Baja!

Life could not get more blissful than this, I thought.  The brilliance of the sun, the headiness of the cool mountain air, Urubamba’s town square enveloped in tranquil idleness - they restore souls too mired in the bustling back and forth of every day. Like the inactive fountain at the center of the square, the people that surrounded it looked as though they saunter through life, making quiet moments special and necessary. I inhaled the soothing air, the foreign yet familiar air of the Sacred Valley, and I fitted right in.

We left the town still exhilarated by its quiet beauty.

The ride back proved to be even more invigorating.  The bus was filled to the brim, and we were enclosed in the musty smell of woolies and the indecipherable sounds of the Quechan language.  It sped off, leaving us with an indistinct view of the empty roads and the mountainous countryside from the window.  Enthralled by entire experience, we missed our stop.  Several minutes have gone when we realized that we’ve already passed the sign to our inn.  We pushed our way to the front while murmuring perdoneme and hollering para aqui!  The other passengers realizing that we are scrambling to get off the bus tried to help us. It took some minutes for the driver to hear them telling him to stop and several more minutes for him to finally grind to a halt.

We had to walk back three kilometers to reach the inn.  And we couldn’t stop laughing the entire time.

Back at the inn we relayed our adventure to Brian and Gabriel, the inn owners. That’s when we found out that for a bus to stop in that part of Latin America we had to yell baja and not para, as guide books suggest.   

Learning how to say "stop the bus" the local way was simply the perfect way to end that wonderful day.