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Published: September 1st 2008
What you lookin' at?
We really should have splashed out on one of these things. Although this belonged to the theiving bastard.Peru, as it turns out, has been quite a joy. When it came to it, simple things like edible food and buses with springs ‘inside’ the seats made life seem that little bit more comfortable. And rather excitingly, we were within sniffing distance of the west coast after a thoroughly long and geographically schizophrenic haul across the middle of the continent. We'd been chilled to the bone, sweated it out on the fringes of the Amazon, been up mountains and down deep canyons...and eventually we were about to be spat out, gasping and wheezing onto the Pacific coast. In some far flung fantasy, Ant would have loved to have staggered up to a distant camera and announced, 'It's....', and then been squashed by the giant Monty Python foot. Alright, so Ant found this achievement rather more exciting than Jen, but hey, we'd done it! Three and a bit months since leaving the east coast behind in Rio and this felt like something of an achievement. And something of a let down, too.
The coast of Peru is what Michael Fish would describe as glum. Due to some bastard cold current in the sea and hot deserts and stuff, it's shrouded
Dune Buddy
Jen half way up a sand dune. That's as far as she got. in fog, giving it the grey, fuggy air of a sweaty sock. Sky above the desert: grey. Sea: grey. Everything: grey. At least in the morning. Arriving in Ica from a sleepless night bus, we sought out the nearby oasis of Huacachica and promptly went to bed in the grey of the morning. But when we awoke - sunshine! Wahay! And thank the lordy for that. Because Huachachina is a funny old place that just wouldn't be right without sunshine. It's a queer little collection of hotels and restaurants gathered round a fetid green lake and sandwiched between ENOOOUURRMOUS sand dunes....like a peanut wedged tightly in between a weighty pair of buttocks. In its day, Huachachina was quite the place to be for posh holiday makers from Lima. They would undoubtedly use the numerous changing rooms to slip into a body length bathing suit before taking the waters of the lake, one toe at a time. A Peruvian Morecambe. And like Morecambe, it has, unfortunately, not stood the test of time. Each and every changing room has had its door smashed in and reeks of its own distinct scent of piss, and the lake is the colour of advanced gingivitis.
Oasis lake at Huacachina
The water really was a disturbing shade of green. Alas, the old charm is but a whisper, drowned out by the guttural roar of today´s draw - dune buggies. And what a pair of old farts we are not getting in one, but tutting our irritation as we tried to read our books next to the lake, and also next to what looked like a used nappy. But we were trying to claw back some overspending, and while the silence was frequently broken by the whoops and cheers of another cargo of joyous dune buggy passengers, we handed over a few Soles to hire a pair of sand boards and do it the hard way. Never let it be underestimated how hard it is walking up a sand dune. It's probably the hardest thing in the world to walk up. But sliding back down it, especially one that's hundreds of metres tall and angled at about 50 degrees, on a well-waxed sand board, well that's just plain fun. After one attempt Jen had decided it was far too dangerous and elected to walk back down. Ant meanwhile had gained a quarter of a ton of sand and chose the direct route. Two slides, and that was it, buggered. It
The Pacific - finally!
Ant was so excited at seeing the Pacific, he forgot all about the dangers of water and trajically drowned, seconds after this picture was taken. Actually, the funny thing about this photo is that Jen was being poo faced so Ant had to take it himself. took us about three days to get all the sand out from under our eyelids.
We'd been putting it off long enough, but eventually every trip through Peru must pass through Lima. It's a geographical necessity. Poor old Lima doesn't get a good press, and try as we might, we couldn't find any reason to change this. One of the must read books on Peru, Inca Cola, opens with a chapter called 'Atrocious Lima', and while things probably aren't as bad as they were 18 years ago when the book was written, there's still nothing there to entice the traveller. In fact, it seems that a lot has changed from the descriptions in Inca Cola, the government has set about modernizing, but unfortunately from what we could see, modernising seems to mean tarmacing. Street market - tarmac it away. Old buildings - pull 'em down and tarmac over 'em. There are glimpses of attractive old colonial buildings that would look great if they were refurbished, but it seems more likely they will be hauled down and replaced with pastel coloured apartment blocks. It's all a bit 1980's Peckham housing regeneration. The greyness doesn't help, and it's very flat which
Paddington, not Pooh!
Having been shocked by the popularity of Winnie the Pooh in South America, we were delighted to finally find Paddington in Lima. doesn't help either. But one of Lima's few attractions, its beaches, are almost totally inaccessible, given that a giant, crumbly cliff separates the houses from the sea. A cliff made all the more crumbly by a strange shopping centre built precariously into it. Given the number of earthquakes around this region, the money might have been better spent on a staircase down to the sea. At best, Lima is forgettable. The highlights included getting Ant's fleece zip repaired and both of us getting long overdue haircuts by Peru's entire gay community - both of them. Oh, and the catacombs. Yes, that was one point of interest. Underneath the church of San Fransisco is an eerie collection of catacombs housing the bones of God-knows how many dead Limans from many moons back. Making the tour even more spooky was a guide who wouldn't allow his group within 20 feet of him. As he guided us through the (very dramatic) church, we noticed that he would step back if we came too close. We just wanted to hear better, but it was like there was some forcefield around him. Soon we were seeing where we could send him, edging ever closer, forcing
Underage tour guides
These lads showed us round a site for a bob or two. him backwards and towards a wall. If he got too close to the wall, we would all move on. Was he a ghost? An original deceased member of the catacomb community? Perhaps. We will never know.
Spines suitably chilled, we got out of Lima as quickly as we could. We had plans, serious plans, to get one last healthy gulp of fresh mountain goodness before heading northwards and almost permanently into warmer climbs. North of Lima and back into the Andes, is the outdoor mecca of Huaraz. There's nothing in Huaraz that can't be climbed, trekked, abseiled or biked on. It's the place where the hapless mountaineer from ‘Touching the Void’ tried to kill his friend. We weren't quite planning to commit to such dangerous exploits. Besides, we couldn't agree on who would cut the rope and who would fall in a leg-splintering, agonising heap into the bottom of an abyss. No, we were going trekking, along the Santa Cruz trek to be precise. But beforehand, we thought we'd stretch our legs with a little walk in the foothills around Huaraz and found ourselves wandering to a small site a few kilometres out of town. Upon our return, we
Wheel Change
The second one. At least we didn't see it roll past us as we drove. consulted our guide book to see where we'd been to read that we should, under no circumstances, walk this route. We should take a taxi to the ruins as a number of serious robberies have been known to take place. Ah well, what you don't know... It took us a couple of days to organize passes and equipment, and by the Tuesday we were good to go. Well, we thought we were until we realised we had no gas for our stove. Ahem. That would have been a tad awkward.
The Santa Cruz trek is a popular trek which is easy-peasy if you're with a group, pretty easy if you hire a donkey, and a smidge tricky if you take the cheap option and carry your own stuff. We were saving money. So, with four days worth of food, water, tent, stove and clean undies in our packs we tried lifting them and immediately we were both wishing we'd hired a donkey. It went a little something like this.
Day 1: Up at 6am to catch the bus to the start of the trek. 6.05am, arguments break out when Jenny's third vertebrae begins to crumble. 9.10am, bus driver
Setting off
And carrying about 500 kilos of stuff. changes a wheel half way up terrifying mountain pass. 10.00am, bus driver changes the new wheel on the other side of mountain pass. We try not to think what might have happened. 11am, arrive at start point. 11.20am, we pass a group going the other way who assure us it's a great walk...'if you're masochists,' and wander off laughing. Midday, we've established that hiring a donkey would have been a great idea. Jen reckons her pack weighs 12 kilos, Ant's about 20-25kg. 3.30pm, find a campsite next to a river and in the territory of a seemingly rabid bull. We assure ourselves that it's attacking another couple and set up camp. 5pm, sand flies. Millions of them. Ant is soon driven to delirium by them and refuses to come out of the tent until after dark. 6pm, bedtime.
Day 2: Awake at 3am, going to bed at 6pm was a bad idea. 7am, the sand flies are back. Ant discovers that shouting at them to 'Fuck ooooooooffffffff!!!!' has minimal effect. 7.30-8.30am, plough through the world’s biggest helping of porridge, lightening the load by approximately 3 kilos. 10am, we spot the pass, the highest point of the walk. 10.30-12.30pm, puff
Cruz on the cruz
Probably for a knackered trekker. pant and wheeze up the pass, praying for a donkey and wondering what we'd call it. Dave and Mike are front runners for Ant, Jen is too breathless to think. 12.35pm, communication breakdown. A combination of pure exhaustion and anger at our refusal to hire a donkey make reconciliation unlikely. 1pm. Reconciliation; Jen makes it up the pass. 2pm, a massive hail storm interrupts attempts at al fresco poo. 3pm, set up camp upstream of other groups and discover horrifying volumes of shit, toilet paper, sanitary towels and plastic on the river back. Get tent up just in time for another hail storm. Boil water thoroughly, extremely thoroughly. 5.30pm, a break in the hail. Ant fends off a donkey taking a close interest in our pea and ham soup. Could we cut it a deal, our bags for a bit of soup? 6.30pm, bed. A late night, hopes of sleep. 10.30pm, wide awake again.
Day 3: 6.30am, blindingly beautiful view of the mountains upon opening our tent. 9pm, not so lovely view of the holes full of poo left behind by the group neighbouring us. 11.30am, all downhill from here and with lightened packs, we've accidentally walked half the
Gingerly Jen
Not wanting to get wet shoes on day one. day's route already. Long lunch. 2.30pm, we've reached the camp site already, bollocks. But there's a shop selling beer, wahay! Sit on our unerected tent getting drunk. 4pm, witness another couple's guide going in their tent, think nothing of it. 5pm, Ant goes to wash dishes in the river. Upon completion he spots a guide pissing 50 metres upstream. Grim. Sterilizes forks on the stove. 6pm, bed. Convinced beer will aide sleep. 10.30pm, wide awake again.
Day 4: 6.30am, awake to find the other couple were robbed by their guide. Shit. 8.30am, set off for what we're convinced will be a two hour trot to the end. 9-12 midday, complete the trip with a knee-jarring downhill which makes us glad we didn't go the other way. Midday, finished, tired but happy and in need of a good scrub.
It was a good walk, made all the more challenging and perversely rewarding, by carrying our own stuff. But beautiful though the scenery was, the abiding memory is of the amount of shit and toilet paper lying around, which made us wonder where the 65 Soles park fee was actually going. There are toilets, but they are utterly vandalised and
Approaching the pass.
At this point we wondered why there are no donkeys in Donkey Kong. abandoned. And even the tour groups, who have lovely little toilet tents, just remove the tent and leave a big hole full of jobbies and TP for the next group to stumble into. Which left us thinking, nice walk but what a shame. If even the tour groups don't take responsibility, who will? All they need is to take a trowel...oh well. Good buriers of one's waste that we are, we left the Santa Cruz trek behind, hoping that someone will clean up the mess.
It wasn't long before we were welcomed back to humanity with a pleasant exchange which both amused and excited. It amused Jen and excited Ant. The thing is, and none of you will believe this, but the ladies in this part of the world are rather fond of Ant. It may be the vaguely blonde hair, or the blue eyes, or the fact he's about two clear feet taller than most of the women. Whatever it is, the chicks dig Ant. And as one of them squeezed onto a minibus, wedged firmly against a handsome pale leg, tantalisingly exposed and pressed against hers, she couldn't control herself and had a good old sqeeze, claiming
Jen and a daisy
Taking a breather on day two. 'Piernas, calientes' -
hot legs. Jen may laugh, tickled as she is by Ant's new found popularity, but if this behaviour continues into Venezuela or Columbia, she might find herself suddenly laughing alone. She left the bus, leaving Ant wondering what might have been, and whether any member of the Carr family has ever been described as having hot legs. Unlikely. And soon we were showered, fed and on a bus full of incredibly drunk Friday night revellers, heading north once more.
Our final stop in Peru was to be Trujilla. Yet another grey, fuggy splodge that breaks up the long band of desert between the sea and the mountains. It's home to a couple of immense historic sites, we'll spare you the details, and a tattooed mummy - like Anglina Jolie but less attractive. Again, our cheap skate nature saw us self-guiding through Chan Chan, one of the sites, and hence missing out on probably every interesting fact along the way. Come to think of it, the sites were the only reason we stopped there, so not forking out on a guide was probably a bit careless. We did however come face to face with the most remarkable
Top of the pass.
Our bags made it. We were broken. dogs known to man. Ancient and hairless, these frighteningly ugly creatures date back thousands of years but they have a wonderful effect of making ancient ruins feel alive. One minute you're musing over a giant pile of mud bricks, then one of those things trots past and you think you've muttered an ancient curse and brought the place to life. But ultimately, they're ugly mutts. They have no hair for god's sake! Actually, the females have a sort of mohican which makes them even uglier. And scariest and most disconcerting of all, Jen thinks she might want one. Now, I'm not being funny, but if anyone can remember the bit in Ghostbusters when Rick Moranis is chased through Central Park by a Hellhound...? I don't want one of those.
Of course no trip would be complete without its share of scams and no-gooders. And so it was to be in Trujillo. First we encountered a couple of young guys who seemed harmless enough and decided to go for a beer with them. After not very long, it became clear that they wanted to change their dollars for our soles (how prophetic does that sound?) and whilst we weren't keen,
Lunch on day 2.
Not a bad spot for a bite to eat. we agreed to meet them for a drink later. We met them, got stuck into a pricey bottle of Pisco (their choice) and soon the subject of dollar exchanging came up again. Fortunately, Jen's got a good radar for scams, which is useful as Ant's radar was locked on Pisco by this stage. And when we finally insisted that we would not help them change their money, we discovered they had no Soles (in every sense) and we were left to pay for the Pisco. Still, it could have been a lot worse. Time to get out of town and head to Ecuador, leave the scammers behind...not quite. With a couple of bus changes to make, one in the middle of the night, we were still vulnerable prey. At stop one we got in a cab to take us to the connecting bus station, only to be driven round the block and dropped off at the correct bus station, about fifty metres from where we got in. Then at our next change, the tuk-tuk driver just ignored our request and drove us to his scamming motley crew of mates on the edge of town who tried to get us onto
Donkey vs Ant
It didn't get our pea and ham soup, but it had a damn good try. their bus which was three times the price of the usual bus. Shouts, accusations and another tuk-tuk later, and we were finally heading out of Peru. It was a hot-headed and grumpy farewell to a country which had in fact, been thoroughly enjoyable. We should have known better - as Jim Diamond once sung - this border with Ecuador has a reputation for vagabonds and tossers, and that's just the officials. But we staggered across it and into the tropical and steamy bosom of Ecuador, with the Galapagos Islands just around the corner.
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laandal
Lara and Al
Great Read! Look out in Equador!
Hi Guys, thanks for the last instalment of the blog, it's a great read and brings heaps of memories flooding back... Wish we were still there, instead of listening to the Poms think they are good at sports! Have fun in Equador, just look out for the one armed 4x4 driver at Cotapaxi that we took...