Stage 8: Ecuador, 20th January – Peru, 5th February.
20th January. PM – Quito, Ecuador
We made it. What a day. When Matt got back with his luggage we pegged it to the airport, reserved flights then went back to Copa Cargo to prep the bikes for the flight, disconnecting batteries, letting most of the air from the tyres. They mention briefly about draining petrol, but don't seem concerned about it. I am on reserve anyway.
At 3 o'clock we get a lift from Giovanni who had been very helpful all morning, back to the main airport. He was heading out to his second job as an IT project manager. And by 9.30pm we were in South America. Completely cool.
We found a fantastic colonial style hotel in the old city, with wooden beams, central courtyard, and a fountain for the princely sum of $12 a night. We spent the rest of the evening (although it got quite cold – Quito is high in the Andes. High enough that arriving at the airport I felt a little lightheaded) sitting on the courtyard drinking a bottle of duty free Panamanian rum, with some cokes. Another yank joined us for a while. He has just arrived as well, for a holiday.
Rum, Coke and Ritz celebrations.
21st January. Quito
It has been cloudy all day and much cooler than Panama – like a pleasant spring day back home, although it would have had to be sunny there to get this warm. Ecuador immediately feels different to the Central American countries. There are lots more people of obviously indigenous ancestry rather than Spanish. A number of the women especially, in the old city were dressed in at least a semi-traditional style. Many wore those little black hats, some with feathers, that look more like mens hats, almost like a pork pie.
Today we concentrated on a few practicalities. Matt scoped out where to go to pick up the bikes while I found the BMW dealer to talk to them about an oil change, which couldn't be done in Panama due to lack of a new filter. Matt doesn't have a Carnet, and it may or may not be very important here in Ecuador, depending on who you listen to. He tried to find out from various sources but couldn't get any reliable information. He decided he'd have to wing it, bribe if necessary, or at worst ship straight back out again.
In the afternoon we found a couple of camping shops and I bought a pretty good lightweight sleeping bag for $35 and a pair of breathable neoprene socks that are supposed to be very good for the cold weather. Then we wandered back and drunk a couple of beers in the hotel courtyard before heading out for dinner. It turned out to be very difficult to find a place to eat, there aren't many here in the old city and most close in the afternoon. We eventually found a small place and had a feast for a couple of bucks. Afterwards back at the hotel, Matt phoned his local contact, Ricardo and we are meeting up with him tomorrow night.
Courtyard of the Hotel San Fransisco.
22nd January. Quito.
Took a bus this morning out to the equator monument – Mitad Del Mundo (Centre of the World, I think). With the obligatory photo. Not an awful lot else to do here, just a bit about the history of the French expedition that first located the equatorial line here, so we head back to the city by lunchtime.
The middle of the world, it had to be done.
In the afternoon we walked up a steep hill, 200 metres above Quito, with a huge statue of th Virgin Mary. It was a whole lot of very steep steps, at altitude remember, and very tiring. The reward at the top was an excellent view of the entire city nestled amongst the mountains. Its much bigger than I had expected, disappearing into the horizon both North and South. We then just wondered round the old city for a few hours.
In the evening Ricardo turned up with his girlfriend Diana, and what a great guy he turned out to be. He's put us in touch with a customs agent to get the bikes out tomorrow. He also seems to know just about everybody famous in the overland biking world, and can put us in touch with all sorts of people en route. He's also going to take me to a friend's workshop who will do my oil change and somewhere else where I can get new tyres. He owns a hotel on the coast and is building another one which he want to be aimed at traveling bikers, with garaging and workshop facilities. He's biked all over South America, and was even kidnapped in Columbia for a little while. He managed to talk his way free because he was on a sponsored 'Round the World for Peace' trip. He gave us lots of tips about the best roads as well. It was a great evening.
23rd January. Quito – still.
We waited all day to get the bikes. Turned up at Copa Cargo at 8.30am and were sent to a bank to pay an extra $22 for the release of our paperwork. This we took to Bertha Ibarra, our customs agent. And we waited, and waited. Then we waited some more (I hope the tedium is coming through here). To make things worse it was the first sunny day in Ecuador, perfect for riding, but not so good when you are siting around outside all day with no sun lotion on. Ouch. Finally, just before 4 o'clock, when it looked like we'd have to come back Monday, after much apparent begging from Bertha and her son, our permissions came through – a one page letter which I could have typed in 5 minutes. They hadn't been the slightest bit interested in my Carnet. I now suspect it will prove to be a waste of money. So we can at last go to see the bikes. There was another fee and a very brief inspection – then we were free to go. First of course we had to wheel them out of the front of the warehouse and get them prepped for the road – re-connect batteries, wing mirrors and re-inflate the tyres. We were off and back to the hotel around 5pm, where we proceeded to celebrate the reunion with our machines by getting drunk, with a quick meal of ceviche – a delicious, cold sea food soup found all over Latin America.
There was a brief good samaritan moment back at the hotel where a Dutch girl was fretting about her friend who had not turned up from the airport. She wanted an escort to an internet cafe, as the streets are not that safe here at night, where she could try find out any news. We took her to the only one around but it was closed. So it was back to the hotel where she started on phone calls. No luck, and she was clearly concerned, when her friend appeared round the corner. She had checked in earlier ( in fact when we had just got back) but they had given her another room. She had also been worried. Excitement over for the day, back to the drinking.
24th January. Riobamba (not Quito!). 135 miles. Bike passed 20,000 miles this afternoon.
I didn't see Matt this morning though I heard him leave before sunrise. He is trying to cover the same distance in three weeks that I anticipate will take me a couple of months. It is a punishing schedule, averaging over 500 miles a day, some on pretty poor roads. I hope he makes it but I don't expect to see him again on this trip. We will keep in touch though as we got on very well, and he still wants to come to the Farnham beer fest some time.
I call Ricardo this morning, we meet up at the football stadium, and he takes me to his friend's workshop. There are loads of bikes there, a few being worked on mostly by their owners I think, just paying for the facilities and use of tools. There is a big bloke there, Alex, wearing a military uniform. He's here to collect a big police special BMW, he trains both the police and military bikers. A really nice bloke.
I mostly watch, and learn how to do an oil and filter change. I also got a new front tyre (I decide the rear is good for a little while yet). The filter I had brought myself from the BMW garage yesterday during those hours of waiting. All this took about 3 hours, for which, thanks to Ricardo I paid only $5 in labour, and the oil and tyre at cost. Eddy the owner even threw in a couple of stickers for the panniers and a key ring. What great people.
With Ricardo at Eddy's workshop.
Ricardo had left earlier so in the afternoon I got straight on the Panamerican heading south once more. The road goes straight through the heart of volcano country here in Ecuador . Fantastic scenery with a few steaming cones to boot. Quito was sunny this morning and very hot, but it gradually clouded over and I was caught in a brief rainstorm. It started gradually but got very heavy at one point. However I could always see blue sky ahead so didn't stop to put on the waterproofs, despite only wearing jeans on my legs. I did get rather wet and cold for a little while but back in the sunshine I soon warmed and dried. There are stretches of toll road here which cannot be avoided, but only cost me 60 cents in total. Apparently only on the panamerican do motorbikes get charged in Ecuador, on other toll roads they go free. The toll sections were top quality road, but in towns and villages it often deteriorated.
I got lost in Ambato, and took the wrong road out heading west, but only for a couple of miles before I got the book out. In the next town, when due to the lack of signposts I was still not sure I was on the right track, the road was completely shut for some unobvious reason and a policeman was diverting all traffic down a side road, which turned into a mini adventure. This cobbled road led to the local football pitch, dirt surfaced, which I and the line of cars drove straight across as there was nowhere else to go. From there it became a rutted dust track through some fields. It was slow going with traffic backed up behind a great big bus. There was some kind of fruit growing on the trees by the side of the track and lots of drivers were jumping out of their cars and scrumping handfuls whenever the queue stopped moving (although this was probably why it stopped moving). This went on for a very slow (and wheel spinning) couple of miles before the cobbles returned and then I was back on the main road. What was amazing was that it was not always obvious which way to go as there were choices and no signs, but everybody just followed the guy in front and it worked out. A few minutes later I relaxed again when a road sign told me I was going the right way. So the effort was worth it, I would have hated to have to u-turn back through that stuff.
Riobamba is a hub town, nestled in a valley (making it warmer) with major roads heading to all 4 points of the compass. I get a room for $8. There is some confusion as I arrive at the same time as an American, so it takes a bit of effort in broken Spanish to explain we are not together. I eat in a cheap comedor where the service is terrible but it is totally packed, so it must be better than the others which are empty. It is a large meal for a couple of dollars. A busker comes in with guitar and pan pipes, but he is not very good and gets nothing except a couple of coins from a girl who is sitting opposite me. I eat quickly and head for a bar, which is where I am now. After several days where not much has happened this has been a good one. It was great to get back on the road again after nearly a week, including Panama, where it felt like I was just killing time.
25th January. Cuenca. 201 miles
A bit of a mixed day. The ride through the mountains was fantastic, at various times I was above, below and inside the clouds. There were numerous villages which though themselves were not picturesque, there were lots of Indians in traditional dress. I have to admit though that I didn't feel comfortable just stopping to take pictures of them. Sometimes the women wore the hats, others seemed to be balancing a piece of folded cloth on their heads. The quality of the road was very varied, smooth black top intermixed with long stretches of dust, gravel and packed dirt – and some of it not so packed that I wasn't sliding around a little. At one point I was forced to stop for a train, the roof of which was packed with people, and a good few of them looked like gringos. They all waved at me, and I returned the gesture.
At La Tomba I took a paved side road to the Inca ruins of Ingapirca. Supposedly the most important site in Ecuador though its not very big. There were llamas wondering around the site as well, extremely tame though I didn't try and touch one. Round to one side a 'natural' rock formation that looks like a human face sticking out of a cliff. However the signs say that it is possible the natural shape was augmented, but its still pretty cool. The site is a bit over priced to get in at $6, but an interesting diversion for a couple of hours nonetheless.
Can you see what it is yet?
I took an alternative route back to the highway, rejoining slightly further south at Cañar. Although it was signposted from the ruins I had to stop and make sure a couple of times by asking passers by as it was a very rough track for most of the way. It was about 10 miles, much further than the road from La Tombe and not as well signposted even going the other way, even though Cañar is closer as the crow flies and claims to be the main base for visiting the ruins.
After Cañar the road was pretty good all the way to Cuenca. Until the final approach when the main road signposted in, a motorway no less, just ended with little warning and no signs to an alternative route. So I took a u-turn, came off at the first exit and practised my Zen navigation skills by following the car in front. It worked – thanks go to the late Douglas Adams and Dirk Gently. More poorly signed road closures and diversions meant it took me ages to find the Centro Historico. When I got there everything looked closed, although there was no shortage of traffic. I struggled to find a place with parking amidst narrow cobbled streets. I was about to give up and head back for the highway as there was another hour and a half of daylight left, when I spotted an expensive looking place that at least had an underground garage so decided to check it out. The price started at $45, which I said was too much and made to leave. All of a sudden it came down to $25, still more than normal but I took it. My details were written on a scrap of paper and despite the credit card signs they only wanted cash, so I suspect I am not properly checked in, it being Sunday the manager is probably not about, and the money will go straight to the girl on the front desk and her friend who took me up to the room. Still makes no difference to me.
Wandering around the town I cannot believe how empty it is. Like old Quito at night, only its not even dark and almost everything is closed. So I hedge my bets and eat an early meal at an expensive restaurant attached to an even more expensive hotel. I can't find a way to like this place. A few times today people have chucked water out of buildings and vehicles. I got hit a couple of times and once while walking here in Cuenca was made to look the fool by a kid who got me to duck out of the way of some non-existent water. I read something in the guide book about this as a custom during carnival – but as far as I am aware that is about another month away yet.
26th January. Loja. 185 miles.
A wild ride today. First of all I couldn't find my way out of Cuenca, so tried back tracking to a sign I had seen yesterday coming in. I ended up 2 hours later back in Cuenca having ridden about 50 miles. I think if I had followed my instincts more, rather than trying a logical approach, I would have been much better off.
So it was noon before I made any real headway. The road took me high into the mountains with some fantastic views that I had all to myself for a lot of the time. I bought a snack lunch of a chocolate bar and biscuits which I ate parked on a little patch of grass by the road overlooking a valley. The guide book warned that the road was bad in places but for most of the first stretch it was pretty good, with some brand new tarmac between Oña and the village of Saraguro. Then it became mostly gravel until I ran into the road works where more new surface was being put down. You have to realise that round here they don't close the roads while rebuilding them, for the most part they can't because there is no other route. So first, and worst, I hit loose hardcore. About six inches deep, rutted by the traffic and with stones somewhere between the size of plums and avocados. It was really tough and slow going with my wheels slipping all over the place, sometimes at my command but more often wherever the ruts dictated. It was first gear all the way and my forearms ached from gripping the handlebars. A bus that I had easily overtaken on the broken up gravel of the old surface caught up with me and I was forced to stop and let him pass as the safest option. I also had to navigate round the bulldozer taking up half the road that was shifting the stuff about. Not easy when you can't always predict which way your wheels will turn next.
Andean kid in Saraguro, and its not a comedy hat to him.
The hardcore went on for what seemed like an age, but was probably only 10 minutes. I came close to dropping the bike more than once, which would have been embarrassing more than anything else, and was extremely relieved when it ended. Then it was packed dirt and oil, fine as long as it doesn't rain, which it didn't thankfully. Then I met up with the guys who were laying the top surface, meaning that after the steamroller, I was probably one of the very first users of at least a little bit of it. It was about this time that I overtook the bus again. After a few more miles of mixed surfaces (but none as bad as the hardcore) the road suddenly appeared to end in a huge pile of dirt. It was 3pm and I thought I was going to have to turn back – not a pleasant idea. Then I saw a bulldozer working the pile, and a truck waiting to come through the other way. I rode through the single track flattened section (though caterpillar tracks can hardly be called flat) and the road continued on the other side. I arrived in Loja about an hour later, though not without one further incident. Riding through a village, as often happens a couple of dogs ran out barking at me. One didn't quite stop and despite swerving I hit it with my left pannier. It could not have been badly hurt as it was able to run off the road again, but I hope it learnt a lesson.
Loja is a pleasant enough if unremarkable town. Tomorrow I break for the border.
27th January. Piura, Peru. 225 miles. Passed 14,000 trip miles today. 3 months since I left home.
Woke up early this morning, mostly because there is only a new curtain over my window, and that doesn't even reach all the way across. On the other side of the alley, with no curtains at all, an old lady in her nightie is putting on her make up. The other thing that I can't help noticing is that its raining. Not hard but the roads are definitely wet and the clouds don't look like they are going anywhere soon. I have breakfast because its free (normal in Ecuador to include it in the room price) and it kills time. Hot chocolate (usually you get hot milk with instant coffee on the side, I have got quite a taste for hot milk), a hard boiled egg (takes me back), a bun and some reddish pink juice of unknown fruit but very tasty. I'm on the road by nine and although its still wet its just a drizzle that comes and goes all morning. The road is in good condition which helps but with a rear tyre that's seen better days I'm taking it easy. Its more mountains most of the way to the border and it takes me about 3 and a half hours to go 120 miles. I encounter lots of animals just wandering along the road, mostly cattle or donkeys, but one a family of pigs that just looked out for a morning stroll. It is obviously my time to be getting up close and personal with the animal kingdom, and today it was a turkey vulture. There was a group of them hunkered, I presume over some food, by the side of the road. As I approached they took off, but one not fast enough and in the direction I was riding. I couldn't help but hit it. This time it was a glancing blow to my left side tank bag, enough for me to feel it but just give it a nudge to one side without bringing it down. I could have reached out and touched it though, and this is not a small bird, with a wing span of at least 2-3 feet.
I drop out of the mountains to the border crossing at Macara, a bridge over a river to La Tina on the Peruvian side. The crossing itself is an absolute breeze, they should all be like this. There are very few people crossing and I don't see any gringos. The second I pull up on the Ecuadorian side, two cops and an immigration officer come over, all smiles, for photos. One wants to sit on the bike and of course I oblige. They are the friendliest officials I have ever met. More photos as I get my exit stamp, then the customs officer, after stamping my letter it took all day to write in Quito several times walks across to the Peruvian side as I follow on the bike, where he introduces me to Peruvian the customs officer. Best of all, for the first time, when I pull out my Carnet the Peruvian officer's eyes light up in recognition. He is not interested in looking at, nor supplying me with any other documentation. Less than half an hour to cross and change some dollars into solés, and I'm in Peru. I'm liking this place immediately.
I'm pretty much at sea level at this point, the sun breaks through and its starts to get hot. My chief concern as I head towards the panamericana on the coast is petrol. Out here in the sticks all they have is diesel and low octane leaded. I had tried to fill up just before the border, but they were out of stock of unleaded there too. When I stop to ask at one place I am surrounded my a crowd of the curious. I'm on my guard but they all seem friendly enough and I leave unharmed. One of the main forms of public transport here, at least in towns, are mototaxis. There are small bikes, probably not more than 125s or 250s, converted into trikes with a little bench seat behind the driver and an awning for the sun. There are hundreds of them , pottering along at 30 mph tops, and they all look at me as I ride past, I like to think with envy. For about 30 miles I am convinced that I'm going to have a fuel problem, but I reach the panamericana and unleaded fuel with 201 miles on the clock for the day and no reserve light, which I was sure would come on earlier from all the mountain roads. What a great bike this is.
By now I am on an uninteresting straight road through scrubby desert to Piura near the coast. Its a toll road here (bikes go free), but at the pay stations there are no staff, so nobody is paying. The traffic as I come into Piura is crazy. No lane discipline and little concern for the colour of lights. When I stop on red I am surrounded by mototaxi drivers all peering earnestly at my bike. Probably trying to figure out how it would look with 3 wheels and a parasol. I pull up outside a hotel that the guide book recommends for parking, and immediately get directed round a side street to the back yard. Its 15 bucks and I'm too hot to look for an alternative so I take it. I really don't like cities but this one seems relatively compact and well signposted so I'm happy with it. As a moment of triumph I make a phone call to one of Ricardo's contacts here to order a tyre in a town further south. The whole conversation is in Spanish and though pretty basic, I understand most of what is said to me. The shop is 250 miles south of here and I'm due there in 2 days time.
I grab a meal in a comedor and there are 3 girls at another table. I immediately decide they are English, which is confirmed when they leave and I see one has a bottle of Boots suntan lotion sticking out of her bag. I don't know why but that really makes me feel closer to the locals. As I prepare to leave the place is packed, whereas it was empty when I arrived. When new in a country it is best to hedge your bets and eat early. Peruvians it seems are the night owls that you expect all Latinos to be – but Ecuadorians are not.
28th January. Huanchaco. 286 miles.
I spent most of the day in nearly empty desert. The road was straight and fast with very little traffic between towns – of which there were only two. In between very occasional shanty villages, a row of shacks just dropped on the side of the road. It was very reminiscent of Dubai at times – same colour sand, same kind of scrub. I got pulled over by a traffic cop, just because he wanted to hear my story. We were chatting while I was getting ready to pull out mu passport etc. then he just said 'no problemo' and waved me on.
Its hard work being a traffic cop in Peru.
Huanchaco is a beach resort that still has some fishing in traditional reed boats that are like a cross between a kayak (though solid, you sit on top) and a Turkish slipper with the front ends curved up into a point. I got here early enough for a swim, though I was surprised by how cold the water was. In Central America it had been very pleasant, here it was more like Brighton in late summer, though much hotter out of the ocean.
I was sitting in a restaurant for dinner and there was an English guy at the table next to me, talking to a local. Rob and I got chatting, as it turned out the Peruvian was just pestering him. Before long the restaurant closed and we went round to a bar, where we ended up getting hammered til three in the morning when we were kicked out. It was a great little place – full of both gringos and Peruvians. The girl behind the bar spoke excellent English, she was studying law, and very chatty. There was another Peruvian there who owns a bike, though I cannot remember his name, and he agreed to meet me tomorrow morning and take me round to the place where my new rear tyre should be waiting.
29th January. Huanchaco. 21 miles.
I woke up with a dreadful hangover this morning. I'm in a 4 bed little dorm room, on my own last night but just as I'm stirring a Canadian girl walks in. It can't have been a pretty sight for her. She has just come in off a night bus and crashes while I get up for some breakfast to clear my head. My friend turns up as promised before I have a chance to eat. He can't remember my name either and calls me Christoph, who was the Frenchman I was talking to in the bar as well. I can't be bothered to correct him. However he hasn't got his bike so there was obviously some miscommunication.
Breakfast is served by the old Swiss lady who owns the hostal, although her grandsons run the place. There are quite a few Germans here as well (but its still a good place!), they're all friendly while I'm still feeling like death warmed up.
I ride the short distance to Trujillo, which helps wake me up, having got a map from the hostal boys and I find the place relatively easily. My tyre is there and the people are extremely friendly and helpful. The tyre is changed and I buy some oil as I think it needs a bit more after the change the other day. I then explain that I am looking for a spare petrol can to carry and somebody goes off to find one. At best I had hoped for directions. They also add to my sticker collection, and I think the owner goes off and has one made, printed with his workshop name and address on the Peruvian flag. And for all of this I pay about $70, of which the labour charge is $3, for a couple of hours work. My only slight concern is that they got a tubeless tyre rather than a tubed one, which was my fault for not being specific enough on the phone, so much for my earlier sense of triumph. It should be okay with a tube inside, the problem being if I get a flat its going to be a bugger to change myself.
The pit crew in Trujillo.
I get back to the hostal around noon and find rucksacks on the remaining two beds, although the room is empty. I later find they are owned by a couple of American girls who are just about on their way home. So I'm sharing with three women tonight. Life is tough. I spend the afternoon on the beach and meeting my room mates. I also go by Rob's hostal and catch up with him for a while. He managed to get a date with a German girl last night, but we arrange to meet up back there after dinner for more drinks. Oh goody.
When I get back to my place my roomies have gone out so I'm on my own for dinner, which is a huge ceviche. Here in Peru they have nibbles of corn that are like giant cooked but unpopped popcorn kernels, except they are not at all hard, just satisfyingly crunchy. They are very moreish.
As I am finishing Rob turns up. His date was a washout, she just wanted a companion for a quick snack before she got on a but out of town. We head for the bar and I drop my notepad back off in my room. The girls are all there but are not to be persuaded to come and join us. Not entirely surprising really as I am increasingly beginning to look like Grizzly Adams.
I left the bar at one having drunk only moderately and played backgammon for a couple of hours with my friend whose name I cannot remember, though it might be Jose. We came out about even. Rob beat me at chess, then went on to beat the owner of the bar, Luis, for which he got free drinks for the rest of the night. When I left and said goodbye, he looked like he was going nowhere for several hours to come.
Chess is a serious game for serious people.
Backgammon is not.
30th January. Lima, Birthplace of Paddington Bear. 378 miles.
A very long day of mostly desert again. Managed to get on the road around 8 am. Just south of Trujillo I got pulled by a cop for overtaking a lorry on a hill with a double solid central line., I hadn't spotted him in time. He gave me a stern talking to about how it was a 'muy grave infraccion' with lots of hand gestures about how I could have had an accident, even though it was a perfectly safe manoeuvre with the bike's acceleration. I was getting ready for the ticket, when he suddenly shook my hand and sent me on my way – so a big thumbs up to the Peruvian police. There are traffic cops in big 4x4s stationed at fairly regular intervals through the desert, which is probably a good thing really given how barren it is. You can go 50 miles and see nothing but sand.
Its much more mountainous today and every now and then I come round a corner and see the ocean below rolling onto fantastic looking beaches that are totally empty. Probably because the only way to reach them is over the dunes. Sometimes a 4x4 would be good.
As I approach Lima the pay stations on the Panamericana are occupied for the first time. I go through for free, but they don't half make it difficult, insisting that I weave my way round barriers on the edge of the road, with gaps that my panniers can't always fit through. At one such stop I get stuck in some soft sand when back peddling and need the help of one of the staff to push the bike back so I can get through the only gap big enough. Only one, the last coming into the city, has a proper little motorbike lane with a bloke on a gate which he opens for me.
The ride into Lima is hellish, especially as it is the evening rush hour. Miles of 3 lane tailbacks, not that lanes mean much and forget any thoughts threading through. Most of the traffic is buses of varying size, but all bigger than me and they know it. At times I feel very hemmed in with nothing to see but metal on all sides. They also stop and move across lanes with no warning at all, to drop off or pick up passengers. It is very tense.
Fortunately once finally off the main road I find the hostal I'm looking for without too much fuss. Its an old colonial building with an internal courtyard, but roofed over with glass in more modern times, and balconies running around the inside on each floor. It has great big double wooden doors, with an ordinary sized one inset. For me they open up the big ones I ride into the courtyard, which is really the lobby, surrounded by statues, paintings and faded glory. My room is on the ground floor, just a few steps away. Its a totally gringo place. There's a German who rode through Patagonia to Ushuaia a few years ago (though not on a bike now) and an American who wants to when I tell him my plans.
My right ankle has swollen up again, though not much. I still don't have a full range of movement and yesterday I was trying to stretch it a bit, something I neglected doing earlier. So I'm not really in the mood for Lima and grab a quick snack at a restaurant round the corner. The American invited me to join him and friends for a beer or two but I'm going to pass, which I'm sure will have Simon huffing. I really need to crash.
A few miles before the city I passed a strange place that was like a ghost town. A few, very organised, blocks of little one room houses intersected by a grid of dust tracks. Modern though not exactly new, most looked unfinished with no roofs and windows boarded up or empty. It was stuck in the middle of nowhere and gave the appearance both of never having been occupied, and very recently vacated. Although not entirely. I could see a dog running and a single car that looked new enough to be functional, but no people at all. It was as if someone had decided to build a cheap village then stopped without finishing it. Very weird.
31st January. Huacachina. 202 miles.
I'll say this for Lima, it was one of the easiest of big cities to get out of in the right direction. This is because the Panamericana is a major artery running right through the middle so is easy to find and well signposted. In many places, especially those based around old colonial centres, it just disappears and I have to rely on the primitive city maps in the guidebook and a bit of common sense – like keep heading south as much as possible, which usually works. There is no missing the irony that when you really need signs they are rarely there, but all over the place where they are redundant.
My original plan had been to go to Nasca today, another 100 miles or so down the road. But when I read about this place during a rest stop I decided to check it out, and am very glad I did. It's a little oasis in the desert, a resort based around a lake of sulphurous waters that are supposed to be healthy. However the main reason I came lies in the massive dunes all around the place. The biggest things to do round here are dune buggy rides, and sandboarding. I took a combined trip, lasting a couple of hours, offered by the hostal, and it was an absolute blast. The buggy took 10 people including the rider and a boarding 'instructor' hanging out the back. In itself this was great fun, pegging it up and down these enormous dunes at stomach dropping angles like a roller-coaster ride. It was not long before most of the blokes (lead by me I have to say) were standing up on the bench seats for best effect, gripping onto the roll bars.
The boards were much more primitive than I expected, basically planks of wood with a melamine surface underneath and simple velcro straps for the feet. No flex at all, much shorter than a snowboard, some were shaped like trick boards, others were directional like and alpine racer. I took one of these because I was told it was faster. Before each run you had to rub the base down with liquid wax followed by sand which you wiped off again. If anything being able to snowboard was a hindrance. There were a few other snowboarders in the group and though we were usually the fastest down the dune that was more to do with having less fear than any control. They were almost impossible to turn so the best thing was to point straight down and hope for the best. Having said that when the guides went down, they did have a fair amount of control, and looked like snowboarders except with these right on your back foot to prevent the nose digging in, which goes against all snowboarding instincts. We only actually did 4 runs but it was great fun. On the 3rd I almost got a turn in before stacking big time – speed was the trick, making the board much lighter on the sand.
Lots of sitting around on your arse, now what does that remind you of?
On the last one we were taken to the top of a very steep dune and were told to go down lying on the board face first, one at a time with a competition to see who could go the furthest at the bottom (i.e. the fastest). I really went for it, lifting up my feet where most others had allowed them to give some braking. However two thirds of the way down, going at an insane feeling speed, my board went sideways and I came off big time, tumbling down the hill to a round of applause, especially when I had to trudge back up again for the board and my sunglasses. I think the winner in the end was an Australian woman who must have been in here mid fifties and was clearly having a fantastic time. Hats off. We finished just as the sun was setting, with some fantastic views across unbroken desert in one direction, and in the other to the towns and valleys below where all of Peru's wine comes from.
One negative thing I will say about this resort, and I think it applies to a lot of Peru, is that it looks like it has seen better days. During the day it seemed reasonably busy, but its now nine o'clock at night and dead. There appears to be an over supply of accommodation and the restaurants are almost empty. Its an experience I've had elsewhere, regardless of the time I go out to eat. I've tried 7, 8 and 9 and always the restaurants are closed or look like they don't have enough customers to survive on. Even back in Huanchaco, which was heaving during the day at least as far as the beach was concerned, was almost empty after dark.
1st February. Puquio. 202 miles. Passed 15,000 trip miles.
I'm up and about early this morning and approaching Nasca within a couple of hours. About 15 miles before the town there is a metal lookout tower from where you can see a couple of the famous figures – though small ones – and some geometric shapes, but it was actually a little disappointing. I had expected them to be much larger, these could not have been more than 15-20 ft long. Into the town and I toy with the idea of a plane ride to get the full effect of the Lines, but given my taster its an expensive way to spend an hour or so and would leave no time to get to the next town, but hours to knock around in Nasca, which definitely strikes me as a one horse show.
I decide to push on, leaving the coast behind and heading into the mountains. Its a fantastic road, climbing rapidly with tight bends and long snaking sections. Its very empty, visibility ahead is good and these new tyres are much better at cornering than my knobbly set. So I'm swinging around all over the road, getting down low (for me with all the luggage on anyway) and having a great time. A few spots of rain threaten once I am up high but it is mostly sunny. I find a great spot to pull over for a snack lunch of mandarins and soda biscuits I had bought in Nasca. The only sounds are the distant bleatings of llama, which sound a lot like sheep.
After lunch though it gets increasingly cold and the clouds come in. As I pull over for petrol it starts to rain. At first I want to keep going, but its 3 hours to the next town and the rain is getting harder. I chat to a bus driver not going anywhere for a bit, and following his advice decide to stop here. obsequious is a very small place and I stick out like a mile as the only gringo about. The roads are just mud tracks and very uneven. I find a hostal that's a bit cheap and nasty but will do. I can park the bike in a commercial vehicle lock up just down the road. Its exposed to the rain and just as muddy as the road, but off the street and behind a gate gives me piece of mind.
It's now about 7 o'clock. The rain has stopped but the for remains and it is getting quite cold. I've just eaten a dodgy meal of rice and chicken. The chicken was cooked but cold in the middle making me suspect there is a microwave hidden away somewhere. There is nothing else for me to do but huddle down for the night. From the point of view of riding conditions I probably made the right decision but it is difficult not to feel exposed in an obviously very poor village with an entirely Indian population that may see a few day visitors but I think few gringos are here overnight. Walking down the streets earlier I was stared at openly, and could tell from other more furtive looks that I was being laughed at by some. Its just big enough a place for a threat to take shape whereas somewhere smaller I think I'd feel more at ease, if that makes any sense to anyone.
Main street Puquio, before the rain really turned it nasty.
2nd February. Cusco. 323 miles in 9 hours, not including stops.
Very long day but worth it, I was on the road by 6.30 It had rained more in the night and Puquio was a mud bath for a couple of slippery miles before I hit tarmac again. More rain threatened in the morning but it stayed mostly dry. It was extremely cold however and I was in full layers including my new neoprene socks – which held up their end of the bargain pretty well. I knew I was high up when I turned a corner to see snow on the slopes around me, though thankfully not on the road. It was just warm enough to have surface water and a little slush rather than ice. Later on I figured out that I had gone well over 4,000 metres above sea level. There were some very long distances between population centres and around 100 miles between petrol stations, though never any risk of my running out (Mum).
Snow around the high road to Cusco.
I got stopped by another lonely traffic cop at a peaje station. He jumped out of his truck so quickly to flag me down that I thought I must have done something wrong, but no, just a chat. He told me it was probably about another 4 hours to Cusco. After a couple of hours I began to descend and it slowly warmed up. Mid to late morning I was following a river snaking down a valley that gradually became quite populated, as the land became better suited to farming no doubt. Every now and then I crossed over to the other side. It was very hot here with all my cold weather clothes still on but I kept expecting to start climbing again so didn't stop to strip down.
Around lunchtime I reached Abancay, some 200 miles from Puquio, and began what I thought was the final ascent into Cusco, albeit still another 100 miles away. It was a really snaky road up a mountain that every now and then offered a view of Abancay getting smaller and the road layered below me. I missed the photo op because the guide book said this went on for forty miles, but after about 25 I was suddenly over the other side and into lush green farmland. No scruffy villages here to spoil the landscape, just the occasional cluster of farm buildings. Lots of domestic animals wandering freely on the road however to keep me on my toes. Cows are pretty predictable fortunately and are not given to sudden movements as I approach. Which is good because otherwise they'd be really scary. On the other end goats and sheep are apt to run across the road right in front of me, especially if a flock is split as I get nearer. For these guys I am always prepared to stop completely though it is not usually necessary. I've also developed a theory about dogs which has so far held up well although it is not particularly helpful. Basically if I see them first , especially in the road, then they are no threat. All the dogs that run at me come out of nowhere, from the verges with very little warning. Since developing it there has not been a single contrary case – including two dogs I was from a way off running along the road towards me. It turned out they were chasing each other and paid me no attention.
I dropped down again to another river though with this one I was going upstream. Here the road, which had been very good all day, began to get interesting. Twice I found myself crossing small streams where the surface completely disappeared into pebbles. Neither was deep enough to get my feet wet, nor wider than a couple of bike lengths, I had done a more difficult water section in the course last year. The difference of course being that then I was surrounded by other people and mechanics. Here I was miles away from any kind of support, which gave it that added frisson of adventure.
Eventually the road started to rise again and I cam across a German couple on an 1150 GS coming the other way. We stopped for a quick chat, exchanging advice about the road then headed off again.
I get to Cusco and after sorting out a room I head off to buy a ticket for the train to Macchu Pichu. If there is a way to get there by road, my guide book doesn't cover it. In true Latin American style I have to buy my ticket at a different station to the one where I will catch the train. This isn't too bad a thing, as the Macchu Pichu station is much closer, only a 10 minute walk from my hostal which is very good when I am supposed to be there by 5.45 am. Walking around I develop a splitting headache, which I know is a symptom of altitude sickness, but this surprises me considering I was higher up last night and for several hours today with no ill effects at all.
Cusco is a nice enough city with its colonial old centre and lots of churches – always far too many it seems to me. Supposedly most buildings still have original Inca foundations though I confess I haven't noticed. The one problem it has, and I know I'm being picky here, is that this is gringo central here in Peru (I know, I'm never happy). Not an issue in itself except you can't move without being offered a shoe shine, chocolates from little kids, cigarettes or expensive tours. In the evening I couldn't get anywhere without having a menu shoved in my face. And they all speak English first, which I'm beginning to find a little bit condescending even though I know its not meant that way. Even inside a restaurant, while I am eating, someone tries to sell me a guitar and pan pipes. As I have to get up so early I have eaten early and at 9pm I am now just about ready for bed.
3rd February.
1 o'clock – Macchu Pichu. It was a very long haul to get here. The train left Cusco at 6.30 am and the journey began with a very peculiar series of forwards and backwards switchbacks to climb out of the city. When it first happened I thought something was wrong and we were going back to the station. Passed through some extremely poor neighbourhoods perched on the hillsides above the city centre. Buildings of crude bricks made from the same mud on which they stood. It was raining and the paths and streets were quagmires. I can't imagine it could have been much drier inside some of the smaller huts. It really makes you realise how lucky you are.
Another feature of the journey was the way the train rocked from side to side the whole way, though I soon got used to it. Out of the city it travelled through farmlands for a while before entering the mountains, though the tracks stuck to the valleys all the way, with sheer cliff faces rising up on either side, sometimes within inches of the carriages. These mountains are extremely precipitous. There were a couple of stations along the way to pick up more passengers, then one to let out the hikers following the Inca trail. This was only half an hour from the final stop, but it takes the walkers 3 days.
After 4 hours the train pulled into Aguas Calientes at the bottom of the Macchu Pichu mountain. From there it was a 20 minute bus ride full of Japanese to go 5 miles and climb 800 metres to the top, or at least as high as the road went. Something that surprised me was that even the top is at a lower altitude than Cusco. It was therefore much warmer than I had expected.
This is about the most of the site you can get in one shot.
The site itself is vast, the buildings and terraces extremely well preserved, though it is clear that some extensive restoration has and is still taking place. The stonework was weathered a lot but in a few places is in pristine condition and you have to admire the masonry that got these great stones, often of irregular shape, to fit together so tightly. The initial impression I got was that they minimised effort to follow the natural shape of the rocks as much as possible, but in some cases it actually looks as if they went out of their way to prove their skills by carving out lots of angles and creating complex joints between rocks. In some places vast slabs rose out of the ground – and I'll bet that these are actually parts of the mountain itself – shaped to fulfil a purpose.
Masonry that Fred Flintstone could only dream of.
The surroundings themselves are breathtaking. There are more summits on all sides, many shrouded in cloud there here it is very sunny. Some of the peaks are much closer than the valley below, though this is equally visible, you can see the train tracks follow the path of a river. I spent two and a half hours wandering around and although I hadn't covered all of it, I'd had enough. A couple of other peaks have smaller ruins on them, accessible only by remote paths and climbs, and occasionally I spotted a few hardy types who had made the effort. To do that you also have to stay in Aguas Calientes over night as the train does not allow enough time on a day trip.
My headache from yesterday is still with me and I'm beginning to think it may not be the altitude at all but the start of a fever. One other point – all in this day has cost about $100, even taking the cheapest travel options. Its an impressive place but I think that's pushing it a little bit too far.
Cusco – night time, same day. Coming down to Cusco in the dark gave a great view of the city all lit up. Back at the hotel it was getting on for 9pm and i was famished. I went round to a bar called Norton Rat's Tavern, hoping for some info on conditions in Bolivia as it's run by a motorcycle enthusiast. Jeffrey, the American owner is certainly that – specifically for old Norton's, hence the name of the bar. We talked and drank beers for hours – one or two of which I paid for. He showed me a 1974 Norton 500cc he had recently bought in Lima and was restoring. It was completely stripped down in various boxes around his flat behind the bar. He told me how he had just got back from the States shopping for parts – which he brought back in 3 suitcases, going straight through customs and thus avoiding heavy import duties. He also has great taste in music. He told me stories about meeting Carlos Santana – twice – once in Rio, and how he used to drive round the US following the Stones on tour and selling bootleg t-shirts. He's a great character. He didn't know much about Bolivia but he gave me details of a bar in Sucre run by Dutch guys who also do motorcycle tours. Before I knew it I was drunk, it was 1.30 and the bar was empty. I left promising to return tomorrow.
4th February. Cusco.
I woke up with a huge hangover this morning so today was definitely a day off, and I did very little. The hotel did my laundry and i wandered around town picking up a couple of replacement consumables – WD40 and a notepad. I spent the best part of a hour and a half online just catching up on emails. I had one from Jon who is still way back in Guatemala, and gave him some advice about the road ahead of him. Another was from a would be overlander who said he found my site very interesting, but he wanted another story. I like it when that happens. I also spent a quiet couple of hours over a hot chocolate re-reading bits of The Adventure Motorbike Handbook, which had not left my case before today. I'll send it back home at the next opportunity, or maybe just dump or exchange it – its not a lot of use to me on the road. In most big gringo towns there are book exchange systems in the hostels, with guidebooks naturally having the highest value. I also picked up today a can of waterproofing spray which I used on the soft luggage hoping to improve its water resistance.
I'm chilling out in my room and I get a knock on the door. Gregory introduces himself, an American biker who just got into town, heading north. He is not staying here so I asked how he found me. It turns out he has a Chilean friend riding pillion, Michael, who met a girl staying here, and when they came over Gregory saw the bike. He's a great guy, been around the world before but is just on a short trip now. We went out for a drink and I took him to meet Jeff, they're about the same age, and we talked mostly about routes, roads good and bad and other biker type stuff. He promised to drop by in the morning to give me his map of Bolivia. Before I know it its quarter to two – so much for the early night I had planned.
Greg making sure that his is bigger than mine.
5th February. Puno. 248 miles.
It was raining first thing this morning and I packed slowly for the road. Greg came round as promised with his map of Bolivia plus the details of a good BMW mechanic in Santiago Chile. I got out of Cusco around 10am. No road signs at all to point me in the right direction but it was straightforward enough. I was soon donning rain gear as it started up again but it never really got heavy.
It was a good ride through a rich farming valley for a while and then the road rose up on to the altiplano – a barren plain at around 4000 metres above sea level (at one point I passed a sign that said 4300+, I forget exactly). And there I stayed for the rest of the day. Surprisingly it was not as cold as I had expected and when the sun really shone through the cloud I was losing layers to avoid overheating. The road was fairly straight and empty, the altiplano flat and featureless. With peaks a couple of miles away left and right. There are very few people up here, and almost no population centres, but despite this I rarely had the landscape entirely to myself. Sheep and cattle dotted the plains with one or two herders keeping an eye on them. Still there was nit much to look at which left me a lot of time for introspection.
I arrived in Puno, on the shore of Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world for trivia fans, at around 4 o'clock. There is not much to recommend it. Its a scruffy medium sized town (though not as scruffy as Juliaca which I passed through about 20 miles earlier) and there are excursions to islands on the lake, but these don't appeal to me in this kind of weather.
As it got dark is started raining again. Hard this time, and the streets quickly began to flood. I can't believe that there are many gringos here (although it is a main route to Bolivia) but they all seem to have chosen the same restaurant as me. There are no Peruvians here at all, although it is fairly expensive which would explain it. I try an alpaca steak ( a type of llama) which is quite good, more tender than I expected, but the roast potatoes that come with it are undercooked. The other meat they eat here is guinea pig – but somehow this has not tempted me.