Motorbike RTW: Peru: A Lttle Less Drama and Lot More Joy

Writing about our adventures is an exercise in selection, sifting through an average of 100 photos per day and re-living the dramas and the joys. The photos need cropping, post-processing and the quantity reduced to the best 5-a-day. As we ride, we are bombarded by multiple moments of tension and excitement. The only familiarity is each other, our kit and the bike. Everything else is new and strange, testing all our senses to the limit. Watching U-tube and reading about motorcycle travel adventures puts a great distance between the actuality of feeling the cold/heat, tasting the wind/rain, smelling the grass/desert and hearing the engine/raging rivers. The previous few days, struggling with Altitude Sickness on an extreme scale, thrust our minds and bodies into a state of high anxiety. There were two moments of joy which counter-acted the drama and helped to re-balance our journey. The icy cold lakes at such a high altitude are great breeding waters for trout. We ordered grilled trout for breakfast from our Peruvian café/hostess. It was grilled to perfection and the rich salty taste combined with the soft texture calmed our nerves for the 105kms downhill ride. We are both still short of breath and every movement requires a slow motion sloth like action. Just as we set off a flock of very tiny (thumb size) yellow birds swoop across our path to collect tiny tufts of Alpaco wool that has fallen from the colourful bags strapped to the Ladies’ backs. It is a joy to watch as we start the recovery ride.

The plateau through which we ride is green, swampy, wet and littered with sheep and ponds. We concentrate on the views and beauty. What a privilege to have come so far and be part of this amazing landscape. Lower down the pass the sun comes out and glistens on the tin rooves of Puno. We see civilisation and the relief is enormous. So enormous in fact that I have a panic attack and scream for B to stop the bike. I leap off, throw my helmet in the bushes and howl like a crazy fool. B patiently sits and waits for 30minutes of crying and hicupps (snot en trane) before I feel better. We are still at 3800 metres so continue on through another 100kms of mountain passes, curves and climbs to Juliaca, which is also 3800metres above sea level, home to Lake Titicaca. We call it a day by 4pm, book into a hotel with lock up garage and succumb to the luxury of the first hot shower since Sunday (it’s now Wednesday), a good meal and a very nice bed.

Cusco (3400 m) is the starting point for visits to Machu Pichu and the next major town on our inland route. From Juliaca it is 344kms and we set off refreshed and enthusiastically early on Thursday morning. The flat basin that stretches across the plateau where Lake Titicaca lies is filled with glorious spring flowers and unique rock formations. We meet up with the ‘Boys from Brazil’ for a chat and photo session. The village houses advertised GuineaPigs for sale, but not as pets! We play dodgems with the hundreds of tuk-tuks that hoot incessantly and weave in and out the traffic. We pass a field of festival goers in tribal costumes and marvel at the man-made terraces scaling great heights up the mountain sides. The road conditions are good and our confidence returns, bringing a joyous note to our adventure. In writing these stories there is of course the inevitable drama and sure enough the lovely road conditions came to an abrupt end in Aruviri. The road just stops, but the traffic keeps going and an area the size of 4 football fields becomes a mega mudbath. With 10 lanes of traffic from all directions entering and exiting, the town planners have obviously given up. ‘Sort yourselves out’ seems to be the message. There is a small statue in the middle and about 400 vehicles all fighting their way around and across. Pandemonium is an understatement. The saving grace is that the speedlimit is walking pace, so that’s what we did. I climbed off the bike and walked in front, waving my arms, clearing the way in front of tuk-tuks and tankers, while B footed it behind, slipping and sliding. Once on the other side where the tarmac began again his wheels got grip and he zoomed off keeping pace with the now speedier traffic. Mrs Plod with mud up to her ankles met him at a layby half a kilometre down the road. Not a major drama but a slightly unsettling interlude to the joyful day. The Boys from Brazil overtook us while we sampled some traditional soup in Sicurani and again by 4pm, just 20kms short of Cusco, we found a fabulous 'Hospedaje' behind a purple gate to rest for the night. We really are trying to put the Altitude incident behind us, but are constantly reminded of our limitations when we dismount and feel so heavy, slothlike and breathless. It’s a battle to climb stairs, unpack and find a café for dinner. We book in for two nights and the lovely Rosa suggests a bus ride into town and a city tour of Cusco for our ‘day off’ from riding. What a good idea we decide as we opt for a little less Drama and a lot more Joy.