Chiclayo to Ecuador. Goodbye Peru
24.12.09
'Asalto', 'ladrons', 'gente mala', 'dia', 'noche', 'no seguradad entre aqui y San Ignacio’, hay hostel bastante aqui’,
Translates to:
'Assault , 'thieves', 'bad people', 'day', 'night', 'not safe between here and San Ignacio', ‘there is a nice hostel here,’ is what 'Those men' with those big pump action shotguns tried to convey to us.
We looked them up and down trying to asess their black faded and thread bare uniform. A T-shirt saying “Combatiente de CENEPA”, army fatigue pants and a baseball cap was their uniform. It was, however, hard to take them seriously in their yellow candy coloured rickshaw that looked more like a joy ride toy than a real defense force bulletproof vehicle.
It was only moments before as we rolled down the gravelly road into Chuchuhuasi that another two of 'these men' with big shotguns appeared to us in the middle of nowhere asking for a 'propina' (tip). These shotguns were big, black and menacing and had us speeding by a fast as we could peddle as Stuart said ‘No, gracious!’.
Something did not smell right.
From Jaen (pronounced Hay-ayhn) we had seen an increasing presence of these sort of men, positioned on random corners, along this less travelled highway 5N route to the border of Ecuador. The first of 'these men' brought shivers down my spine as I reflected back on a story a fellow cycle tourist, Ezra, had told us about an incident he had had in El Salvador (Central America). He was attacked by two robbers armed with knives in a very similar environment (as I pictured) to where 'those men' were standing. It was as Ezra climbed the hill at walking pace that his thieves took advantage of his slowness and attacked from behind. Fortunately for him a truck happened to pass by momentarily scaring away the culprits buying him time to retrieve his own bigger and better knife. He managed to escape unscathed.Needless to say, since hearing that story and other less harmful incidents I have had very little desire to ride in Cental America.
But to say that Peru is immune to such robberies and assaults would be far from the truth.
Almost daily we are reminded of the 'ladrons' and ‘gente mala’ as locals voice their concerns about our safety on the bikes. To date, however, we have been fortunate enough not to have lost anything of value or have been threatened in any way. Nevertheless the fear constantly remains in the back of my mind.
So who were 'these men' who stopped us 15km short of our desired destination and scared us into a “safe house”? We don't really know. Are they to be trusted? We doubt it. What lies ahead is yet to be seen.
Our “safe house” is a 'hostal' that resembles a cell in a scene of 'Bangkok Hilton'. There are no windows other than the bars in the slot of the door. The floor is raw concrete, the crumbling mud brick walls are partly coated in dilapidating render. The single bed, the only piece of furniture, is made of straw. We haven't heard the rats squeal yet. There is no shower and the toilet is a worm filled hole in the ground out the back of the hostal. The only mod con and sign of technology is the single fluroescent globe that dangles over our head and the gear we rolled in with. Should it not be the 'ladrons' on the inside of this cell? For now we are safe but not for long. The dengue fever infected mosquitos have moved in and we have been decided to take cover in our tent pitched, to the ammusement of the locals, inside our cell.
This prison cell environment has created optimum conditions for me to reflect on our time here in Peru.
Like Bolivia, Peru to us has been a place of contrasts and contradictions. However, it seems to me that whatever Bolivia does/has Peru seems to do it better or somehow to the extreme.
The mountains have more grandeur, the valleys are deeper and the rivers have more flow. The Puna/altiplano is higher, prettier and has more wildlife. The desert is truely deserted such that not even a scrub can be found (it makes the Australian outback look like an Oasis). While Bolivia has the more beautiful part of Lake Titicaca; Peru has the Pacific Ocean. Bolivians have car horns but it is the Peruvian’s that really know how to use them and have installed every variation of car blaster available on the planet. Even in the household the noise doesn’t end; there is a rooster, a dog, a turkey and a stereo in nearly every house and all seem to operate at maximum volume. They can be quiet, polite, reserved and giving but often they (men) are brash, chauvinist, boisterous and even down right rude. Formal schooling is non existent in many places but Peruvians seem to be generally happy with their lives and their lot. They are justly proud of their beautiful country, its magnificent geography, their flag, their ruins and their culture.
We spent exactly 100 days in Peru and we can remember nearly every one of them. We have had some of our best days in South America here in Peru and we have had some of our most miserable. The most tasty of food and cuisine in South America and sometimes it has not been prepared in the most hygienic fashion. Such extremes are always going to mark your mind indelibly. The most beautiful of human experiences and some of the most disturbing. The most beautiful landscapes to the most barren, dirty, rubbish strewn garbage dumps next to “No botar basura” (don’t dump rubbish) signs. Peru is extreme in so very many ways.
Our final dash in Peru was from Chiclayo on the Pacific Ocean, across the Andes and via the northern central highlands of Peru to the Ecuadorian border. It gave us a little taste of everything: the desert and seaside towns, the Andes and their small pueblos (towns) and the tropics on the fringe of the Amazon.
As we travelled from west to east to cross the Andean mountains, it was half way up a 2137m climb that a group of curious eyes peered through a school fence. With our limited Spanish speaking skills, we exchanged a few words with the intrigued children and showed them our flags. The children always love the flags on the back of Bob and we always seize the opportunity to educate them about where we have come from and the flags of their neighbouring countries which we have ridden through. Child, or adult, many Peruvians do not seem to know of Australia, let alone where it is. They do, however, seem to know the Kangaroo, which I have had to, on many occasions, demonstrate by hopping around. Interestingly they do have McCleods Daughters on TV but I guess the program does not really give an indication that Australia is the largest island in the world.
The music teacher, Jose, seemed to be impressed by our efforts and invited us into the Pasallapampa school for the rest of the day, and in which we camped there for the night. Never have I seen children so adorable as these. Each child aged between 5 and 14 came up and welcomed us into their school. Each boy offering Stuart a handshake, then myself a kiss and handshake and the girls gave us both a kiss and hug. All kissed and hugged up, Stuart partook in a game of football with the boys whilst I chatted to the girls. Twenty minutes later, we were invited into their class room to watch them sing and play beautiful traditional Andean music. It was a very moving and beautiful moment for both of us.
School finished, around 4:30pm, however officially it is meant to be 5pm. There was another quick round of football before the children left, farewelling us again with their courteous handshakes, hugs and kisses. Very cute and 100% adorable.
The “profesors”, Paul and Jose, offered us a luxurious camping spot inside a classroom where we pitched our tent to avoid mosquitoes, had a shower and cooked dinner with Paul. He lives with his family in Chiclayo on the coast, 130km away. Given that home is such a long commute, Paul stays at the school during the week days, so it was lovely to have his company and be honoured by his fabulous hospitality. He cooked us potatoes of several varieties, eggs and a marinated cucumber salad. Tea was a delicious chamomile, orange leaves and cinnamon infusion, all from the garden. We brought to the table a mushroom risotto.
Keen to finish our climb before the heat really kicked in, we rose, packed up and ate breakfast early. Just as we were ready to roll out the door, Paul invited us in for (a second) breakfast. We didn’t tell him about our first breakfast. He had ever so generously made us creamed rice and tea. Almost busting out of our seams, he then packed us a lunch of boiled eggs and potatoes for the road. How lucky were we to be invited not only into the company of Paul and the safety of the school but also to be so well fed. It was touching to see people that really do not have a lot, give all that they have got.
Paul then insisted that we stay for a further 10 minutes to meet the school Principle, Maximo, which we obliged. Meanwhile the children started to arrive greeting us again. They loved the camera, so we took some more photos of them, promising to print and send a copy from Jaen. As we rolled away they waved us goodbye. We kept smiling about the experience we had and the thought of hot potatoes and eggs for lunch.
The pass meant we were officially fare welling the Pacific Coast and desert line and greeting what we had hoped to be the lush tropics on the other side. As we edged our way towards the top, the temperature dropped, the clouds rolled in and we passed through them admiring the immediate green, moist and mossy surrounds. Feeling a shiver, we put on our wet weather gear for what we expected to be a chilly and wet descent through a forest. It was anything but that.
Less than 50 metres into our descent, the cloud cleared and the landscaped opened up in a hot, dry, treeless, Wild West landscape. The wind was intense, almost strong enough to blow us back to the Pacific! We continued to push on. Our dreams of lush green shattered to smithereens.
The valley became a gorge, further funneling the wind. We pushed on in search of a camp spot but no luck. The cliffs were steep and every flat spot was taken by a house and a chicken pen. As the early evening closed in we virtually had to force ourselves onto a family in Huabal, offering them 10 soles for a position near the pig pen. The family of 10, did warm to us as we told them about our experiences in South America and we let them have a go of our bikes.
There were three turkeys running around and we asked which one of them was called Christmas. The three girls said that all three turkeys were going to be eaten at Christmas. I guess this is one hungry family!. They then continued to ask a few questions about us; the usual children, family and age questions. They were very surprised to learn that Stuart is 40 and I am 31 and so were we to discover that they were 14, 21 and 26. We could have easily added another 5 years to their faces. Perhaps the effects from the ever so intense sun.
Camping amongst the farm animals never gives us a good night sleep, so as early as the roosters start crowing and the turkeys do their wobble-gobble-wobble thing, we were packed up and on our way, hoping to beat the inevitable head wind. As the road ever so gently undulated through the valley, we started to see something through our bleary eyes we thought was a dream. Fertile, green and luscious vegetation. Oh, so beautiful. We even rode past the first lawn movers and whipper snippers we have seen to work in South America. Ahhhh…..the smell of cut grass.
The smells of greenery were all around us and the fruit was piled up at roadside fruit stalls. 35km into our ride we pulled up in Pucara and spotted a juice bar with jugs for 2 soles (about 65 Aust cents). The fresh juice was so good that we decided to enjoy one of lifes pleasures and turn our riding time into drinking time and cash in on a decent nights sleep in Pucara.
The roosters once again got us rising at the crack of dawn for an 83km ride to the next major town Jaen. Passing through the occasional small pueblo, with their stalls of local produce – pineapple, papaya, cacao (cooking chocolate) & coffee, we turned off the Chamaya River at Chamaya and witnessed the landscape change from green to jungle-like cloud forest in the matter of 15km. We were now in Jaen and really on the fringe of the Amazon. My, what a remarkable difference to the dry gorge we passed through only 140km ago.
Jaen, itself was not much of a tourist attraction but we did find a nice hotel to stay at for three nights whilst a bad stomach bug of mine passed by. We both took Metronidazole, giardia antibiotic. (Thanks Dennis/Jorge/Wikipedia)
It was 64km beyond Jaen, after passing the most magnificient countryside with rice paddies, tropic forests and gushing rivers that ‘those men’ with the pump action shot guns put a stop to our day in Chuchuhuasi. We were warned that the road ahead was too dangerous because of assault robberies, especially after 5pm. They advised against camping and told us that the adjacent hostel was the last for 45km and we called it a day. However, I was feeling a little dubious of these men and asked them with my limited Spanish if they worked for the government . They said ‘no’ and he was distracted without giving a full explanation before we headed off to our prison cell. So who DID they work for and who WERE they?
So here we were confined to our cell in that horrible hostel, not really knowing what lay ahead or who these men were, when we started to ask more amongst the locals. All of them confirmed that the next 45km to San Ignacio has had some problems but “no mucho”. However in contradiction to the locals commentary, ‘Those men’ kept driving by pointing to their eyes then pointing around to indicate to us that they were keeping their eyes on the look out. They would drive past our room and slow down to peer in, and then drive off. It was as if we were being stalked.
Night fell and as Stuart was filtering some water, he started talking to a neighbouring cellmate about ‘these men’. Stuart learnt that ‘those men’, were actually self employed security guards that rely soley on ‘propinas’ as a salary. They place themselves on the road to give the public a perception of safety by their presence and plant fear that there is major crime problem in the area. The driver’s slow down and give them a tip in return for ‘their safety.’ In other words they are a kind of mafia.
Stuart and I laid in bed discussing how actually do they generate a salary. Surely, a few coins from the infrequent passer byes would not be enough to sustain their combined salaries.. We began to worry, that there were in fact, armed robbers ahead, and that perhaps the mafia got a cut of the share from the thieves. We had seen similar scams in the cities of Peru and Argentina, where someone “owns” a piece of street and “guards” your parked car. If you say you’re not going to tip them when you pull up then you can expect that by the time you return, something will have happened to your car.
So why were ‘these men’ picking on us lonesome cycle tourists? Was it because Stuart refused to tip‘those men’ with the shotguns, 4km ago?
These thoughts were spinning around in my head as I started to dose off to sleep. Just as I was on the edge of slumber, ‘those men’, perhaps drunk, came banging on our door. It felt to me that they were almost kicking it in. We laid trapped in our cell, in the complete darkness, motionless, pretending not to be there as I wondered if the door was going to hold. After 15 minutes they exhausted their attempt and left our doorside to retire to their room, just next door.
In the darkness of the early hours of the morning came the next commotion as they started up their mototaxi with much fuss and left God knows where to at this strange hour of the night. I woke to the thought that perhaps they were off to wait for a couple cyclists riding up the road!
Bleary eyed and grumpy that ‘those men’ had spoilt our last few days in Peru, we packed up and left. We decided to hitch a ride and avoid any chance of trouble to San Ignacio. As ridiculous as it seemed, neither of us wanted to jeopardise the safety of each other after there were so many warnings. It may very well of been that this mafia were only intending to harass us until they received a few small coins from us. It is likely we will never really know.
Our ride in the pickup truck was an interesting experience. Stuart was in the back of truck with the bikes and I in the back seat. As the early morning sun started to stream through the clouds, people went by with their daily business and life seemed pretty normal. I was contemplating to ask the driver to stop to let us out, as I digested the ridiculousness of the night before. Just as I opened my mouth, the driver asked why we were hitching. I said in my simple Spanish ‘because of the thieves’. As I said this, I peered down to the left hand side of the passenger in the front seat. Next to his leg was another of those huge shotguns. They told me a story of the dangers between our last town and San Ignacio and that they had had two separate incidents with thieves. Hence the reason for the gun. The driver then continued to tell the other two back seat passengers about the event. Little of it I understood. I just stayed quiet and thought, maybe we made the right decision in the end. It was a bit of a drag that we we rode the whole of Peru, and felt barred from riding that 45km from Chuchuhuasi to San Ignacio. .
Once reassembling our bikes in San Igancio and stocking up on some goods, we asked locals for directions out of town to the Ecuadorian border. In answer, we got pointed to four different directions by four different people. After a couple of laps around the town wandering like headless chickens, we found our escape route and headed towards Namballe. 15km later, nearing the top of our second pass and marveling at the views, we stopped on the side of the road to take photos of the jungle valley below. A French couple, Alain and Claude pulled up beside us in their motor home, introducing themselves. After getting to know them for 5 minutes they offered to carry some of our gear. Without hesitation we handed over ‘Bob’ and my two front lightest bags and agreed to meet them at Namballe, near the Ecuadorian border. With such glee we chased each other up over the passes, along the ridges and through the valleys, feeling free as birda after the loss of a few kilos.It was not long after, Stuart realised that he had in fact, given these strangers, all our passports, most of our money and cards and thousands of dollars in equipment. He was filled with worry as we reflected back on a recent incident on trusting another European:
One evening, after peaking in on a church mass and feeling the ‘goodness’ in the air, we strolled back to our hotel only to be stopped by a seemingly distressed Austrian who had just been robbed. He had not long ago arrived into Chiclayo, which is anything but a gringo tourist city, and stupidly left his backpack in the taxi whilst checking in on the room rates and availability of a hotel. The taxi driver saw the opportunity and drove off with everything.
This Austrian seem to understand little Spanish and his English was somewhat broken. He asked for our help which we obliged, walking him back to our hotel and offering to put him up for a night whilst he got himself sorted with the police the following morning. Knowing very well that we were about to hand out come cash to a stranger, I started my usual assessment questioning. Where in Austria are you from? Etc etc. He seemed to answer all my questions. What seemed really strange, was that he said he had also left his wallet in the backpack in the taxi but had a bottle of aftershave in his shirt pocket instead. He kept offering this aftershave as some means of short term compensation for our generosity. Why would you not have a wallet on you and why would you instead have a bottle of aftershave in your pocket? I kept wondering. He said that he wasn’t thinking about the wallet and had just visited the mens room to splash on some aftershave. I guess he wasn’t thinking either when he gave the taxi driver a ticket to rob his stuff.
Arriving at our hotel, we began to check him in, when he queried about whether he could get to Lima to sort out his passport overnight instead. It seemed evident to us, that he also needed some more cash to get to Lima. Still feeling a little dubious about his delimma, we escorted him to the bus station to book him a ticket on the night bus. It was then that I reminded him that he (supposedly) had an appointment with the police in Chiclayo to report the incident. He said that he would be better off going straight to Lima, which I couldn’t disagree with. Whilst I may have been subtly scrutinizing his position you couldn’t help but put yourself in his situation. Ticket in hand, we exchanged emails, so that we could be reimbursed, then Stuart handed him another $50 soles to help him on his way,
We never heard back from our Austrian “friend”. It seems now that it was indeed a tourist scam from another tourist. Luckily our total loss only really equates to a small amount of about US$25. A small price to pay really for thinking that you are doing the right thing by another unfortunate tourist.
So here we are rolling down the hills to the Ecuadorian border and we have handed our passports, cash, cards and thousands of dollars worth of equipment to complete European strangers. They could of crossed the border with our things and we would have also had to find our way back to Lima! I reassured Stuart that these were ‘good people’, who offered us water when we needed it.
The international highway turned into a dilapidated dirt track suitable for a 4WD but would have been an exhaust scraper for a 2WD. We tackled each pot hole, muddy bog and gravelly surface with full concentration as we rode fast towards Ecuador. Stuarts front pannier rack broke, his Granny gear continued to play up and our new brakes were wearing but it felt good to be riding a road and load more suited to mountain biking than touring. The views were magnificent!
Arriving into Namballe, 3 hours later, Alain and Claude were there to great us with our gear before checking into a hotel. It was only hours later, after accepting a dinner date with Alain and Claude in their camper, that we began to realize that this couple were actually our guardian angels. Alain had every tool imaginable to fix Stuarts pannier rack and the boys got to it whilst being surrounded by the usual curious Peruvian children. Meanwhile Claude fixed us up some very delicious French crepes with rum soaked sultanas. Absolutely scrumptcious!
Alain and Claude have now been travelling in their 4WD campervan in South America for 2 years and have no intention of stopping in the near future. They are an interesting couple and gave us a fabulous insight to other places we have not seen and a mode of travel that we were a little jealous of. :^) We bid our farewell in the pouring rain and headed back to our hotel for our last night in beautiful Peru.
The rain continued to bucket down and showed no signs of easing until nearly 11am the following morning. Puddles turned into little lakes, the mud became a thick sludge and roads disintegrated into a boggy trail. This was national highway 5N! We passed a fork in the road, with no sign to the border but gambled our chances for the next 4km. It was as we descended a slight gradient and I used my brakes that I realized that I had in fact slightly sprained my left wrist and arm from a fall the previous day. This was not a good way to leave Peru nor a great start to Ecuador.
The border crossing was very non-eventful. We were highly amused that the International Bridge was paved with a double line painted on it. The only stretch of bitumen for 100’s of kilometers. We savoured it as we rolled across. The bridge has only been open for about 10 years and it wasn’t much before that when the border was closed due to the conflicts and preceding war between Ecuador and Peru.
The Ecuadorian immigration officer was super friendly and kept repeating how Ecuador was “mas tranquillo”. And our experience from there to our Christmas destination of Vilcabamba was amazing for its deep river valleys, copious quantities of rain, boggy pools of mud, friendly dogs, happy people and above all tranquility. We decided to catch a “ranchera” (big covered truck with bench seats) from the border to Zumba because my wrist was too sore but we did then ride most of the way from Zumba to Vilcabamba.
Vilcabamba is an oases for gringo travelers. Great food, cold beer and English speakers abound. A perfect way to celebrate Christmas in South America and to rejuvenate ourselves for the epic that awaits us: the crossing of Ecuador in the Andes.
Merry Christmas to you all. Thanks for the warm wishes received so far.
May you and yours have a wonderful Christmas Day and holiday break.
Anita and Stuart
Posted byStuart Kane at 5:14 PM
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Anita & Stuart! A great big Merry Christmas & Happy New Year to you! Was out on the slopes last weekend - and it rocked (well, only in some places...they can always use more snow!) If you make it through this way by April, you can spend the anniversary on the slopes and/or baby sitting ;-) Hope 2010 is a great year for you. Cheers, Kouros & Fereshteh
Dear friends:
Happy 2010 to you!!!...
Diana and Gustavo.
From Rosario, Argentina.
Hi Stuart and Anita, I hope you had a great Christmas and NY! Your photos and stories are fab - please keep them coming. Are you missing four solid walls and a regular bed yet? I bet you thought about it while sleeping in cell #4. Love to you both. xox Susan.