The One Where the Bus Tips Over

In my next post, I'll write about the nice weekend I spent in Churin and the things I saw there, but this post is about what happened on the way back. You're probably friends with me on Facebook, you've probably seen the pictures, but here's the full story of what happened. As my brother said, if you didn't blog it, it didn't happen, so here it is.

Our bus left at 11 from Churin, and from the start it was evident that the driver liked to drive fast. Churin is situated between three mountain ranges, which means that it has all of the winding roads with precipitous drops into steep gorges that you'd expect. It also has no guard rails and isn't paved. Needless to say, Jorge and I were pretty tense. We drove for about an hour through the mountains, slowly descending, until we reached a flat stretch. Our bus tipped over about 20 meters after we had passed the last drop-off.

In this post, I wrote about that awful, impossibly long moment when the bus started to tip. Well, the moment isn't any shorter the second time, and this time the bus did tip over. The moment you realize what's happening goes on for an eternity; the crash happens in no time at all. I remember Andrea Bocelli had come up on the iPod's shuffle, and I had closed my eyes to pretend we weren't actually going down those roads at that speed. I had time to look at Jorge with alarm, and then I was flying through the air. I don't remember landing, but Jorge says he caught my hand in mid-air and helped me land standing up. I just remember a lot of dust, and how comical it was to see Jorge suspended in mid-air. We had both put on our seat belts, but mine must have broken. I think we were the only two people in the entire bus of 50 or so who had used their seat belt.

Someone had opened the emergency hatch in the roof, and I clambered out through that. My shoes had gotten knocked off in the crash, and we were in some kind of corn field. Jorge made sure I was alright and then helped other people get out. Eventually, someone started throwing all the small items out of the bus, and I was reunited with my shoes. Also safe: both pairs of headphones, four tubs of dulce de leche, Jorge's iPhone (although he had to "remind" the guy who was "guarding it for safekeeping" to give it back), and a bottle of beer. Yes, a bottle of beer. Another passenger had an entire crate of wine that survived unscathed!

Some of the passengers were not so lucky. It was an awful scene outside the bus: ladies screaming, a grown man crying, a score of people bleeding from the head or the face. Soon, a Jeep stopped and took the handful of injured people to the nearest town because the ambulance would take a while to arrive. There was no cell service; I can't imagine what it would have been like if this had happened at night.

After everyone calmed down, I started thinking about what our next move was. How were all these people going to get out of here? And why did we forget to pack water today of all days? Just then, about 15 minutes after the accident, another bus pulled up. It actually left Churin at the same time, but the driver had decided not to risk the lives of all the passengers and drive at a safe speed. Luckily, there were some empty seats on the bus and we climbed on. We went on our way, grateful for the quick rescue.

But wait! Five minutes down the road, we heard an ominous scraping sound. The bus stopped and everyone got off to see what the matter was. After waiting around five minutes, Jorge and I still didn't know if it was serious or if it was going to take a while to fix, so we got off and milled around with everyone else. Then, out of nowhere, a big white van drove up. It was empty and had about 15 seats. We decided to go in the van to Sayan, the nearest town. From there, we took a shared taxi to Huacho, 2 hours away on the coast. We met an Australian girl in the taxi, and she accompanied us all the way back to Lima. From Huacho we took another bus to Lima. Of course, Lima is really big, and the terminal wasn't even close to the apartment, so we took the Metropolitano bus to a nearby neighborhood and then finally, a taxi. During the whole trip, it was surreal to think that we had been upside down in a bus, 5 hours away, and no one around us knew. 7 vehicles and 11 hours after leaving Churin, we got home exhausted and immediately jumped into the shower. Then we discovered to our delight that we had two cold cans of beer in the fridge (and of course the miraculously unbroken bottle, but that was pretty warm by then).

The next day, I could barely lift my head from my pillow I was so sore. Apparently, your body reacts to a crash by tensing up all your muscles. I felt like I had gone too hard at the gym, then had a martial arts expert kick my ass. The irony is that Jorge and I went to Churin to relax in the hot springs, and we both left thinking we were going to keep that feeling all the way to Lima.

So, what's the takeaway from an experience like this? Unfortunately, I didn't learn any big life lessons. I don't live every moment like it's my last. Yesterday, I had a long to-do list and I sat around and wasted hours on the internet, and I'll probably do it again. I guess I'll wear my seatbelt more faithfully, for a time at least. I'll avoid winding mountain roads and not-so-reputable local bus companies. I told myself I'd put together a first aid kit to bring with me when I travel; I don't know if I'll get around to it. The only thing that I know for sure is that I really love my boyfriend. For the first few moments after the accident, before I knew he was ok, there was a heaviness in my chest that only lifted when I saw that he was fine. When I play the possibilities in my head of what could have happened, the outcome that gives me a nauseous feeling in my stomach is not that I'm not ok, but that he's not. I know that there is no one I would rather have at my side through this whole experience, and I guess I'm lucky to have realized that.