Not My First Coup

Things are fucked. Well, kinda fucked.

When I decided to travel in December 2022 it was a bit last minute. I always travel somewhere extreme over the Christmas and New Years holidays, but losing my job in October cause my plans to be a bit uncertain as I was reluctant to leave without having a job lined up to return to. While at the same time it seemed silly to stay in a gloomy and freezing Copenhagen when not much was going to happen recruitment-wise in the coming weeks. So best to wait out the uncertainty in a warm place with surfable beaches and cold beers. Enter South America.

Despite my extensive travelling I hadn’t made it to South America yet. Partially due to the distance and wanting to have sufficient time to explore when going that far away. And perhaps partially due a mild apprehension to travel as a solo female in Latin America. I’ve heard both resoundingly positive accounts, but also nearly as many not so fun stories. “But you travel to Africa a lot” you might say. True, but the extremely different recounts of other’s travels had me apprehensive nonetheless. But continent number 5 needed to be experienced.

And that leads to now (well, the now as in the hammock I currently sit in as I write) but the slightly later than now time in which you read this. A mild coup erupted the day after I arrived in Peru. “Mild” and “coup” are not two words that often go together but given the way locals have described what happened with the government in Lima, it’s kind of accurate. The coup was mild, in fact, the president was arrested because the traffic in Lima is so bad that he got stuck in gridlock on his way to overthrow Congress. Mildly amusing when compared to historical coups. However, the response to it – not so much.

I’ve learned over the years backpacking around the world that it’s important to keep plans open. Have a few key benchmarks you want to see and experience but don’t be overly scheduled because despite your best efforts, something will get in the way. Like a political uprising, for example. Thankfully my schedule for Peru was fairly open with surfing in Mancora and hiking the Inka Trail, concluding in Machu Picchu, being the only musts.

When I arrived in Lima I came with a terrible flu. It started on the first of my 3 flights from Copenhagen to Lima and only a few hours into the subsequent 27 hours of travel. Not ideal. When I finally arrived in Lima I was sequestered to the hotel to recover both from sickness but also from the obvious jetlag that follows a journey of that extent. I had seen the news and knew that there was a political tiff of sorts brewing, but safely in San Isidrio I wasn’t in the thick of it.

After a few days when I was feeling better and cabin fever set in, I decided to book a free walking tour of Lima to get acquainted with the city and culture that I was to be living in for the next few weeks. I found a great option for the following day, booked it, and rested up for my walkabout. The next day, an hour before the tour was set to start, I received an email that it was cancelled. The protests in the city and road closures meant it wasn’t safe. I was disappointed but as I was still not feeling well it seemed like it was for the best. I booked the same tour for the next day and waited. The same message came through an hour before it was set to start. I hurriedly booked another tour for later in the day. A similar message from the guide was sent just before the meeting time. Now we’re 3 tours cancelled in less than 24 hours, something was definitely up. I scrambled and found a tour in Barranco, far outside the historical center where the protests were taking place. I quickly received a Whatsapp message confirming that the tour was still on. With a sigh of relief I set off to finally see outside the four walls of my sick bed.

When I arrived at the tour there were already whispers in the group about the tense situation that was taking place across the country. Some people had already had their flights cancelled, others had heard through the traveler grapevine of road closures and cancelled buses. This brief exchange with other like-minded travelers was more valuable in terms of timely information than any news bulletin I had read so far. However, things didn’t seem to be that bad. I’m probably more experienced than them, I rationalized to myself, so they’re likely being overly cautious. I’ll be fine. Afterall, this wasn’t my first time in a country on the brink of political upheaval. This was lucky number three, so I was old hat at this now, reluctantly experienced at navigating the trials and tribulations of a nation unsure of its next steps.

My time after Lima wasn’t planned until December 20 when I was going be surfing in the north. I heard about a small oasis south from Lima that sounded like an interesting way to spend my time before the next chapter of my trip. I booked a bus to Ica and headed south, but little did I know that I would be heading into the hornet’s nest that was brewing.

Our little tribe of 5 nationalities banded together, sharing information from our contacts of where to go next in the country and how to get there. Most of us decided to stay for one more night, playing it day by day in hopes things might calm down a bit and more regular service would resume. To pass the time we watched the World Cup with cold beers and climbed the sand dunes to watch the sunset. The news coming in from the outside showcasing building fires, rioting, police stations being taken over was unsettling. Airports were closing left and right but our little oasis has remained intact.

When stuck in stressful environments like this there often a palpable mood that is easily picked up on. It’s as if the anxiety vaporizes into the air, clogging your lungs and affecting your ability to think clearly. Everyone reacts to it differently. Life experience has placed my stress threshold unnaturally high so it takes a bit for me to feel the pinch. However, being in foreign country, in a deserted and isolated locale, with violence and turmoil all around it’s no surprise that some were treating this as if it was the last flight out of Saigon.

On what would be our final morning in Huacachina, three days after each of us had originally planned to leave, things reached fever pitch. What was meant to be a day or two in the oasis had turned into four or five days and patience was running thin. There were murmurs of things getting worse and at the same expectation that the situation had to improve sooner or later, but there was no way to know what to believe.

Several travelers scrambled to buy flights to Bolivia or Chile. But even if you could find an affordable flight there was no clear way to get the four hours back to Lima as all roads in the country were now officially restricted. It was a mad scramble for cars. Taxi drivers were charging extortionary amounts for the drive, promising they knew ways around the roadblocks. Meanwhile those with local contacts urged us not to try our luck as a car full of tourists in the middle of the desert had led some to be robbed, dropped off at roadblocks, or worse. Throughout the day there had been a rumor that the roads would start to open in the evening. The military had been called in the night before to squash the protests so there was a glimmer of hope that order would be restored.

All day long the small group of us remained packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice. Several other guests had left in the morning in a truck, trying their luck through unmarked roads in the desert, desperate to get to Lima. All day long we had gone back and forth about what to do, but decided that as long as we stick together we would be better off.

As dusk approached we were greeted by a local as we walked through the now deserted town. Word was circulating that the main roads had opened and burning tires and stone roadblocks had been removed and he was offering safe passage to Paracas, a small town on the coast. Here we would be able to catch busses going in the directions we needed while removing ourselves a bit more from the chaos of the surrounding cities.