Though we were both very excited about the next country we were all too aware of the journey ahead of us, the uncertainty of a border crossing we would have to negotiate ourselves, not to mention that we weren't entirely certain where we were headed.
Before heading to the bus station at Cuenca we needed to eat and as we simply couldn't face the offering at the hotel we were staying in we walked up the street to a place we'd eaten at the night before.
That it was closed was a precursor to our eating the most expensive banana ever.
We tried a cafe in the main street but decided against their one option menu of chicken and rice. Like scrambled egg, a man can only eat so much rice so we left, with the serving wench no doubt considering us a trifle odd.
We figured we'd find something at the bus station so once we'd reached there and found a through bus to a place called Tumbes in Peru leaving in just 30 minutes we had a look around.
Fried chicken and chips?
Ummm, no thanks.
Empanadas de queso (deep fried cheese pasty)?
Not unless it was the last option on this earth.
Interesting looking parcel, wrapped in a leaf and tied up with a shoelace?
Why yes, two please, and I'll have a coffee, two bananas and two apples while you're at it.
After handing over $4 we found a bench and sat down to enjoy our feast.
I excitedly untied the shoelace and unfolded my leaf to discover a cream coloured mush within that in my petulant and sulky state I loudly proclaimed that I wasn't eating.
My apple was more bruised than I cared for but what really put me off was its size.
It was huge and simply looked unnatural.
One sip of my sugar-laden and luke warm coffee saw that consigned to the bin (I take it boiling hot without sugar) leaving just the banana, effectively $2 worth of colon bunging fruit to make up for the fact that we wouldn't be egg bound today.
Our mood brightened somewhat on departure as we were two of only eight passengers on the bus. This lack of patrons enabled us to spread out and even to leap to the other side of the bus should something interesting become apparent.
And it did. The scenery became transfixing, an arid moonscape with mountains which the road clung to and our driver seemed intent on trying to fling us off.
By lunchtime we'd arrived at Huaquillas, a typical border town with few redeeming features, where we were gestured at to disembark.
We did as bid but couldn't fathom what was going on until an official told us to wait here for thirty minutes for another bus.
We wandered across the road and surveyed the lunchtime options,
my spirits plummeting on realising that it would be a choice of chicken, rice, or chicken and rice.
The only choice about it really being which outlet ran the least risk of giving us botulism (with emphasis on 'bot').
Twenty minutes later and back at the bus station we were now told that our onward bus would be in an hour's time. What had happened to our original connection was unclear but the situation was wearing thin so we elected to take a taxi to the border and see if we could pick up onward transport from there.
We took another taxi from the border and as we arrived in Tumbes we asked our driver to take us to the cashpoint and then a hotel near the beach.
"The beach? The beach is thirty kilometres away señor. There is no beach in Tumbes"
This was rather devastating news to us for we knew that the only hope of getting this show back on the road was to feel the sun burning down on us, the sand between our toes and to swallow mouthfuls of the Pacific as it battered us into submission.
We asked our driver for some advice, pleading with him like two wide-eyed heroin addicts desperate for a fix to come up with an alternative.
He suggested Playa Zorritos citing white sand, warm water and it being very quiet as reasons to head there.
Thirty minutes later we were standing by the side of the Pan-American highway in a dusty and uninspiring town looking at each other and wondering if the driver had taken us for a ride, literally and figuratively.
However, we were right outside a hospedaje so went in to be shown two rooms by the bear-like Oscar. The first was ok but the second, for just an extra fiver, was a gem.
A wooden shack on stilts, large room, comfy bed, French windows out onto a balcony which overlooked a beautiful beach and the sound of the waves crashing in a few yards away.
Perfect!
We went out to find food after a quick wash and brush up and, desperate to avoid the chicken and rice brigade, ended up in a particularly swanky hotel whose restaurant had tablecloths, napkins, vegetables; the works.
It was pricy but it would be worth it.
After being quite clear what we wanted to eat Kerry was so devastated at being served stone cold veg that it was all she could do not to break down and weep.
Neither of us are particularly adept at dealing with frustration and this was almost the final straw.
That actually came when I felt a familiar itch on my right ankle bone and looked down to see a mosquito gnawing away next to four other angry looking welts.
These began to itch like the devil and I hopped about such that the waiter must have assumed I had taken leave of my senses.
I was in hell until we reached the room and I could administer my magical potion I bought in Mexico which douses the fire of these irritations.
We slept like logs that night and awoke next morning to the surf pounding the beach and the sun blazing through our curtains.
Breakfast was included in the room rate so we toddled off to the outdoor dining area and sucked up the beautiful fresh air along with our coffees and fruit juices and looked forward to getting on that beach.
Just as we were about to do so another gringo took his seat and we struck up a conversation.
Not only was Peter a genuine and likeable individual, a veteran of many travels and prospective Alaskan salmon fisherman but he was also a trans-continental cyclist.
The bike I'd been eyeing up beneath that cabin to my right was his and he was three quarters of the way through his Colombia to Lima ride; a part retrace of a previous Colombia to Tierra del Fuego trip on the same bike.
Well, that was us sorted for a while.
It was fascinating to hear his stories of life on the road, to have a good gander at his bike and to tell him about some of my endeavours.
Interested as he was in our story too, Kerry explained that we immediately felt at home here in Zorritos because we're from the sea.
I felt it only right to point out we live near it rather than hail directly from it but I think he'd gathered that anyway.
Meeting Peter provided me with such a boost and complemented the positive vibe I was getting from Zorritos.
If you're reading this Peter (and if you're not, why not? I'm reading your blog!) then cheers! And bien viaje.
We spent that morning on sunbeds on the beach, reading, listening to music and periodically taking a dip in the sea.
It was fabulous and we couldn't have been happier if a naked Kylie Minogue and Brad Pitt were mopping our respective brows with a cool, damp cloth.
Things got even better at lunchtime as the diner we chose served chicken salad and even though I had to order the chicken and the salad separately and the staff thought I was quite mad it mattered not; a meal without either rice or egg felt like a lottery win.
In addition to the good food, the waitress prevented me from losing pair of sunglasses number seven by running out after us once we'd left.
Impressive and heart-lifting stuff.
Yes, we were well on the way to a state of high contentment and near euphoria after just half a day here so it was an easy decision to reach to stay a few days more.
A huge dog befriended us on the beach the next morning and decided to lie near us and bark aggressively should anyone come within 100 yards.
We don't know why, we didn't encourage it and neither of us like dogs (except chihuahuas) so it was a bit of a mystery.
Other fauna based activity saw the deserted beach come alive with literally thousands of red crabs which would emerge from holes in the sand, pat sand down and then scuttle about for a while before disappearing underground again.
They were incredibly sensitive and would bolt away from us if we so much as looked in their direction.
Such was life at Zorritos: quiet, relaxing, reinvigorating, necessary.
Much as we loved it we were aware of our flight from Lima to Easter Island on 4 November and of our desire to see a couple of places en route so we left after four blissful days.
Oscar took it upon himself to organise our passage to Trujillo with the first leg being a doorstep pick up in a collectivo to Piura, changing there for a bus onwards to our goal.
There was one proper seat left as we boarded, leaving me to endure the four hour journey on a fold-down seat wedged between two other people. It was very uncomfortable and with the lady on my left falling asleep on my shoulder too I was mightily relieved when we reached Piura.
The next leg, six hours on a well-appointed coach, was a breeze in comparison even though it was very hot on-board. On arrival at Trujillo we jumped in a taxi to the nearby surf town of Huanchaco, after all, we didn't want to undo all that hard work we'd done at Zorritos by staying inland when the sea was so close.
As we arrived quite late and in the dark we chose a room in haste with the expected unsatisfactory result.
First thing next morning, after prising ourselves off the crusty sheets, we wandered around a fog bound Huanchaco looking for somewhere a little more 'us' and did so, right at the far end of town.
The hotel Las Palmeras was partly chosen to give us amusing photo opportunities to send to Connor and Jordan (Palmer) but also because of its pool, quiet spot and sea view. That we would be the only guests for two of the four days we spent here would be an unexpected bonus.
The fog didn't really lift on Sunday and it was still overcast on Monday when we woke up.
Luckily, on Huanchaco's doorstep is both the colonial city of Trujillo and the ancient ruin of Chan Chan, city of the Chimu people, so we set out to explore both.
The site of Chan Chan is vast and the Pan-American highway actually cuts right through it.
The Chimu predated the Incas by 100 years or so and built out of sun baked or adobe bricks. What remains of their city is limited to the crumbling outer walls but it's the scale of it all that is impressive.
We had a good mosey around off the beaten track, only reading when back at the room later that armed gangs patrol these areas, mugging idiotic gringo tourists that don't stick to the path.
Once we'd had our fill of the architecture of the pre-Colombians we headed into Trujillo to see some more colonial buildings.
Trujillo was founded by Francisco Pizarro, who, whilst in Panama, heard tales of a fantastic and gold-laden culture to the south and made it his business to find it, conquer it and help himself to its spoils.
Depending on your point of view Pizarro is either the heroic discoverer of new lands and incredible riches in the name of God and the king of Spain or the barbarous pillager of a continent.
Whatever you think, there is no denying his place in history and Avenida Francisco Pizarro is as common here as 'High Street' is in Blighty.
Dropped off at the main plaza, things started well, what with the wide open space, imposing cathedral and brightly painted buildings but beyond that we soon considered this to be just another town.
We walked around for an hour or so but actually got more out of car spotting: VW beetles are gloriously in abundance here and there is also a healthy smattering of '70s American muscle to get us a-whooping and almost involuntarily exclaiming "Whoa! Look at that" every once in a while.
After a delicious lunch of duck (and rice) the sun came out so we quickly commandeered a collectivo and made for Huanchaco once more.
It was a bit breezy on the beach but our hotel pool was enclosed so we lazed there instead.
The next day was a scorcher and we didn't even bother to leave the hotel until it was time to eat our evening meal.
There's a definite feel that we're slowing down somewhat and an absolute and unequivocal realisation that the coast makes us feel good and alive and being inland eventually makes us feel grouchy and disaffected.
And to think I spent the first thirty years of my life as far away from the sea as possible in the UK!
Kerry wanted to wear her cardigan at breakfast next day but its whereabouts was firstly an inconvenient mystery and, one minute later, an expletive laden and meltdown inducing unknown.
The poor lamb was beside herself because only two days ago she realised she'd left her perfume in Zorritos; this was the final straw for when you have next to nothing then each item you do possess takes on great significance.
I did what men have been doing for centuries in these situations, nothing, watching as the whole contents of her case were first flung skyward, then hurled with venom at the floor.
Tears of frustration flowed and I sat there like a plank.
We eventually walked down to brekkie, took our seats at the same table as yesterday, ate and drank our fill, got up to leave the table and.....................
Kerry saw her cardigan on the other chair at our table.
She'd left it there yesterday morning and no one had noticed.
On Wednesday we figured that if it was hot we'd stay and if it was cloudy we'd head to Lima.
The sun shone and the pool was as far as we got again though we did finally have to share it, a fifty-something Norwegian and Dane couple travelling for ten weeks through Bolivia and Peru.
Come lunchtime, horror of horrors! Cloud.
This saw us exercise back up plan B and take a surf lesson - we were, after all, in prime Peruvian surf territory.
For £5 we had fifteen minutes in the classroom and over an hour out in the sea with our two guides and one other student, a large Swiss by the name of Gaudi.
Whilst Kerry and I have enjoyed a modicum of success in the past on the beaches of north Devon and Cornwall and were using this opportunity to learn technique, this was Gaudi's first stab at surfing.
Built more for Rugby's front row or wrestling it didn't look hopeful for him from the off.
It took four of us to prise him into his wetsuit and the only way we could get it zipped up was for our instructor to stand on Gaudi's arse whilst pulling the wetty together while I manipulated the zipper.
In the water Kerry and I were soon catching at least every other wave and feeling the tremendous rush of doing so. A few people were standing on the pier watching us and were whooping their appreciation every time we did so to further massage our egos.
As expected Gaudi was struggling to get up. As I was paddling back out to sea after a success I looked up and saw him, lying down on his board, arcing towards me on the crest of a wave. I took the most effective evasive action I could think of and would like to think that my high-pitched scream and closing of my eyes at just the right moment prevented my certain decapitation.
Though I sliced my toe open on exiting the water nothing could detract from the exhilaration we felt as we walked home. Not even the fact there were two new guests checking in to our hotel meaning the sun beds would be in even greater demand.
But we had to hit the road anyway on Thursday and took a bus at midday from Trujillo to Lima, a rather exhausting nine hours away.
The bus was fabulously comfortable with thick leather seats, free food and drink and wi-fi but nine hours is nine hours.
What was so surprising was that the six hours of daylight were spent travelling through desert and quite probably the other three were too.
This is one parched coastline and I salute anyone who has cycled it.
Speaking of which, I saw a guy heading north towing a trailer at one point but he was gone too quickly to register much else.
It's got me thinking though.........
As we were arriving into Lima so late we'd booked ahead but on arrival our room didn't seem to be ready.
We were asked to sit in the lounge and wait for ten minutes but after twenty Kerry's patience had evaporated and she sought the owner to find out what was going on.
A few years ago, in Croatia, we stayed the night in some old geezers house and we named him 'Slobodan Bates' for the slightly crazed look in his eye and for the fact that we wouldn't have been completely surprised if he'd have tried to murder us.
Our creepy host in Lima was quickly christened 'Inca Bates' and it was inexplicable that the room wasn't ready at nearly 2200 hours as well as that even when he finally granted us access he continued to clean the bath.
Breakfast was included but it was bread so we enquired if we may substitute this for fried eggs. This resulted in our having a conversation with a 'female' through the door of the kitchen but we never saw her, only Bates.
More shades of Anthony Perkins.
There was another chap working at the hospedaje whose inability to understand our Spanish left us wondering if he or we were mad and the other guests at breakfast were not being ignorant, they were deaf mutes.
You couldn't make it up.
So what of Lima? Well, it's no Quito but it's very cosmopolitan and has quite a nice feel about it.
We walked for miles around Miraflores or 'Gringo Central' and visited an ancient adobe pyramid that's being restored having previously been used as a Moto X track.
On day two we braved the local transport system to visit El Centro and visit a few churches, plazas, the cathedral and a museum.
A well-dressed German approached us at the Monasterio de San Francisco and explained that he'd been robbed of everything by unscrupulous sorts at 0400 and could we possibly see our way to helping him out.
It was a no-win situation for us - tell him to sling his Gerry hook and we would feel dreadful but hand over cash and he could be on the fiddle with us being the latest in a long line of mugs.
Well, I told him that if I'd been robbed blind then I would hope that someone would help me out, giving him 10 soles and telling him he could at least eat and drink now.
There is no telling if he diddled us but if he did then he is, quite simply, a git.
There's no bed for us tonight for that wondrous time is upon us where we make for Easter Island.
I've wanted to come here for so long and it's the sort of place you wonder if you'll ever make it to - I do hope it lives up to expectation.
haha, yeah andy. yeah, i'm reading it. i see you finally got yourself on a bike too. you heroes travel safe. cheers!
ReplyDelete