Ecuador: Nice 'n Dry

We eventually find the E35 heading out of Quito, aiming for the Peruvian border post at Macara some 752kms and a few days away. We fancy a ride on the ridge that divides Ecuador into wet and dry zones. We’ve ridden the dry coastal Ruta Spondylus and we've explored the northern wet Amazonas. Now it's time to do the bit down the middle. There is No GPS navigation in Ecuador so we are relying on me shouting out left, right, straight instructions to Brausch using the offline app Maps.me whilst clutching the phone. My new biking gloves have thin fingers allowing me to operate phone and camera without de-gloving. We are surrounded by at least six volcanic peaks on both sides as we cruise along the double carriage way, having a chat to a biker couple from Colombia at the traffic lights on the way. Its all very pleasant. Our picnic stop in Ambato, leaning against the park railings at the central Plaza consisted of cheese and jam rolls which we made earlier at the breakfast table at Hotel Margarita and hot coffee from the now slightly dented Argentinian metal flask (crash damage). This is going well. I wander off to re-charge the sim chip and phone the family. We are warned on four separate occasions about thieves and pretty crime as we chat and eat. It's a really busy crossroads and the Transito Police have a hectic time organising the traffic. When there is a nice quiet gap we bump down the pavement, crossing diagonally and start again along the E35. Four volcanoes later we reach Riobamba. What a fabulous route. The sun is shining. A pleasant 22 degrees and after navigating the ancient stone-cut roads around town we find the central Plaza. Again it's a green haven with paths,  benches and sometimes a flowing fountain. There are the usual scruffy layabouts, mum's and pushchairs and old men in classic double-breasted shiny suits with wide lapels. A nice timeless tableau. A scruffy individual approaches us as we stretch and relax on the bench,  never far from the bike and always watching it. He looks at our shoes in horror and withdraws from his little black tog bag a set of bottles,  rags and a tiny wooden platform. “Yes,  Si. Clean our boots”. A half an hour later with lots of scrubbing,  brushing, waxing, polishing and elbow grease we have new boots. We were fleeced of 10 US$, but in a nice way. Exiting Riobamba is another navigational challenge but we find the way out on a very twisty pothole poor condition concreted road which connects to the E35. We've done 209 kms so far today, but it's a bit too early to stop. Destination Cuenca is another 272kms, a bit too far on twisty passes. Never mind,  well find somewhere in between. IOverlander App has taken all the stress out of looking for accommodation so we ride along the ridge relaxed and confident that the room search will be easy. At some point we enter an upside down-Tjunction where we are on the horizontal bit. The sharp turn to the right signs to Guamote, a place I cannot find on our pathetic tourist map and we cannot really be bothered to stop,  hunt out the phone,  switch it on,  go through the rigmarole of typing stuff into Maps.Me.
“Keep straight” I shout. We are lulled by the beautiful scenery,  perfect temperature and general sense of wellbeing. A notice board for the Sangay National Park flashes by. We love National Parks. Green and gold grasses adorn the hills, blue gum trees line the road, the altitude is a steady 2800m to which we are acclimatised. We ride up and over a few hills settling into a steady ride along a valley floor now at 3400 metres. Somethings not quite right, so when we stop for fuel, I get out the phone to check the map. Mmm, we aren't on the E35 anymore,  we are heading south east instead of Just South.
“Turn? Or carry on?” As you probably know by now we aren't very good at making decisions so we ask the petrol attendant. “ Habitation?” and wave our arms in a pointing direction along the road. “Si”. OK, decision made. We carry on. 
Upwards and onwards. No traffic and the temperature drops to 13 degrees. We've been in this situation before so pull up by a thundering waterfall to don rainsuits and test the new rainproof spats-with-soles that we bought at the famous M&P Bike shop in Swansea on our recent sojourn to visit family in UK. As we rise higher the mist sweeps across the mountains,  every now and then offering us a glimpse of that National Park. We pass a huge Volcanic Laguna filled with crystal clear water,  reflecting the mist and mountains. It's beautiful, but no Cabanas here. We overtake a mini -traffic jam of a scooter,  2 heavily laden bicyclists, 2 horse riders leading a cow by a roped nose and a bouncy dog congested in a clump as they struggle up the hill. “Hi and Bye” we wave as we whoosh past. This is such fun. We are warm and dry. It doesn't matter that we have strayed from the chosen route. We are surrounded by greenery and waterfalls and mist and mountains and patchy tarmac and the occasional landslide. Except that it is now 16h30 and it gets dark by 6pm and we have yet to find a place to stay. We pass a Police pick-up who honks out a ‘whoop, whoop’ as we overtake.  A few minutes down the road we do a U-turn and pull up alongside the friendly cop. “Habitation?” we ask and wave our arms in a frontward action. “Un Hora” ( One hour!) we exclaim. It's now 17h30. We ride on as the rain strikes, the light fades and the road deteriorates with washaways and steep hairpin bends, glad in the knowledge that the police truck is a few metres behind. Dusk is a horrible time to ride as it's too light for the lights to be effective, yet too dark to see the inconsistencies in the road surface. With two pairs of eyes and a cop car following, we make it along the seemingly endless mountain pass into Maccas, 157 kms from the shoe shine at Riobamba and 214kms off track from Cuenca. We stop at a cafe for a regrouping coffee break and are immediately joined at the table by two giggling 15 year old girls who want to practice their English. With the help of Google translate we establish names,  ages (they think Brausch is 100!) and career paths. They both want to be professional footballers. And “What would I do if my husband brought another woman into the home?” they ask.  A short sharp “Leave” ended that conversation with lots of laughs. Hotel Splendit  is just down the road where we park,  offload the bathroom kit only,  cover the bike and strip off the wet gear. But we are Nice ‘n Dry.
Maps.me shows a 422kms route to Loja ( pronounced Logghha) via Cuenca or a 381 kms ride along the wet east side of the ridge. We ask Reception which route he would take: High Road or Low?. He says “Low” , at a comfortable 500 metre altitude.  It's raining. It always rains in the Amazon.   But our rainsuits,  waterproof overgloves and overboots are working 100%. We are now on the E45, Troncal Amazonas and the road surface changes between compacted stone,  asphalt and gravel filled potholes quite regularly. The many,  many tumbling waterfalls are powerful and impressive filling the deep roadside gutters ( deep enough to swallow the bike) with brown muddy fast flowing water that crashes into the culverts with a self made fountain before disappearing under the road on its way down to the next waterfall. The rain is torrential We arrive at a old primitavely constructed tunnel and disappear into its cave-like atmosphere, emerging into sunshine 1km later. Luckily there is a traffic jam with trucks and bulldozers competing for the one way system through some roadworks at a very pretty roundabout with a useful looking marble table in the middle. We pull up and unpack the freshly made rolls and coffee. It's great to travel with a simple picnic. We have added a banana to the feast. With the sun still shining we find a hotel with a pool at Qualaguizi and call it a day after 200kms. Loja can wait. By evening the sun has gone and the rain is torrential again. But we are Nice ‘n Dry in our room. Saturday morning and we are back on the road to Loja,  a mere 190 kms away. Most of our riding is reduced to 50-60kms/hr.  There are plenty more stunning waterfalls and a very slippery bridge that Brausch slides over. The hills are bright green as if someone waved a luminous green highlighter pen over them. At one rather run down village we stop to request a cup of hot water as the flask has run dry ( ‘aqua caliente, por favor’) and extract two Lipton tea bags. Sometimes only tea will do. The tiniest donkey called Poncho and the old rider, Jose, trot delicately by, no stirrups, and his feet almost touching the ground. They are on their way to milk the cows and carry very large empty plastic slingover cans for this purpose. I could do with some milk in my tea but settle for black with sugar instead. As we ride we are conscious  of the circling vultures overhead who do a good job of cleaning the road kill. Unfortunately we see a few dog skeletons picked clean. We climb the mountain pass up and over and at the ridge where the E35 and E45 meet, the scenery dramatically changes from green to orange/brown. A great painter had been here with the orange highlighter. The colours of the mountains alter from Orange to Brown to a Dark Indigo Blue as they recede into the vastness. It's now a very hot 26 degrees.  We shed the rainsuits in Catamayo and cool down with an ice cream. The road surface to Catacachi ( not to be confused with Cotocochi) is in good condition and Brausch can diminish his intense concentration a little bit to enjoy the scenery. It's a hostel stop outside Catacachi, with no cooking facilities or shops so we unpack the camping cook pots and boil up the 4 month old Spag Bols we keep for emergencies.  The border post of Macara is in sight and with sunshine,  birds singing and another glorious dry day we take to the road before the heat and before 8am. The green ‘monster men’ trees are now in flower and sprout tufts of white cotton wool balls together with clusters of parasitic staghorn ferns. There are gigantic bougainvillea plants draped over fences, startlingly red hibiscus and cheerful yellow flowers lining the valley road. There are flat top thorn trees reminding us of the South African bushveld, (without the giraffes), and lush rice paddies in the lowest parts where the run-off water flows.
It's been a wonderful 3 days. We never did get to Cuenca. But we did stay Nice ‘n Dry.
And now we are exiting Ecuador after a total of 6 weeks and some great adventures. It's a bit sad to leave this Green and Gold Jewel, but reaching Ushuaia for Brausch 80th birthday celebration is calling.  See you there.

Ecuador: Quito Culture

Quito Culture

Michelle asks us to SPOT THE DIFFERENCE. She points up to the 8 white plaster cherubs adorning the length of the upper ledge of the simple pink painted building opposite the grotesquely ornate Jesuit church. We check out the chubby angels flying along the frieze until we reach number eight. He has a disproportionately large appendage between his legs aimed straight at the chapel door. The legend goes that the masons (builders) and the priests had a falling out and this 500 yearold plaster cast is an everlasting insult. We are walking down the Avenue of the Seven Crosses alongside Plaza Grande in Historic Quito with our lovely guide, Michelle. It's comforting to see that at 2800 metres altitude and with a 40 year age gap, she is also slightly out of breath. Old town Quito nestles in a cluster of hills so there are many steps and steep paths up and down all congregated around the Central Plaza. We are taken into the Bishops House which now houses coffee shops and handicraft ware. We see the Spanish influence in the Andelusian architecture where the central fountain is within an enclosed courtyard for both security and coolness. Our walking tour includes the fable of the missing stone in the San Francescon atrium, thus saving the soul of the stone mason. We hear about the story of the unfinished state of the 500 year old Basilica as completion will result in the End of the World! The imposing statue in comemoration of the winning power of the indigenous people's against the Spanish in 1809 stands tall in the middle of the Plaza. Each year on August 10 th parades and fiesta takes place in memory of the great battle. There are many artisan workshops still flourishing in old town Quito, one of which is the labour intensive 'plomer'. He bends and beats the tin metal into shapes for baking, cookie cutters, urns, churns and milk jugs by hand. We visit a shoe maker where I get my very old comfortable smooth Keen sandals re-soled in a non slip finish. One street of workshops sew made-to-order soccer shorts and shirts and another street craft beautiful wooden ornaments and masks. The brightly coloured headgear sports 12 bobbles in all the colours of the rainbow, plus more, representing the various gods of the indigenous people. The traditional female dress is a long dark skirt accompanied by a white blouse that is decorated with colourful floral embroidery. Finally a shawl is draped over the shoulder; right side for married and left for single. Michelle 's ancestry is mixed with an Ecuadorian father and Peruvian mother. She has exquisite aquiline features and very long straight black hair. Her college degree is in tourism and she speaks Spanish, English, French and Chinese. Three hours later we finish up with a traditional hot chocolate drink, spiced with fresh mango and blackberries. The fruit here is delicious and together with chocolate, coffee and roses, are a major Ecuadorian export . We say goodbye to Michelle and slip a 'voluntary donation' her way.

We've been in Quito for four very busy days, walking as much as possible to acclimatise ourselves and because our hotel room is so conveniently placed we let the motorbike have a rest. Brausch has new lenses fitted to his super light Titanium frames for a shockingly cheap 50$. We find an audiologist who sells him a pre-loved hearing aid for 20$ and we visit the dermatologist who treats a skin lesson for 60$.

All in all our short stopover has been satisfying medically and culturally.

By Thursday we are done with the chores and tours and ride out of Quito TWICE. It's a conglomeration of highways and bypasses and tunnels. We get it right the second time around and 10kms later before riding South on the big challenge to get to Ushaia for Christmas.

It is great to back.

It is great to back. 

Our bike is SAFE. Carmel has done a great job. We found this parking site on iOverlander and can highly recommend it. Although covered in dust, there is one happy bike and two happy owners. We hand over the remaining forty thousand colombian pesos ( 11 euros per month) and unwrap our precious parcel. Concealed underneath the waterproof cover are helmets, bike gear, panniers and petrol can. All as we left it. How marvellous. We change out of our four day old clothes, change into motorcycle gear and after a quick cheese roll and coffee, ride the 2kms south to the Colombian border. We are stamped out, and the bike is stamped out. It is so early in the morning the Venuzeulans havent ýet arrived and it takes a mere hour. The short 500 metres over the bridge brings us to the Ecuador side , where we get stamped in and so does the bike: Our permit is for 67 days in Ecuador and the motorcycle gets photographed front back and sides, including the VIN number: All done and dusted by 11 am.

Its a wonderful feeling to be back on the bike. It is lighter, but we´re not after a 3 month European visit to family and friends. The roads are smooth and wide and the elevation takes us from 2700 down to 1500 and back up again. 

Our Go Pro has packed in but we bought a much less expensive French Sports Camera equivalent which we stick onto the front windscreen. The ride on the sweeping mountain pass from the Border to Ibarra is fantastic. We are comfortable and excited and happy to be on our  Motorcycle Adventure Travel trip again. It is such a beautiful day we look for a campsite, eager to pitch the tent and start the adventures. iOverlander directs us to a campsite run by Hans , the German, who is a keen enthusiast of Namibia and all things South African. His site is on the edge of a Laguna and also next to the one and only Formula 3 International Race Track in Ecuador, with the grand satand overlooking track an lake. We are welcomed by his enthusiastic dogs and a whole bunch of miggies. Glad to dismount after the exhilarating 130kms ride, we stride off to seek out the perfect campsite. The meadows are filled with Jacaranda trees and Amarilla lillies and we spot a tiny bright red bird of which I only have a blurred photograph :(  . We find the perfect location, on flat green lush grass, nestled in between two overlander vans and settle down to chat with Hans over an ice cold beer. And then the miggies attacked again. You know what, we cannot camp here! We really need a good nights sleep in a comfortable bed with crisp clean sheets and a soapy hot shower. Thank you Hans, perhaps next time. A short distance down the main road we stop at a hotel advertising Spa, Sauna, Jacuzzi, Pool and Turks. That´ll do. Budget blown, but who cares! The old fashioned elegance is so charming , with waiters rushing around carrying large trays on their shoulders. Nothing is too much trouble and we feel as if we have stepped back in time on board a luxury passengerliner. We wallow in the Pool, sweat in the Sauna and bubble up in the Spa. It´s too steamy and hot in the Turkish Baths. And that´s when we discover our sarongs are long gone. Not wishing to lament for too long and interfere with the pleasures the luxury bed and shower are supplying we mentally wish them well in their new home. Supper is a budget street treat of ´choclo assado´ (corn on the cob on the fire sprinkled with grated cheese and smeared with salsa) for one dollar at a BBQ trough on the road. Fortunately breakfast is included in the room charge so we hang on till then and eat enough for the day. 

It´s only Sunday, five days since leaving France and we feel as if we never even left Ecuador. The main road travels down the ridge of Ecuador, dividing it into coastal or amazon halves. Along the ridge are plenty of volcanoes and volcanic craters. The craters are filled with water creating wonderful Lagunas for recreation, fishing, boating and camping. We ride West to Cotacochi, and climb the road to the 3000 metre mark where the snowcapped peak overlooks the high altitude lake. An Ecuadorian has his ancient miniature weaving machine all set up with weft and waft and many coloured threads. His feet trundle away and his fingers deftly lift and drop the threads as he shoots the shuttle back and forth spelling our names on bracelet bands just in case we forget who we are. En route back down to the main road we are overtaken by three biker couples, hooting and waving: We hoot and wave back . A few kms down the road they are waiting for us at the Toll, where they have pre-paid the 20 cents for us to pass through and we meet up on the other side of the boom. There´s lots of hugging and chatting and arm waving and bike inspecting before we all kiss and say goodbye again. What a very special sunday, indeed.

153kms later, after another incredible mountain pass on wide sweeping roads with steep banks and drops and just the perfect camber, we arrive on a sleepy Sunday in Quito. The roads are empty, the traffic is minimal and we arrive at Hotel Margarita, ready to park up, a week short of 3 months since we left. It´s great to be back in Quito, Ecuador.

Schedules and Sarongs

Schedules and Sarongs

Like all good schedules , this one went a bit wrong. We have had a month at home in France, busily entertaining ourselves with chores and friends. The timing is perfectly planned to have a good night’s sleep and depart at 9am to catch a train to Paris with a few hours to spare before catching the plane to Bogota: Except we receive an email from KLM reminding us to check in and, shock horror,discover our plane leaves at 7am not 7 pm . Oops. With a bit of a flurry we tidy the kitchen, made some sandwiches, stuff a pillow each and the electronics into a knapsack and switch off electricity and water. We are not planning to be back until christmas. We are taken to the local train station within the hour by our ever helpful neighbours. We manage to change our train tickets which take us to central Paris, not the Airport, and enjoy a wonderful evening stroll around Paris, watching Tango dancers on the steps at LÓpera before catching the bus to Charles De Gaulle Airport.A ghetto blaster and speakers played romantic Latin American music to which passersby danced , showing off their skills at flicks and tricks. Our good night’s sleep takes place on the icy cold marble tiled floor of the French airport Terminal. Not one to leave half empty bottles of wine, brandy and whisky behind we pack those too into the knapsacs, cunningly concealed in plastic water bottles. Laying our sarongs on the floor and warming ourselves with a tot or two, we settle down on the floor, with I might add, a good few other people enduring a long, long night waiting for the boarding gates to open at 5am. Even in our discomfort on the floor, we feel sorry for those passengers with lolling heads balancing on the silly metal upright chairs. In Dubai airport there are sleeping rooms and reclining couches for the overnight passengers We get to Amsterdam by 9am, hang around a bit more then finally board the flight to Bogota for a good 10 hour sleep. The weird thing is , we arrive at Bogota at 2pm the same day, having ´lost´seven hours. We catch a taxi to the bus station and book the 5pm bus to Ipiales, some 900kms away. More than enough time to catch up on sleep and jetlag. Gee Whiz, do we sleep? Like pass out or what!! The sarongs, sandwiches and pillows come in handy again, but the water bottles now contain only water. Seven hours into the journey the drivers swop over, and we all disembark for a ´Banos´break and some coffee with another stop again seven hours later: This goes on and on for twenty seven hours as there are delays when the Police stop and search all the luggage with sniffer dogs and there are roadworks due to landslides. Intermittently, when our eyes are open we see stunning gorges, valleys and mountains, but we dont really care too much. We are anxious to see if our motorbike is where we left it some 3 months ago, in a parking lot under the hopefully watchful eye of Carmel.  When we arrive at Ipiales, on the Colombian/Ecuador border we stumble into a rather tatty hotel at the bus station and collapse. We left France on Wednesday evening and when we wake up it is Saturday morning. 

We awake bright and early as our body clocks are out of tune with Colombian time, stretch, throw back the covers, pack, pay the bill and in our eagerness to get to the bike discover that the sarongs are hidden under the bedclothes. Never to be seen by us again as we only realise this when we are across the border and 300kms away. We mourn the loss of these precious sarongs. They have been with us for more than ten years on all our adventures and have served us faithfully as towels, sheets, headdresses and anti-mosquito shawls. I stamp my feet and move on!

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Change of site

WE HAVE CHANGED TO
2up2wheels.wordpress.com

For a few reasons:

It is easier to upload photos when the WiFi is poor and I am writing on my phone.

Easier to scroll through the stories. Latest at the top.

By adding your email address in the empty box, once confirmed,  you will be automatically informed about new stories.

WordPress has more categories so in due course we will add *border crossings *yummy local dishes * artwork * road conditions * wow sights * wildlife pics *and more.

Blogger is great from a computer or lapbook .
So When we get home I will update blogger in my spare time.

Happy reading and motorcycle adventure travelling

Brausch and Sheila

Ecuador: South America's Best Kept Secret

We need to book out of Hotel Mercy by noon, and having slept like logs since 7pm the night before we rise with the larks. Our mission this morning is to clarify the vehicle insurance situation. With a lot of help from Google we discover the organisation responsible for motor insurance in Ecuador is named SPPAT and their offices in Machala are a few walking blocks away. We use Maps.me offline on ‘walking’ but walk faster than the little arrow which swings all over the place. After doing a few sharp u-turns mid stride B spots an exhaust fabrication unit with a USA bending machine just like his old one.  He pops in to admire it and strikes up a stilted conversation with the owner. Our lack of Spanish and his lack of English are won over by motorbike photos of exhausts on B’s phone. I show the SPPAT address to the wife who very kindly flags down a bright yellow taxi, negotiates a charge of 2 dollars,  and off we go in completely the opposite direction. With Google translate in hand we are let in by the armed guard at the gate and find our way to the offices marked SPPAT. “We would like to buy vehicle insurance for our motorbike” we talk into our speaking translator which then speaks to the lady behind the desk. She then speaks into the phone in Spanish and in turn the phone translates and speaks to us in English.  How marvellous.  The end result is that ALL vehicles are covered by the government and in the event of an accident the victims are cared for by the government.  It's free. BUT, we are warned,  “you must drive very carefully and keep your eyes opened and alert.”  How very marvellous. We are sent on our way with a happy holiday wish to go and enjoy a breakfast of coffee and bread next door.  Now we know why the driving here is so very polite and respectful. Stop signs are obeyed. Roundabouts have a formal give way to the right (the opposite to France) and cars wait while you cross the road. No need to upset the government with reckless driving. The only negative is the fumes. Not too much emission testing here.
Armed with a 30 day SimChipPlan, a new set of+2.5 readers and well informed about travel and healthcare we enjoyed the 10 minute stroll back to the hotel pacing our walk to match the arrow on Maps.me.  We did notice a few things though.
1. The ladies here are very curvy,  with both large tops and bottoms. Not fat, just curvy, and proud to show it all.
2. The window shop dummies are built to match.
3. There is an abundance of hair salons with manicure and pedicure. All busy and equally occupied by men and women. The men are particularly groomed coiffed and shaven with flick backs and top knots.
Still feeling a bit anxious about the danger/keep safe warnings we had received from our Safari Suite hosts in Peru we packed the bike and set off for the next town on our coastal route : Guayaquill. Stopping for lunch, in a restaurant BEHIND BARS, I was invited into the open plan kitchen to sample a shrimp fritter and some corn bread as we could not  decipher the menu.  It is so delicious we order one plate to share.  An American man with his Ecuadorian dad stops to chat. He suggests we follow the Ruta del Sol, better known as Rute de Spondylus.  So far, all our interactions and contacts with the Ecuadorian people have been warm, welcoming and friendly. We're beginning to like this place. Thanks to iOverlander App we drive straight to the chosen hotel with secure parking and enjoyed our 2nd night in Ecuador.  Being a bit too nervous to venture out in the city at night we sat in the upstairs hostel communal lounge,  enjoyed a few beers and watched the street happenings from 2 floors up. A very hard working young man in a stylish Ralph Lauren polo shirt,  slacks and trainers walked down the rows of cars when the lights turned red selling peanuts from his tray of goodies,  then ran back to the lights as they change to green, ready to start the trek down the queue when the lights turn red.  For every 10 green/red changes he may have possibly sold one packet.  He was there when we arrived at dusk and was still at it when we went to bed at 10.30. I was willing the drivers to buy from him. What persistence!  And perhaps he also has a day job. 
The visors on our helmets are beginning to show a great deal of wear and tear,  even though one of them was newly fitted at the start of this trip in January. Having a crash didn't help! As Guayaquill is a fairly big city this morning’s shopping expedition involves searching for Brasso , which we eventually found after a good hour’s trudge into a variety of supermarkets and hardware stores. We also found a tiny breakfast den making instant fresh fruit smoothies. I chose Alfalfa leaves,  Bananas and Avocado topped with a strange toffee-like liquid, labelled ‘Vitaminas’. Full of goodness and energy we travelled along the coast on Route de Spondylus ☆ , arriving 200kms later at Montanita by late afternoon. The skies turned from blue to grey although the temperature remained at warm 27 degrees. The Pacific beach front is lined with shrimp and lobster laboratories under high security and surveillance cameras. All very secretive. Until we arrived at Montanita where surfers and backpackers are gathered and there are plenty of hostels from which to choose. The prices match the tourist influx but we found a really cute yellow house on a side street away from the market stalls at just the right price with parking inside the lounge. We unpacked the bike, took all the bags inside for a 3 day stopover, and then B measured the door width with his chain.  The bike was too wide by about 1 inch! . Both the owner and us were really disappointed as we then had to reload the bike and find another place. We found a hotel on the beach front with a large gated garden and a hammock. Along this beach front are a series of benches at regular intervals. They are regularly occupied by loving couples, cuddling and kissing.  Not wishing to be left out, we found ourselves a bench, watched the world go by,  and spent a happy afternoon polishing the scratches of our visors. We watched surfers, a metal detector guy and bright red crabs. B teased the metal detector guy by dropping a coin in the sand just ahead of him. The machine beeped and he got the joke and offered us the coin back but B said keep it.
We wandered about the market stalls and saw many beads,  bangles, feathery things and polished spondylus shells carved into bird and heart shapes. The shell itself is now bordering on extinction, whereas once before it was used as currency ☆
☆ It served as a transaction currency, personal adornment, to make anthropomorphic statuettes, zoomorphic sculptures, funerary offerings, as part of religious rituals and food of the gods.
Magico-religious beliefs in Mother Nature governed the daily life of pre-Columbian cultures, to the point that they believed that owning a spondylus shell was synonymous with abundance, good omen, rain, was linked to fertility.

For my birthday gift, I chose a handmade silver necklace to which the Artisan attached a carving made of Jade from the Andes. Our relaxing sojourn in Montanita came to an end and we rode 45 kms along the coast to Peurto Lopez,  renowned as a whale watching spot. Our very cheap and ‘cold shower plus balcony’ hotel kindly let us park the bike in their foyer overnight. We bought a delicious turtle-loaf and local salty cheese to have with Wine for supper and Orange Juice for breakfast. So versatile.
From our balcony we watch the boats and wander across to the jetty at fish market time. There are hundreds of Frigate birds swooping around and Pelicans bobbing on the shoreline waves anticipating an easy catch. Frigate birds are not waterproof so cannot dive to catch fish. They get their meals by stealing from other birds or out of the fishing baskets. B had great fun throwing a few dropped fish into the air for them to catch and fight over. Sadly we saw a Marlin and Sting Rays that were being chopped up into pieces for selling. Needs must, I suppose. We researched a trip to the Galapagos, and have decided that a 3 hour whale watching one is more suitable. So it's booked for tomorrow.
A short walk back to the jetty and us plus another 20 eager spotters climb aboard the Rosita. Life jackets, rules and introductions done,  we had out to sea. “is it going to be rough? “I ask.  “no, it's the Pacific “ is the reply from our tour leader.  The sea matches the black sky as we zoom along,  bouncing forward as well as bobbing from side to side.  B and I focus on the horizon and cast our eyes wide and far looking for tell tale water plumes.  The 5 ‘ babelas’ (hangover) boys who had swaggered on turned paler and greener as the boat skimmed the crests and dived in the troughs. We just kept on gazing out across the inky black ocean and we're rewarded handsomely.  The captain trailed a pod of 4 whales in a circle for about an hour as they sped, surfaced and showed us their glorious fins and tails. The humpbacks have a stretchy white pleated underbelly which glistens bright turquoise in the water and we were lucky to catch it on camera.  I used the burst function to capture the swift rise and fall of the whale in between the rise and fall of the boat, quite successfully, I think. The babelas boys decided that watching movies on their phones or sleeping at the back of the little boat was more rewarding.  The journey back to the jetty took us past some blue footed Booby’s who were preening and balancing on tiny pebbles embedded in the step cliffs.
We ride on further along Ruta Spondylus, knowing to go no further than Pedernales where the Equatorial Line divides the world into North and South. We pass a forest of plump juicy fat green trees, looking like multi-armed monster men and eventually turn off down a gravel track to recommended cabanas,  which are closed.  The night watchman however phones the owner who agrees we can camp on the lawns. We are guarded by 3 great Danes and have a wonderful evening watching the subset and snuffling up in our new free standing tent bought in the supermarket in Lima some months before.  We decided that the posh hoop tent that needed pegs and guy ropes was not very practical and losing the 3kgs weight was an added bonus.  This 20 euro 6 berth weighs in at 1kg and we can keep our belongings inside with us.  Where better to put the tent up for the first time than on a lawn next to the Pacific and watch the sun go down.  The dogs kept us safe, although lots of cuddling and tail wagging made me wonder about their ferocity.
In 27 degrees and mist we rode past the feeble road sign marking the equator at Pedernales, then directly East through this green jewel called Ecuador. Down through Green Valleys,  up over Green Hills,  past rivers of Crystal Clear Waters and like any jewel it was being polished and shined by Squads of Cleaners.  B and I cannot get over the Lack of Litter.  There are troops of people just cleaning and sweeping and dusting and wiping. The roadsides are immaculate.  The hotels are immaculate. The restaurant tables and floors are immaculate.  Get the message,  its the cleanest place we have ever ridden through. At 1500 metres the mist is too dense and the road too twisty so we stop at a hotel run by a lady who speaks German. B needs to ride along the pavement and the shopkeepers willingly move their stands of chips and peanuts out of the way. We warm up with some yummy yucca soup before checking WhatsApp from family and friends in our spotlessly clean room. There's a big rumble early in the morning at 6am and we look out the window to see about 20 motorbikes parking up for breakfast.  Having moved a lot of tables in the restaurant to accommodate our bike we now need to get the bike out of the restaurant to accommodate hungry bikers.  It is such a pleasure to meet the Quitobikers on their Saturday run and we enjoy our breakfast with them. BUENOS DIAS.  The sun is out and so are they. They are riding West and sadly we part company as we ride East towards San Antonio De Pinchincha through natural vertical green gardens rising to 3000 metres and then down to 2400 metres. We get lost in San Antonio, find the monument and stop for coffee to admire an incredible canti-levered building and the art work of a artist who uses plants to create the collages of Ecuadorian legends. The moon dance and tiny figures are displayed prominently in his beautiful glitter, sand and bark works.

PERU: A Sense of Urgency

The plane touches down in Lima at 5h30 to a misty damp grey sky. We had been due to arrive some 8 weeks earlier to catch the last days of summer but a series of unconnected events kept tripping us up. Having welcomed the arrival of our granddaughter we are all set to resume the riding adventure around South America. On the day of departure B developed an acute ‘plumbing problem’ which requires emergency surgical intervention. On doctor’s orders he is banned from physical activities for 6 weeks and that includes flyng and riding any motorcycle. B is effectively grounded! The temporary import permit (TIP) for the bike in Peru is due to expire in exactly 8 weeks on June 24th. Which means that the moment the 6 weeks recovery time is up we must board a plane, service and replace worn parts, and ride the 1300 kms to the Peru/Ecuador in a narrow 16 day window. Whilst B steadily scans memorabilia photos and newspaper cuttings into some cloud,  I swan off to visit family in Majorca and CapeTown for afew weeks. We meet up again in Paris on due date, bearing a new motorcycle tyre, brake pads and other bits for the bike, ready to ride again. How lucky we are that our bike is safe and secure with friends who once again welcome us with hugs and our favourite freshly made granadilla fruitjuice as we emerge from a rather harrowing early morning oneandhalfhour Lima traffic taxi trip (28kms).
The arrival at Lima brings a few anxious moments as the peculiar shaped baggage of a holdall encased in a motorcycle tyre,  bandaged up with clingfilm,  has gone missing. We are also hoping  the vacuum pack of South Africans Best Biltong will clear customs.  A few enquiries at the help desk located the escaped luggage containing vital parts without which our trip s doomed.
I had left CapeTown on Tuesday for an overnight flight,  met up with B on Wednesday in Paris for another overnight flight to arrive in Lima on Thursday.  Our lovely friends put us to bed and when we woke up it was Friday! And time to put the action plan into motion. We have 16 days to get to the border 1300kms away. Day one of the action plan involves attending to the bike.
More wonderful contacts in Lima helped get the bike on the road. The Michelin Anakee 3 tyre had given an amazing 25000 kms of wear, and now needed replacing. With the heavy load it appears that we ran the tyre slightly underinflated resulting in the outside edge worn smooth. The original rear Metzler had lasted 12000kms, until it was replaced in Greece (BALKANS TRIP) with the Michelin Anakee 3 which lasted an incredible 25000kms. B contacted Michelin in France to find out about availability in South America which was negative.  He purchased one in France and we lugged it and other spares to Lima.
Together, B and Flavio (of EFE RACING) replaced tyre, chain and sprockets, rear brake pads, fitted new filters and replaced the oil, topped up the battery and gave the bike a power wash. The 12kms ride back to Base on a Friday night in Lima took 2 hours! ! Thailand driving is comparable to Weave and Glide.  In Lima it’s Push and Shove. Saturday saw us washing Bike gear,  buying mobile data Sim cards (called Chips here) and yet more sleeping.  Sunday saw us munching a fabulous farewell breakfast of pancakes,  bacon,  blueberries, cream and maple syrup before heading 50 kms back through Lima to the desert and coastal road North. 
14 DAYS TO DO 1300 KMS, EEZY PEEZY.
It’s a perfect 17 degrees with extensive cloud cover, so much so that the GPS signal from Spot  Tracker is having difficulty getting through. The landscape is sand, sand, sand and I need to keep glancing at our HiVis Bright Green rainsuits to remind myself that the world is not always monochrome. We follow ioverlander App to some bungalows on the beach at Media Mundo,  which involves riding on a Ribeiro ( unpaved road) . Naturally I am rather tense about this, however we have shed 20kgs of excess stuff which we took back home way back in April. The top bag is now empty and just there to remind me where the bike ends when I lean back. The ride down to the beach was uneventful and B commented “ the bike is altogether different, weight distribution perfect and centre of gravity nice and low with all the weight very Lowdown, handles the dirt roads perfectly”. The bungalows are beyond the budget but we catch a glimpse of wetland birds before riding into a village of mudbrick houses searching for another Hospedaje, which we cannot find. A kind Peruvian in his HotRod Car plus chick escort us on twisty dirt roads out of town back to the highway. Photos are taken and thank yous given before we ride into Barrancas, where we pull up at a gated/walled complex aptly named Sahara Suites (must be the sand?). The welcome was marvellous , with bottles of water, a car trip into town to buy wine, fruit juice and breadrolls, and an invite for breakfast in the morning. The walls in Peru, behind which people fortress themselves, are at least 8 metres high with 6 metre high metal padlocked gates. It makes sight seeing rather a lost cause. The well travelled Biltong and fresh sliced carrot sticks are a welcome dinner. A delicious pancake breakfast, accompanied by story telling from our USA retired Helicopter Rescue Host and good sound Safety Advice, set us in the mood for another day’s riding adventure.
1. Only show COPIES of documents unless otherwise asked. NOTETOSELF: find a copy shop
2. Only STOP at regular places, eg Fuelstop, restaurants. NOTETOSELF: no more pulling up to check route at random on the road
3. Be AWARE of your surroundings.NOTETOSELF: Anxiety levels increasing by the minute
4. Do not get ISOLATED. NOTETOSELF:  think Lion and Wildebees
We are still using a combination of GPS Garmin, Google maps, Tourist map, ioverlander App and Maps.Me to navigate and are experimenting with ‘co-ordinate location’ on the Garmin. Varying degrees of success depend on cloud cover and wi-fi / mobile data signal.   Monday 11th starts very misty and 15 degrees so we don the rainsuits for warmth and visibility. After a while a sort of sand blindness takes over with grey skies, grey tarmac and grey sand. We stay at another gated/walled motel on Tuesday where we meet our first other adventure traveller on a Triumph. Over morning coffee we swop tips and stories and connect up on whatsapp and facebook. Because we have a date deadline at the border we cannot team up to ride and rush up to the next town of Chiclayo, which can only be described as the TRASHDUMP centre of Peru. We finish the last of the biltong and fresh picnic carrots ( lasted 4 days in a zip lock, no fridge) from our friends in Lima and take timeout to check all the paperwork. SHOCK, HORROR! The permit expires tomorrow; the 14th!! Not the 24th!! How did I get that so wrong?? We are more than 500 kms away; we squeeze the bike out of the foyer of the Hotel Posada where we jammed it in for overnight security and tackle the long 400 kms journey today, leaving a short 100 kms for the day of the crossing. The terrain improves, passing through banana plantations, then wheat fields, cornfields, wind turbines, Oil donkeys and at last we reach the ‘Pyramids of the North’, where we find a cheap, pleasant hotel with a much needed swimming pool. A goodnight’s rest was not achieved, partly due to our anxiety about the border crossing and the loud Disco boom-boom beat from the partygoers in the town. There is no time to be grumpy as we load the bike and ride the last long isolated 100kms stretch along the coast passing a few fishing villages, to the border.
It takes a mere one hour to stamp us out of Peru and into Ecaudor, and two hours for the bike to be stamped OUT and then IN. And all on the right day.
We head for the city of Machala and discover that the Garmin is useless, despite having purchased and downloaded a 79 dollar South America upgrade.   Our first decent meal, apart from left over bread rolls, was a scrumptious garlicky mixed grill, and soon after we found the appropriately named Hotel Mercy and fell sound asleep by 7pm. All Sense of Urgency now vanishes and we can finally relax after a rather busy 8 weeks of visits, flying, operations, set backs and preparations.    

Peru: The Angel in Pink Wellies

We had been advised by the very helpful proprieter of the Hotel in Abancay to take the River road along the Valley to Puquio as the only other road out was treacherous and full of landslides. He described, with the help of google maps, the route along the river for 150kms then a bit high up and over the mountains before  arriving in Nasca, where the altitude was better. We are given hope that the next few days of the 1000kms ride to Lima would be easier on our lungs and arms. The first ‘easier’ bit was a continuous 30 minute steep downhill ride to get to the river bed, but we got there and could breathe a bit better and relaxed into a leisurely winding ride alongside a raging river. 

A few challenges broke into our relaxed frame of mind, namely washaways. Riding along the valley road, we crossed about 5 causeways which got progressively deeper as we got nearer to the river itself. The causeways are cement dips in the tarmac where the gushing mountain waterfalls cascade over. That’s fine if you are a big truck. The biggest washaway presented more than a challenge for me. I leapt off the bike and we watched for some time as the bulldozer moved tons of wet earth out of the way. A truck went through. A car went through and B lined up ready to go through. Everytime the bulldozer scrapped and moved the earth the watery pit was becoming deeper. It was B’s turn to move through. I video’d the whole performance which took an alarmingly long 3.40 minutes. 30seconds in to the crossing B almost lost his footing, as the gushing water hollowed out the earth where his feet were. He had to keep moving. The bulldozer man was revving up to shivvy B along and the Yellow hardhat man was blowing his whistle furiously. I was just screaming hysterically. 

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Then came along an Angel in the Pink Wellies. She marched across the pitted water-filled remnants of the road, grabbed the side panniers with one hand and the back pannier with the other. She steered B, holding him up first this way, then the other, as with their 4 feet they manoeuvred their way across the raging river, shin deep. Three and a half minutes later they were on the other side and the bulldozer carried on. The yellow hard hat man got me a lift in a pick up and I was driven through eezy peezy. By the time B and I were re-united the Angel in the Pink Wellies had plodded her way back to the starting point. How could we say Thank You? While we were faffing around, shaking wet boots and calming down, she strode over again, this time wading knee deep. Big hugs and thanks you’s and a fistful of Pesos did it for us and her. 

The Angel in the Pink Wellies

The valley road at 3200m went on and on for over 100kms, with magnificent gorges and canyons and plateaus. By the time we got to Piquio, the mist had covered all the landscape and even though it was only 1pm we found the one and only hotel, parked the bike, stripped off wet boots and socks, snuggled up in a warm bed and, being a Sunday, found FI on Radio Five Live to listen to the AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX. 

Puquio is a tiny bus stop town. Huge tour buses and coaches zoomed through on the one and only route joining Cusco to the Coast. By 6pm the stalls were set up and the restaurants opened, all in freezing mist and muddy conditions. We had delicious spaghetti and chicken soup, with goats cheese topping. On returning to our hotel, we discovered two more bikes in the parking garage: Two Honda XR 250’s ridden by the lovely Linda and hubby Mike. We had a great evening in the lounge swopping stories and the bestest moment was being introduced to an App called ‘ioverlander’. Exactly what we had been looking for: a live app, continuously updated, by overlanders for overlanders.  I felt a huge weight disappear from my stress levels as any type of overlander information appeared; from regular campsites to wild camping, with prices, and recent updates. Fantastic. 

Getting out of Puquio was an uphill adventure of 55kms of curves rising back up 1000m to 4600m again. We daren’t stop, just keep going along this beautiful plateau for another 100kms. The temperature dropped to 13degreesand in amongst the Pampas we spotted leaping creatures called Vicunas, a short haired long necked wilder version of the Llama. Large signs instructed all motorists to HOOT continuously to scare them off the road. The weirdest thing is that they are so well blended into the Pampas that up to 10 metres away they are ‘invisible’, that is until they leap. We blew our hooter continuously so they would leap away from us. It sort of spoilt the magnificence and beauty of the amazing ‘top of the world’ peace. 

Before the descent into the Desert Ride to Nasca we have a picnic and enjoy the sun and stare in wonder at the winding road we must now take to get to the coast. What goes up must go down. And down it went all the way to a large patch of sand and wind. We rode across this sandpit for another 100kms on the straightest road ever, with the wind trying very hard to push us over. The buses and trucks also did a good job as every time they passed we were whacked sideways by the wind and landed a few more inches nearer the edge of the road. Everything here seems to be in the extreme category.

We find the Nasca Lines and climb the towering steel stepped structure for a bird’s eye view. I buy a little stone, engraved with a replica humming bird. 

Both the Front and Back brake pads need replacing !

Young adventurers on a kawazaki 650, with more stuff than us.

picnic stop

At ICA we stop for an icecream and put our new App to the test. Yeah, a hotel within budget, with a pool and breakfast just around the corner. Such simple Luxury after a gruelling 10 days of testing us almost to our limits.

Lima is in sight! where we are staying with the family of our wonderful doctor friends/rescuers from Chos Malal. It is with huge thankfulness that we arrive at their house and get a glorious welcome. Suddenly our world has become normal again. We get introduced to a Camu drink (Red Berry) for breakfast and spread Peruvian Butter (mashed Avocado and lemon) on our toast. We shop at an Inca Market for goodies to take home and hear that our baby Grandaughter has been delivered safe and sound.

Lima is a green goddess in the middle of Sand, fed by 5 permanent rivers. The gardens of Lima are filled with bird sounds and visited by beautiful hummingbirds, busily drinking from the honeysuckle. I present our fabulous friends with a thank you and memento of our stay with them.

We need to return to France as our 90 days insurance/trip is up, but will return within 3 weeks to carry on.

As I write, I must explain that that didn’t happen. On the day we were due to fly back to Peru, B was rushed into hospital here in France for an emergency operation. He is now recovering, with absolutely NO bike riding for 6 weeks. Travel plans are on hold. 

Peru: "Thank you for your Bisit"

Tribals and Llama paintings

 70 % of employment in Cusco revolves around the Tourist Industry. The aeroplanes bring in hundreds of Machu Pichu sight seekers, Inca Trail Hikers and Packaged Tours daily. Lovely Rosa, at the Hospedaje with the Purple Gate, escorted us to the local bus stop at 8am on Friday morning. We joined in with the students and workers catching the local bus into the centre of Cusco. There is a front door and back door to the bus, entrance and exit. People get on and only pay when you get off. The conductor leaps out the front, runs to the exit at the back to take your money, then dashes back to the front door to see who got on, just before the doors close. It’s a frantic rush backwards and forwards as well as taking money, giving change and shouting out the destination in a bid to attract more customers. For the cost of 1 sol (about 20p) we had a great 90 minute ride. By 9h30 the traffic was almost gridlocked and we were happy to get out of the bus and play Tourist for a Day. 

Dinner?

Coca Sweets 

Cusco Town Square

Shopping

city tour

 First stop, a Tour Shop, where we met agents who are Bear Grylls enthusiasts. The Machu Pichu expedition is a 9 hour round trip and the Inca trail is a few days overnighting at mountain huts . Explaining that our search was for something a bit less energetic, we were then given all the city tour options, which they didn’t do. We left their agency and were immediately approached by a ‘city tour touter’. The next 3 hours was very pleasantly spent sitting first on a luxury coach, being driven around Cusco, then transferring to an open top double decker where we toured the countryside to relaxing pan-pipe music. We saw Spanish Places of Worship, Inca Ruins, Plazas and Sculptures,all the while sucking the Coca Candy Sweets. No effort required to do anything except listen to Elvis, our tour guide. He was born into the Quecha Tribe, speaking his tribal language plus Spanish and excellent English. A surprise Blessing by an Andean Priests, complete with Shell Horn Trumpet and 3 Coca Smoke Wishes ended the tour, just as the rain came down. After a coffee back at base in the Town Centre we caught the 90minute bus back to Rosa. On the bus we sat behind a very old Peruvian lady wearing a very tall white TopHat, with a wide blue and bow. I studied both the hat and her long black plaits, which were braided with very thick black wool, ending in a complicated crochet/embroidery pattern joining the two ends together in a pretty loop. We also got chatting to some English University Students, reading Social studies, in the middle of their placement year (3^rd Year). They had already spent 7months in Peru, helping at various Social centres, flying between city centre venues, funded by a UK Charity. We explained that we got around on a motorcycle, riding between city centres, funded by ourselves. No comment.

in Cusco

Spanish buildings

Hummingbirds Galore

Inca ground floor,the Spanish stole the stones for their places of Worship

Inca foundations and Ground Level with Spanish on the 1st Floor

Lucky Clay Bulls on the Rooves

Natural dyes

Natural dyes

Woolly Species and Natural dyes

Need a Hat?

Silverware

Blessing Ceremony by Andean Priest

Goodies for Blessing and Buying

Huge sweetcorn with a slab of cheese

With the happy, relaxing day over, and tummies full of genuine Italian Pizza, it was early to bed in preparation for the next day’s ride to Abancay. With the bike packed and our strength returning slowly we followed the same bus route as the day before all the way into Cusco, taking less than the 90minutes by bus. Cusco is situated one of many Valleys, which means that to get out of it there are many steep roads leading in all directions. The Spanish language has indistinguishable differences between B’s and V’s, both written and spoken, which turns listening into pockets of surprises. Trying to ride out of Cusco, following Garmin and road signs became more and more difficult as the traffic intensified. There are NO Rules. Nobody gives way at the Round-abouts or Stop streets, everybody  GOES. We land up at a Stop street, at an incredibly Steep incline with a choice of 4 roads. 2 steep up or 2 steep down. We really don’t want to take the wrong one and enter the mayhem again. Other Drivers Hoot and Overtake. We are Frozen in an Undecision Zone.

And then a kind man in a little silver car pulls alongside: “ Are you going to Secret Balley”?

 “ No, Abancay”

“Ah, Avancay. Follow me”, he says

We follow the silver car, up and over and around , in and out, keeping close behind, not letting any other driver sneak in or push us away. It takes a gruelling 20 minutes. We could have been lost in Cusco forever, without this guy.

At the main route out he pulls over with flashes on. We ride next to his window. “Thank you, Thank you so much” we call through his open window. “You are a life-saver, thank you, thank you”, we say again.

He smiles shyly and says sweetly “Thank you for your bisit”.

With this delightful farewell we are on the road again.

Abancay in the distance ( 33kms/1000 metres down/2 hours away!)

Hairpins Galore

Elevation chart.

It is a sunny day, we are feeling strong, and the road is good. We wait for a bulldozer to clear a landslide and find a few stalls selling fresh mango, papaya, banana and oranges. It is so hot now we strip off the thermals in the primitive breeze-block-loo-with-a-view overlooking another Balley, wash down the instant fruit salad with some tea infusion and carry on. The landscape is ever changing, green, low down along a raging river, then soaring up high. At the top of one mountain we spot Abancay in the distance. It is only 33kms away. “Soon be there we rejoice,” but it takes 2 hours! We go round and round and down and down, dropping 1000 metres in altitude over many, many hairpins. B’s arms are breaking and I’m exhausted from hanging on. The entrance into Abancay is steep and downhill and we stop at the first hotel sign we see. It’s cheap and has a lock up parking garage. Perfect. We settle in to our room, flop on the bed, install a VPN on the phone and catch up with Formula 1 on Five Live.

“Can you smell smoke?” B asks. I get up and look out of the 2^nd Floor hotel window. “Nothing here!”, I say, just as the fire alarm screeches loudly in time with the Start of the Grand Prix. We grab the Passport bag and helmets and keys, scramble down the stairs and gather with the rest of the crowd in the street. The chimney of the restaurant next door to the hotel has caught alight, buckets of water are being poured down it, the electric cables are melted and the fire engine arrives 20 minutes later. So much for R&R with Radio Five Live.

The Hotel owner is very embarrassed and apologises for the interruption. He then goes out of his way to show us on his computer, the route out of Abancay and all the elevations and scenic attractions. The northern exit from Abancay is too risky, too many landslides and too many curves. His advice is to go South, 150 kms along the Balley Riber road aiming for Puquio, which is 300kms away at 1700 metres. We can't wait to get to a more acceptable altitude and away from these valleys and mountains, with only one way in and one way out. A trifle claustrophobic, especially as we are short of breath,  Health & Safety & fFre Hazards included, which adds to the sometimes overwhelming sense of vulnerability.

Coffee, bread, jam and cheese are included, so that’s what we have for supper and breakfast. Our altitude in Abancay is now 2300 metres and we are already feeling a lot vetter. 

Smoke alarms and Evacuation, we are staying in the Hotel behind

We take the River Valley Road, Not that road!