Rain but no showers

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Ohdearmotheroftheabove, the bus journey to Lima was epic to say the least.
To start with it was so late in actually going and then when we were on it, it was for 3 days, yes, 3 days I tell you. What a waste of precious time and life! That takes the word Travelling to the extreme don't you think. In fact I can actually say I was on a bus from January to February, the transition occurred during one night. With no food and no Peruvian currency, we were bored, squashed, tired and hungry. I did however invent a new version of Phoebe's song: " Smelly bus...oh smelly bus"...we had a small break when we reached Arica, a border town, where we had to be taxiied across the border in the early hours, first waiting for our car to fill up with as many people as unhumanely possible before we left. Not quite knowing if the taxi was genuine and whether we could be bopped on the head and left in no mans' land is always an unnerving thought, but made it we did, then onto another bus bound for Lima.
Our first bus on the Peruvian roads, was reminiscent of days in Asia. A far more basic, relaxed and perhaps primitive way of life compared to Chile. Bizarre as all that separates the two is a strip of land. The bus was packed and stopped more times than a watch bought from Del Boy. People came on the bus in droves to sell various curious mixtures of sweetcorn and cheese, water, dried bags of bean mix etc...it seemed we'd never make Lima, as we had to pile off the bus and have a random security check, where all our bags were scanned and padlocks opened for a mere token inspection that glanced at the open zipper. What's the point. I think they have a real fear of fruit smuggling in South America, like you're hiding the perfect hybrid mega seed or something.... Once going, we drove through some fantastic scenery, although too bleary eyed to focus, I imagined the deep wide valleys, and hedegerows similar actually to England, but more lush. We stumbled our stiff legs off the bus the next morning, a new world record for me, of not needing a wee for 2 days!!! It helps if you don't drink.

Lima, a city of beautiful classic and colonial architecture, similar to Monetvideo and Buenos Aires for its European influence. All brightly painted, ornate details, that stand proud and sophisticated against the little street stalls and tuk-tuks dotting the roads. Looking lost, having been dissappointed by Lonely P's options of accommodation, we were beckoned by a man to his home/come hostel. It was lovely. It was so posh with hot water for a shower (it becomes a luxury) and breakfast included, just what we needed after being scummy for days.
Never before have I ventured into the chain of Dunkin' Donuts, especially on foreign turf, but the ice cold strawberry slush was divine, it gave me a head freeze so painful that it shot to my back and brought tears to my eyes as I could feel my skin slowly begin to rehydrate itself....such pleasure yet pain. I've never experienced anything like it before. We had one night to get a decent kip before a fellow companion of Sarah's, was joing us. Sarah met Martin on holiday many moons ago and their families have stayed friends ever since. Martin, bravely and stupidly thought we'd be good travel companions, wise and worldy travellers perhaps to show him the unexplored. We devised a neat little time schedule as his time was limited, his escape from home being four weeks, of which one would be spent without us, on a tour to Macchu Picchu. (We later visit with Sarah's parents...)

Even the simple task of meeting Martin at the airport was funny enough, we waited an age at the bus stop where frequent but jam packed minibuses whizzed by pushing people off army rolling to the curb (well nearly), as others leapt into the open sliding doorways to take their place before the seat got cold. We thought we'd never have a chance, especially being "let's wait in a queue forever Brits", time was ticking and people had started to take photos of us on their camera phones, saying it was for a college project about fashion..mmm.., yes, such trend setters, in shorts and a jumper, flip flops and...ok..gloves...perhaps lack of fashion. We were approached by two of the many traffic cops around and yeah, they carry guns, and they slowed down every possible bus in our direction until one had just enough room to squeeze an orange, in which we were wedged doing the usual one buttock stance all the way to the airport. Martin had so better appreciate this. Braced with cards bearing his name, the mighty 6 and a half something foot Martin realised his fate as we welcomed him.

Had a day of sorting stuff out like Martin's trek to Macchu Picchu, and experienced the Old town of Lima, where a special changing of the Guards procession was taking place outside the Palace. We could have been on tv if we'd started dancing like Morris Men, but a little starlet of a girl took over waving her white handkerchief and milking the limelight, egged on probably by her over bearing Mother who had wanted fame and fortune for herself....
That night we were on another bus, to Hauraz. Absolutley freeezing, I was in shorts as usual, but hadn't thought about the change in altitude causing the temperature to drop. We rolled in at 5am, met by a guy, Max donned in practically Alpine gear, who took us to the farthest hospedaje in town. We opted for another as it promised hot water to shower. Something I longed for to feel my feet again. Even the walk was tiring, as the reduced oxygen left us breathless.
Hot shower......my a*-e!!! So freezing, my soles of my feet remained yellow. Unbeknown to us, the same tour guide, Max had been waiting for us downstairs to go through the usual tours available in the area..blah blah blah. So pointless as you can do most things on your own. He was also buying into precious breakfast time. We conferred over a major breakfast, Martin had so many courses, unplanned as thye'd got the order wrong, but quite appreciated by Martin I think. We decided the only thing we'd opt for was horse riding.
Whilst Sarah slept, feeling unwell, Martin and I wandered the now intensely hot streets up into the more shanty side of town. I invested in the most precious hat ever...a typically woolly beaut with ears and llamas on it. I swear it's been a life saver, even if I look like the Spin Doctors' Singer??!!
Hauraz is a strange place, very grey building wise as it was destroyed by an earthquake in 1970, tragically killing 70, 000 people. It's 3091 metres asl, so the air is clear and fresher than Lima, but after a day, the busy streets of cars and lorries spewing out cheap diesel takes away the intial refreshment.

The nest day Sarah, still unwell, was left to rest while Martin and I went for an early morning walk. Unfortunately we trespassed into a pack of highly excited dogs, all riled up from having just had a frisky fight with each other, the biggest and fiestiest was barking it's head of and came at my leg, the bugger. It left a really deep incision in my thigh muscle and it really hurt. Oh well, lets hope I don't get rabies. I figure when I start to foam at the mouth, it might be wise to seek help........
Sarah, now much perkier, joined us for a trip out to Wilcahuain, an ancient warsite, dating back to 700 AD, 2 million years before the Incas!! How incredible it was that ceramics still remain and the building looks as if it could've been built within the past 10 years in old traditional materials (if we were in Asia, this would have been the case). We had a guide, Roger, a mere 10 years old, yet his little cheeks were as ruddy as the flower sellers' on Aylesbury market... (Bucky's Dad?). Then we walked for a couple of hour's round trip through fields and scrabbling down cliffs, just for the fun of it.
On our return we were interrupted by the persistant Max, explaining what time to meet tomorrow for horse riding...typically it had been changed to a later start..as always...

Horse riding day and I was so excited, it's been years since I went riding!!! Again no hot water (3 days now of perishingly cold water hitting my head as I dart from a mere tepid warmth of my bed to the bathroom), and Max was unsurprisingly late. Then we had to wait for a bus to fill up before it would go and it took at least an hour to get there. A day's riding trek is far from a day's riding. Still, we were greeted by a silent little man with 3 very sorry looking horses. Already I was regretting this. Martin looked so very Thelwell caricature, as his long legs practically touched the ground either side of his lazy mule. Sarah had a very pretty horse, the biggest, by a hair, pushing more toward pony sized than donkey and then there was mine, a fiesty little black minx with an attitude more ghetto than Missy Elliot and with an unpredictable nature. Boy, this isn't quite the relaxing ride I imagined. We eventually got the unentusiatistic troopers out onto the road, and trekked through little rustic villages, like Nepalese hillside teahouses, along the river and up into the hills, all the while follwed by our guide..on foot, with the most appalling radio ever, that crackled out whining Spanish songs. It looked like he didn't want to be there anymore than the horses, and indeed myself. At one point I just wanted to get off and walk the horse back to town myself. We reached a hill, by that I mean a gradient so steep that to stand upright would be a challenge, without the need of bending to hold onto something. There was no path and we were to go up it. That is try to shift the horses in a zig-zag fashion up to the very peak, about 1000m above, with scraggy rocks and stones. Sarah's and my horse tripped and fell on their knees a couple of times, it was so scary and just so uncomfortable and with my head for heights, I could see the ground fading away behind us and the wind was picking up. I was so tense, I could've crushed a watermelon between my knees.
The view at the top was however, worth it. Here we stopped and my legs were set to Typical John Wayne stance. The fact that my thigh still ached from the blasted bite also didn't help. We didn't stay long, just enough to take in the surrounding snow capped peaks and hills and valleys. Managing to re catch what I'm sure were our wild ponies, we set off down the other side again. Just as steep and scary and again mine fell a couple of times, health andd safety isn't really an issue here, hence no hats or protection anywhere, even the bridal rope kept slipping off its head. Mine seemed to know then that it was homeward bound and I had to keep such a tight rein to stop it bolting off downhill. I was sweating, I'm not afraid to say. What a difference from trying to get it to move, to trying to stop it. It was the skittiest beast ever. Every noise made it speed off and having a dog nipping around its ankles at one point didn't help, though surprisinlgy she stayed very calm. I was so ready to get off. By the time we reached home, I was as rigid as an ice pop, but as our Aussie friend Matt would say, sweating like a whore in confession (so crude sorry, but I love it).
Looking back with rose-tinted glasses, it was a good experience.....how rosey are these glasses exactly?! The bus back was interesting too, as an almighty pig was hurled up on the roof and strapped on. We always wondered why there was a sticker inside the minibus saying no pigs....

So now we are all feeling dodgy, limb and stomach wise...the dreaded lurgy has caught up with us all...and at 5.30am, with the coldest shower to date...freshly pumped from Antartctica, we braced the outside to get the bus to Chavin. Taking 3 hrs from Hauraz, it's essential to leave early. It was a very stunning roadtrip, a single long and winding road, (Harrison, thanks), the road cut into a landsape similar to that of Glencoe, only 10 times amplified and impressive. We went up to 4600metres and I think my head was starting to feel it. I tried the Coca sweets to help, but they are rank, like burnt cough candy, with a bonfire aftertaste. The town of Chavin was a shambles of various roadside veg and spitroast meats, caged chooks and wandering dogs. We were there to view the ruins. A circuit within a green field of stone remnants and underground tunnels. Nothing majorly impressive, but the scenery and llamas, added to its mystic qualities. Had to wait another 2 hrs for the bus back, so indeed we could have caught a later bus...bah! But the highlight was watching a film about husky dogs!!
Martin had taken a turn for the worse and the next day he was ready for a day in bed. Poor thing. Sarah and I braved the cold and by 6am we were sitting in a bus ready to go to some lakes, a good few hour's away....6.30, still sitting, 7 am...still there...rubbish, no one was going to the lakes and so we had waited for nothing and by then at 8am it was too late to go and get back in the same day as return buses stop around 4pm!! Rubbish! So we found another option and got various buses out to some caves, a little walk along the river and in the sunshine. I saw a hummingbird for the first time ever, they really are so small. It's true. By the time we'd got back the now predictable rain had come in, as it does every early evening, only this time it was incessant.

Another day without our new companion, we felt bad in leaving Martin, but he needed rest. We had another deja-vu early start to get a bus to another town, in hope of another bus to some lakes another few hours away...sensing a theme here? Unfortunately it was going to cost more than we were willing to pay..practically a week's accommodation to do the trip and so we stopped at the next town, that smelt of shit, literally, probably beacaue there was so much of around, dog, chicken, bird, horse, tyou name it, Tracy Emin would've had a grand artistic inspiration. Then we wandered the curious markets of Hauraz. Came across some grotesque ram heads, stinky seafood, but surprisingly some great shoes and clothes, though it could be that I've been away for far too long. On a hopeless case to find some much needed underwear it seems that one size fits all is the rule here and so had to try various garish Victorian whore looking contraptions over the top of our clothes....embarrassingly a frequent occurrance nowadays. Just hope I stop it back at home. By the evening we were reunited with a much better feeling Martin and soon on a much more spohisticated bus, that we'd had to chase last minute in the pouring rain to another station, obviously it wasn't going from the place we'd bought the tickets...still, at least somewhere warm enough to sleep and on our way to te coast!

Next stop Huanchaco, a pretty little fishing village, as the book rightly described, with a relaxed holiday charm, much like an English Seaside resort. We traipsed the place for hours in order to find somewhere to stay. Surprised at how busy it was, we ended up at the original skanky rooms we'd first refused. Another water problem, though luckily only temporary as there wasn't any. Finally we felt what it was like to be human again, with clean hair and dresses, it was so warm!!! We sorted out a few bits and pieces, having to get the bus back into the next larger town, through pockets of dead-dog smells near a certain Mister Phils' laundry. Not knowing where to go, we were really helped out by such a sweet girl, recommending to take a taxi to a certain well respected bus company as the station is so dodgy and even taxis are risque.
Once back in our beach, we had an unsuccessful attempt to find both cold drinks and sunscreen much to Sarah's annoyance, so moseyed the little artesanal stalls, that I was shocked to see sell dried up seahorses and trurtle shells. Why? Why? I'll never get to see seahorses in the sea.

Chan Chan, the nearby ruins that we'd come for. With a very comprehensive museum we then had a guide to show us around the huge ancint complex, a site within a desrt landscape, for important worship. The walls were 11 foot high and it was a maze-like layout. Our guide even had props of a conch and wooden recorder that he played for us. It was so like a Monty Python sketch. Outside these ancient temples are often black skinned, hairless Peruvian dogs, that have a certain pig-like quality about them. They look like they've been burnt alive, especially as they just lie in the sun, as still as...well, a dead dog... We were on a cultural mission as we headed to another ruin, all of a similar giant sand castle construction, with a good view of the town from the top. Having had so much culture in one day, we stopped via a Shopping Mall!! Sarah actually bougght some jeans, I'm so jealous, it's the dream item of every traveller we've met and had reason to be jealous of! Don't really know why, but there it is (remember Beth, you still owe me a pair!).
Spent the evening having made friends with a curious guy, of mixed languages and his friends, of different nationalties. Which all amounted to building a proper bonfire, at the back garden of his hotel apartment. Brilliant.

Another gorgeously hot day awaited us and we had packed up to leave later that night. Before we had one more cultural blast from the past that was to The Huana del Sol y Luna, the sun and moon temples. After taxi hopping enough times in the wrong direction, we arrived at what again seemed the middle of desert. Only one temple was open as there are sadly not enough funds for both. But the one that was, was fascinating, it was like a Russian Doll of a temple with a new facade constructed for each new dynasty, therefore the original structure was ancient. It was incredible how the paint still remained so bright on the walls. Unfortunately for such a beautiful place there had been a lot of ghastly sacrifices and bloody masses in its past. This was by far the most impressive, partly because our guide was so nice as she explained everything in fragmented but good English.

Later that evening.....The bus to Mancora, was the most top security ever. We actually had to be fingerprinted before being allowed on, frisked and then once seated, a security guard came around with a camcorder in our faces!! Intense eh?
Woke dazed and confused at 4.30am to Martin telling me we were "here" wherever that was. It was raining stairrods out "there". Dumped at the side of the road like 3 bags of garbage we sought shelter in the doorway of a shop. Nice. Pitch dark, we had no idea where anything was and nothing of course was open. Nice. Until daylight, we were a little stuck, but then we found a decent enough room. Having sorted out various future buses and stuff (it's no picnic this backpacking, it's NOT a holiday), the blazin' sunshine that had come and scorched us, was now being replaced by heavy duty clouds at about 3pm, which was when we finally got to the beach. I find that so annoying. The beach was packed, the most back packers I'd seen in a while. And the surf was so good that it was almost just as packed in the water as it was on the sand. We stayed until the sunset, which was really very pretty and then to enjoy a trickle of a shower, shared by cockroaches.
Mr C Roach insisted on partying the night away in my plastic bag to the sound of bass and music that could've been on our roof. Breakfast came with a side serving of small children, not homeless, but just bored and begging for food. Reason 160 not to have children, not only do thet annoy parents, but they annoy others too. Yes, I was a child and still am in some respects, but I DRAW THE LINE THERE.
Anyway, I decided to go for it, join the "they're so good they could be sponsored by Billabong "surfers. Why? What made me think I could have a go. Donning my most robust bikini, I had an easier time actually carrying my board to the surf than previous efforts. However, the current was super strong I could barely stand up in it, it was ridiculous and the waves were huge. It was so powerful, I was a danger not only to myself but others as well, shooting up the beach like I'd been catapulted out of a canon, snaking my way beween various legs and bodies of flesh I just had time to miss. It was dramatic to say the least and I'd been eskimo rolled, tumbled, dunked, chewed up, regurgitated and spat out by the sea and finally dumped ungracefully onto the sand. Gutted. Gave it a go, but no sponsorship deals have come my way?
Over dinner, we met a group of Americans that had come to surf for the week (yeah, they really were good) and were looking for a party. The town didn't have a party as such, but we decided to make one, under the only disco ball in town. It was more like a teenagers' garage party as one of the guys shrewdly observed, with either beer or vodka to drink. They were a really fun bunch and were being led by local guy going by the name of Octopus., coming from a photo in his younger years, as a surf god, with about 4 beautiful babes under each arm....he was a character and was pumped up ready for action at any time. This man was just looking for a reason to start a fight with anybody....he liked pain appraently, but this we luckily never saw, as he was on gentlemanly form. I'm afraid to say I had a dance-off with group leader American Darren, to put England ahead of America, and of course I won, which nicely paid for the next round. Perhaps, being judged by Octopus I may have been at a slight advantage. Needless to say, a memorable night. Such a shame as it was our last. If the boys ever made it up at 5.30am, for their day long surf, then I'd be surprised.
As we caught our bus the next morning, we saw Octopus driving manically and unaccompanied, I don't think he'd gone to bed yet. And so we left Peru, on a very posh coach to Ecuador............

Again, photos are pending, a few technical difficulties......

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