Oruro

(DAY286 : La Paz - Oruro : 145 miles)


Once out of the minivan hell, the ride south was quick and easy. Cecilia had headed west to Chile, so it was once again just me and Katirga. We pulled in to the ugly city of Oruro and after hearing that it takes another five to seven hours to Potosi, I checked in to a hotel although it was still early.

Around here, finding a heater in your room is not necessarily good news. It means survival without it is absolutely impossible. And with it, it just barely is. Once the sun is down, Oruro is nose dropping cold.


People at the main plaza in Oruro.

Death Road

(A day trip from La Paz : 170 miles round trip)


Connecting La Cumbre to Coroico, "The World's Most Dangerous Road" is a 40 mile stretch of narrow dirt road winding at the edge of a high cliff until it reaches the Yungas. Until it was replaced by a new asphalt road, the traffic made it a truly dangerous passage with a record number of accidents and fatalities every year. Now, with hardly anyone on it, it's popular for zooming down on mountain bikes. Speed can still make it quite dangerous, as once you're off the road, you're pretty much off the map. But for coasting down at a leisurely pace, it's fairly safe and simply beautiful. Using the engine is completely optional.

One important thing to remember: the traffic on this road is reversed without any indication or warning. You should keep to the left in order not to get plastered on oncoming traffic.


Heading up to La Cumbre at 4600m.


The World's Most Dangerous Road.


It's now a walk in the park.


Coroico is hot, humid, and not at all special.

La Paz

(DAY270 : Copacabana - La Paz : 100 miles)
(DAY271 - 285 : La Paz)


The ride to La Paz was exquisite, with exotic sprinkled all over.


On the left: Stybba, 19 years old and with 200.000 miles on the clock.
On the right: Katirga, just turned one, and covered 15.000 miles.
Guess which burns a liter of oil every 500 miles.


Our dinghy, I mean ferry, docking.


Backing out will be a pain. And no, it's not a drive thru.


Kids with Cecilia. Not one came to talk to me :P


Our last look at Lago Titicaca.


Some get an urge to climb those peaks. I wonder if they are like cold beer.


We're not the only ones traveling.

On our approach to La Paz, the road took a strange appearance with rocks and junk all over it. Then we came across a barrier which didn't quite bar us. We continued through the road blocks until we came across the police who waved us over. This is a time the entire world is expecting Bolivia to fall into civil war. Road blocks and strikes are all around.

Where are we coming from? How's the road? Were there any accidents?

Actually, yeah, there was this truck...

What had happened? Was anybody injured?

Um, guys, we are tourists, YOU are the cops!

With all that importance vested on our shoulders, we reported all road news as best as we could. Several times, as they came out of the car one by one to repeat the questions. Then, they told us that it might be dangerous ahead, so they would escort us to safety. Ahem, sure!

We continued behind police escort for quite a short while as they got distracted with whatever, and we just rode on, this time to answer the civilians' similar questions. Ultimately, the protesters didn't really have any beef with us anyway.

Thus we entered La Paz, the world's highest capital, the center of chaos and minivan hell. It was love at first sight!



Welcome to La Paz.








Note dried lama fetuses. As in Peru, they are buried under homes, etc. for prosperity, even though they clearly don't work.
















Residencial Sucre's rooms were decent and cost $12, so we rode them in.


Each room at Residential Sucre is equipped with a personal torture chamber(!)


La Paz is not only a city unlike any other, but also has some truly bizzare areas right on its edge. Valle de la Luna (Valley of the Moon) is just that: bizzare.


Valle de la Luna




Days in La Paz went by, in La Paz fashion, fast.

Since the little incident that ended up in a truck ride in Peru, I had been considering getting a GPS, especially with Salar de Uyuni approaching. In Peru, they were asking $1000 for a Garmin 60csx, which would cost $300 in the US over the internet. But here in La Paz' black market, it's yours for $400. So I folded and dished out. Then, it was a chore to figure out how to set the thing up using my Mac. Two years after they promised, Garmin finally does offer Mac compatibility, but you have to "convert" existing maps to Mac format, and need a PC to do that. After using the thing for a while, I concluded that if I want an acceptable product, I have to wait for Apple to make it. Garmin's both hardware and software appear to have been designed by seven year olds, and yet, they own the market! In any case, we now are fully GPS equipped.

While I was in close proximity to such a market, I also decided to buy another portable USB hard drive. The problem was, all they had around here was the Western Digital brand. Due to demands of my work, I need a lot of disk space and have used all kinds of drives from many different brands. But after four WD drives (3 external, 1 internal) crashed on me in less than a month or out the box, I had sworn not to approach another. These were distinctly different models, at different times, but the latest incident was three years ago. In the end, I thought they must have learned a thing or two, and bought one. First it failed and made me pull my hair out, then, led to the demise of my internal hard disk! If someone told me this, I'd tell him he's full of it as there should be no relevance whatsoever, but it's a different story when you see it go down. The rest is a long and painful story, and cost me a lot of time and money.


Operating on the PowerBook after an assassination attempt by a Western Digital hard disk.

Copacabana

(DAY269 : Puno - Copacabana : 90 miles)


Copacabana is a quick ride from Puno, but after a very late start and the time zone change, it was 7 pm by the time we got there. Incredibly, the little border was still open, but access to it was not quite so. We found ourselves in the middle of a festival, among people dancing in Inka costumes and their spectators. After several attempts to penetrate failed, we took turns to walk to the immigration office and process ourselves. When we could eventually get the bikes to the customs, I was in for another surprise: Turkey was not in Bolivia's system. But this is Bolivia and there's always a strange solution, so we got processed as Taiwanese with a little note saying "not really". By the time we parked into an almost free hospedaje, it was night.


An impassable border crossing.


Copacabana



Unfortunately, the vehicle blessing services which the place is famous for were not open the next day, so we had to leave unblessed.

Puno

(DAY268 : Cuzco - Puno : 245 miles)


We headed to Puno with Cecilia and Stybba's company, and had a beautiful ride on a llama infested road.

Puno is not quite a place to visit, but it can shock you with a delicious pasta. More importantly, it's on the shores of a must see lake, right next to some must visit people.

Lake Titicaca is South America's largest, and world's highest navigable lake. Centuries ago, fed up with Inka agression, a tribe of people have relocated to this lake to continue their lives in peace, on floating islands of totora reeds. The descendants of the Uros still continue the life-style, but now sustain it through tourism rather than fishing. Not only are the islands made of reed, but so are Uros' homes, boats, and handicrafts. Did I mention they also eat the stuff?


Approaching the Uros Islands.










A new style home.








I'm all shook up, uh-a-hah!..

Nowhere

(DAY260 : Aguas Calientes - Cuzco : 1 hr. train ride + 30 min. collectivo ride + 155 miles)
(DAY261 - 262 : Cuzco)
(DAY263 : Cuzco - Nowhere : ? miles + 2.5 hr. truck ride)
(DAY264 : Nowhere - Cuzco : 160 miles)
(DAY265 - 267 : Cuzco)


The manager of the hotel had been telling me about this very scenic shortcut to Arequipa, but I wasn't too sure about taking it without first knowing how bad the road was. Turns out that was the route Cecilia had taken on her way to Cuzco, and she assured me that it was a fairly good dirt road.

So I left Cuzco and headed to Arequipa and the Colca Canyon to see the giant Andean Condor.

Following my instructions, I left the main road at Siquani, and continued on the dirt road towards Chivay. Two hours later I was at a chaotic, dusty place called Yauri. As the road is not even on my map, I kept continuing by asking for directions as usual, but the directions were becoming harder and harder to "get". Gradually the road went from dirt to bad dirt and to sandy dirt and finally to crap. I of course was wondering how come Cecilia had called this road decent, but kept countering the question with the idea that perhaps this for her was a piece of cake. When I arrived the microscobic village of Suycutambo, I was about to pass the point of no return with half a tank. But here, there was supposed to be gas. That may be why I was expecting to find a real town and better roads.

I was probably the strangest thing to show up in Suycutambo, which itself was quite different. If I were lost, who knew since when, and the idea of back tracking all that was giving me cramps in the stomach. I would either turn back now, or put whatever liquid is in that jug in Katirga's tank and give this route one more chance. What if this really was the road?And where would I go back to anyway? That crap hole Yauri?

When asked about Chivay, people were still telling me to continue. How far? 7 hours. 7 hours??? Perhaps they mean on a donkey? Then I saw some locals fill up their chinese bikes from those jugs. A gallon could buy me another 20 miles to decide within. Fine.

Past Suycutambo, it was crystal. No one calls this decent. No one calls this a road! I was riding on all kinds of terrain, through creeks and over large surfaces of rock, with no trace of mankind around. This was truly the middle of nowhere. Yet, I was still going forward, taking courage from a truck that was behind me until a short while ago. A track reappeared, and I past a couple of huts, but it was still nowhere. Then it started happening. Katirga was coughing and spitting black smoke. Shortly afterwards, she was unable to climb the slightest incline. We were done.


The road started as nice as promised.


And did have some nice views.


But then it got a bit shady.


Shortly before it pulled a disappearing act.

Why had I come this far, all alone, and even without water? Why had I bought that gas when it was like the writing on the wall? Soon it would start getting dark, and really, really cold. I was already very thirsty and tired. Why did I have to be such an idiot?

It seems gods pity idiots. What were the chances of finding that truck next to one of those huts, along with just enough people to help load Katirga on that really tall cargo bed?

The driver refused to drive us to Siquani, but would take us to Yauri for $14. At this stage, Yauri no longer sounded so bad. With the only rope available, we tied her to one side of the wooden cargo bed in a manner to keep her on the side stand. I knew that wouldn't easily cut it, so I stayed standing right next to her, and gave the go ahead.

As soon as we started moving, I realized this would be much harder than I had hoped. I was glued to the handlebars, right hand engaging the front brake, right foot the rear. But we were off-roading with a truck, and with nothing holding her down, Katirga was bouncing viciously. Before long her wheels were off the ground with all weight on the side stand. "Amiiigoooo!! Stooop por favooor!!" This would require a lot of stops, but each time I got him to stop, the driver was complaining about being late. Late? Late to where?

When we reached Suycutambo we stopped to take on passengers. Only then did I realize that I hadn't exactly hired a truck, but gotten on a heavy-duty collectivo. We left the village at sunset, with an addition of five indigenous women, their babies, and their luggage which was enough to fill the large truck. So I was back on my poor left foot, surrounded by curious women, wrestling Katirga while answering their mostly playful questions.

The road was now better, but holding her down still wasn't easy. In the mean time, the temperature had been dropping rapidly and I only had a thin pullover on me. The women were genuinely concerned:

- Young blood, put on a jacket or something!
- I can't, I have to hold the bike.
- You'll get sick.
- I already am.
- You will die!

They did have a point. I had been with the flu since Abancay, and it was getting very cold very fast. My luggage was piled up in a corner out of reach, so getting to any warm clothes would not happen. While breast feeding her baby in a bouncing truck, I couldn't have accepted the senora's kind offer to try to reach my ride jacket either. So perhaps, I really would die of cold. But not too much later, when we had to stop and re-tie Katirga again, I did get a hold of my jacket. It was far from sufficient, but I might live to tell the tale after all.

After two or three hours of one hell of a ride, we arrived Yauri, everything and everyone covered in dust. We somehow unloaded Katirga in front of a dump hotel with parking. They raised their quoted price by 50% as soon as she came off the truck. It was a whopping $3.50 increase. Once Katirga was in the garage and luggage in the room, I went to have the day's first decent meal. In the most unlikely place by the name of Yauri, I found delicious chinese food for next to nothing. Shower, beer, bed. If I could convince Katirga to get us out of here tomorrow, the most miserable stretch of the trip was finally over.

The morning in Yauri started with a half a sleep search for a siphon hose and a rigid wire, as coffee certainly was not an option. The streets are a market place, and buying this kind of stuff doesn't even require waking up as long as you can walk a few blocks.

Then, it was time to dump the four gallons of contaminated, expensive Peruvian gasoline. I'm not even sure why I hated Yauri that strongly, but I wanted to get out of there so bad that I didn't even have the patience to remove the tank to dump the fuel and check the spark plug. I would siphon the tank dry, put in a fresh gallon from the gas station and cross my fingers. The gas station did not have a disposal method, and the street did not have any drainage, so I pulled right next to the giant pile of garbage they keep on the street. But as I was about to further contaminate planet Earth, a guy on a little motorcycle showed up, and after a brief chat asked if I would mind waiting for him to get a container. He would hold the gas in a clear container and filter out the contaminant, which he thought had to be water. Sure, why not? Especially if he was so eager to do all the dizzying siphoning! This much gas is a small fortune at around $20, so he wouldn't stop sucking on that hose until the tank was bone dry.

After putting in some new gas, I proceeded with the easier part of the plan, crossed my fingers, and hit the start button. She was up alright, but that didn't mean much. We went for a test ride, waking up the neighbors with the broken pipe. Nope, she was far from fine and would not get past 5000 rpm. On the other hand, she was much better and could handle some load. I didn't care, she had to limp us out of here.

I wouldn't stop being miserable until we left all this behind. I didn't even want to visit Arequipa anymore, thus it only made sense to follow our route south and continue to Puno. So when we made it to the main road at Siquani, we headed back to Cuzco.

Katirga not only limped us out of there, but got us all the way back to La Casa Grande. I was back to where Mojitos were good, and company wonderful. What was a few more days in Cuzco, when my girl needed some tender loving care anyway?

Luckily, replacing the fouled plug was all I had to do. While at it, I also got the pipe welded before it further melted the plastics around the break. She was good to go.

When I got back, I had found that Cecila was still stuck in Cuzco as the helicoil had come off when she was re-torquing the head. Around here, people are used to improvising, so eventually even that as well got fixed. She too was good to go.

Machu Picchu

(DAY258 : Cuzco - Aguas Calientes : 155 miles + 30 min. collectivo ride + 1 hr. train ride)
(DAY259 : Aguas Calientes & Machu Picchu)


Even today, the Inca marvel of Machu Picchu is remote and hard to reach. The ancient city is perched on top of a mountain, only connected to the village of Aguas Calientes settled below it. As this tourist trap / stop-over point is only reachable by railroad, all visitors must take Peru Rail's incredibly overpriced train to get there. Most tourists get on this slow train from Cuzco, then take the shuttle service or hike from Aguas Calientes up to Machu Picchu. Those who wish to catch the sunrise or sunset at the site need to stay over at Aguas Calientes.

Getting on the train at one of the few stops between Cuzco and Aguas Calientes is also possible, but if you are staying in Cuzco that hardly saves you any time or money. If you'd rather ride than get locked up in a train car however, you can do so all the way to the little village of Santa Teresa, and catch the train at its last reachable stop before Aguas Calientes.

We left the hotel at 8 am and once again headed towards Pisac. 1 hour and 40 miles later we were filling up in Urubamba, at one of the last big gas stations en route. Another 15 minutes got us to Ollantaytambo which also hosts a significant Inca site. Past the cobblestone and dirt through town, we found ourselves on a freshly paved road which soon started twisting and turning out of control. After I counted 40 hairpins in the first 15 miles, it loosened up so Katirga could stretch her legs, but at this altitude all she could do was huff and puff. We continued climbing and were greeted by beautiful views of a peak with a bright snow cap. How lucky it was to have such a clear sky! And how come I wasn't getting any altitude sickness here? Oh well, I paid (30 cents!) for them, so I might as well chew the darn coca leaves anyway!


How do 40 hairpins in 15 miles grab you? (Did you say tight?)


Hellooo beautiful! Now where did I put those coca leaves?

As you might expect all the way up here, it was very, very cold. Thankfully, and only literally, it was all downhill from here. As we wound down on the smooth tarmac, the weather warmed up and the scenery got even more dramatic. That sure couldn't last. At 11am and 100 miles into the ride, the drama faded and the road turned to dirt washboard.

As we approached Santa Teresa, the 20mph pneumatic drill ride took an even more interesting turn when the road decided to pull a "Bolivian death road" impersonation. Had we not been sharing it with Peruvian drivers, I would have said not to worry.


A pneumatic drill ride with a view.


Here we go...


Just don't look down!


Maybe shouldn't look back either.


Road much less traveled.

When we finally arrived Santa Teresa, we were completely covered in dust and it was around 1:30pm. A 140 mile ride in five and a half hours! Still, we had plenty of time to catch the (only) train at 4:40pm.

We all now know how costly "bad intel" can be. From a friend, that is what I got. The last part of the road was bad, but the following part to "hidroelectrica" (the hydroelectric plant), where the train departs from, was absolutely terrible and had a lot of suicidal collectivo traffic. It's incredible that those overloaded Toyota cars and vans can survive that track. Ultimately I found that parking there was not an option after all, unless you don't mind chaining your bike to a wire fence in the middle of nowhere and leaving her there for a couple of days. Good thing we had time. By the time we got back to the village it was close to 3pm.

Shortly after I started looking for a place that could host Katirga, Angel found me. He already had an F650 from Germany parked at his small home/hostal/mini-market and could fit another bike. Excellent. (cell: 984274444, alfreyaku@hotmail.com, ask for Angel)

With Katirga secured for $1.30 a day, I took one of the collectivos and headed back to hidroelectrica. While lined up to buy the $0.65 train ticket for the special tourist price of $8, I got attacked by some of the most vicious flies. Then, covered in itchy bites that will later bleed, I took my seat among the local folk and chicken for the one hour ride to Aguas Calientes.


Chao bella. Katirga will stay at Angel's for 2 days while I visit Machu Picchu.


Boarding at the hydroelectric plant, the last reachable stop before Aguas Calientes.


The train ride is nice, but not 5 hours and $50 nice. Mine took 1 hour and cost $8.


Aguas Calientes, aka Machu Picchu village.

Finding a nice place wasn't easy, and this in a town which exists for tourism, at a time when it's quite empty. Terrazas del Inca Hostel is located right by the river and was clean and comfortable. At $14 including breakfast, it was also one of the more affordable options. (Terrazas del Inca Hostel, Calle Wiracocha s/n. Tel: 084-984-951388, contactos@terrazasdelinca.com)

The idea was to get there before the crowds and catch the sunrise, so I bought my tickets before heading out for a beer. Interestingly, I needed my passport to buy the $40 Machu Picchu pass. The shuttle ticket was $7 one way.

At 4:45 am the next morning, I was in a long line in front of the shuttle office. Inconveniently, that is what it takes to get on the first buses departing at 5:30. And disappointingly, even being on the first bus does not help you avoid the crowds that flood the place in a flash, and long before the sun shows its face from behind the surrounding peaks. But disappointment is a very poorly chosen word for Machu Picchu, no matter how big the crowd or how bad the weather. It is the most beautiful and most spiritual city I have ever seen. Breathtaking might be the word to describe it even under unfavorable conditions.











After another night in Aguas Calientes, I took the 7am train to Santa Teresa and hit the road. After climbing and hiking around in an Inka city, visiting the little publicized, yet highly recommended thermal baths of Santa Teresa could've been a great idea, but I had missed you know who and our rides.

Almost as soon as we left the village, Katirga started sounding rather manly. I was relieved to see that the silencer was still in place, but it had broken. She sounded louder and meaner as we continued and the crack widened. Soon, we were being greeted by curious looks around every corner, as people seemed to be expecting a Lancia Delta Integrale steaming out of the curve sideways. Well, ok, maybe that was me visualizing. Pumped by her pretentious screams and mean compression burbles, we started flying over the washboard that we had before covered at only 15mph. We were now the Peruvians!

As we took the corner to the coffee shop in Ollantaytambo, another loaded bike appeared from the opposite corner. Side stands touched down, helmets came off. The (first) owner of the 19 year old BMW R100 with 200.000 miles on the clock was a gal from Switzerland traversing the globe on her own! We're talking Mongolia, Tibet, and all, on a machine that weighs 290 kgs unloaded. And here comes the punch line: Cecilia was out for a ride to test the new helicoil she had just put in. What the heck is a helicoil? Let me put it this way, for that to be "put in", the whole cylinder block comes out.

The road ahead of her, the one with 40 hairpins in 15 miles and a snowcap on top, was not only a great place to stress test an engine, but also a spectacular ride. So when I offered us to be her chase truck just in case, I wasn't really doing any favors. The helicoil held up fine, and we rode back to Cuzco together, this time over the Chinchero route.


Ultimately, the decision of how to get to Machu Picchu is not an easy one. Avoiding the crowds is only a dream and catching a sunrise rather than a gray sky takes a lot of luck. Spending a whole day up there also is a romantic idea, but possibly quite ambitious. The "train all the way" option can eliminate or minimize your Aguas Calientes time, and get you there well rested. The ride route is more adventurous and probably much more fun than sitting in a cabin, but again the "must ride" part of the trip is up to where the asphalt ends, and choosing the train would save you enough time to ride it for its own sake, or as an excuse to visit the Ollantaytambo site. As for the 3 day hike through the Inka trail option... Why, that's just crazy!

Cost of visiting Machu Picchu
MOTORCYCLE Fuel 4.50    10 gal. 45.00 Parking 1.30    2 days 2.60 Collectivo 1.70    2 rides 3.40 Train 8.00    2 rides 16.00 Hotel 14.00    2 nights 28.00 Shuttle 7.00    2 rides 14.00 MP Entrance 40.00    1 day 40.00 TOTAL     $ 149.00	TRAIN Train 48.00    2 rides 96.00 Shuttle 7.00    2 rides 14.00 MP Entrance 40.00    1 day 40.00         TOTAL     $ 150.00

Pisac

(A day trip from Cuzco : 40 miles round trip)


The half hour ride to the Inka citadel at Pisac is scenic and sprinkled with more ruins.


Saqsaywaman, or what is left of it after Spaniards used its stones to build their houses.


Puca Pucara


These guys are like the mascots of the area.


Welcome to the Sacred Valley.

Below: Pisaq






Inka stone works utilized an interlocking design that demanded precision.

Cuzco

(DAY253 : Abancay - Cuzco : 145 miles)
(DAY254 - 257 : Cuzco)


After waking up with a runny nose, I took my sweet time to leave Abancay. When we hit the road, I was truly glad to not have pressed on yesterday. The 3 hour ride to Cuzco was one of the highlights of this trip, and that means spectacular with no ifs or buts. What a waste it would have been to cover it tired and in a hurry.







"Viva el Peru, glorioso". Welcome to Cuzco.


As for Cuzco... This is the place I'd been looking for since leaving Popayan. Yes, it's very touristy. Yes, cold beer or good coffee can still be elusive. And yes, Peru loves to rip off its visitors. But... Cuzco sure stands out way beyond the trivial, and owes that to her first founders, the Inka.



The Cuzco flag. (No, Inka weren't all gay, but the rainbow was sacred)


The folklore festival.


















In Cuzco, there always seems to be an excuse to put a show on. If it's not to celebrate, it will be to protest. And if you can't wait for the next spectacle, you can always take a stroll in the market.





















Built on top of the Inka capital, streets of the city are like a showcase for Inka's stonework expertise. Had conquistadors been able to resist the urge to build cathedrals on top of everything, the place might have looked as impressive as Machu Picchu today. On the other hand, they could have torn it all down and built another white washed plaza as well.



A famous rock with 12 precision cuts always blocks this street.


Indigenous women and their animalitos are a common sight at street corners.


On my first night in Cuzco, I paid the obligatory visit to Norton Rats Tavern on the main plaza to meet Jeff and sign my drunk name in his encyclopedia of motorcycle travelers who have stopped by before me. How can people chat about motorcycles for a whole night? That's exactly what we did and I have no idea how. But hey, we have a bike in common with the man, the Speed Triple. Let me tell you one thing about him: he's crazy. Crazy enough to ride an S3 from the US all the way down here!

After a couple of nights in a room that could barely fit a bed, I moved to La Casa Grande on Jeff's suggestion. It was comfortable, had a large courtyard for Katirga, and was only a block from the Rats. A comfortable room set me back about $20 a night, and that's not too bad for Cuzco. (La Casa Grande Hotel, Av. Santa Catalina Ruinas)

When I moved into my new place, there were already a few Argentinean bikers staying there. Once again, I were to meet some really nice guys, only to say goodbye in a matter of days. But I have a feeling it won't be too long till we drink together again.



A great night among friends.


Heading back to Argentina...


Cuzco is... Kind of hard to describe its charm with words or even photographs.

Abancay

(DAY252 : Nazca - Abancay : 290 miles)


When I hit the curves on the way out of Nazca I wondered how it could be possible to reach Cuzco in one day. The road surface was poor and twisties continuous. The landscape changed to a different kind of barren, with crumbling rocks growing into mountains. I had done my time. The torture of straight rides on emptiness was over. And guess what: I had no regrets. Would I do it again? Of course not.


A new chapter in barren.

The road kept folding for a reason. We were going up and up, each up making it colder. Eventually, the scenery grew breathtaking; not in a shockingly beautiful way, but rather in a sense of vastness. We were in the land of gods, tiny, insignificant, weak. I should've taken coco leaves with me.

Breathtaking led to short of breath, and vast drained any energy I had. I could barely keep my eyelids open, and getting off Katirga meant risking falling off my feet. I could hardly stand! Was this the altitude sickness people had been talking about? I thought it merely caused upset stomach and stuff. Maybe I had something else.

For the next hour and a half I was in no shape to drive a motorcycle. So I let Katirga do the job while I merely hung on. Stopping up there at 5000+ meters wouldn't make me better, it would make me freeze. The road showed mercy and wound down. Kat did an incredible job and got us all the way to a tiny village, and I was fine. Some junk food from the micro-market, I was shiny as new.


Alpacas and llamas can be quite dangerous. They are fast, stupid, and camouflage well.








Take a photo of vast to end up with waste.






Down to mortal friendly altitudes.


As we neared Abancay the road became really inspiring. Riding parallel to a deep cyan river as it turned and twisted, I wished I weren't so tired. When we entered town it was 4pm, and I had been riding for seven and a half hours. Cuzco was still within reach, but I had to call it a day. I checked in to the first hotel with parking I came across, for $14 with breakfast. (Hotel Imperial, Av. Diaz Barcenas 517, imperialhotel1@hotmail.com) The hotel had wireless internet but the town didn't have cold beer. What is with people???

Nazca

(DAY251 : Huacachina - Nazca : 100 miles)


After a nice breakfast by the lake (puddle?) I jumped in the hotel's pool and almost died. Just a bit colder and it would become an ice rink. Perhaps that is what gave me the jolt I needed to pack up and hit the road.



The final stretch

In only about 2 hours we were in Nazca. I started inquiring about the plane rides before we even had a place to stay, and was getting quoted $80-90. That is about 200% of what I was expecting, so I rode straight to the airport and put down $60 to see if there were any takers. In about half an hour I was in the air and Katirga all alone at the airport parking lot with all the luggage.


This tower indicates that you have arrived at the Nazca lines.


Don't see 'em? Well, hence the tower. Or better yet, the planes.






Tree and hand figures. And that tower again.


Condor.


Humming bird.


Nazca.


Nazca is not the kind of place you'd go visit for a good time, and even skipping the lines wouldn't mean missing much. The figures certainly are large, but from a plane even large becomes small. Also, they are hard to distinguish among other random lines. I guess what I'm trying to say is, unless this is really important to you, or you're interested in the small plane flight itself, you shouldn't get caught in the "but it's a once in a lifetime thing" trap. After all, $70 (with airport tax) can go a long way around here.

After the flight I went and found a hole in the wall and spent the night up thanks to some loud recreational activity next door. Just when I had one of the most tiring rides ahead of me...

Huacachina

(DAY250 : Lima - Huacachina : 210 miles)


I left Lima with an agenda to visit the Ballestas islands, (according to my book of lies) also nicknamed the "poor man's Galapagos". Supposedly Pisco is the base for the boat tours, but I found the tour agencies further south, in Paracas. After inquiring about what I should expect to see, I decided to continue. I do love sea lions, but we already know each other well and I can always do better than looking at them from a 2 hour $15 boat ride.


The flag is enormously popular




Pisco. Not the type of scenery you'd expect on your way to Galapagos no matter how poor.


Paracas is where I found the boat tours.




Ballestas scratched out, I continued on to Ica and the oasis among sand dunes called Huacachina right next to it. This really is a must see place. After checking out all the hotels and hostels, I found a new, unmarked place at a great deal. A nice, large room three steps from an ice cold swimming pool for $14. Then, before I could even unload, I got a last minute buggy ride deal for only $10, and got to do a lot of sandboarding. Different for sure, but not half as much fun as snowboarding. Would be perfectly fine to chill here for a while, but sometimes the "gotta go" mood doesn't let go. Nazca couldn't wait I guess.



Another scene from the road. See? There are green fields!


Ica main street.


Huacachina




The first building you'll see is a buggy garage...


that also is the best value accommodation in Huacachina.


The whole point of being here.


Buggy rides are fun, but sand boarding is too slow.


How are my new wheels?

Lima

(DAY248 : Trujillo - Lima : 370 miles)
(DAY249 : Lima)


The idea wasn't to make it all the way to Lima at once, especially after leaving Trujillo as late as eleven. But after a long and windy ride among sand dunes and more of the same, I really did not come across any place I wanted to stay at, so just kept going.














Look, the ocean! I took the exit to Tortugas to have a closer look.


There's a strong police presence on Peruvian roads, particularly on town entrance and exits. Between Chimbote and Lima, there's also the strong presence of Police corruption. This is where you will get stopped for a shakedown. You don't want to run as there's one road, and he has many friends. The going rate for a corrupt cop is 5 Soles, equivalent of less than $2. If you were a local, you might get by with just 1 or 2 Soles. Of course there's always the option of being the uber-cheap tourist and talking the guy to death as well. But that would cost you at least 20 minutes per stop, and at two incidents or more before reaching Lima, you'd be looking at a lot of wasted time. In my case, I paid one off and killed another of frustration.

Sixty miles to Lima we rode into very thick fog. It was already getting dark and the wet road surface was the icing on the cake. Later I was told that that fog layer is always there. For quite sometime I followed somebody's tail lights with crossed fingers. Then, we were in Lima.

I knew I was heading to Miraflores, the pretty and safe part of town, but I had no idea about how to get there. The Panamericana turned into a freeway type deal, and it seemed to go on forever. Ultimately, it wasn't hard however. You exit at Avenida A. Benavides, and follow it all the way. Hotel Solis Dies had a garage, WiFi, and a rock solid bed for $20. (Calle Porta #245, Miraflores. Tel: 628 1040)

Lima is where Peru ends. Had it not been for the distinct driving style, you could call it a nondescript city by looking at the Ztarbucks and Svendonalds stuff all over the place. And as for its driving style... Elsewhere it would be considered a criminal act. And I'd thought the driving in Istanbul was terrible.

How I had missed decent coffee! Of course, I was at Starbucks first thing in the morning. They even brought a lock for my PowerBook so I could easily go for seconds. Then, Jorge showed up on his XT. I almost didn't recognize him. But never having met him before, perhaps that wouldn't be so weird either.

At the Colombia - Ecuador border, I had met a Brazilian rider. Until we were distracted by the incredible and typically Colombian cleavage of the mamasita customs officer, he was giving me some pointers and contacts. That's how I had Jorge's email, and I had sent him a message before heading to Lima. And here he was, without even knowing that I'd be at Starbucks! Well, ok, maybe wasn't that hard to guess.

In the following hours, Jorge helped me buy new tires (Pirelli MT60s @ $110 for the pair), introduced me to his friend Carlos, and they took me out to lunch. Then, they found a place to get the tyres mounted and kept me company. By evening, the whole gang was together. They gave me a quick city tour before treating me to dinner in a very swanky place. Then, we went for a night ride in the empty streets of Lima. It was us and our wheels, and we owned the city! The historic town center is such a beautiful place to hang out at with no one around. It was a truly incredible time with more laughter than I'd had in a long time.


Our gang in Lima.




Lima is magical late at night


Even I can't believe I could leave Lima the next day. I didn't even ride around the city in daylight fearing that it might mar the beautiful image in my memory. Here is the part that really sucks about traveling: you meet wonderful people, make new friends, then leave them behind without even knowing whether if you'll be able to see them again.


Katirga and me through Jorge's pen :)

Trujillo

(DAY247 : Huanchaco - Trujillo : 10 miles)


Trujillo is not even half a ride away, and has everything Huanchaco doesn't: traffic, crowds, stores, and of course the colonial requirement to be considered anything, a big cathedral and a plaza. My room at Hostal Colonial cost $14, and they had room for Katirga in the lobby. Streets of Trujillo were fun to roam, but my attempt to check out its night life was ill advised. The city's hippest nightclub turned out to be an empty warehouse in identity crisis, with all kinds of junk hanging on the walls from warning triangles to work gloves, and c'mon, a Ford Taunus front grill! Had the music not sucked so bad, I still would've been ok with having waited outside in a line of kids. Oh well, live and get old.

Below: Trujillo








Right between Huanchaco and Trujillo, resides another important city. Or rather, the remainings of a 700 year old adobe Chimu settlement called Chan Chan.

Below: Chan Chan


How can anything made of mud last this long?






This part of the ruins are actually smack dab in the middle of Trujillo rather than Chan Chan. They don't appear that different from the contemporary buildings in the background now, do they?

Huanchaco

(DAY246 : Piura - Huanchaco : 275 miles)


I left Piura in anticipation of encountering more of the same filth, but as I continued south the situation improved. Perhaps I had passed the test and was now welcome in Peru?

And thus started my journey on the famous, much despised, Peruvian Panamericana. The road was straight and the surface excellent. The scenery was as desolate as told, yet not always the same. Occasionally there were fields and card-board cities, and lone standing shacks as if dropped from the sky. Some of the settlements actually reminded me of the Playa, lol! The trash and rubble was still there along the road side, but nothing like what was up north. The weather was cold and gray, the side wind strong but not too bad. It literally was a pain in the neck though, and supporting my head with one hand while riding may have looked quite funny.


Wow! It bends!


Now playing: Vapor Trail - The Crystal Method


Interrupting nothingness with another town.


Huanchaco is a fishing village turning gringo town, right next to Trujillo. Arriving here feels a bit like putting Peru on pause, but it is a must see if only for its fishermen that still use boats made of reed, identical to those used by the Chimu 700 years ago. The place is also a popular surfing destination which is why it attracts so many flip-flops.

I got the worst bug bites and ate the worst pizza at Casa Suisse hotel, but I'm sure there were more dangerous accommodation options.


Below: Huanchaco












The totora (reed) boats are called "Caballitos" (little horses)

Piura

(DAY245 : Loja - Piura : 225 miles)


Just when Loja was starting to grow on me, I was free to leave with a brand spanking new Peruvian visa. I rode back to Makara remembering to stop for a premature fill up on the way, talked myself out of the childish urge to show a prick a finger, then crossed the border within an hour. I was finally in Peru!


The border region is full of rice fields


This photo could have been taken anywhere on the trip really


Self service car wash


Welcome to Peru. Meet the "Peruvian Hairless". (This is a breed and I'm not kidding!)

On entering Ecuador, I had said "poor in finances, aesthetics, and cleanliness". Those were clearly the words of a fool who had never seen Peru. Had I entered Ecuador from this side instead of Colombia, it might have shined. Yet, to have access to this astonishing poverty, I had to present bank statements and agent contracts to establish that my intention was not to immigrate. Man, does my passport dazzle!

Everyone who's crossed Peru along the coast before talks in length about how dirty, ugly, windy, and boring that route is. Sigrid and Andi had done it before as well, and they had no intention to do it again. That's why they crossed into Peru over the treacherous La Balsa border and continued south over the mountains where things surely are more beautiful.

Which would you do? Ride beautiful mountain roads or head on to find out how bad a coastal route can be? If it is as extraordinarily ugly as everyone says, could you bring yourself to skip it? I did consider choosing beauty over ugliness and filth, and it was a strangely hard decision. I'd have many gorgeous mountain roads to roam on, but this I had to see.

As I kept approaching Piura, Peru was doing all it could to make me turn around and go away. Never in my life had I been anywhere this filthy. Mountains of garbage were everywhere, accompanied by an incredibly strong stench of sewage and rotten algae. People lived here. In fact they too were everywhere. This place defied description. Would have taken some photos, but that would require stopping.

Thankfully Piura does a good job of camouflaging what's right outside of it. I checked in to a $15 hotel and called it a day. Finding cold beer would not be easy.


A new community of villas right outside of Piura


This may be the weirdest thing I have ever seen.