Back from South Africa and loaded with spare parts and other important goodies like gummy bears and biltong we were on the road again. This time sticking to the well worn artery of the west coast: the Panamericana.
A bit shy of authority after our Bolivia-Peru border experience we were dubious when some cops pulled up next to us on our first night. We had set up our tent on a cold, foggy but tranquil beach with only armies of grey gulls for company. Well, we were surprised when they turned out to be just checking to make sure that we were ok and had everything we needed. Our faith was restored. The next plan was to avoid Lima completely by taking the Panamericana highway straight through. Somehow, we went wrong somewhere and got sucked into the vortex of Lima’s bustling traffic. We decided the smartest way out would be to hire a taxi that we would follow to get us through. It worked and soon grimy, crowded Lima was disappearing in our rear-view mirrors.
About an hour and a half’s ride from Lima was Lachay National Park, described in our guide book as a sign-posted turnoff directly off the highway. Well we took a turn-off, and followed an ancient, faded signpost for the National Park that led us to a barren side valley that twisted,
turned
then finally narrowed to a lush oasis. Believing
ourselves to be in the National Park we set up camp. Moss
topped dunes
stretched up on either side of us, nourished by the fog that rolls off
the Pacific, completely cutting off any noise from the Panamericana and
making for an idyllic campsite. No sooner were we settled in than some
rangers came walking along the road. It turns out we were in the Park
but no wild camping was allowed there. We reluctantly packed up and
rode back to the right entrance a little further along marked by a huge
welcoming board and signs to the campsite. So a little sheepishly we
made our way to the right spot. The next morning we woke up to an impenetrable fog. You could feel the moisture against your skin and even see the drops of water floating in front of you. There were snails everywhere, they had taken over the place, and it seems a lot of them had spent the night in our empty beer bottles drinking up the dregs. Looked like it had been a good party! After
overcoming the
fog induced lethargy we explored the Park. We
shared the paths with only the occasional school group, and a low
budget music video crew. Having been subjected to the tinny sounding
clips in cheap eats along the highway we knew what was going on. It
seems national heritage sites are hot spots for Peruvian musicians to
shoot their homemade videos. Humorous but also a tad annoying as their
music blasted out from car speakers across the serene valley while they
wandered through the mist while being filmed on a handycam. I guess
they would have laughed too if they had seen our photo shoot. Axel the
paparazzi had me driving along a sand path in the mist while he took
shots. Only the mist was thick and the sand thicker and I ended up
dropping the bike. There are only so many times Axel could swop my
cracked valve covers with the Russian’s!The Panamericana continued along coastal roads encroached by sand dunes, past chicken farm after chicken farm (they do love their chicken here). It was a desolate but beautiful coastline, with mile upon mile of
deserted wild
beaches and only the occasional adventurous surfer out
in the cold water (Mancora, Peru has the largest left hand point break
in the world!). In Barranca we shacked up at a
lively place
called the Hotel Jefferson. The very friendly owner recommended a local
Chifa (Chinese) restaurant. There are quite a lot of Peruvians of
Chinese or Japanese origin and their influence is especially noticeable
in Peru’s cuisine. In no other South American country will you find as
many Chifas as here. After Barranca we carried on north where we had our second run in with corruption. We were flagged down by a police car and told that this stretch of road was a 25km per hour zone (while trucks thundered past us at 80km/h), and that we were being fined a hundred dollars. Axel, I must say, is a master at playing the Police with his invaluable African experience. He always keeps his cool and plays the part of the happily ignorant
tourist. After
some feigned misunderstanding he pulled out our
secret weapon - an EU form printed off a government website. Travellers
can give this to Police to sign in event of any encounters with the
law. This ruffled them. They parried with ‘’aleman, solo diez dollares”
ie. A reduction to only ten dollars for being
German. Axel held his ground. So they changed
tactics, apologetically asked for “Benzina?”. Axel enthusiastically
pointed out the canisters on the motorbike offering ours (in small
quantities of course), then pretended confusion when they insisted they
needed money to buy their own. Oh! OK, Axel said, “Do you take credit
card?” The Police by then had lost their staying power and sent us
off, having given up on the dumb, or perhaps they suspected,
not so dumb tourists.