Easy does it.

Oh, to wake up refreshed and not sitting upright in a chair. It really does do wonders for the spirit and psyche and we would need it because today it was time to cross border number ten to get to country number 11, Bolivia. We gobbled down the hostel breakfast in just enough time to meet our minivan for our tourist transfer. The van picked up other travelers from other hostels and then dumped us at the bus station to catch our cross border transportation. The driver gave the directions in Spanish and I was surprised that out of everyone on the coach I was the only one that seemed to understand what he was saying. I’m just not used to being the one with the best Spanish skills. But then I remembered how many newbie backpackers start in Peru and Copacabana, Bolivia was just a two trip over the border. Still, I expected there to be someone who was actually Spanish-speaking around. I was about to translate for the puzzled van load when another tour rep came on board and gave the instructions in English.

With our baggage checked, we were put onboard and this new rep began to carefully explain every step in the border crossing experience. After all our roughing it across borders, Adrian and I did feel a little spoon-fed by it all. It was icky but it was also kinda… nice. Yes it was nice to be entering a country without having to worry that every person is going to con/steal/rob you. This was especially true at our first stop the casa de cambio (currency exchange). The rate wasn’t bad and the bills were real. A huge improvement on our Ecuador/Peru exchange. Then it was back on the bus to the border. We were guided into the police station where our exit cards were stamped and then the immigration office where we were stamped out of Peru. Our guide led us up the small incline across the border and I could really feel the altitude. (After building up our tolerance in Huaraz we’d obviously completely wiped it out during our stay in Lima.) On the Bolivian side we were all quickly stamped in with 30 day visas. Technically we were all supposed to get 90 but when one of the Brits tried to get his, the border official just shrugged as if it say so. But he should consider himself lucky. The two Americans in the group had to fork over $135US in reciprocal fees for a visa and we had to wait while they were processed in. They did however get 90 days. I guess money talks. And that was it. We were in Bolivia and we hadn’t been conned, robbed or scammed.

Well that was short lived. Just before we got to Copacabana the bus stopped and we were all instructed to pay an entry fee. It was only about $1 and since the man didn’t have change we only paid for one of us. But seriously, a town entry fee. Oh well, I’ll take a $1 entry fee over $150 in fake money any day. The bus then entered the small town and let us all off. We were a bit further from the hostel then I would have liked and as I eyed the hill ahead of us which I feared was the location of our hostel.

We slung our packs on our backs and fronts and began the slog up the hill. We were quickly passed by the rest of the bus passengers all running off in search of the best and cheapest rooms. We had a reservation and good thing because with the altitude it takes us forever. But thankfully the hostel is only halfway up the hill, so we get the view of the town(photo above) without the walk up the hill. And double that thankfully, because La Cupola hostel and the room were great – just like they were online, maybe even better. We had definitely picked the best place. It was so nice that we decided to skip the mountains of Sorata and spend more time around Copacabana and Lake Titicaca before we head to La Paz. To make sure we have enough money, we head to the market where pickings are a bit slim this late in the day. But we managed to find enough for dinner. So rather than head out to explore the town we headed back to the hostel for dinner and a movie, courtesy of the laptop.

In case of boredom, break glass.

It was time to leave Lima. Our reaction? M’eh. It was time for our dreaded 22-hour bus ride. Our reaction? Total dread. Knowing it would be a long time before we were in a bed, Adrian and I slept in as late as we could, managing to miss breakfast service (actually all food service) at the hostel and leaving us just seconds to spare before check out time. Breakfast was easily solved a few doors down the block. The price was double but the coffee was twice as delicious and really that’s the important thing, isn’t it?

Then it was back to the hostel without the common room to hang out and do nothing for the next four hours until our bus. Well Adrian did nothing while I did some mad emailing and sorting out of problems. I arranged our hostel in La Paz and forewarned them that I was getting a package of replacement credit cards couriered to the address. The owner replied and he was a super helpful and super nice guy who even recommended DHL versus Fedex based on his experience. Not only was DHL cheaper than Fedex they were faster – promising 2-day delivery rather than 2-week delivery. So thanks for that tip, Osgur. Now it was time to get those suckers sent over and for that I have to give a shout out to my most awesome sister Andrea and her partner Mike too. Not only are they looking after all our mail – including opening it and sorting it for us (which is the a huge task but so important) – these two together took care of gathering up the replacement credit cards, a replacement bank card (remember I lost mine back in Guatemala), packaging it all up, then driving way out to the middle of suburbia to drop it off at the DHL depot. That was above and beyond the call of duty. I can’t repay the favour at the moment but I owe them big time. The two even went out and did some PSP game shopping for Adrian (with our cash). Oh that’s right, I forgot to mention that my most awesome mother, bought Adrian another PSP which was also in the package. Wow, is my family awesome or what. Have I said awesome enough? Nope. They are totes awes (for those of you not fluent in cherylese that’s totally awesome and not in a valley girl sort of way). Okay gushing and thanking over and done with I’ll now get back to the 22-hour bus ride (although you may soon wish I was still thanking and awesome-ing).

Before heading out to the bus station we headed back to the cheap restaurant run by the nicest women for a late lunch early supper. The food was more tasty salad and yummy soup followed by a mediocre pasta – but at only $2 for the full meal, mediocre is pretty darn tasty. Then it was back to the hostel to grab our bags and a cab. The hostel told us they’d flag down a taxi for us. Although we’d only paid 6 soles to get to the Museo Nacional the previous day, the hostel told us it was going to cost 12 soles to get to the bus station which wasn’t much further. I already knew our cab fare yesterday had been a fluke so we let them hail the cab. Once we were in the cab, the driver told us the price was 15 soles. Adrian and I immediately got out of the cab. I guess the nice taxi drivers yesterday were just a fluke as well. The porter from the hostel rushed over and talked the driver into the 12 sole fare although neither seemed happy about that. I remembered the local girl cursing at the bus driver over 25 centavos yesterday and blocked out the taxi driver’s glare as we headed to the bus station.

The bus station was surprisingly full with waiting to depart passengers. We tried to check in our luggage but were turned away – despite there being no one in line and our bus scheduled to leave in 15 minutes. As we squeezed into the last two seats in the waiting room nearly decapitating a few small children with our large unchecked bags, an announcement explained that our bus was going to be 45 minutes late. During that 45 minutes, buses going to Ecuador came and went as well as a bus from Santiago, and it appeared that the entire waiting room had emptied and filled up with new passengers twice over. Getting a bit worried, I asked the clerk when our bus was going to arrive. She made a phone call and told me it would be there in 15 minutes. However, her phone call seemed suspiciously short and one-sided for any information other than a dial tone or busy signal to be conveyed. However, I believed her (probably because I wanted to) and hustled Adrian to check in our bags. Of course there was now another bus loading up and a line up. Granted the line up was 3 people but each of those people had approximately 37 pieces of luggage they wanted to check in and not wanting to pay for the overage tried restacking the luggage on the scale as if their game of luggage would help diminish the weight on the scale. So that 3 person line up took 30 but it helped pass the time because our bus still hadn’t arrive. In the end it didn’t arrive until over 2 hours after the original departure time.

We jumped on the bus only to discover that the seat configuration had changed since we had booked. We had chosen the first two seats on the right hand side but there was only a single row of seats putting us a few rows back on the left. With only three seats across there was more bum and legroom and with only about 5 other passengers on the bus there was plenty of room. But with such a long ride ahead of us it would have been nice to have a view as well. I couldn’t help but wonder if this dearth of passengers was part of the delay – as in, was the company hoping for a few more last minute sales to fill up a few seats. I know just being overly pessimistic again but I blame it on the taxi driver on the way over. Just as tourists bring out the dishonest gene in taxi drivers, taxi drivers bring out the crusty traveler in me. I shook it off. There was a long ride ahead of us and a bad mood would just make it seem longer.

So how does one pass the time on a 22-hour bus ride? Well first there was dinner. It wasn’t served until 9pm (good thing we’d had that big late lunch) but it was hot food –chicken and chips – picked up from a roadside restaurant. A huge improvement on the mystery meat sandwiches we’d received elsewhere. On this bus there was even a tray attachment that meant we didn’t have to eat out of out laps which was nice. The other way to pass the time was watch movies. We saw both Sweet November and Definitely Maybe in Spanish with English subtitles which made Keanu Reeves and Ryan Reynolds seem like good deep actors. Unfortunately we have no idea how either movie ends because the pirated copies of both cut out about 15 minutes before the end of each. But the best way to pass the time was sleeping. Sleeping made 22 hours on a bus not much worse than 12 hours on a bus. The lights went down and we bundled up under the full sized blankets and pillows and drifted off for 7 or 8 hours.

We woke up just after 7am still on the coast. But after our breakfast we turned inland and arrived in Arequipa just after 11am. The bus let us off for an hour which was great for letting us stretch our legs and use a proper loo, one that didn’t require the superhero skills of spiderman to use. Then it was back on the bus for the last 5 hours of the trip. Unfortunately for us, the highway was being resurfaced and the bus crawled along through the barren landscape turning those 5 hours turned into 7.5. And we finally got into Puno after dark exactly 24 hours after we had boarded the bus and 26 hours after we were supposed to leave. Well we were here and that’s what mattered.

We shook off the touts at the station and headed to the taxi stand. And in one of the quickest bait and switch scams on record, the price changed from S3 to S3.50 by the time we closed the door. Inspired by my new here the Girl on the Lima Bus (capitalized for full reverence) I refused to pay and he grudgingly admitted defeat. My hard bargaining skills continued accidentally at the hostel. When I inquired about the cost of a room, I wasn’t sure what I heard the clerk say and repeated it back to her just to make sure. She thought I was bargaining and dropped another $5 off the price. It was still $30 but after 24 hours on a bus, it was worth it for a private room with private hot water bathroom and hot breakfast. But we couldn’t enjoy the room just yet. Our stay in Puno was only for a night because we were heading to Bolivia and after our last border crossing disaster we decided to use a tourist transfer service recommended by Lonely Planet. The price was not unreasonable and they would even stop at a legit moneychanger on the way over. We booked our tickets and then went to a bank machine to get out some money since there were no ATMs in Copacabana, Bolivia. We stuffed ourselves on some pizza and then crawled into bed. We had survived our longest bus ride to date although we weren’t anxious to repeat it anytime soon.

Shining a light on a dark past.

The great thing about revisiting Lima was we were under no pressure to see and do everything. Of course with no pressure we also found it hard to do anything. But today we were forcing ourselves to leave the hostel (the shoebox room we were now in probably helped that decision). Finding new sights to see was a bit of problem. There was one big attraction we hadn't been to – the museo de la nacion - so that's what we decided to visit.

After breakfast we dropped off our laundry and walked out to the non-touristy main street to catch a taxi. This actually worked in our favour as the driver gave us a reasonable price (S6) considering the distance we had to go. The museum (photo above) was off the expressway way out near the main bus company terminals (the location was most likely the reason we hadn’t ventured there before). It was a concrete monstrosity – the love child of Robarts library and the Barbican. But inside we were pleasantly surprised because it was free and huge. A pretty good deal, don't you think.

We spent 3 hours walking around at first bored with with the same pots and weavings we’d seen many other places. But just before we got museum fatigue we arrived at a huge temporary photographic exhibit. It was a pictoral history of the Shining Path – if you think that’s an Incan spiritual retreat, you’d be incorrect. The Shining Path was (and to a certain limited extent still is) a guerilla organization that terrorized Peru from 1980-2002. I had heard about the Shining Path (our old lonely planet briefly mentioned their "disruptive activities") but I had no idea that they basically put Peru in the midst of a civil war – people disappeared, journalists were killed, whole villages wiped out. Some 70,000 people died in the violence and the entire country was devastated. The exhibit recounted the horror of the era and I was shocked that as late as 2002, 9 were killed when a car bomb exploded in the posh Miraflores area of Lima. This wasn’t ancient history this was now. No wonder the city felt like it had changed so much. I remembered in 2005 that there were armed riot police everywhere, and at one point the entire plaza de armas was lined with hundreds of them in full gear as the president attended a children’s Christmas pagent in the courtyard of the presidential palace. There were lots of police now, but without the shields and helmets, they were almost invisible. It seems that every Latin American country we’ve visited has had a period of death and political struggle. But for some reason, this one shocked me. Not just because it was so recent but because the terrorists wiped out entire indigenous villages not too far from Huaraz where we had just come from. And for what reason? Well, I couldn’t figure out what the Shining Path political philosophy was. Maybe the senselessness and pointlessness was what made it even worse. Sigh. Despite the heavy nature of the exhibit we continued on through the museum to the folk art section. It was a much need change and just the up note we needed to finish on. There was an awesome display of masks from the Puno area and since we were headed there next maybe I’d finally find a souvenir that I’d want to take home. Much better that than shrapnel from a Shining Path car bomb (just kidding mom).

Now that we were done with the museum, what to do? There was nothing else in the area but there also appeared to be no easy way back into the centre. Of course there was a plague of taxi drivers sitting in wait just outside the entrance. I approached them to find out how much a ride back would be – it was then I realized what a good deal we had gotten on our way in. The cheapest return price was double what we had paid. When I told the last driver that we only wanted to pay S6, he shook his head and with a smile gave us instructions on how to get to the bus stop. No really, he was nice about it - almost walking us there. Maybe the taxi drivers in Lima are different (doubt it). We got on the bus for about one sole each but for that price we got a nice 45 minute tour of more non-touristy parts of the city. Once again some were familiar thanks to the before and after city hall photo display. But in these locations, some of the places looked like they were regressing to their before states – the market stalls were creeping back onto the roads, the replanted grass and flowers were starting to die and the graffiti was returning. The most exciting thing about the bus was a girl who refused to pay the 75 centavo (about 20¢) fare the driver was asking for. She only wanted to pay for a 50¢ ride and held her ground. So did the driver. The girl lost and got off at the next corner to wait for the next bus. Her arguing over 75 centavos made me feel a lot better for haggling with the taxi drivers for 6 soles.

As we approached the centre, we hit bumper-to-bumper traffic so we hopped off and decided to walk the last 10 blocks. We needed a bank machine and hoped to find one along the way. And we did but none of them would give out more than 400 soles. So we kept walking past the plaza de armas all the way down to the pedestrian mall. We walked for 30 minutes and you’re probably thinking that’s a long walk for an atm but because our bank was stinging us with a $5 fee for every withdrawal, taking out just $150 at a time was going to cost us a lot in a very short time. So we trudged on, but still couldn’t find a place to give us our full limit. We settled for just S700 which was an improvement but still not the best. Now it was time to find some long sleeves for me. Huaraz had been a reminder that I had not packed appropriately for the mountains and I knew Bolivia wasn’t going to get any warmer. We headed back to the non-touristy area behind the hostel where I picked up a polo shit for about $7. Okay so it wasn’t a polar fleece but at least I had sleeves and wasn’t some super-tight sequined, cleavage-baring blouse that seemed to be so popular in women’s fashions down here. I dressed up in my fine new shirt and then we headed out to dinner at another locals spot where my lack of sequins didn’t matter and where $2 got us a huge bowl of soup, main course and drink. If we can keep this up we may be able to recover some of the expenses from the Galapagos sooner than we hoped.

Rude awakenings.

Knock, knock, knock… Knock, knock, knock… Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock! That was how we were woken up. It was the clerk from the hostel. She had given us the wrong room and we would have to move because it was reserved. We got up and began packing up taking our time since check out wasn’t for another 3 hours. However, every 15 minutes either the clerk, the manager, or the maid come back to check if we were out yet forcing us to hurry up. I didn’t understand why they didn’t put the other person in the new room until we opened the door to it. The room was just a box and there was no tv. However it was on the roof of the hostel so there was an even better view of the old city as well as the parrots, turtles, and cat hanging around on the terrace below. Oh well, I thought the price was too good to be true for the other room.

Thanks to our move, we missed the cheap breakfast special (it had run out) and had to pay for the pricey a la carte breakfast. It dampened our moods for going out and doing anything touristy. Originally, we had planned to visit the Pachacamac ruins just outside of Lima. But reading a description of it we didn’t feel like making the long journey out there only to be let down. That was okay. We had plenty of stuff to do like figuring out how to get to Puno, and what we were going to do in Bolivia and where we were going to be for the next couple of weeks. Usually, we’ve just shown up in town and figured it out from there. But we needed to get our replacement credit cards couriered to us and that required a big city address. So we randomly picked a date (two weeks from now) and booked a room at the big hostel in La Paz, told them about the package coming for us, and then sent the hostel address to my awesome sister who was packing and shipping our stuff to us.

Instead we decided to visit a nearby museum across from the Congress. The Museum of the Inquisition. Muahahahahaha. We arrived just as a Spanish tour was beginning so we joined the group. The building had most recently been the home of the Peruvian congress as was just as pretty as you’d expect a government building to be. But it had been built on the site of the old Inquisition trials. Upstairs the former government chambers had been converted into displays about the inquisition – background, process and, of course, torture. The Inquisition was used to enforce the Catholic faith even on non-Catholic believers and unfortunately ended up in many Jewish, Muslim, and Indigenous folks being killed. Downstairs, the original cells still existed complete with original graffiti from the accused (photo above) and we were encouraged to walk around. Now, having been to the house of wax in Niagara Falls none of the displays were particularly shocking. But what was shocking was the fact that the inquisition in Peru lasted almost 300 years, ending after independence in 1820 and only because (my conclusion) they needed the building for the new government. We decided it was time to get the heck out of Peru.

There was an Ormeño bus station not too far from us. We didn’t know if this company had the route we wanted or if the price was acceptable but it was close enough that we didn’t have to take a taxi so we crossed our fingers and headed towards the non-touristy part of town where it was located. I’d take a walk through a dodgy neighbourhood over negotiating with a taxi driver any day. I vaguely remembered walking here way back in 2005 but it didn’t look familiar this time. The only thing we recognized was a park but not from our previous visit. No, it was one of the places featured in the urban renewal display at city hall. This park had previously been a rundown garbage and graffiti strewn gathering place for pickpockets and drug addicts (according to the government). Now, it definitely looked spiffier but I have to admit we didn’t dawdle to find out if the crime had improved. Funny that it used to be such a problem, considering it was right across from a giant court building.

The bus station was just beyond the park, down some dirty side streets that smelt strongly of urine. Ormeño did indeed have direct buses to Puno. Phew. And the price was what we expected for an overnight bus half way across the country. There was a morning departure and an afternoon one but both were a whopping 22-hour bus ride. We chose the late afternoon one and hoped we would sleep through the majority of those hours. Plus it would arrive in mid afternoon so if we don’t sleep on the bus it wouldn’t be long before we would be asleep in a real bed. With tickets purchased, we headed back to the hostel. With no money in our wallets, we were a lot more relaxed and even stopped to buy some 25¢ churros. The neighbourhood still wasn’t pretty but it didn’t seem dangerous just full of people either waiting for buses, selling stuff, and basically going through the motions of living in a capital city.

Back to hostel, it was more searching for places to stay in Puno and then in Bolivia. Adrian annoyed me with his demands of wifi and a tv in every place. If only he knew that we’d be lucky to have 24-hour electricity in some parts of Bolivia. I think I’ll break that to him later. We had had enough rude awakenings already today.

Welcome back to that same old place that you laughed about

There is a unanimous opinion about Lima. It sucks. I often like to disagree with people and this is one of those times. Lima gets a bad rap but it’s not the city that's the problem I think it’s the sky which is almost always grey and hazy and makes the city seem depressing. Sure that grey sky is thanks to pollution but it’s not all bad. There were plenty of things to see and places to visit and we hadn’t seen them all the first time. Well that’s what I remember from our first trip here ages ago and that’s why we didn’t mind returning to Lima. Our bus arrived early and it was still dark as it navigated the city streets. We were in no hurry to get to the hostel as I didn’t expect them to have our room ready but even dragging our feet we arrived at the Hostel Espana just behind the Plaza de Armas at 6am.

Most people stay out in the chichi suburb of Miraflores with the malls, movie theatres and bars but we chose this hostel because it was in the historic centre within walking distance to all the main sites. The hostel was also a historic building – an old colonial mansion filled with the weirdest collection of art (it either belonged in the museum or the trash). We had plenty of time to take it in because as expected our room wasn’t ready. We headed to the roof to wait (the one bad thing was that there was no common area). From there we could see the roof of San Francisco and the thousands of pigeons walking up and getting ready to poop on tourists. We waited there for two hours and then went to check in. Our room still wasn’t ready and now wouldn’t be until 10 so we went upstairs and had breakfast and then went to walk around the Plaza. The city was just walking up but it looked just as we remembered it – the city hall, the cathedral, the presidential palace. But the problem with having been here before was that all of it was too familiar and after a poor sleep on the bus we really just wanted to check in and nap. Luckily our room was now ready and it was worth the wait. It was on the roof with the same view of the church (photo above) plus a private bathroom, tv and lots of room. We promptly took advantage of it and went to sleep.

When we woke up it was mid afternoon. Oops. Adrian demanded McDonald’s for dinner and I acquiesced because we have an agreement. If I allow him McDonald’s every so often (when available of course) he’s agreed not allowed to complain about eating rice with chicken/fish everyday. So we walked by lots of little local cafes offering $3 menus and headed to the pedestrian shopping area – Jiron de la Union where McDonald’s was waiting. No longer sleep deprived, Lima seemed a lot cleaner (except the grey sky) then I remembered and at the city hall a “your tax dollars at work” showcase proudly displayed the urban renewal of the last years. So it wasn’t our imagination. What also wasn’t our imagination was the huge number of gringos – most of them converging on the Mcdonald’s. They all had a look of shock and disorientation that screams “I just got off the plane from Iowa, Milton Keynes or Oshawa” or any other exotic place. Lima is the first stop for maybe backpackers and it shows. I wanted to tell them all it would be okay but didn’t. Instead we lined up for our McNuggets and Big Macs behind them and then headed back to our hostel room to indulge in another comfort – tv.

Young Gay and Yang Gan Ook Oh

Our room at Jo’s Place not only had a great view of the mountains, it also had a bird’s eye view of a yard where every morning two men slaughtered, ducked and plucked hundreds of chickens for the endless stream of local grocery shoppers. It was a rather gruesome sight (of which I’ll spare you the details) but of course we watched and even took a picture to document the event. So every morning we woke up to the sound of chicken death throes. And for those of you curious what that sounded like, it was less horrific than you’re imagining as it was the sound of wings madly flapping in a confined space. But today wasn’t about chicken slaughter it was about a tour. Although if the tour was bad, there was a chance we’d be enacting our own death throes in the confined space of the bus.

The tour didn’t start well. We got up early and had our breakfast to make sure we were ready when the bus arrived. After waiting for 15 minutes, the hostel owner came out to tell us that the tour was running late so we had another 45 minutes before they arrived. I wish we’d known this before since those were 45 minutes we could have been sleeping. It didn’t get better when the bus arrived as we were surprised to learn that the tour was in Spanish and we were t the only gringos on the bus. Oh well I guess I’d be translating for Adrian all day. But the bad feelings disappeared once our guide began his spiel. Hugo looked like some sort of South American game show host. He had the pinkie ring and dyed hair that looked like a toupee but most importantly he had the personality and repetoire of bad jokes to go with it. However, he was so entertaining soon both Adrian and I forgot he wasn’t speaking English and enjoyed his descriptions even when we couldn’t understand what he was saying.

Our first stop was at the hot springs just outside of town. However, we weren’t there to visit them. Instead the bus was picking up a group of young Americans who appeared to speak pretty good Spanish (phew, at least there would be someone to ask for a translation when I couldn’t figure it out). Then it was off to our first stop, Caraz. Caraz was a small little town famous for a religious festival but we weren’t here to visit that either. Nope we were here to sample the local ice cream, rumoured to be the best in Peru. Adrian indulged and agreed that it was pretty tasty while I pulled out my zoom lens to take some snaps of the local folks who wore some pretty impressive fedoras.

Then it was back on the bus and off to our next stop – the city of Yungay. Saying the name may make you want to titter but it was a rather sad place. At 3:23pm on May 31, 1970, Peru’s deadliest earthquake sent a mountain sliding down over the city, burying the town under 6 metres of earth and ice killing all but 92 inhabitants. The survivors were mostly children visiting a fare at the stadium just outside of town and a handful of folks visiting the hill-shaped cemetery. Only the cemetery was still there, with the rest of the city and the bodies lying under the earth. As we walked through (or should it be over) the town, we visited the old central plaza which was identified by the palm trees still growing, although half of their height was now under the earth. The façade of the town cathedral had been rebuilt as a memorial but the tops of the original giant arches of the ceiling poked out of the ground near a crushed bus that had been thrown out of the landslide and now lay as a reminder of the devastation.

Hugo explained how earthquake measuring 7.9 on the Richter scale had released heat that melted the snow as well as energy that helped propel the mixture of snow, ice, water, rock and dirt that made up the mountain and on to the town. It only took 45 seconds and no one stood a chance. Now the entire site was considered a national cemetery and it the only identifiable place still untouched was the original town cemetery. The bottom two tiers were buried and had to excavated but now it provided a fitting gathering point for visitors.

To give you a sense of what happened a did a little bit of google work and found these before and after shots.
Before and After
It was hard to believe the distance the mountain traveled to bury the town but on our way up over where the mountain used to be we passed huge house-sized boulders to emphasize the power and force of the event. It was a somber visit but also awesome in the true sense of the word. Nature’s power is always impressive.

Then it was time to get back on the bus for the long drive up into the mountains. It took over an hour on twisty mountain roads to reach Huascaran Park in the Cordillera Blanca the mountain range opposite the Cordillera Negra. The two ranges used to be easily identifiable – the Blanca had snow caps and the Negra didn’t but the effects of global warming had screwed that up. I passed the time by sticking the camera out the window to get snaps of the white caps which got closer and closer as the valley got smaller and smaller. Once we turned into the park, the road passed between a narrow gorge with sheer rock faces that rose up on either side of the bus.

At the park entrance we paid our S5 fee and then drove through the gate. Just on the other side we stopped. There was no lake in sight and I worried that we were going to be disappointed. But Hugo pointed to a path that wound its way through some trees. I began to walk towards the path following the others in front of me and walked bang into a stone sign. I saw stars and had to double over in pain, cursing myself for following the short locals without looking up and cursing my hat for blocking out the sign from my view. This did not bode well I thought. As the goose egg on my forehead throbbed, Adrian and I followed the path and as we rounded the corner we were greeted by the sight of the most beautiful aqua glacial lake. The lake stretched back to the mountains surrounding it. There were row boats waiting to take us out for a tour but the price was a bit steep and Hugo told us that following the path around the side would give us an even better view than the boats. Quickly forgetting about the concussion and cerebral hemorrhage I’d probably given myself, we followed the path. It was easy and when we got to the end, we were very glad not to have forked out for the boat ride. The boat only went about 30 feet from shore, whereas the path took as halfway around for awesome views of the lake and the mountains (photo above).

It was now late afternoon so we (and probably everyone else on the bus) assumed we were skipping lunch and just heading back to town. But first there were a few more stops. The first to visit a naturally carbonated spring. Hugo invited us all to take a drink but I passed noticing signs that warned that the water was not potable. The next stop was to visit the world's largest flower. The puya raimondii plant flowers only once after growing for about 100 years and then dies. Sad but true. But when it flowers it goes out with a bang. These large alien beasts tower like the mountains they grow on. They reminded Adrian and I of Triffids and as they grew in numbers it felt like they were multiplying before our eyes. We took lots of pictures and then hurried back on the bus before they attacked us.

Once we were all back on the bus, we drove back down the mountain and towards Huaraz. Much to everyone's surprise the bus then stopped at a small town for lunch. Like all restaurant stops on tours, it was a restaurant far away from anything else so it was either starve or pay the price. Luckily the price was reasonable and they had lake trout (not chicken!). It was delicious and worth more than they charged and I think lake trout may be my new favourite seafood. After lunch, or was it dinner, we all assumed we were heading back to Huaraz. Surprise there were more stops on the tour.

The first was for some dessert at a manjar shop. It’s what the Colombians call arequipa, and the Argentineans call dulce de leche and what Adrian and I call yum. Well, the free samples were tasty but I’d never buy a whole jar as just looking at it gave me 50 cavities (yes I know I only have 28 teeth). Now it was time to head back to Huaraz? Nope wrong again. The bus then took us to a ceramics workshop and while I’m sure they were beautiful Adrian and I stayed on the bus waiting to get to town after a very full day. Eventually we got our wish and the bus drove into town. We got off in the centre and headed to a bus company to book our tickets to Lima in a couple of days. By booking a few days early we hoped to get our favourite seats at the front. No such luck as there were the only four already sold. So we settled for the second row and headed back to the hostel to collapse. Tours are exhausting even though half of the time is spent riding a bus. I wanted to blame it on the fact that I had to translate everything for Adrian but even when they’re in English they’re exhausting. Tomorrow we needed a break. So we decided to wait another day before venturing on to the tour bus.

Huar are we?

The last time we were in Peru, we did the Gringo circuit, Lima – Nasca – Huacachina – Arequipa – Puno – Cusco, with a little jaunt up to Iquitos to see the Amazon. This time were concentrating our now-shortened trip in the North. The highlight of this area of Peru is Huaraz. Huaraz is 3100 metres above sea level in the Peruvian Andes. We were looking forward to seeing the mountains but we weren’t looking forward to getting used to the altitude all over again.

Despite the closed curtains, the sun woke us at 6:30am. Clearing the fog from the windows we were greeted with a panoramic view of the mountains. The heavily bundled people walking along the highway, told us not only were we considerable higher we were also going to be considerable colder. Oh boy.

There were many signs telling us that we were in a completely different part of Peru. But there was also the familiar, starting with the pestilence of touts gathered like vultures outside the bus station doors when we arrived. (I’m writing to the OED to suggest that plague of taxi drivers and pestilence of touts be the official way to refer to more than two of these professionals. Think they’ll agree?). Since we had a hostel in mind and even a reservation we shooed them away and headed through the town still quiet in the early morning.

The hostel was about a kilometer away but with our heavy packs and the altitude it felt 10x further. And of course the room we had booked was on the fourth floor. Sure it was a room with a view but maneuvering those stairs was almost the death of us. All that was soon forgotten when we got into the hot shower. Washing away the night of bus grime perked us right up, not enough however to send us out to explore the city. Instead we enjoyed a delicious and huge breakfast and decided to just spend the day relaxing at the hostel just getting used to the altitude.

Rather than getting to know the city we got to know the other hostel guests. Most of them were part of a tour group. We sat and talked to Naomi, an 18-year old Aussie girl who had just finished high school and was making her way around the world. She was feeling a little out of sorts since most of her tour group was about 15 years older than her (um so were we). She said she felt so young (not in a good way) and I told her we often felt so old. But for her it meant that just 6 weeks in she was really missing her family and friends. She asked us how we were doing. I explained that it was a bit different for us – traveling as a married couple, is kinda like traveling with family and friends. And for the ones back home there are the wonders of skype, email and facebook. But I think it’s also different for a 36&37 year old to go off around the world than someone half our age (ouch that hurt to type). I told her to hang in there. Her tour was almost over and then she had 6 months to travel on her own where I assured her she would meet sooooooo many people her own age (since we’d met lots of them already). Guess the grass is always greener no matter who you are.

After Naomi left, Adrian and I decided it was time to sign up for a tour. The owner of the hostel tried to convince us to try ice climbing or mountain hiking but with the altitude bugging us, we opted for the bus tour to Llanganuco – an aqua glacier lake, and Yungay – a town buried by an earthquake 30+ years ago. Then we decided to treat ourselves to dinner. Huaraz supposedly had an amazing Thai restaurant. When we first walked up it appeared closed although all the tables were set and the lights were on. We were about to turn away when a street vendor told us to knock on the window. So we did and sure enough a woman came out from the back and unlocked the door, only to lock it once we were seated. Hmm, rather odd. Locked in we couldn’t escape when we saw the prices on the menu. And perhaps this was the plan. Compared to our huge and cheap meal the night before, the prices in this place were the same if not more than what we’d pay for Thai food in Toronto. It was ridiculous but we decided to splurge (not that we had a choice with the door being bolted and all). And we weren’t the only ones, as Naomi and her tour group were soon knocking on the door to be let in. We left them to finish their bottles of wine and made our way (slowly thanks to the altitude) back to the hotel. We weren’t too bad until we hit the dreaded stairs to our room and then we felt every one of those 3100 metres. But the full moon view was worth, it don't you think?

Everybody’s goin’ surfin’, surfin’ U.K.

Today was Adrian’s big day. Today was his first surfing lesson. The school promised to get students up on the board the first time or their money back. So they must have been pretty confident but I’m not sure we were. Still he eagerly got up and was out the door as soon as we were done breakfast. Since his lesson was two hours long I took my time going down to the beach to watch and instead uploaded some blog entries and more photos and then grabbed my camera and headed out to document the big event.

Down at the beach Adrian was just making his way into the water having spent the first 45 minutes getting instructed on dry land. For the next hour, I watch and snapped photos as he tried to get up on the board – spending just as much time falling into the water as he did sitting on the board. I began to think that perhaps the school would have to make good on their promise when it happened. He got his butt up in the air and then his arms and soon he was standing riding the last wave of his lesson all the way into the beach. YAY!!!! He did it. I walked with him and the instructor back to the school where Adrian showered and changed back into his clothes and was congratulated by the staff on doing it. Adrian was now hooked on surfing and although we were leaving Huanchaco tonight, he vowed to get back on the board the next time he had the chance – even though that wouldn’t be until we were in Chile, a long way away.

We still had a whole afternoon to spend in Huanchaco before our bus out and considered going to visit the other ruins. But I didn’t feel like especially after the disappointment of the second ruins yesterday. Plus the last two sites were a long way from the hostel and equally as far from each other so seeing them would probably require a taxi ride which we hoped to avoid. Adrian was happy to enjoy the free internet at the hostel so we had a quiet afternoon kicking around the hostel. But both of us were looking forward to authentic curry from the place down the road. Of course, when we turned up, the hostel was in the midst of a power outage and the owner apologized that the curry was prepared but not cooked yet. He hoped to have it ready in a couple of hours though but unfortunately for us we had a bus to catch. He told us that there was a tasty place next door where we could get good cheap local food. And his description was bang on – we spent about $5 for the two of us and got huge bowls of veggie soup, a Peruvian chicken curry called pollo saltado, rice and fries. We were stuffed and satisfied and it was a nice feeling. As we were settling up our bill, a stray dog came sauntering into the café. The owners told us that the dog was lost and they were trying to find the owner but weren’t having any luck. And as we walked out, the dog followed us. We tried to send it back to the café but it wasn’t cooperating. A woman approached us asking us if we knew who’s dog it was and in Spanglish I tried to explain the situation. In the middle of our tortured conversation a couple appeared calling out the dog’s name. The puppy immediately ran to them and all over them – family and dog were reunited. It was the perfect way to end our time in Huanchaco and we hoped this would be the turning point for our Peruvian adventure.

Indeed our taxi back to the bus station was half the cost we’d been charged on the way in. And at the bus station we met a nice man who kept Adrian amused while we waited for the bus. The man had been schooled by English speaking Jesuits and was happy to practice the English they’d taught him. And he was the kinesiologist for the Huaraz soccer team so he was just as happy to talk sports. Just as pleasant was our bus ride since we had managed to grab the first seats in the front of the bus – so we had plenty of leg room and a great view (until the attendant made me close the curtain for the night). The only bad thing about the bus was that the one dvd they had was Laura Pausini’s greatest hits. Laura who? Well, I’ll politely refer to her as the Italian/Latin Celine Dion and let you come to your own conclusions. Huanchaco had almost made up for our terrible border crossing. We hoped that Huaraz would be just as good to us.

Cha Cha to Chan Chan

Surfing wasn’t the reason we’d come to Huanchaco. Neither was the beach. No, the real reason we were here was to check out the biggest ruins in Peru (that’s me calling them the biggest. I have no idea if they really are.) The cab driver had pointed them out to us during our ride from the bus station. But in the pitch black we’d seen nothing and just smiled and nodded to please him. The staff at the hostel were very helpful in giving us instructions on how to get there on the local bus and then how to get to the right bus station afterwards so we could buy our next ticket. This was important because every bus company in Peru has their own bus terminal and they’re not always very close to each other. Actually they are deliberately not close to each other which forces you to commit to one company and their ticket prices before hand. They could tell you it’s a bajillion dollars to the next town and you’ll pay it because you’ve already spent a morning figuring out how to get to that office and the last thing you want to do is trek across town to find out if the other company has tickets for just a bazillion dollars. It also doesn’t allow for any spontaneous travel decisions. You have to know where you want to go and when beforehand. If you just show up at a random bus station, chances are you’ll pick the company that only travels in the exact opposite direction you want to go, only goes once a week and you just missed the bus. Well in our experience that is. But I digress.

Catching the local bus to Chan Chan was thankfully much easier. For just 50 cents we caught the bus around the corner from the hostel and were let off at the entrance to the site. Immediately we were surrounded by a plague of taxi drivers all offering to take us on a tour of all the sites for a ridiculous price. We shoo-ed them away and kept walking. It was early and we had the whole day and besides we wanted to walk. Good thing because just walking from the road to the ticket office was over a kilometer. We passed the ongoing excavations of the other temples as we walked to the ticket office which was in the middle of the park. Here we had to shake off more people, this time guides offering an interpretive tour. Once again we declined (but more politely than with the taxi drivers). And it was a good thing we hadn’t hired the guide because the ruins had signs in English everywhere.

I knew Chan Chan was big but it was huge, unbelieveable huge. And remarkable that it’s still there because unlike Machu Pichu or the other Incan, Mayan or Aztec ruins we’d visited, the ruins weren’t made out of stone, they were made out of adobe. Okay so it was in the middle of the coastal desert and there wasn’t much rain to wash it away. But still, it was made out of mud and was 800 years old and I think that’s pretty impressive. Chan Chan was at one time a city of 30,000 people and made up of about 10 different complexes like the one we were allowed in. It was only this one, known as the Tschudi Complex, that had been completely excavated and was open to visitors. Most of the original designs of birds, pelicans (photo above), fish and other geometric patterns that once covered the ruins had been lost to wind erosion and had been lost to wind erosion. I will admit that was a little weird. Sure it made for good photos and they’d used original methods, materials and designs to recreate them. But it didn’t give us that same wow factor of seeing the original stuff. But what was amazing was the size of the place. Just this one complex was as big as 4 football pitches (once again my total guess-timation)

You’d think with all that space, they’d find room for the museum. Well, you’d be wrong. No, the museum was located next to the site which was 1km back to the road and another 1km down the highway. But still not wanting to give our business to the waiting taxi drivers we walked to the museum. It was small and informative but the most impressive thing was the presence of a bunch of Peruvian hairless dogs. They have got to be the ugliest animals I’ve ever seen and I’m sure you’ll agree.

It was now time to hit some of the other smaller sites sprinkled around town. Adrian looked at the map and decided we could walk to the next one since it was “just down the road”. I warned him that just down the road in this case was another 4km but he didn’t believe me. So we walked and walked and walked and walked. And finally he admitted I was right. But just up ahead we spotted the church that marked the turn off and headed into a small residential area where the Huaco Esmeralda ruins were located. I wish I could say it was worth it. But it was small and after Chan Chan was really unimpressive. Although there were more ugly hairless dogs on site. We had declined the offer of a guide but when it came time to leave a policeman/guard insisted on accompanying us back to the main road. I tried to tell him it was unnecessary but he told us that the neighbourhood wasn’t safe. Of course once we were at the road, he asked for his fee. Sigh. He then insisted on staying with us as we waited for the bus. Once again I told him it wasn’t necessary (we were standing on the main road in full view of everyone, after all) but he told us it was because there was an armed man waiting to rob us. I didn’t believe him – if there really was a crook shouldn’t the cop be arresting him – but thanked him anyway. But the cynical voice in my head, thought that the only crook around was him. Ah Peru, every time I think I may have misjudged you, someone finds a new way to get a couple of dollars out of us.

Unfortunately all the walking had tired us out and taken a long time. So we had to scrap our plan to see the two remaining sites. Instead we headed to the bus station where we purchased our tickets for the night bus to our next destination, Huaraz. There was a little café at the station and while normally these places don’t rate high on our to do list, we were both quite hungry and enjoying sitting down after all that walking. We took a little break and then caught the local bus back to the hostel. My feet were very happy when we were let off at the front door. They were even happier when we discovered a place a few doors down from the hostel that advertised authentic Indian curry on the menu. Sure enough, the restaurant/café was run by an Indian guy who made authentic curry. But alas not tonight as he’d just arrived back in Huanchaco after a long bus ride from Lima. He promised he’d make curry for us tomorrow. We took him up on that offer and settled for hamburgers. It could have been the promise of real curry the next night or the fact that we were starving after a full day of walking all over the city but the burgers were delicious (and I don’t even like hamburgers). Not exactly authentic Peruvian fare but with the scams, the ruins and the taxi drivers, I think we’d had enough authentic Peru in the last few days.

Same ocean. Different beach.

If first impressions are everything, Peru was failing miserably. Combined with getting robbed in Ecuador just a few weeks previously our mood was understandably low. But we were hoping that getting out of Mancor and the change of scenery would help fix that. Plus who wants to read about our tales of woe and misery. So the next morning we checked out of the dodgy Sol y Mar hotel and trudged down the strip to catch our bus.

The bus ride was actually two. The first was a two hour ride to Piura where we transferred to another long distance bus that took us all the way to Trujillo. The ride was rather unremarkable and this was a good thing – we didn’t need any more excitement – and we arrived in Trujillo after dark. But we weren’t even staying there. We had decided to stay out in the beach suburb of Huanchaco and now had to figure out how to get there. Luckily there were plenty of Peruvian taxi drivers (now edging out the Hondurans as my least favourite species) to whisk us away. The bus station was nowhere near the one marked on our Lonely Planet map and we had no clue where we were in the city and therefore no clue how to catch the local bus to Huanchaco. So we grudgingly accepted what I knew was an overpriced taxi ride out to the beach town. But it was worth it. After roughing it in Mancora, the La Casa Suisse Hostel was a pleasant surprise. It was clean and comfortable and welcoming. And it was easy to finally exhale and get a good nights’ sleep.

The next morning it was time to find out if the rest of Huanchaco was as nice as the hostel. After catching up on some photo uploading and other boring stuff we headed out, ready to face whatever crap Peru decided to throw at us this time. Luckily Huanchaco was a lot like the hostel. The beach, while less beautiful than Mancora, stretched as far as we could see and was peaceful. There were no touts or hawkers and just a sprinkling of tourists, including a few learning to surf in the smaller waves. There was a large pier (photo above) dotted with locals all trying to catch tonight’s dinner. They were outnumbered by pelicans stalking the fishermen in an attempt to coax some of the fish bait into their mouths. One fisherman was playing with the pelicans – throwing one a large plastic fish-shaped lure and laughing as the greedy pelicans gobbled them up only to spit them out immediately then glaring at the fisherman until he threw him an actual fish.

Huanchaco’s beaches were so long and civilized that we actually wanted to spend time on them. We watched the surfers and then found a woman selling grilled kebabs for about a $1 each. We shared one as we watched the beginner surfers on one side of the pier and the pros in the bigger waves on the other. Adrian was inspired and announced that he wanted to give it a go. So we popped into the nearest surf school (recommended by our hostel) and signed him up for a lesson. Why not me too? Well if I went surfing who would be there to document Adrian’s attempt at getting up? Plus the water wasn’t exactly warm.

In keeping with the new surfing theme, we checked out the original Peruvian surfboards that Huanchaco is famous for. Made out of bundles of reeds they were more boat than board. Originally used by locals to fish off shore but now shuttle daring tourists into the waves for a wet ride. At one time they must have been made of nothing but reeds, but now we noticed a Styrofoam core peeking through the gaps in the reeds. We were offered a ride but passed and instead hit up the skewer lady for a cheap dinner. It was a day of doing nothing but it was just what we needed. Our mood had improved and as the sun set, our hatred of Peru was now more of a dislike.

Same sh*t. Different day.

The only reason we were in Mancora was to have some fun in the sun. of course waking up it was overcast. Well at least we didn’t need to worry about getting a bad burn like Simon’s in this weather. And before you remind me about the dangers of sunburns in overcast skies, I made sure to liberally apply sunscreen. But before we headed out, the Ecuadorian family in the room next to ours stopped us in the hall to warn us that their room had been robbed. Gone were 3 digital cameras, some cash and credit cards. We did our best to be sympathetic and went back into the room to double check that we’d locked all our bags tight. Then it was time to figure out how to get out of Peru as soon as possible. And as cheaply as possible. The first 18 hours of bad experiences in Peru, had us cutting down the amount of time to spend in the country. We decided to skip Chiclayo and head straight to Trujillo. All this and it we hadn’t even had breakfast.

Adrian was hoping that breakfast would be a turning point. Last night at the restaurant he had spotted eggs and sausage on the menu of the Swiss/German/Italian restaurant. Of course, once we were served, he discovered that sausages in this part of the world meant hot dogs. Oh well. It was tasty enough and not too expensive. Plus the owner and his family were really nice. So nice we decided against attempting to pass off our fake notes on them.

Hunger satisfied we walked down the strip in search of a bus out of town the next morning, shaving a day off our planned time here. Getting robbed has a way of speeding up time one wants to spends in a country. Unfortunately most buses were night buses and we weren’t in the mood for that or spending another day here. However, a few more blocks and we found one company that left in the morning. It was relatively cheap and only one transfer point. Adrian used his best Spanglish to grill the clerk about the state of the buses, specifically the availability of a toilet onboard. For the first bus no she replied but the second longer leg would have one on board. And remembering back to our time in Peru in 2005, I reminded him that the buses in Peru were much nicer than those we’d been on so far. I also reminded him that Peru was nicer than what we’d experienced yesterday too. He vaguely remembered those happier times and laid off the woman – much to her relief.

Now it was time to visit what we were here for – the beach. It was long and wide but still full of people and horses. The good news was now the sun was out. It was kind of like Tulum (but cheaper, finally one good thing to say about Peru). The water was beautiful and relaxing so we decided to treat ourselves to mojitos as we watched some surfers. We attempted to pay for our drinks with the fake bills but before the server had them in her hand she regretted to inform us that our money was fake. I wish I knew what it was that they could see all those from a mile away that identified them as fake because we’d certainly like those skills. Oh well, we’ll keep trying to get rid of them but maybe a little further away from the border.

Once we were suitably baked and the sun began to slip below the horizon we walked down the beach to check out the surfers and then back to the hotel to change before going out for dinner. Tomorrow we were leaving but it still didn’t feel soon enough. The further we got from the border area the happier we’d be.

New country. New scams.

Our new souvenirs. Fake money.

Today we were headed to the border - our 9th for those of you keeping count. It was going to be a 9+ hour trip so we got up bright and early hoping to arrive in Peru way before it got dark. The great thing about getting up early at a hostel that was also a bar was there was plenty of hot water in the showers. The bad thing? The staff was still sleeping so there was no breakfast until 9am. So we waited an hour until the kitchen opened and hoped that there was a later bus that got us where we needed to go.

We caught a taxi to the bus station. As we pulled in I noticed banners announcing a new direct service to Mancora, Peru. The bus company was having some sort of launch party with balloons and music and food. According to the sign, we’d just missed the 9am bus but the next one was at 10:45. A little late but at least it would be direct. Unfortunately, because of today’s festivities there was no 10:45 bus and the next one wasn’t until 3pm. So we set off to find another bus to take us to the border town where we could catch another bus from the Peruvian sides. That one was leaving in 15 minutes. Perfect – okay we wouldn’t have the luxury of getting all the way there but we’d get there much earlier.

We drove through the mountains from pine forests, to desert, and finally to the coast. The bus got to the border town and let us off just outside at the passport station about 4km outside of town. Unfortunately, the ayudante told us the bus couldn’t wait for us but he told us that when we were done we could catch transportation to the actual border here. Immediately, a guy pounced on us. He offered us a taxi ride to the border for $1.50. Sounded like a deal and much better than carrying our heavy bags in the sun. He walked with us across the highway to the immigration office where we were stamped out of Ecuador. And when we stepped out, our new friend was waiting with a taxi. A few minutes later we were let off in the middle of the town which appeared to be some sort of crazy black market. It was pure chaos and we were glad we had someone to help us navigate the chaotic stalls to the bridge to Peru which was hidden in the midst of it all.

But first we had to change our American dollars into Peruvian money. We stopped at one of the many money changers and he offered almost the actual exchange rate so we said goodbye to dollars and hello to soles. We thanked our friend and gave him a S10 tip for then walked across the bridge. We were unofficially in Peru – unofficially because just like on the Peruvian side the actual immigration office was a few kilometers outside of town and in between was another black market of all sorts of goods even crazier than the Ecuadorian side. Soon we were pounced on by another guy offering us a collectivo ride to Tumbes for S30 (that’s Soles not dollars), including a stop at the immigration office. Hmm. We stopped to consider it. On one hand it was more than we really wanted to pay. On the other, it was a whole lot easier than catching a moto taxi to the immigration office and then to the highway where we’d have to catch a collectivo to Tumbes to catch another collectivo to to our transfer to Mancora. So I asked 3 times about the price and made sure it was the price for both and then decided to go for it.

The man then directed us to his friend’s car. This wasn’t a collectivo but a man trying to make a few bucks on the side. No harm in that I guess. The three of us got in with the driver and were immediately whisked away to the Peruvian immigration post a small hut 2km out of town on the highway. That was over 6km between check points – no wonder there was a thriving black market around here. We hopped out of the car and were quickly stamped in. Now it was time to get back in the car. About 200 metres from the border

The man directed us to his friend’s car. Aha this was just a man trying to make a few bucks on the side. And we got in – first stop the Peruvian immigration about 2km. Peru and Ecuador have a very loose border apparently. We got stamped in without any trouble and then got back in the car. About 200 metres from the border post, the driver turned to us and told us that going to Tumbes was too far and he was going to drive us to the collectivo stop on the highway. Oh great, another scam. I told him (actually I may have yelled at him, being sick of getting scammed every time we got into a car). He told us no and emphasized that he was only going to the collectivo post. I told him to stop the car and jumped out intent on getting away from the scammer jammers. Adrian however wasn’t paying attention and stayed in the car thwarted my great escape plan. The original negotiator however took the chance to make his own escape. With Adrian and our bags still in the car, I was forced to get back in and continue arguing with the driver. Now he agreed to drive us to Tumbes but the price changed. It was no longer 30 for both but 30 for each. And he now said 30 dollars not 30 soles because the trip was 37km away. I told him no and called him a thief and a liar. I told him no, repeated the original price we had negotiated on and told him to stop asking for dollars because we had none. He eventually backed down from $60 to S60 to take us all the way to Tumbes. I was furious with being double crossed yet again. And spent the rest of the ride swearing at him in English and cursing Peru the entire way.

We arrived in Tumbes 20 minutes later (definitely not 37 km). Now that the car was stopped I told him we’d only pay him S50. He eagerly accepted that and gave us our bags – his easy agreement just highlighted the scam. There was no misunderstanding between the two men or between us – it was just the old bait and switch. Adrian handed him a bunch of small bills and then it was off to find our transportation to Mancora. We bypassed the bus stations and headed to the actual collectivos. A taxi driver told us it was going to be S27 and tried to convince us to go with him but I just ignored him. And when we got to the collectivo, indeed the price was only S6 – much better. We got on and enjoyed the ride down the coast.

Our first impressions of Mancora were not great. The town was really just a giant strip of shops and cafes along the Panamerican. – and all of them ugly. The driver let us off in front of the ugliest one – the Sol y Mar hotel that we had chosen to stay at. He then demanded an extra S2 for taking us down the strip. Grr. Sure it was only 60 cents but already this constant scamming was wearing thin. The hotel didn’t get better when we stepped in. It was cheap and cheerless although it was right on the beach. But after the taxi scam we needed to recoup some of our money. I checked out two rooms then chose the sunnier one which was S40/night and payment was demanded upfront. Adrian pulled out a S100 note to pay. The clerk shook his head and pointing to the note said “Es falso”. Adrian pulled out another S100 note. “Es falso tambien.” Then a S50 and another S50 and another S50. Yup that was right. With the exception of the 10s and 20s (most of which were now in the hands of the scammer jammer taxi driver), the money we’d gotten at the border was fake. So not only had the taxi driver ripped us off and the collectivo driver as well but the money changer had too probably in cahoots with our “friend” on the Ecuadorian side. In total, we lost almost $150 in the exchange (photo above). But it explained why the driver wanted American cash. I almost screamed in frustration. The clerk pulled out some real notes so we could feel and see the difference – I can’t say I noticed much – but he could tell a mile away. An old lady standing nearby asked what was wrong and the clerk told her that we had S300 in fake money she tutted and shook her head but was at least sympathetic. However the clerk wouldn’t even give us the room key until he had some money. Luckily there was a bank machine across the street, so Adrian got some real cash out and paid for the room. We were now thoroughly bummed and hating Peru.

Walking down the strip didn’t help much either. Mancora’s only redeeming feature was the beach. Everything else was dirty and dusty and aimed at the tourist pocket book. And let me stress once again that it was an ugly town. After checking out all the menus we ended up at an Italian restaurant run by a German-speaking Swiss guy for the S10 pasta and drink special and S12 for 3 large beers. The food was good even if the town and the country so far was shit. Oh yeah and it was our wedding anniversary.