The Evacuation Story

Peru’s Shutdown

On the evening of Sunday, March 15th, just hours after reaching Máncora on the far Northern coast of Peru, the Peruvian President declared a national state of emergency in response to the worldwide outbreak of COVID-19. Peru enacted 15 days of military-enforced, nationwide quarantine and closed all of its borders – land, air, and maritime – essentially trapping me, Charlie and over 8,000 other Americans in Peru, though we wouldn’t know it until the next evening. There were just 89 confirmed cases in the country, or 0.0003% of the population. Schools had been closed the previous week when there were only 28 cases. To say Peru took swift and resolute action is an understatement. The government’s decisive measures were like nothing I’d ever witnessed or imagined possible in the United States and, for better or worse, served as an interesting comparison in the weeks that followed. 

At first, I focused on tuning out the hysteria felt by other travelers in Peru and around the world, and avoided reading the dramatic posts on the “Americans Stuck in Peru” Facebook page. I understood their panic at being unable to return home to beloved pets in boarding kennels, children left with relatives and jobs with limited vacation days. I empathized, but that wasn’t us. We were right where we wanted to be – in a secluded beach paradise with waves crashing on the shore just over the dunes from our cozy bungalow. I had sun rays to catch and rum and cokes to sip on the deck watching golden sunsets transform in to starry night skies. As far as I was concerned, we still had a month left of our magical adventure, and in no way was I going to let a global pandemic rob me of my experience.

My denial was, of course, short-lived. Within a day of our arrival, the beach and all businesses closed and my dreams of fresh ceviche and learning to surf were over before they even began. Market hours were restricted to mornings only and mask-wearing was mandatory. Curfew hours started at 6pm, but were quickly cut to 4pm in response to a few people not following the rules. Ultimately, men and women were only allowed out on alternating days, and leaving home on Sunday was forbidden entirely. All infractions were punishable by arrest, and every afternoon the President announced skyrocketing arrest numbers as a warning. Each day, Charlie and I watched police trucks drive up and down the beach in front of our bungalow, loading up tourists and carting them to jail. And so, we dutifully stocked up on food items, took out emergency cash from ATMs, and faced up to the fact that our trip as we knew it was over. 

Beach Life

That’s not to say we didn’t enjoy our time in Máncora – we did. One night, just for fun, I suggested we rank each of the 14 hostels and Airbnbs where we’d unpacked along our journey in order of worst to best setting to be quarantined. Surprisingly, the only place with air conditioning and drinkable water wasn’t at the top of our list, or even close. Our Máncora beach hut won by a landslide, followed by the rustic, critter-inhabited bungalow in Taganga. Clearly, we both valued simple, secluded spots with breezy porches and outdoor sunsets over convenience, hot showers and fully functioning toilets. We adapted well to roughing it a little; it actually made life easier. There was no thermostat to argue over – the only temperature was hot. We were too sticky to wear anything other than swim suits, making outfit choices and doing laundry in the sink a breeze. The internet was often down, rendering productivity impossible. And with only one pot to cook with, we happily crushed ramen noodles like college kids. With no where to go, we ate meals, did workouts, enjoyed happy hours and watched giant pink suns sink beneath the ocean on the same 100 square foot deck every day. In light of our strict confinement, we made the most of things. Simplicity was bliss. 

We were so content in fact, we considered staying put for the duration of Peru’s lockdown – as many friends from back home were recommending. But there were two issues keeping us engaged in US Embassy evacuation efforts. The first was our concern over the term indefinite. The Embassy alerted travelers in daily emails that if they failed to get on an Embassy sanctioned flight, they should be prepared to remain in Peru indefinitely. All commercial flights had been cancelled through April, including the three we’d booked as back up options, and Peru had already extended its state of emergency another two weeks. With no way of knowing how long that would continue, were we really prepared to stay in a developing country with limited healthcare indefinitely? 

The second issue may seem trivial, but I can assure you was not – I was losing a gruesome war with mosquitos. Every evening as the sun went down, we prepared for battle. The first challenge was convincing Charlie to let me close the windows at night, trapping us in an oven with no air flow. It was far from ideal, but neither was being bitten a hundred times through my sheets and waking up with welts and piles of dead mosquitoes in my bed. Charlie faired much better, but due to the toll it took on my mental state, it was a losing battle for him too. So, at 6pm, we closed the doors and windows, lit incense and applied repellant, then spent the evening smacking tiny blood-suckers into the walls while trying to make dinner and watch Tiger King. I have always been someone with compassion for bugs, but mosquitos can burn in a fiery hell. And as much as I loved the bungalow life, my body and soul could not withstand any more bites. The thought of enduring that indefinitely was the worst thing I could think of.  

Two and half weeks went by without too much concern. The U.S. Embassy sent two to three emails per day with updates about flights from Lima and Cusco, where the vast majority of Americans were located. Charlie and I believed it would take weeks for them to get to us for several reasons: 1) Our region, Piura, was on the border of Ecuador; one of the farthest to reach areas and 20 hours driving from Lima. 2) Regions with the most Americans were being evacuated first, and there were just a tiny handful of us in Máncora. 3) We weren’t anywhere near a major airport, requiring much more effort to get us to Lima, and the Embassy already had their hands full. So we did what we could. We filled out the necessary forms, stayed abreast of updates and waited in our little cocoon.

The Turn of Events

Then, on March 31st, the tone shifted and our ears perked up. Our region, Piura, was mentioned as a target area for evacuation, along with four other outskirt regions. I was surprised to feel a sense of relief stir inside me – they weren’t going to forget about us. A few days before, the Embassy had arranged for a Peruvian Navy boat to reach Americans stranded deep in the Amazon – surely they could get to us. The next day we received an email stating a bus was being arranged from Piura to Lima for a flight, at which point it hit me – Piura was also the name of a city – a city that was three hours away. Anxiety rushed through my body. How would we get to Piura? No buses were running, and not only were no drivers allowed on the roads, a giant military truck was guarding the road out of Máncora. We immediately reached out to the Embassy with our concern and received a canned response with a link to the same old form. The Embassy gave no further instruction. They had arranged transportation from the rally point, but getting there was apparently our problem. 

The following day, on April 2nd, my anxiety turned to panic. An Embassy email was released stating the bus from Piura would be departing for Lima the very next day, April 3rd. To make matters worse, a second email said the following:

“We expect the last regularly scheduled charter flight to depart Peru on April 5.  We will continue to facilitate daily travel and coordinate flights to repatriate Americans from all corners of Peru through April 5. U.S. Citizens who remain in Peru beyond that date should continue to shelter in place.”

Um, what? April 5th was three days away. We were still two travel days from Lima, and we still had not received official word from the Embassy that we were manifested on a flight. Without that personal email confirmation, we could not board the bus in Piura. But none of that even mattered if we couldn’t get to Piura by the following day. The odds were stacked high against us, and as the details began to sink in, I found myself overcome with disbelief. How could flights be ending in three days? How did they expect people to get to the rally points knowing travel between cities was banned? How was that issue not being addressed? A major step had been missed, and it seemed horribly unfair. I was grateful for the Embassy’s help, but angry at the huge ball that had been dropped. I also wasn’t ready for the best adventure of my life to end in such a way. Not to mention, “evacuation” implied being taken to safety, and I didn’t view the U.S. as a safe place at all. I felt the weight of these things and did the only thing I could with so much mixed emotion – I went outside and cried. 

By the time I went back inside, Charlie had some news. On the “Americans Stuck in Peru” Facebook page, he’d come across a post from a woman who seemed to be taking charge. We were wary – the page was full of scams and conspiracy theories – but with nothing to lose, we sent her a message. Within seconds, she connected us with a person named Dan, explaining he was the coordinator for our area. Dan immediately asked for our information. Still suspicious, we debated for about 30 seconds before deciding we had no other choice. Dan told us he was arranging for a bus from Máncora the next morning that would get us to Piura in time to catch the Embassy bus to Lima. We couldn’t believe our luck, but we still had a big problem. The Embassy had not registered us for the bus or a flight, meaning we could not board either. We mentioned our issue to the Facebook lady, and instantly received an email with the official Embassy transit letter. Who were these people? By the next morning, our long awaited flight confirmations were safely in our inboxes, and we were officially good to go. 

Evacuation Day 1

Dan, as it turned out, was another American stuck in Peru with his wife and two small children. Seeing a need to fill, he organized the stranded citizens around Máncora, then somehow made personal contact with the Embassy and volunteered himself as our point person. He took it upon himself to find and pay in advance for a bus to drive from Piura to Máncora, pick us up, then drive the three hours back to Piura. He also had to secure the necessary travel documents and get them to the bus driver, all of which came together just before our departure. We met Dan and his amazing family that morning as we waited for the bus with about 20 other anxious looking Americans. Military police were crowded around us monitoring the scene and taking photos, but seemed to be cooperating. Dan was on the phone with the Embassy until everyone boarded the bus, at which point he introduced himself and explained the events that would follow. Then, I overheard Dan on the phone with a worried father of one of our passengers – a teenage boy traveling alone – reassuring him his son was safely on the bus. Sensing the man’s relief, my heart flooded with gratitude. I had no idea how Dan had pulled this off, but to me he was clearly an angel. 

We had one stop to make on the way to Piura – the town of Talara – where several more Americans were waiting for us. Police stopped us at the edge of town and told us to get off the bus. The dusty air was full of tension as they directed us to wash our hands in a makeshift sink while women in full PPE took our temperatures. After some arguing and confusion, it was clear we weren’t allowed to enter the town, and the Americans would have to come out to us instead. Somehow they were able to get rides, and within half an hour, eight more Americans and two surfboards boarded our bus. We arrived to Piura with time to spare, where three Embassy charter buses sat waiting. More Americans arrived from surrounding places and checked in with Dan who assigned them to buses. By the strict 4pm departure time, 11 people had not arrived, and we had to leave them behind.  

Evacuation Day 2

17 hours later, our caravan of buses arrived at the United States Embassy in Lima, and for the first time it hit me that we were really going home. I looked out the window to see a huge line of people with children and luggage wrapped around the block. These citizens – who had not been manifested on flights yet – were just hoping to be given a seat. The Embassy strongly discouraged people from doing this as it slowed the entire process, but they were desperate, and I could hardly blame them. My attention then turned to an American military officer who boarded our bus, welcomed us and began providing instructions. He was direct, but the calmness in his voice told me things would be running smoothly, and my shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. After completing paperwork and receiving brown bag lunches, we boarded yet another bus that eventually delivered us to the Peruvian Air Force Base, our final stop before heading home. 

We were led off the bus by another officer into a giant hangar set up by the U.S. Military as a processing center. Hundreds of weary Americans sat in orderly rows of folding chairs with their luggage lined up neatly in front of them. Everyone was told to stay in their seat until a black “x” had been marked on their hand. Customs officials, police dogs and airline personnel moved efficiently up and down the rows stamping passports, sniffing bags and checking luggage. The officer in charge then came around handing each person a small piece of paper with a seat assignment on it. Finally, a woman with a black sharpie moved along each aisle marking hands with an “x” – the signal that we were processed and ready to fly. 

The entire operation took exactly 90 minutes, just as the officer had told us. He’d also said that once we had our “x” we could get in line for the one bathroom in the hangar, which was being closely guarded. There was a sink outside the bathroom door where I noticed a woman brushing her teeth. Once she finished, another person respectfully approached with their toothbrush and then another, at which point I tapped in to an unspoken energy filling the room. Everyone wanted to brush their teeth, just like everyone was desperately waiting to use the bathroom. We were all exhausted, stinky and uncomfortable, but not one person was complaining or being selfish. As I scanned the mask-covered faces in the room, I saw smiles and warmth in people’s eyes as they chatted and shared their stories. We were all connected by the same ordeal, the same desire to go home, and the same gratitude for being given the chance. No one felt any different from their neighbor; we all needed grace and kindness.  

I will never shake the thought of those that didn’t make it that day because they were detained by police or didn’t see the facebook post, and how easily that could have been us. But as fate would have it, we boarded a United Airlines flight that afternoon and landed at Washington DC Dulles by 11pm that night. Our connecting flight to Denver wasn’t until 10am the next day, so we checked ourselves in to the airport Marriott, took hot showers and slept like babies. It was the first mosquito-free night I’d had in quite a while.

Final Thoughts  

After 57 hours of travel we arrived in Salida, our favorite sleepy mountain town, to wait out the quarantine and gradually slide back in to normal life. After nearly 5 months away, it felt exhilarating to sit behind a steering wheel and drive through the mountains again. It all seemed so surreal. My soul’s delight at being back in Colorado – breathing in the crisp, light air – was undeniable, and yet my insides felt raw, like someone had reached in and ripped off a bandaid. I’d been snatched away from a place I loved, full of memories I treasured, and a piece of me wanted to linger behind. There were also so many things to look forward to. After so much time away, I had a unique opportunity to recreate my own life – ironically, the same opportunity being offered to the world at the exact same time. 

As I slowly pieced myself back together in the following days, the full weight of our trip began to sink in. Despite the stressful conclusion, our time in South America felt complete and I was left with no regrets. We traveled to as many corners of Peru as our backpacker legs could reach, explored to our heart’s content, and even learned a second language in the process (mostly). Of all the amazing experiences we had, never in my wildest dreams did I think a government evacuation would be one of them – but what a fitting way to end an epic adventure.