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Easy Riders

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Most of the towns I passed so far on this journey looked all the similar to me, made specific only by the people I met there. Same with Huancayo: an unspectacular friendly town, where I met Aline&Cédric again, coming back from their excursion into the jungle. We continued together for the way to Ayacucho, an easy ride with a climb up to 3900m and then a gentle descent of some 250km along the valley of Río Mantaro. This river traces a narrow band of green into the surrounding desert land of eroded rocks, crooked cactuses and sandy tinted planes. We had a light time together and enjoyed ourselves – life felt free and reckless in this beautiful valley. We camped out three nights in nice camping spots along the way. For the first night we pitched our tents next to a natural pool after an adventurous river crossing in a small cable car. The courteous dueño took us on an evening walk up the steep water formed rocks to some old and rotten mills where we balanced on a 5m high water sewer. It was a refreshing rest, before we crossed the desert valley all in dust the next days.
The traffic on the only radial road into Ayacucho was heavy and gave us a rough ride. We rented a shower there and left the same night in bus to Abancay.
Since my camera broke down, I owe some of the pictures above to Aline&Cédric: many thanks!

Copyright GoogleMaps

Sky is the limit

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Between these two mining cities lies the large plain of Lago Junín, the highest-located lake in the world. It is endless space stretched out to the mountains on the far horizon, yellow dust under a blue sky, white and blue gleaming of the water surface surrounded by browsing alpacas and chirping birds.
I crossed the void to Huallay with its famous bosque de piedras, animal-shaped rocks, and the next day back on a dirt road via Pari to Ondores, a lonesome village at the lake. The longly threatening tempest caught me there, but just at the right moment, I got a ride to Junín: Tito and Shannon, an american volunteer for the local ecologic lake organization, loaded my bike on their four by four truck and drove me the 20km alongside the lake banks, beautifully covered with pink flamingos. It was still so cold that my hostal’s landlord supplied hot-water bottles for the night.

Days off in Huaraz

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I cycled the short distance to the andinista town Huaraz, but I did not feel strong enough these last days to continue. I rather opted for a few quiet days of recovery, reading, writing and waiting for a new bicycle chain ordered from Lima (the 10 gear cassette seems not the best choice for these remote regions).
Today, I undertook a beautiful excursion to the Laguna Churup in the Huascarán park, climbing up to 3800m by bike and then hiking for 1,5 hours further up to 4500m where this crystal-clear lake is stretched out on the feet of the clouded mountain Churup. I admired the sunset, but had then a hard time descending on the roughly gravelled road: out of the dark, angry dogs attacked me several times and I had to firmly defend myself shouting and throwing rocks. I was glad to reach my lovely hostel at about 8p.m.
On the St.Cruz trek a week ago, I had a look in the detailed headcount statistics of the guardian at Huascarán park. The most common nationalities are Israelis, French and Germans (with only about 4 Peruvian visitors each month). The hostal housed the very same proportion. Talking to the Israeli guests, they explained to me that it is very popular to schedule a year of southamerican adventure after their obligatory three (for women: two) years of military service.
Tomorrow I’ll set off again, now come the real mountains. The only true mystery, my friend, is the road, the road ahead.

Huascarán National Park

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The Huascarán park contains 16 peaks higher than 6000m of the cordillera blanca which is the world’s highest mountain range out of Asia. I could not resist the temptation to traverse it on the splendid St. Cruz Trek, which for four days (and three camping nights) crosses its northern part and offers beautiful views on the main summits.
The colectivo to the starting point Cashapampa was fully occupied: 3 persons in the front row next to the driver, 4 persons in the middle row and one older lady among the luggage in the trunk. Carrying the heavy bagpack stuffed with camping equipment, warm clothing and food for 4-5 days, walking becomes another category: move slow and carefully watch every step, since a twisted ankle may become a severe problem in this remote wilderness. Luckily, the route climbs moderately for two days up to the mountain pass Punta Unión at 4750m and descends with some ups and downs to Vaquería at 3700m. In the first night, at a nice camping spot near a river, I met the colombian mountaineer José and the swiss couple Aline & Cédric, both cyclists as well, and we continued the trek together. The second day led us through a nice sand plane up to a camp site at the foot of the Alpamayo, dubbed „the most beautiful mountain of the world“. It was indeed an impressive view even from the southern, less glacially side, but as soon as the sun disappeared behind the ridge, I slipped into the sleeping bag, out of the cold. The next day was a long hike of about 10 hours over the highest point of the trek (unfortunably a very clouded view) and down to the sweet valley of the Río Huaripampa. During the night, I was caught out of the sudden by a heavy diarrea which made the normally easy 5hours-walk to Vaqueriá the next day a hard tour. With two pills of immodium (many thanks Aline!), I survived the 4 hours ride in the again very cramped colectivo back to Caraz: the road was rough but beautifully passed the icy mountain Huascarán (6768m) and the Lagunas Llanganuco. When arriving Caraz, I felt like Messner must have felt when coming from Mt.Everest: back to the pleasance of civilisation, a shower, a good meal and the satisfaction of a great experience.
In the meanwhile, Germany had made its choice between an uninspired chancellor and a fen fire on the ego trip.

Copyright by mcsa.org.za

Cañon del Pato

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These last days had completely spoilt a set of brake pads. It was good to have new ones for the long descent from 3200m (Pallasca) down to 500m (Chuquicara). In spite of the strong head wind, the temperature was at 40°C and the air was so dry that a road worker, asking me for un aguacito emptied my one-liter bottle at once. (I got another one handed over from a passing car later).
Water was a severe problem in all villages of this region: they generally shut down the public supply during the night and -in case of shortage- even during day time. You realize the immense value of water opening the tap and nothing happens…
I’ll never forget the beautiful scenery of this desert valley: the rocks were shining in black, brown, red, yellow, rich in minerals.
Arriving with the darkness at the few huts of Chuquicara, I met the world cyclist Henrik, cycling already for 3 years. We spent a superb evening having four beers and an interesting conversation about our experiences with the cultural differences here, and were friendly invited for the night on two mattresses on the earth floor nearby. He headed for the coast the next morning, while I went for the famous Cañon del Pato, a collection of tunnels digged into hard rocks and steep hillsides.
Leaving Huallanca, I met the google street car – they got a nice picture. I often wondered that, especially in Peru, there are still white spots: google maps and OSM miss a lot of villages and the few paper maps you may find (only foreign publishers) are full of mistakes, confounding town names, indicating wrong distances or altitudes or marking crossroads as villages. It is kind of comforting that even nowadays in our controlled world, there is still free space for discovery…
I arrived the calm and lovely mountaineer town Caraz the next evening.
Since Cajamarca I’ce cycled for 495km, climbing 8400 altitude meters.

Pallasca

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When I came back from breakfast the other morning, I found the hostel closed – the owners had left. Neighbours indicated to me that el dueño was school teacher, so I went to the local college: it was his day off. But, knocking on the classrooms, I could finally get grasp of his son who had the key…
It was a long descent via Mollepata and a long climb in 22 curves on the other hill side up to Pallasca. But after this week on tough gravel and sand, I was just glad to be back on tarmac again. During the climb, I had a friendly conversation with a campesina: she told me that in winter time, all these dry and yellow hills are green!
In the nice mountain village of Pallasca, I took a día de descanso and enjoyed a hike to a mountain pass and the cima Chonta above the village.

Encounters along the way

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I spent the first night in a rather shabby alojamiento, just glad to be out of the traffic. When I came back from supper, the door lock was jammed. A short struggle ended with a broken key in my hand. I saw no other solution than to break the window beside the door, but the young employee tried a smoother way: he fiddled for about 10minutes with a wire sling through a small slit, succeeded to open a window and through the window the door. There is always a better solution than brute force. Think twice.
The other day, it was time for a new haircut and I picked one of the countless similar peluquerias. I had a nice conversation with the barber, an elder man, about andenean music. In the end, he showed me the back stage of his shop: a whole orchestra of instruments with an exhaustive digital recording equipment! Waiting for clients, he always practises some tracks. Use your spare time. Follow your dreams.
Leaving Cajamarca for San Marcos, I could not resist the temptation of a beautiful camping spot overlooking smooth hills. Just when I was about to secretely pitch the tent far from any house, two dark figures, hats deep in the face, appeared out of the darkness. I did not have time to be scared but asked them what they were looking for and if this was private ground. They wanted to warn me of the cold and eventually invite me to their house. They politely said goodbye, disculpe… Never trust the first appearance. Always grant a reserve of faith.
Along the way, I saw two women in front of their house weaving elaborated coloured patterns in long panels of drapery. I intriguedly observed them for a while: as they told me, it needs a week to weave a bag which they then sell on the market. Good things need time. Have patience.
On an evening walk in the cozy village Cajabamba, I got into a political demonstration, considerate speeches and a traditional music corps. Suddenly, someone patted my shoulders and asked me for the bicycle: the cake seller had remembered me leaving Cajamarca on bike. You are always on stage.
After a night in a comfortable hostal in Cajabamba, which I felt was underprized, I offered a tip to the ama de la casa. She only accepted it due to my insistence: „usted tiene un camino largo para regressar a su pais, yo ya vivo en mi tierra.“ Money is not the only currency.
On a long climb up, I passed an elder woman, obviously walking with pain due to arthritis in their feet, but carrying a heavy bag of greens. I offered help asking what she was carrying: feed for her cuys (guinea pigs) which she gathered on her lot 5km down the hill. Never stop caring. Love and duty keep you alive.

Ancient Witnesses

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After 60km of comfortable cycling in the valley of Río Utcubamba, I arrived in the early afternoon Tingo, the „basecamp“ for visits of Kuélap, the famous fortress of the ancient Chachapoyas culture. This culture dominated the Amazonas region from 800 to about 1300 AD when the Incas conquered, assimilated and transformed it. Its main residues are round stone towers, the Kuélap site itself counts about 450 remaining ruins, living space for about 3000 persons.
It was already too late for the climb to the mountain top at 3000m, so I visited the ruins of Macro instead: a rather well-conserved settlement at a steep mountain side whose location was indicated to me by my landlord Luis. A wild river crossing, no signs at all, just a small path traversing cactus groves to these completely relinquished ruins. Eye-catching the typical decorations, proving an amazing sense of proportion. Walking around, I spotted little caverns in the hillslope: as later explained to me, these served as tombs, but some of them as well as tunnels to the other hill side.
Early the next morning, before sunrise, I set off for the 2,5 hours climb by 1200m to the main archaeological site. I won’t ever forget the moment when out of the clouds the main fortress wall appeared. Apart from the lonely guard, there was no one else, and I enjoyed three hours of absolute silence, alone with the wind and the stones, surrounded by red, steep rugged mountains covered by sunny spots. Nature had recaptured the site where formerly life with all its placeres y sufrimientos took place, living towers, assembly houses, market place, and a seemingly quite elaborated water infrastructure (el tintero). The work of generations, carving stones and stacking them with a paste of loam, sand, chalk and the juice of tuna, a cactus plant. I stood wondering what will be left in a thousand years of our sophisticated civilisation.

High Falls

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I’ve just arrived in the right moment: the next day was the excursion of the tourism cooperativa Caretur to the Catarata de Yumbilla, one of the five highest waterfalls of the world.
Together with Ron and a german-american couple volunteering for the Amazon Waterfalls Association (see there for further information on the waterfall), I was the only „westerner“ among 50 locals; we passed a great time together on the three hours walk: some knew all about eatable plants in the wood, and I tried the delicious berry Mosgal and Agrillo, a type of sorrel (Sauerampfer). The waterfall was impressive: a high fall (in total 895m) and then a little stream dripping over the edge of a richly coloured basin.
With welcoming hospitality we were invited to almuerzo in the mountain village Cuispes afterwards and to the vivid feedback discussion.
The Catarata de Gocta, which I went to see in a 1,5 hours walk through thick forest the next afternoon, is still more famous and has a different character: falling in two drops, the upper one a torrential stream, the lower one a mild curtain of mist in ever changing formations. I watched the fascinating structures for one hour until dawn and spent the night in a family’s home in Cocachimba.

Ecuador: Farewell

Today, I crossed the frontier to Peru, leaving behind the marvellous landscapes of Ecuador.
Amongst the many impressive, lasting reminiscences, I will forever remember the time at the foot of the volcanoes, the Cotacachi, the Cotopaxi, the Tungurahua, and the crossing of the Oriente, my first encounter with the rainforest.
I cycled in this country for 1310km, climbing 24.390 altitude meters.
Most of this distance together with Andy whom I’d like to thank for his refreshing, humorous company. And I thank the kind and interesting people I’ve met and those who helped me along the way, the shop owners who had suelto (change money), the children for their laughter and happiness, the road acquaintances who responded my greeting.