Onwards and Upwards

After saying farewell to Raj - who had a harrowing 30 hour journey home from Lima via Miami - I decided it was high time to get out of Lima. I decided to head to Peru´s far north Pacific coast, to a surf town called Mancora. On the 18 hour bus journey up the Panamerican highway, which pretty much runs up the west coast of the double continent, from Alaska to Tierra del Fuego in the far south of Chile, I bumped into an Irish guy called Joe I met in Buenos Aires. We headed to the Point hostel (also stayed at the Point hostel in Arequipa and Lima) right on the beach when we arrived, and also caught up with Tristan and Rob, two young Aussie guys I had met in Arequipa and Lima. We spent five blissful days on the beach, getting tuk-tuks into town for lunches of lobster and ceviche (Peru´s national dish of virtually raw seafood marinated in lime and chillis), playing beach volleyball, having barbeques and assembling to watch each glorious sunset. We were lucky to be present for the Point´s apparently legendary full moon party, for which about 300 people, both tourists and local Mancorians, poured in to our tiny hostel for a long, long night of debauchery. The hostel was made special by the laid-back staff, mainly Aussies, Kiwis and Brits, who seemed to drink more than the paying guests. The chef, German Mike, whose infamy I had heard about in Lima, made a great spaghetti bolognese one night for everyone, and later claimed he didn´t even remember making it. Even he was outdone on the full moon night by Kiwi Justin, who, at about eight in the morning and still drunk, nearly drowned in the Pacific after passing out during an ill-advised dip. Tristan and Rob were on hand to pretty much save his life. He then spent half an hour unconscious under a running outdoor shower, where someone had kindly put a towel over him to stop him getting sunburnt. The hostel was mostly tranquilo in the daytime, until a tour group of 28 (Yes, twenty eight) Aussie guys and girls arrived, lending a unanimously unwelcome 18-30 atmosphere to the place. Even so, it was a great place to end nearly two months in Peru, and I was sad to leave what has been my favourite country so far in South America.

Earlier this week, myself, Joe, Tristan and Rob tackled the notoriously shady border between Peru and Ecuador. We had heard horror stories of armed robbery, pickpocketing, corrupt border cops and all kinds of nastiness going on. We got through fine, but it certainly wasn´t short of drama. On the bus to the Ecuadorian border, there was a wild-eyed lunatic on board who seemed to be working for the bus company, who was attempting to help us across the border (for a fee). The impassive armed guard on board the bus paid him no regard for most of the journey, and then suddenly attempted to eject (ie push) him off the moving bus. After a while he gave up, and returned to his state of zen indifference and allowed the man to continue hustling everyone. The whole episode was beyond bizarre. At the border we were greeted by the surliest, most moustachioed and most cliched South American border cops you could ever wish not to meet. Some Californians on our bus got hauled into ´the red room´behind the main desk at emigration and were asked to pay a fee of 700 US dollars to enter Ecuador. As it is free to enter, they rightly refused, but the cops must intimidate plenty of people into handing over huge wads of green bills. Fortunately we entered Ecuador with our wallets undisturbed. Our eyebrows continued to be raised throughout our journey to Cuenca, especially when an Ecuadorian military policeman climbed on the bus searching for cocaine hidden inside seats, clutching the biggest, scariest, shiniest, sharpest knife I am ever likely to see. However, he departed without finding anything, with a vague air of disappointment about him.

We spend a couple of nights in Cuenca, a pretty, colonial town in the south, in a bohemian little cafe-hostel called El Cafecito, before getting on yet another bus, this time to Banos (pronounced Banyos, I can´t find the little curly character on the keyboard that goes above the ´n´). It is a sub-tropical town in the shadow of a few very active volcanoes, with the main attractions being adventure sports and thermal baths. Yesterday was one of the best days travelling so far as Joe talked me in to a spot of abseiling down waterfalls. This is most definitely not the sort of thing I would in my right mind put my name down for, but as travelling is all about doing things outside of your comfort zone, I thought I may as well. I´d rather die in the Andes than on the Northern Line, after all. The journey to the waterfalls was eventful enough, as we were taken on the back of a open truck at daunting speeds through the lush countryside. A sudden brake and we would have been flung well clear of the truck onto the road. We also went through a tunnel that outstretched Dartford, all without any functioning lights. And all this before the adrenaline sports began. On a winding single track lane up to the start of the waterfalls, we had two gleeful schoolchildren gamely attempting to chase after our van, and despite me encouraging them by yelling Venga, venga! they gave up. We had to change into our wetsuits and put on all manner of ropes and harnesses in a tiny shack guarded by a friendly old woman, who, when we arrived, was brandishing a machete that would have given the cop from the other day a decent duel. Apparently it was just for cutting wood.

So, the abseiling. When I told our young guide, Franklin, that this was my first time, he left his answer of "Me too" for what seemed like a minute before grinning. Although my Spanish is alright, I must have missed the lesson focusing on abseiling jargon in my London Spanish classes, and thus found it hard to grasp what Franklin was instructing us to do. And, worryingly, I´m sure it was Something Definitely Worth Comprehending Firmly. Although pretty safe, abseiling down a 30 metre sheer drop waterfall, with water hitting you pretty hard the whole way, was both terrifying and exhilirating. I almost chickened out at the start but was pretty pleased to have got through it with nothing more than a couple of bruises (slamming against the rock when missing a footing) and a few mosquito bites. After a lovely stroll through the countryside to get to the bus stop to return to Banos, passing banana plantations and millions of multicoloured butterflies, we encountered some iffy-looking gents offering swing jumps (like a bungeee jump) off a river bridge. Joe had a go, and said his heart was still thumping an hour later. I declined politely, as I didn´t trust the guys as far as they could throw me. So dont worry Mum, I still have some regard for health and safety!

We finished off a brilliant day´s adventure by a trip to Banos´s famous thermal baths, where tourists and locals go every night to sit in the soothing sulphuric waters. The thing to do is to get in the scorching 48 degree pool for a few minutes, and then plunge into the freezing pool alongside it for a couple of minutes, and then repeat five times. I believe the Swedes do the same thing with saunas and snow. It was great fun, although the sudden and violent change in temperature makes your head spin. Joe very, very nearly fainted!

Although I had done little research on the country beforehand, I have found Ecuador to be amazing. The people are even friendlier and more fun than the Peruvians, and the culture is slightly more Spanish than in Bolivia and Peru, and the influence of Colombia is tangible. Tomorrow myself and Joe are going on a tour to Cotopaxi, Ecuador´s Fuji-like volcano, and something called the Quilotoa circuit, where there is a giant volcanic crater with a green lake in it. Apparently mountain biking and horseriding will be involved. From there we head to Quito, Ecuador´s capital. After that, Colombia beckons...

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