Surprisingly, Andrew nor I (nor my Mom for that matter) really suffered from any serious altitude-sickness during our time in Cusco. That is, until today. For some reason, the 18 hour bus ride from Cusco to Ica took both of us down. And we went down hard. The bus ride wasn’t nearly as miserable as it sounds. I mean, it wasn’t in Mozambique juggling babies and live chickens, waiting for the mud to dry so our bus could get towed out of the ditch it was stuck in on the side of the road… So, despite our big reclining seats, personal televisions, and even some weak wi-fi signals at times, we just weren’t feeling so well. I told myself I would study Spanish, but I wasn’t feeling up to doing anything other than sleeping or watching really terrible movies dubbed in Spanish… which is kinda like studying. At least the view (and this is when we were stopped in traffic for 45 minutes) was beautiful for most of the ride!
