I opted for Satan’s Closet. Inside was rigorously reminiscent of my reckoning. It appeared an array of people had explosive diarrhea after consuming the Peruvian delicacies: guinea pig, alpaca, and rat. The effusive excrement spate over half of the toilet bowl. In the sink was what appeared to be an array of people’s vomit after having consumed said animals. I assumed this was in reaction to the excrement. I opened the window next to the toilet and hung my head out like a dog in a car ride, convulsing in revulsion and amusement.

I exited Satan’s Closet like an alcoholic escaping from AA and returned to my seat to find my purse missing. I inspected the surrounding seats to discover the two Peruvian men who had been sitting in the seats in front of me gone, as well as my purse.

I had purchased the purse earlier that day. Inside was every American dollar and Peruvian sole I owned, my ATM card (only access to money), my license, my sunglasses, and my camera. My camera had photos on it from the previous month and a half’s South American travels, as well as those future photos of my journey that I would now never take.

This realization manifested itself forty-five minutes before the bus broke down. Still hours from Cuzco, everyone evacuated Satan’s Bus at five-something in the morning to await another bus. I reclined in the chilled morning air, surrounded by Andes Mountains on my way to the Sacred Valley. I determined that was the last time I would ask for a mas economico ticket. Also, that I would keep my two remaining valuable possessions – my passport and my laptop – as close to me as if they were my little Peruvian children.

Photo by Brad Shelton

©Kara Carlson