Borderline: Judging a book by its cover

Let me be honest. My first impression of Peru was far from favorable. You see, border crossings are notoriously unpleasant, and the one on the shores of Titicaca was no exception. After 8 hours in transit, I finally reached the dirty, hectic border of Bolivia and Peru. Bolivia had treated me splendidly in most respects, so I expected similar things from Peru. I get to the immigration office on the Peru side. The immigration official takes my passport and stamps in it a 60 day visa - while I thought the visa was 90 days. Upon inquiring politely, the official says, oh actually you can have up to 180 days, but you didn´t ask...So, I asked for more time and he said, sorry, its already in the computer - too late. OK, I thought, being an asshole is a desired qualification for border guards, so I won´t let it stain my perception of Peru.

Next, I went to find a bus to Puno to continue my 20 hour journey from Apa Apa to Cusco. I find one for 7 soles and hop on - strategically choosing an aisle seat for the extra leg room. After I take my seat, women with overstuffed bags of merchandise started searching the bus for every last inch of space to cram their goods. During this time, two passengers began bickering heatedly over who would occupy the front seats.

Sorry, the front seat is taken.
There was no indication of that!
Actually our things are in the rack above your head.
That doesn´t mean anything!

Awkward...I hadn´t seen anything like it in Bolivia, and let me tell you, I´ve seen these scenes a few times in Peru. Anyway, after that figured itself out with the aid of the bus driver, the company proceeded to overbook the bus until the aisle looked like a sardine can - negating any advantage I would have gleaned from my clever seat choice. So, I grumpily assumed the knees-smashed-into-the-seat-in-front-of-me position and awaited our departure. The man in front of me decided to recline. As I repositioned to accommodate this move, my neighbor noticed my silent discomfort and began yelling at the man in front of me and shaking his seat back and forth telling him to think about the comfort of the gringo. The man remained silently indifferent and didn´t say a word, while his wife began defending his honor to the unrelenting woman who continued to use his seat as a rowing machine. I too remained silent, but more from astonishment at this tyrade rather than indifference. Realizing that nothing but ill will would result from this situation, I calmed the woman down by telling her that I was used to such discomfort on Latin American buses on account of my long, beautiful legs. After things had settled, the woman patriotically assured me that all Peruvians weren´t like that man. I secretly hoped they wouldn´t be like her, though later on the ride we had a stimulating conversation about our respective homes and the double edged sword of wealth.

I later took a bus from Puno to Cusco, and what a hellacious ride it was. Due to gastrointestinal maladies, I became a veritable volcano of noxious gases on that bus ride as my guts tied themselves in knots. The 7 hours without a bathroom stop made the ride quite torturous for myself and my neighbors. When we finally arrived in Cusco at 4 AM, I was quite relieved, and grabbed an overpriced taxi to ¨Hostel Slippery¨ (it sounds better in spanish), to surprise Allison - rousing her from her slumber. It was a sleepy, but heartwarming reunion, for which my bum provided a terrible soundtrack. Such were my first few hours in the great country of Peru.