Adventures from the Back of a Cop Car in Cusco, Peru

If you know me, you will find this recollection to be (hopefully) amusing, and not entirely unexpected. If you don't know me, you will most likely just be worried for me and my well being as I go forward in life. Which is okay, because so am I. First, some light backstory to get you warmed up for the traumatic events to come. I travelled to Cusco, Peru for 5 weeks to volunteer after my second year of university. I arrived on Sunday, May 6th after what genuinely felt like 3 years of travelling. Also keep in mind a huge language barrier. By huge, I mean I, at this point, could maybe count to 10 in Spanish. And that was on a good day. Anyway, I got to my volunteer centre and got all my information, the address of the house I would be staying at, the names and background of the couple I would be staying with and my volunteer placement. Also a map. The man behind the counter asked me if I needed him to mark on the map where my house was. I, being me, said no and that I could do it myself, which I did. Then I took a taxi to the house, a bright pink home with a tall white gate surrounding it. After this I took a bus with my housemates to get lunch before my volunteer orientation at 2pm. I brought only my wallet and phone because what else would I need?

May 6, 2018(Excerpts from my travel journal)

After orientation, around 3pm I was with some girls and we were trying to get to our home-stays. I, having only brought my wallet and phone, didn't have my address or any contact information (or a working phone) with me. I ended up walking around for 4+ hours trying to find a pink house. For the first 2 hours I walked in circles. Seriously. Circles. 2 Hours. I'm pretty sure the stray dogs that I kept passing were even getting concerned for me. Eventually it was getting dark so I asked some older ladies who were walking if they knew where this house was. By "asked" I mean I waved a map in their faces and frantically pointed at the star I had marked earlier on in the day and attempted a Spanish word, "ayuda." "Help." Classic tourist. They looked worried, probably had kids of their own, and were picturing them walking around in the pitch black (which it was by this point) asking random people for "ayuda." They couldn't help me though. But they did stop a mother-daughter duo and ask them if they could help. The daughter even spoke some English so that was a positive. We walked around in circles for an hour and a half. At least. They asked every person we passed if they knew where this seemingly nonexistent road and pink house were located. No one did. At this point (almost 4 hours in to my search) I was beginning to question myself (I know, it took me 4 hours to start doubting things). First of all, how could I be so stupid that I left the house without the address, any contact information for anyone and any of my three brain cells. Also, was the house really pink? Am I even in the right spot? Is this Peru? All things that crossed my mind repeatedly. After a while the mom and daughter were clearly losing patience and walked me to the police station. The police station.

At this point I, a generally calm and collected person, was beginning to panic. We're talking sweat beads on my forehead. Feeling a little faint. Heart beating at a seriously increased rate.Anyway, of course none of the officers spoke any English at all. I once again took out my map and pointed at the spot my house was marked on the map and they gave me a "are you serious" kind of look and walked me 3 seconds away to the street where the house was supposed to be. Which it wasn't. I, classic me, had refused to let someone else help me mark the house on the map and in return I marked it in the wrong spot. A cruel form of karma if you ask me but whatever. At this point, I was figuring out my options. Also loosely on the verge of a breakdown. First, I seriously considered sitting outside the volunteer centre for the whole night until they opened at 8am. The dogs would have kept me company. Also I considered staying at a hostel and told the officers this by saying "hostel, me" they seemed to understandbut said it was a bad idea and I wasn't in a position to argue at that point. Only because the only argument I could actually form in Spanish was "um no" and that didn't really produce the outcome I was looking for. After this they put me in the back of their car and just started driving. I, with my heart rate now increasing at an unhealthy rate, sat there and thought about all the horror movies I had ever seen and decided this could probably be the beginning of one. That or just the next days news headline, "Girl, 20, gets kidnapped in Cusco, Peru by two men posing as police officers" (something I had been warned about before I left). An unfortunate outcome for me but at least it would be a good story for someone to tell one day. So turns out they were actually just driving me to the volunteer centre. Which was closed. Naturally. There was however someone there, we'll call him Tom. Heart rate now beginning to decrease and a slight feeling of hope beginning to set in. He didn't speak English sothe officers began to explain to the man what was going on (I assume) and I repeatedly said "Virginia" (the name of my homestead mom) and honestly just hoped for the best. They seemed to be figuring it out.After a few minutes one of the officers said "passport" to me. At this point I actually knew my life was over and I was about to be sent overseas to be trafficked. Yet, I for some reason still immediately gave it to him. Yeah I know, adding "freezes up in life or death situations" to my résumé and ChristianMingle profile promptly. Then both officers started to move toward me. Sweating, again. Each of them on either side of me now, one handed their phone to Tom and said "foto." They wanted to take a picture with me. Thank god because the mandatory self-defence class I took at school in grade 6 was probably not going to be sufficient in this case. Still not sure why they wanted my passport number but I guess now there's a picture of me with my passport number posted in the police station. Probably incase I ever got lost again (which I did) they would all know who I was.

Now the officers were getting back into their car and Tom was putting me into another car, that he called from the side of the road that absolutely was not a taxi. Stressed again. Yet I still got into the car. Not sure why I'm like this. Tom talked to the driver from outside the car for a few minutes and then we started driving for what felt like an hour, at least. When we stopped we were outside of a restaurant, "Super Pollo" and he said "Okay" and indicated that I get out of the car. So I, freaking out and genuinely exhausted at this point said "no" because as if I was going to get out of the car, in a foreign country, unable to communicate with anyone, and in a random place. So I had him take me back to the volunteer centre. Yikes. Tom saw me and gave me a frustrated "is this a joke, are you stupid" look. Sorry, yes, I am. So he made a call and then brought me back outside and put me in a taxi which brought me to the same "Super Pollo" as before only this time my homestead mom, Virginia, was on the corner. Honestly thank god. So I got out of the car and she walked me to her pink house, with a white gate which was 4 steps away from "Super Pollo." Ask me how much I hated myself at this point. Home at last, with only a shred of dignity left. From that point on, everyone at the centre was careful to give me very specific and detailed directions whenever I needed to go somewhere. Which naturally were ineffective because I spent the next 6 days getting lost. I reckon it's both because I'm directionally challenged and zone out when anyone tries to tell me what to do, even when it's for my own good.

And so, for a 20 year old, self-proclaimed know-it-all who is directionally challenged, travelling alone for the first time and maybe a bit stubborn there are some drawbacks. Overall, at the very least I have a good ice breaker story now.