Rapists and Cool Street

This story is not for the faint of heart. There will be angry and vulgar language used and if your children or other innocent eyes are near, please wait to read this entry for their sakes.

As promised we did leave Cuzco (with a bang I might add) and because Mel and I are both occasionally, bueno - RARELY - idiots we were due our idiotic action of the month. We were to take the luxury train and after examining our budgets decided that it would be more economically friendly to take the bus as we had normally been doing. Very near our hostel (called Huiñariy, only $4 a night! - a recommendation to anyone who travels there) we found a travel agency and decided that we should buy our bus tickets since the plan was to leave the next day and night was closing in on us. In our tizzy we said, "sure, 100 soles will be fine, take our money --- and rape us." This is the feeling that I have right now and it is not a pretty one. As I thought about how incredible the mistake had been and how I´m sure the woman at the travel agency feels like the head gang member prideful of a recent - violent - rape of two innocent young girls. When I realized what had happened we were near the border of Peru and Bolivia and ran into some Porteñas who told us they had paid only 15 soles for their bus tickets - for those not-so-currency-savvy folks thats the difference between U.S. $35 and U.S. $5. Our wallets were raped severely and are having a difficult time coming out and telling an adult or authority about the incident for the pure humiliation of it all.

The best part is, I had been carefully budgeting our trip to Bolivia and had even calculated that the entire trip to our final destination should have been at most U.S. $12 and if we paid more that something should be wrong. So, "why in the name of Titicaca would I do such a ridiculously un-smart thing?" you might be wondering......... me too. I think in my country they call them Brainfarts and this happened to be a particularily gascious evening.

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So, with an empty wallet in one hand and one solitary warm 1-sol empanada in the other hand , we crossed the border into Bolivia only to find that the city of our destination does not have a cash machine.... Oh, joy. Luckily, we were smart enough to bring our handy dandy American Express Traveller´s Checks. A nice man told us that we should be able to change the checks for 7.50 bolivianos. The woman behind the counter at the money exchange looked at me crazy when I gave her a crazy look because she offered to buy my check for 7 bolivianos to the dollar. Because I was angry and felt the humiliation of my last raping, I decided that now was the time to DEFEND! I put on my bitchy-face and told the woman point-blank that she could not have my check because someone offered me more and they were simply unable to change it for me until later ... so if she didn´t give me my 7.50 I would simply wait for the dueña to return and change it elsewhere. After arguing continually over the agreed price of my dollars, and the woman changing it from less to more to less, I won. I WIN! Unluckily, the exchange for a green dollar is very near 8 bolivianos and we have no other cash source until we get to the City... Another fine day for raping the tourists, isn´t it? ... My anus hurts.

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On a brighter note, we ran into a girl that we met in Cuzco who happens to be travelling alone. She is a bright one with a clever mind for description. When we arrived, the main street was filled with what I would describe as hippies... anyway, they all have long scraggly hair and shaggy clothes and happen to be young, good-looking folks with flare for ignoring their customers. Oh, yes. These are the nice people who are selling the most unique and incredible goods from hasheesh pipes carved from seeds or bones to wireworked jewelry that would blow the mind of any craftsman.

Our new friend, from Seattle, mentioned this area of town and also openly told us that she was intimidated by these people ... I believe her exact words were, "I´m intimidated by Cool Street. The people there are too cool and none of them even talk to you..."

We proceeded down this alleged Cool Street and encountered Chileans, Australians, Bolivians, and Argentines selling goods on this street and in fact, when I or Mel directed a sentece toward them it was followed by lively conversation and invitaions to go for a drink or to a cafe with live music later on in the evening. Due to many obstacles we faced - searching for a place to rent a tent, internet, food, the hill, the hostel, etc. - we walked up and down Cool Street approximately 7 to 8 times in 2 hours. We are now officially members of Cool Street and will be going out tonight with many of our fellow Cool Streeters to a place called Wyki.