A Temporary Agreement With Death

The woman in the seat next to me jerks awake as all four wheels of the bus skid to a halt over the dusty earth road, coming to a stop inches away from the radiator grille of a large blue truck that has performed the same procedure in the opposite direction around the blind bend that hugs the cliff face. Glancing out of the window, the tyres of our vehicle have drifted within inches of the crumbling outside edge of the road that drops away vertically 150 metres to the tumbling river at the bottom of the valley.

An elderly lady lets fly with a screeching tirade of obscenity at the driver, opening the partition between the passengers and the cab, making sure that she will be heard. I can't say I blame her; for the last hour the bus has been flung with incresing optimism around such corners, seeming from my window seat vantage point on the side of the unprotected drop that we are launcing out into space, destination riverbed.

Over the course of the bus ride between Huancayo and Ayacucho I have been, without doubt, about as terrified as possible at the prospect of imminent death on the high, twisting single track dirt road, punctuated by passing places which allow vehicles to knock wing-mirrors as they pass, the outside vehicle teetering on the edge. Prior to leaving Huancayo all conversation pertaining to the route with locals was met with sobering admissions that the journey was very dangerous and buses were frequently lost, but as it was at least an hour quicker than the higher, safer alternative path it was accepted as the choice of the local bus company.

Staring like a shell shocked war veteren into the distance in the safety of a bus stop in a town beyond the mountain pass, a delay was attributed to the large pile of rocks that the ayudantes unloaded from the rear luggage locker below the passenger compartment, presumably to stop the back wheels skidding out over the precipice on the corners; a retrospectively almost reassuring measure.

Ayacucho, Peru

10th November 2009