Borders

by Glencora Montesinos (Venezuela)

I didn't expect to find Peru

Some cities possess inherent magic and for a traveler, this magic can translate into perfect timing. If we are bold enough to ride the wave of such magic, we paint our travels with colorful stories that redefine our path. Most long-term travelers reach a threshold after hitting the 6-month mark. It comes with a lot of physical and mental fatigue, and debating returning home or embracing the notion that Home is in the act of wandering, can be quite a challenge. Back in 2016, I crossed that threshold while visiting the city of Cusco, in the Peruvian Andes. I was nearly broke when I arrived, so I set off to find a hostel where I could work in exchange for room and board. Within a day of walking its cobbled streets, I found my newest shared home with an international family. I had been working in the hostel's restaurant for about three weeks and I wasn't anywhere near ready to leave, when I realized my tourist visa was about to expire. I would be forced to leave the country. There was an easy solution, I had to go on a quick trip to Bolivia, and on return ask for a visa extension, simple in theory, except I only had 20 Soles. A one-way ticket to Copacabana, the nearest Bolivian border town, would cost 50 Soles. I was still deciding what to do when Cusco's magic presented me with a gift. On a slow morning at the restaurant, while sweeping, I came across a crumpled piece of paper. Purpose told me to throw it away, but instinct told me to unfold it. And there, in my hands, was a 100 soles bill. After checking that no guests had reported it missing, I embraced the invigorating sensation that comes with unexpected money and rejoiced in what felt like a manifestation from Cusco, asking me to stay. I traveled all night carrying only a small bag, with little food and water, before the bus stopped at the Peruvian border around 7 am. There, I got the exit stamp and couldn't help but smile, as new passport stamps are always a small source of accomplishment. A minutes' walk and I was at the Bolivian border where a young man received my passport and stamped a 30 days visa without asking much. I tried to explain that I was only staying for a few hours while waiting for the next bus back to Cusco. My perfect plan broke when he shared an important piece of information: I had to stay for at least 24 hours in the country before I could get an exit stamp. I felt defeated as I realized I had only enough money for the return bus, virtually no food and only a few hours before I was due back at my new home/job, in a different country. My expression must have shown absolute shock and terror. Next thing I know, the customs officer checks the clock behind him and takes a deep, pensive breath. "Go," he said "Go and make sure you come back at 6 pm. I'll stamp your exit then." Instinct and trust spoke again, so I went ahead to Copacabana. I was walking around the dusty and unpretentious downtown when somebody called my name. I got the opportunity to reconnect with an old travel companion that happened to be in the right place at the right time. We enjoyed the sun setting on the blue-green immensity that is the Titicaca lake before purchasing my return ticket back to the Bolivian border. Thankfully, the same customs officer recognized me, checked the clock on the wall, nodded and stamped my passport. I exhaled in deep relief. A few minutes later I received the fourth, and final passport stamp of the day. Magically, I was given 90 more days in enchanting Cusco! Time passed, I found a paying job, saved some money and experienced some more Cusco good fortune. Eventually, I returned to Copacabana, this time to start a proper journey around irreverent Bolivia. It's now 2020, and I'm delighted to report that I haven't stopped wandering and I still find Home and magic in every place I go.