Are we there yet? Wait, where is "there"?: Hard to breathe in Ayacucho...

Talor: It is hands-down, the smoggiest city I've ever been in, and the noise pollution is out of control! Situated in a valley, somehow the smog from the way too many cars, buses and moto-taxis gets trapped in the center of the city, and it's hard to breathe. It wasn't so bad the first couple of days, but after that, it actually hurt our noses to go outside.

After the rusticity of the previous two villages, we were looking forward to more modern accommodations with a hot shower. We took a large double at the Hostal Yanez (above a 24-hour casino), with a nice firm bed, a TV and wi-fi (which worked only sometimes in the hallway). And the promised hot shower was never hot, but warm enough since the climate in the city was actually mild and comfortable. Strangely, on our last day, they put another twin bed in the room without telling us. What, did they think we wouldn't notice?

Anyway, this mid-sized city gets a lot more tourism so there was no shortage of fancy hotels and eateries, especially around the pretty Plaza de Armas. Unfortunately, the smog made walking around so unpleasant, we ended up holing up most of the time in our room after just a few hours outside. But we did manage to have a night out, which started out slow with drinks at a boring gringo bar then ended well at a lively pena where we drank piscos and danced to live music.

We also ate well... a yummy ceviche (raw fish pickled with salt and lime) at a restaurant with a pretty patio facing an outdoor garden; a fantastic parilla (mixed grilled meats), at a pizza shop no less, better than any we had in Argentina; and the best bread we've had in Peru. These little all-natural, pita-like pockets were baked fresh twice a day in an adobe wood-burning oven, and people would line up to buy bagfuls. Crunchy on the outside, light and airy inside, we actually waited in the rain to buy them. After eating them, we wished we had more.

But even the bread wasn't enough to keep us there. It had a lot going for it, but if only we could breathe! O well, onwards and upwards...

Erik: OK, so Talor talks about food, and I talk about transport. The ride to Ayacucho was an adventure. The only way to get there was via “collectivo” - 20-year-old minivans with luggage racks on top. How many people can fit into a minivan safely? With some squishing, normally I'd say 10 or so. We were 18 in total, and we picked up more along the way. One family was actually moving to Ayacucho, so they had all their earthly belongings with them, lashed up on the roof rack with our packs and everyone else's luggage. The poor minivan was desperately overloaded, and our driver was a speed demon on the tiny, winding dirt road weaving through mountain passes. I was mentally wondering to myself if our families would ever be notified after we plummeted off some ravine onto the rocks below.

Of course that didn't happen, but we did have an interesting game of chicken along the way. As we neared the city, a man ran in front of our van, frantically waving his arms for us to stop. The driver complied and we all sat there wondering why, when we saw a group of men pulling a very thick, taught rope struggle into the street and towards a larger truck parked across the road. Soon we saw the reason for the struggle – at the other end of the rope was an enormous bull, snorting and fighting the men tugging on the other end. They ran the rope through the back of the cattle-carrier, and started pulling the bull inside. The huge beast wanted none of that, though, and bolted towards the men instead. The rope had been lashed off to the truck, and the poor bull's own momentum threw it into the air and onto its backside when the slack ran out. I was worried for the poor animal, until it righted itself and I saw that the rope had snapped. Now there was a huge, very angry bull just a couple of yards in front of our van, and he was looking straight at us with no love in his eyes. Our driver was obviously scared, and put the van in gear and pulled away. The bull followed us a ways, seemingly ready to charge, and his horns would have easily pierced the thin metal walls of the van, but our driver gunned the engine and we escaped. I have no idea what became of that poor bull nor the men left defenseless in the street with the angry bovine.

As Talor said, Ayacucho itself was horribly polluted by noise and car fumes, and we had a bit of culture shock after being in several quaint mountain villages. At times we couldn't see more than two short blocks down the street because of the noxious black smoke. The central plaza, though, was quite pretty and seemed immune to the air pollution. It was dominated by a huge, ancient cathedral, and other 16^th century churches were scattered all around the center of the city. Still, we'd seen plenty of old churches on this trip, so were a bit blasé about their impressive architecture. The bread Talor mentioned was our favorite thing about the city, and rivaled some of the best parisian baguettes i'd ever had, but it was not enough to keep us there. We were still 22 hours of bumpy mountain bus ride from Cusco, and so after a couple of days were back on the road.