Greasing the wheels of commerce

There’s no way around it, we getting screwed.  We’ve arrived at the bus terminal at 7:50am, just 10 minutes ahead of our proposed bus to Cuzco.  Our hotel manager has passed off to another short, very serious man who is explaining to Dee that there is no room on the bus until the evening; that is unless we want to take another – presumably inferior – bus. 

We’ve paid ten times the locals' fees to enter Argentina’s national parks, been shown the model room before getting the corner closet in Bolivia, watched the price of Saltenas triple in our presence in La Paz, and fought for our reserved bus seated in Chile.  Slowly but surely we are getting wise to the game but Peru seems a different matter altogether.

In an act of good faith two days ago we ponied up our 70 soles (Peruvian dollars) with our friendly hotel manager (down from 100!) in order to have our tickets on a recommended bus in advance of our trip.  We recognized he was taking a little – or a lot – off the top for his time but considering the room was a pittance our Canadian generosity – and gullibility – shone through.  Mistake.  Returning from our trip last night he didn’t seem to have the tickets he promised.  ‘The bus will pick you up here tomorrow.’ Was the weak reply.  A long distance bus company providing hotel pick-up?  Interesting.

The morning bus turned out to be a cab and not free.  The standard 3/s charge was of course 5 (?) – negotiated to 4 – at least we were as far as the terminal.  The driver shared a shocking resemblance to our manager…

It would seem we were in the classic ‘bait and switch’ tactic.  Get the money from the gringo then shuffle them on the local bus.  While Dee told our tout in no uncertain terms that this better be our bus – In Spanish no less, LOVE HER - she gave me the heads up and I walked over to our bus company.  Looking at the blank passenger register it was clear that the bus was not close to full. 

Reluctantly they got our tickets while I explained they would pay the ‘departure tax’, seeing that they had already charged us a 10/s premium on the tickets.  He seemed genuinely hurt by my accusational tone.  The hotel manager – who also came to the terminal, what service! -   slinked into the background before we gave him a piece of our mind. 

We’re steeling ourselves for our arrival in Cuzco where we hear and expect the negiotiation will be as heated as it will be beautiful.