Part II - A Limey´s Leap Year in Lima

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Well, what can I say. Since I last wrote it has not been my favourite week ever. Although I mustn´t complain too much, for I could be stuck in an office somewhere, the last week has been rather taxing in a number of ways. PHOTOS TO FOLLOW!

Firstly the Brad Pitts hit hard again with a vengeance, but spared me a one on/one off ratio, so I knew to take a dump before catching a bus, for example, of which in the last 7 or 8 days many we have.

Secondly on Thursday 21st, shortly after adding my blog, I went to the dentist as my pre-molar (the one nmext to the front two?) started up again. It only cost 10 dollars and he did a good visual job, but without an X-ray (he simply drilled a hole in the tooth and filled it in - my first ever filling - boo hoo!) I think he might have not fixed the problem, that it could have been another tooth and the sensitivity is sympathetic in the wrong place? Anyway it is about the same still painwise a week later and I can barely fit dental floss bewtween the little fella and the big, making me wonder if the job he did was correct or not. i am not sure if you know what it feels like to have stuck together teeth permanently, but lets just say its right behind Albanian colonic irrigation on a wet Tuesdsay in Hanwell.

Right as you might have noticed from the title, we finally made it to Peru. We were going to get the night bus last night, but the roads (I think it has rained every day we have been in Ecuador, if only sometimes for five minutes, yet slightly visually different from Manchester) were nearly washed away or victims of landslides so we had 30 minutes to pack, do the 3 S´s (shit, shave, shower) and catch a cab to the bus station. But more of that later...

After a nice few days in Baños, I was suffering from a bad case of the post-poo wees, last night´s Swiss meat fondue working its magic. This is a syndrome I have noticed in me of late, that directly after a poo (well about 20 mins) you need a wee, even if you have thought you have excavated your bladder extensively during the original process. I am fascinated to know how it works, because I have not been drinking any water whatsoever on the toilet-less buses, however hot, for fear of having to ask the man to stop. I am noticing the people, the further south we travel are becoming more unfriendly (and I suppose in tourist mecca Peru, this will continue). So on this, thankfully 2 hour ride to Riobamba, the driver absolutely put his foot down and we got there early. However I could not hold on and an hour in asked the man to stop. We passed about 1200 petrol stations with toilets before he decided to pull up on the most dangerous piece of road with a 45 degree gutter. He waved me to the back of the bus, and turning my back on him as he watched (an 50 pairs of eyes from the bus too, not to mention the oncoming traffic checking out my purple warrior), I was unable to go.

Throughout my minute of pleads, my tiny bladder screamed with pain, but it was futile. Stage fright had taken over and I crawled back on the bus and crossed my legs. The fact we had not seen the volcano (bad weather) at all, even thought it had erupted a few days before and after we arrived and left, seemed irrelevant now. This was more basic, a primal urge not to have to (a) temporarily warm my trousers with urine or (b) fill a plastic bottle and lob it out the window - which considering the scandolous local litter thrown over the amazing countryside, would have gone unnoticed. Instead, I wouldn´t move a muscle or let Laura touch me and wenty into a kind of medidative trance listening to my MP3 player, until it decided to break, never to work again! I am thiking of suing ALBA, or getting my (or should I say Boiles´) money back from Argos, the cheek of it!

Anyway, finally made it to Shitheap Riobamba, where we jumped in a cab to Le Tren Dorado hotel, a wickedly strange $24 hotel with 6am breakfast and Panda prints on the duvet cover, located next to the ´train´station for convenience. Such was the pain rising up my urethra and probably damaging any child-making ability, I would have paid $50! Ah the relief, like a good orgasm followed an I lay back on the bed spent, reading away the remaining few daylight hours, until hunger struck and we went to a strange but tasty restaurant/family´s front room, called Sierra Nevada, the only patrons, and stuffed our faces with chips, rice and chicken, for a change. The thing is, whenever you are hungry no people jump on the bus with snacks and water, but when you are stocked up, there they stop every 5 minutes. This is usually when you are mid metitation and the slightest distraction sends a pang through you distended bladder. I think I need to be hypnotised, because if there is a toilet on the bus I rarely need to go at all, its just the safety net thought - I am a trainee trapeze artist in this regard.

We slept pretty well and then after breakfast Friday 22nd caught the 7am ´train´to Palmira. It was called the Devil´s Nose Train (Nariz del diablo), yet it was neither a train as such, nor did it take us to the devil´s nose part at Alausi (yes it was a lousy town!!) because of a landslide on the weed ridden tracks, so this one diesel chugging compartment, which was basically a bus on a track took us to Palmira in 3 hours. The scenery was amazing however, it gets better the further south you head, and it was more comfortable than the bus as there were no potholes or swerving.

At Palmira, a bus was waiting to take us to Cuenca, but this broke down at Alausi and we had to jump on a bigger shinier one (but it had a toilet, so despite standing for 4 of the next 6 hours, I was happy although had we got a direct bus from Rio it would have cost nearly half the price and shaved the 3 hour train ride off the time...oh well! We chatted to a friendly, recently married 30 year old on the wagon scouse couple called helen and Mike, who were great craic and we talking about the processed coca leaves in Colombia shall we say and about going to that jail in Bolivia where you can sample, staying overnight. Hmm, as one of my three main fears (potholing in confined space, prison, and snakes), I might just avoid it.

We finally arrived in Cuenca, and checked in to Santa Fe hostel for $18 with brekkie. Another 1000 metres up again although the altitude did not cast its spell (2500m) this time and we had a lovely but expensive and lethargic meal in Cafe Eucalptus and a few beers with a very unintentionally drole 23 year old art teacher Elisa from Baltimore and a year long travelling girl named Ellie from Hitchin to celebrate. God the beer tasted so good! The the wheels fell off. Our room had no hot water and the shower exploded water all over the bathroom (which pleased Laura immensely - ouch!), the TV aerial was fucked, not that there was anything on, and we started to itch straight away suggesting bed bugs. The miaowing cat topped it all off! After a Saturday morning shitty shocker of a breakfast which arrived in drabs, (saucewr, 2 mins, spoon 2 mins, bread, 2 mins, jam, etc, etc) we left fort minutes later for a $22 hotel, just to get some sleep and paecae of mind. Checked in and took a half day walk around lovely Cuenca, a very European city, with nice cars and well dressed people, even though it felt as if I had been in a fight and then run over.

We had cable in our room, and just as Liverpool vs Boro was coming on the cable went out. For how long, ironically 90 minutes. Damn it! We met up wioth the scousers who had exited the bus yeasterday at Ingapirca ruins with $20 loaned from us. They met us at the rendezvous point, luckily just opposite in a cafe as it was pissing Manchester rain and the bar was the only one ever closed down in the history of Cuenca! Typical. So we got our money back and went for a few drinks (well me and lAURA DID) AND and an amazing burguer with egg and all the trimmmings. Yum!

QPR drew with Sheffield United, games we must start winning, so i was in a bad mood, but at least England beat the frogs in the Rugby (we couldn´t find anywhere showing it) and sets it up for an interesting next 2 weeks. Ireland need to beat Wales and England to beat Scotland away, to possibly set up a championship ensuring game at Twickenham Laura nd I will have to find somewhere to watch. Who knows, anyone can win it and its the closest one in years!

On Sunday 24th, we booked flights from Piura to Lima for Thursday evening, and saw that Spurs beat Chelsea 2-1 in the carling cup final, get in there! Then, like we hadn´t had enough we decided to keep heading south, catching the 5 hour bus to Loja, then waiting for 45 minutes before catching a 75 minute bus to Vilcabamba for 7pm, a gorgeous drive in the rain, lush forests hugging mountains cascading down into prosperous valleys (well prosperous in Ecuadorian terms). The roads were dangerous and mountain passes half blocked with rubble but it was a good journey, however tiring. Again, with a three week tour starting almost as soon as we get to Lima (to La Paz, Bolivia overland), we decided to spend the next 3 nights relaxing in Hammocks on outr private lodge balcony, with 10 hectares of mountainous land to look at - simply beautiful -, walking, biking downhill (and catching a cab back - lazy much!) and getting candle lit, extremely close to the scrotal sac, full body massages. We spent a third of our entire costs here and on the flights in the space of five days!

Met some cool people at the bar, playing ping pong and pool, including the stuck in a robotic melodrama Elisa again, a Suisse called Angela, who ended up with Dublin Mary, on the same bus to Peru with us, and a Bristol couple called Joe and Rachel, whose life story I would like to fictionalise. Talk of ghosts and trrips top shaman and drug induced truths sounded interesting, but scary. The last time I went to a plam reader, he told me someone was very sick in my family (dad) that a pet would die within weeks (she did) and all number of other things I wouyld have rather not known about. Yes mayber give me the drug and some time with a few good mates, but until those mates arrive, no life quesyions for me please waiter, cheers.
The barmaid was the tallest woman in Peru, via Georgia, Cecilia whose photos adorn the website of Izhcaylumo (Incan for the two hills the area is famous for at 1500m).

On Tuesday QPR drew 0-0 with Barnsley, lets step it up boys and Joke City (who we play on Sunday) are top de la liga one! Jaysis! And so booked on the 11pm bus to Piura, North Peru on Wednesday 27th Feb, we awake to Angela saying the roads are a bit fucked and iots best (like my dad always used to say) to get as close as we can to the border, while we can. We had a 30 minute scramble and caught a 11am taxi to Vilcambamba town 2km down the hill, then the 11.15 bus to Loja, which again took 75 minutes. There we had 30 minutes to get snacks and wee before the 1pm (9 hour trip to Piura, via the border at Macara) bus left. They allowed us to exchange our bus ticket for no extra charge and as the rain fell again, on we jumped. It was pretty packed until the border, when most people jumped off during an electrricity shortage, so after having our passports checked in the dark and getting bitten by mosquitoes, we were finally in Peru by 7pm. The next 3 hours passed unbearably slowly as Under Siege in Spanish playe din the background, we had rto stop at about 5 police stop points, and the flattening out drier country began smelling of sileage, slaughterhouses, rotten goat´s yoghurt, etc and the graves at the side of the road numbered more than thirty. Welcome to Peru! We finally goit in at 10pm and Mary, Laura, Angela, and myself caught a cab into town, where we promptly got a room at the Hotel California (You can leave any time you want, but you can never leave!) and Orlando looked after our nearly every move. Glad Laura didn´t see the supposed rats in the middle of the night and actually slept ok after an pasta dinner and acquiring a fan from an empty room, as the mosquitoes bite here and its very muggy.

Awoke this morning (Thursday 28th), wrote this bad boy and then packed our stuff, ready for the airport, hoping Lima (although we only have two days there) is less smelly than Piura, a concrete town on the coast without a soul. Until next time, all the best and photos hopefully to come in next few days, cheers x Tom

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