June 23rd to June 24th 2009 – Police, pickets, pastures, and perilous passages

We had a late start for us at 8.00am for we all slept late and decided to take the wider route via the road to Arequipa, then to the Tintaya mine and then from Tintaya to Cusco.  A route we felt sure would avoid all pickets.  It had been cold at first, though not as cold as Macusani, but, with no hot water still, i just used a liberal amount of deodorant when dressing in my silver grey satin bra and matching panties.  The journey to Tintaya was uneventful, pleasant in fact as we saw magnificent mountain and volcanic scenery and felt like tourists.  From Tintaya though, the story got worse.  We gave a lady a lift just after we passed the mine and she told us that the mine road to Cusco went very close to Sicuani and that it was blocked.  We would need to divert onto a small mountain road which could get us into Cusco.  We left the lady on the Sicuani road where we turned off onto the mountain road and we offered a lift to a teenage schoolgirl who was heading home and who would guide us a good part of the way.  We passed a truck heading away from Cusco and this gave us confidence that the road was open and that we would get through.

Not long after we left the schoolgirl, we came back onto the road we had driven on Sunday and passed through the town where we had been held up for an hour or so, this time without any trouble.  We felt sure that now we were well on our way and that the road blocks were behind us.  How wrong could we be.  The very next village, free on Sunday, had now set up a roadblock.  This was impassable as another 4-wheel drive demonstrated by getting itself stuck on the mound of soil used to block the road.  The group were from the Tintaya mine.  We helped them free their vehicle and then led them back a couple of kilometres to a place where we had noticed a track going around a large hill and which then appeared to go around the far side of a lake and return to the main road beyond the road block, which, as it turned out, it did.

We were not however expecting that at the point where it rejoined the main road, there would be another road block and a very aggressive group of pickets.  They immediately surrounded both of our vehicles, shouting abuse and then painting the vehicles with pro-strike slogans.  It was impossible to have any kind of discussion with them at this stage so we just sat quietly and waited for things to calm down.  As they lost interest in us, we began looking around for an exit strategy.  There was a farm track from the previous village that we could see by-passed the road block.  However, it was at a lower elevation and in full view of the pickets and they would certainly be able to move down the road the short distance necessary to block off that route before we would be able to drive it.  So, we decided it would have to be done at night.

It was now about 5.00pm and a policeman arrived, stirring up the pickets yet again.  He was powerless and simply shrugged his shoulders and retreated back the way he had come.  We decided with our mine colleagues, that it would be best if we each went back to the village separately before attempting the farm track escape route and so they followed the policeman back to the village.  We were planning to wait until almost dark and then go back on the pretext of buying something to eat.  However, as darkness fell, a cluster of vehicles arrived on the Sicuani road.  They too were blocked but then a guy got out, stood on some sort of box and delivered a speech, fomenting cheers and shouts of “vive el paro!”  The mob became more excited than ever with increasingly loud chants until the speaker returned to a minibus and was led through the picket line and the road block by a single guy on a motor cycle.  A taxi, following the minibus was also allowed through and then, to our amazement, the mob parted and opened the blockade for us.

We went through and as we turned onto the Cusco road, we could see our colleagues from the mine driving along the farm track, with lights on now that they could see that the blockade had ended.  The taxi turned off the road at the next small village and we continued on right behind the minibus which became stuck trying to get over an abandoned road block on the way into Acopia.  We had passed through Acopia without trouble on our way south on Sunday so were surprised to see such a formidable road block now in place.  We all got out and helped the minibus over the blockade and learned that they were a delegation of strike leaders that were going around the villages to encourage them to keep on with the strike.  They were grateful for our help and we followed them into town thinking that as this block was unpicketed we might yet get through the town unimpeded.  However, as we passed through the central plaza, we realised that this was not going to be easy when we saw all of the vehicles locked in there.  There were tourist buses, trucks and cars all parked in line waiting to continue their journey.  We drove by them towards the far side of town, still feeling hopeful that having helped the delegation get to the town, they might vouch for us and we might yet get through.

i drove on right behind the minibus, keeping as close to it as i possibly could, with our mine friends right behind me.  We stopped in amongst the mob of pickets and waited for the leader of the delegation to make his speech.  Listened to his impassioned encouragement to the pickets and to their shouts of slogans, cheers, and chants as they rallied to his cause.  He then clearly told them to let the first two vehicles through that were in the line behind him.  Meaning us and our mine friends.  We started to move forward right behind the minibus and looked as if we were going to get through until, in the light of one of the picket fires as we passed, someone shouted “no estan delegados! estan mineros!”  (these are not delegates, they are miners!”).  In seconds people were forcing there way between me and the minibus, dropping large stones under our wheels, rocking the vehicle such that i feared they would roll us over.  Further progress was impossible.  Once again we were stuck.  Once again, we switched off the engine and the lights and waited for things to calm down.  We then got out and regrouped with our mine friends and began discussing plan B.  It was then that a group of tourists came up to us and advised us that they had been there since Sunday afternoon and that these pickets refuse to let any vehicles through the blockade at any time.  We asked them if they had heard of any alternative route around the town but, being right by a large lake, the only way was up the mountain and perhaps down the other side.

We decided to head back into the town on the pretext of getting food.  Once there, we went further to the opposite edge of the town and found a teenage boy and asked him if there was a track up to the top of the hill and then back down to the road further along.  He told us there was a track up to the top but then the only way down would be through steep fields and pastures.  “Could he show us?” we asked, “for S/-50 (US$18)?” we asked and were delighted when he agreed.  The adrenalin began to pump again as we climbed slowly out of the town along a steep and bumpy farm track without lights.  We reached a point above the town where a steep but relatively open gully headed back down to the lake and the road out of sight of the town itself.  We headed down it, without lights still, zig-zagging down through pastures and stubble from grain crops by the light of people running ahead shining the way with the torch on their mobile phones.  Down we went in fits and starts as the boy and my colleagues scouted ahead for the best way down.  There were times were we waited alone for a few minutes and times when we went forward and downward at an exhilarating pace, hearts thumping, eyes focused on the narrow spots of light as they weaved backward and forward across out path, illuminating obstacles.

Then our wait seemed longer than we expected.  We waited for an hour, the driver of the mine vehicle, two passengers and myself and one passenger.  Neither my partner, the leader of the mine group nor the boy came back.  What to think?  Had they found a way down but couldn’t find their way back?  Were they lost? Had they been seen and captured by the pickets?  Were we stuck on this mountainside until dawn?  It was well after 10.00pm when they returned without the boy.  No time for questions but back to action.  Keeping the engine at as low revolutions as possible, we crept down the last bit of mountainside and finally came to a farm track.  We turned along it, away from the village only to find that it had been washed away at the next gully and was impassable.  There was no other choice but to go back to where the track we were on met the road no more than 500m from the picket line.  Once again, my prospector partner led me by the light of his cellphone to the point where i could see the road and a line of cars across my path and a clear run out but sharp turn to our escape route.  At this point, i was still out of sight from the picket line and i wanted my partner back in the car but he insisted on staying out of the car in case i got stuck.  He said he would ride on the doorstep of the car by grabbing a hold through the two open windows and so, still on low ratio 4-wheel drive, i pulled sharply out of the gully and turned onto the road.  i could hear the angry shouts of the pickets once they spotted us, i could see their silhouettes running towards us against the fires of the picket line and then the urgent cry of my partner as he missed his grab for the car and fell.  i braked, he opened the door and was still climbing in as i raced up through the gears, lights now on full beam, hurtling along past the seemingly endless line of cars waiting to go through the blockade.  i checked my rear-view mirror and could see our mine friends moving closer to us, their lights now also blazing.  Heart racing, adrenalin charged, pumped, exhilarated, i drove on about 5km to a fork in the road where we waited for our friends.  We had beaten the pickets yet again!

Now we learned that my prospector partner and the leader of the mine group had indeed encountered a group of pickets who had heard the engine noise and were checking out the source.  They had told the boy to run and hide lest he get captured and beaten and this he did without ever receiving his S/-50.  Our two scouts were forcibly led back to the picket line where they were grilled as to who had told them about the mountain track.  My prospector responded in Quechua, their local tongue, that he had no idea who the boy was or what he looked like since it was dark and they didn’t ask for names.  Also, the boy had run off and now, without a guide, we were stuck on the mountain until morning.  In the meantime he was going back to try and find the cars where we would all wait until we had light to see and find our way down.  Amazingly, they made no attempt to stop him returning.

Now, we had to make another decision. We were at a fork in the road.  Straight ahead lay the blocked bridge and river crossing that we had used on Sunday, going back but up the mountain somewhat was a minor mountain road that was less likely to be blocked.  The river crossing was deep and, in the dark, we had no idea we could find the exit up into the field on the far side and furthermore, that even if we did, would it have been left open?  The chances were that after our successful crossing, the pickets had now closed off that escape.  So, we elected to go the mountain track route.  It was after 11.00pm and, taking this route, i was concerned that we might not have enough gas, especially as we were still going to be driving in low gears and up steep inclines.  There would be no gas stations on this road and even if there were, they would not be open.   We climbed and descended repeatedly along twisty zig-zag roads and my fuel gauge needle hovered over the big “E.”   We passed a steamroller with a guy asleep in it as we manouvered through some road works.  We stopped and woke him and begged him to sell us some diesel but to no avail.  There was diesel in the next village, he told us, the mayor runs a store and sells both gas and diesel.  We almost freewheeled for a half an hour downhill into the village at which point the fuel warning light came on but we made it to the store which we were amazed to find open at 15 minutes after midnight.

Inside the store, two young women were busy using the phone.  The mayor came to attend to us, not in the best frame of mind, and flatly refused to sell us any fuel in spite of us having bought chocolate and biscuits from him to kill the hunger we now felt in the aftermath of our adventure.  No amount of persuasion would make him change his mind and so we had no choice but to continue our journey.  However, the one positive thing we had going for us was that according to our mine colleagues, it was only 50km to Cusco and half of them were downhill!  And so it was that at 4.00am on the outskirts of Cusco, i filled my tank with diesel, parted company with our friends from the mine and headed to our hotel where, at 4.30am they were getting ready to open the restaurant for breakfast.  By now, after 20 hours at the wheel, my eyes must have been out on stalks.  i declined breakfast but instead went and got into the shower, a gorgeous, hot, stinging spray and washed away the dramas before climbing out, drying, perfuming and slipping into my pink satin PJ’s, sliding into bed and a deep, contented and undisturbed sleep.