken off for La Paz.  The necessary parts had been requisitioned from Lima.    The truck would be  repaired in Cusco and Glen would drive it to La Paz to rejoin the group and drive on south to Chile, then to Rio for carnival, the climax of a three month trip.   

If all went according to plan, the truck would be ready to leave Monday afternoon.    We would leave with an hour or so of daylight, make Puno, Peru by nine in the evening, spend the night there, get up early and make La Paz at least by noon.   If all went according to plan...

Monday afternoon we got the word that the part hadn’t been shipped.   The trip was delayed a day, but there was still time to make it.   He had to make La Paz by noon Wednesday.   He explained to me that they had already broken down the transmission and it was only a matter of a couple of hours to get it back together once the part arrived.

I ran into Glen having a burger at Norton’s at around one P.M.   He said the tranny part was on the plane from Lima and we should be on our way by 4:30 that afternoon.    He asked me to meet him at the garage at 4:15.  The Volvo Authorizo Garage.  Near the Statue of  the Condor on Avenida de la Cultura.   No problem for me.   I had been packed and ready for a  whole day and had only unpacked my toothbrush.

I got a cab at four.  I was carrying my backpack, two cameras and a plastic box with leftovers from lunch.  “Volvo Garage,” I told the driver.   “Cerca el Condor.”

We stopped beneath the tall cement column with the bronze condor statue atop and there was a narrow garage marked “Volvo,” but the steel door was pulled down and locked.   It is impossible to miss that monster truck of Glen’s and it was not in sight.

“This has to be it,” I said.   I paid the driver and got out.   I walked over and looked at the garage.   It was definitely locked.  I asked a couple of likely mechanics if there was another entrance.   There wasn’t.

The taxista yells to me.   He’s been holding in place, hoping for more fare when  I give up on this garage.   He’s gotten out of his cab and noticed that I’ve left my box of leftovers on the roof.    He walks over with it.  Chips, Salsa and a cold taco. 

We ask the men standing there if there isn’t another Volvo garage nearby.   They shake their heads.    I’m mulling over Glen’s instructions.   “Volvo Authorizo,” I mumble.

“Oh!” says the driver.  “Volvo Authorizo!”   He points up the street in the direction we’ve come from.  “Aya!”  

Come back next week for part two of Trucking to La Paz with Mad Max