9. April 2012
Ordeal and Tears of Joy Part 6
Two Passes and a Mud Eye
When I wake up this morning my right eye is burning like hell. I’ve had that before but this time it doesn’t improve after breakfast. With my sunglasses and Alex’ hat the sun is less blinding and my eye is watering less.
Totday we want to go over two passes of 4200 m (13800 ft). Against the slight symptoms of altitude sickness (fatigue, headache) both of us are taking a soroche pill. Appearantly the aspirin that it also contains is good as well form my mud eye because when we start riding I don’t feel anything any more.
We are riding on significantly better gravel in bright sunshine at a moderate elevation uphill. The way winds itself through rolling hills. The morning is a cyclists dream. On top of the pass a cold wind is blowing. We find a sheltered spot and are having lunch. When I am taking off my sunglasses my eye is reporting back. I am putting them on again, trying to ignore it. We put on warmer clothes for going downhill and cruise down to the valley. On the way we are passed by a big proper bus. I can’t help wondering on what kind of ways (we are still on a gravel road) busses operate here.
The second ascend couldn’t come quickly enough. Because our legs don’t agree with that by now we are taking a break every 50 m of altitude to catch our breath and in this rhythm we are well reaching the top of the second pass. The view up here is wonderful. Everywhere around us are snow covered peaks. Numerous clouds conjure phantastic shapes in the sky providing a beautiful lightshow. A vicuña is crossing our way, hides behind a hill its head reappearing moments later to watch us.
We are putting on our warm clothes again. What follows is a sheer endless decent on gravel. Alex is slipping twice with her front wheel escaping with nothing more than a fright. The landscape is constantly changing. Time and again there are new colors and rock formations. Further down there are terraced fields again.
Cold to the bone we arrive in Huambo at 17:00 o’clock. The only hostal in the village is closed because the owner is still working in the fields, harvesting Oregano one of the important products of the village. Searching for a place to eat we are asking two women dresses in colorful, voluminous traditional costume and Alex is promptly scolded for being dressed too cold.
The restaurant is right on the opposite side barely recognizable as such. Inside are four plastic tables, a small counter and a TV. Two locals are watching a Kung Fu movie. Dinner is at 18:00 the owner, cook and waitress in one tells us. She sees we are freezing and offers us some tea, which we gladly accept. The warm cup in our hands life is coming back to our stiff bodies and we realize how tired we are. My eye is hurting again in the bright neon light. There is no menu here only the dish of the day and that is absolutely yummy. All ingredients in the soup and rice dish are grown here and super fresh. Alex is for once ignoring her vegetarianism and hungrily eats what is served.
As we are going to our hostal it is already dark. The house is half finished, our room very basic and the shared shower is flooding the whole bathroom as we are using it but today we don’t care. I just want to go to bed, close my hurting eye, and sleep.
4. April 2012
Ordeal and Tears of Joy. Part 5
Lechero – The Milk Truck
The following day is better, it is not far to Lluta and we can ride our bikes all the way. Although it is going downhill to we can only make about 15 kmh (10 mph) at the most, because the gravel is so rough. Our bikes have to give everything but we make it a bit before noon in bright sunshine. We ask around for the lechero, the milk truck, which we are hoping will take us to the Cruce de Huambo in order to save some miles uphill on bad roads. It is supposed to come around 14:00 and will take us and our bikes. Until then there is nothing to do except sitting in the sun which we don’t mind since we are exhausted from the past days.
The truck finally arrives at 14:30 due to the bad road conditions that we have already experienced. It takes quite some time until all passengers and their luggage that rode the truck together with the milk got off. There is no bus going to and leaving from Lluta so this truck is the only means of transportation for the people living here. It passes through Lluta twice a day on its way when it is picking up the milk cans that are taken to the big milk factory Gloria. The truck is old and rackety with a wooden enclosure but open to the top. There are two people running it: one is loading the milk cans that have been left by the small farmers at the side of the road a bit hidden in the bushes and the other one is driving.
Finally it is our turn to mount the truck with our bikes and with us quite a few other passengers are getting on. They are well equipped with blankets and warm clothing because it could get cold again since it is going up. Our warm stuff is somewhere buried in the back of the truck with our bikes.
Finally we are setting off. First it is going down into a canyon again with frequent stops for picking up more milk cans and letting off the first passengers or taking more on. The dirt “road” is very narrow and also in bad shape plus it is only wide enough for one vehicle to drive. I am just hoping that we are not going to see any other cars as we have during the past days. Markus is standing on the milk cans able to look down and I have decided after a short while that it is better for me not so see anything because right beside the wheels it is going seriously down. The other passengers seem to be less worried: three girls are playing cards and a little boy has fallen asleep on a sack of potatoes and whenever the truck jumps especially hard he wakes up and laughs happily. For him it seems to be more a three hour roller coaster ride.
As we are going up again it starts to get cold and it looks like it is going to rain. Everyone is putting on more clothes and we wish our panniers were not buried somewhere. Slowly the truck is filling with more and more milk cans until it is almost completely full with almost everyone sitting or standing on the cans.
After as it seems an incredibly long time of shaking and freezing we finally reach the Cruce de Huambo a concrete gate in the middle of nowhere which indicates that the road now goes in two directions. We get off, pay 10 soles (2,80€) for the ride and other passengers too welcome the short break for taking a pee or changing to the more comfortable places on the truck. We are taking off to find a place to camp which is not so difficult on this plain. After a few meters on the bikes we are even getting warm again.
As we are making tea after we have set up camp an old indigenous, who is herding cows and sheep up here is passing by our tent. She is dressed in many layers of warm clothing and on her back she is carrying a bundle with wood to do the evening cooking. She is up here to protect the animals from being stolen, especially in May when they are fat. We invite here to have a cup of tea and a few crackers with us which she thankfully accepts. Before the sun has finally set she takes off to her camp. My respect is immense for the people and their hard life up here and how everything still runs with the rhythm of nature that we have learned to acquire too.
After the shepardess has left we cook our dinner on our little stove and crawl tired and full of impressions in our cozy warm sleeping bags.
2. April 2012
Ordeal and Tears of Joy Part 4
Pushing, carrying and a bit of cycling
As I look uphill in the morning I am counting 12 turns and I don’t want to know what is coming further up. We are packing our bikes behind the pile of rubble and try to cycle. We make it until the first turn after which the gravel is so big and the path so steep that we are pushing. Whatever, the next landslide is blocking our way approx. 100 m further up the way. We are unpacking again and carry bikes and luggage over the rocks. Afterwards my thighs and ankles are thoroughly scratched. We push, cycle a few meters and push. The next landslide appears. In fact it is the same one as before, we just keep crossing it because of the serpentines. This time we are pushing and carrying one bike at a time together and I am bruising my ankle for the umpteenth time and cannot quite suppress a fit. Alex is unbelievably calm and confident. Sure, turning back is no option now and she is convinced that we will make it. I breathe deeply and keep on pushing.
The higher we get, the smaller the piles of rubble but overall the way is so bad, that we cannot cycle. That also doesn’t chance after we have reached the first caterpillar that is coming from above clearing the road. It leaves behind a way with loose sand and big stones which doesn’t make cycling easier. A glance on my GPS shows that we are making 150 m of altitude and hour. Not really much…
But Alex is right, some time, 800 meters higher up the steep part is over and we can cycle again. At the turnoff to Tuya we meet the second caterpillar. We are taking a break to wait for its work. I am taking the backpack to walk to the village to get something to drink. Agua sin Gas is out because also this place hasn’t got any supplies recently due to the bad road. I am buying coke that has brought us well up the mountain with its sugar and caffeine. Two woman shake their heads as I am talking to them. Why are we traveling for a whole year? Why by bicycle and not by car? It gets so cold here that is not good for my wife! What are my brothers saying that I am so far from home? With my poor Spanish I am trying to explain about life in Germany and that this trip is our dream but it is of no use. I am a bit “poco loco”. Back down again also Alex was not bored and has made acquaintance. We eat the stale rolls and cheese and filter water from the river.
The caterpillar makes way for us so that we can go on and we are struggling uphill again. It is becoming clear that we are not going to make it as far as planned today. We are tired from the horrific morning and the way keeps forcing us to push. We are making the pass and below the way we find a small, not agriculturally used terrace from Inca times – our campground! Farmers are passing with mules and kids and welcome us to their country. Slowly we calm down and are happy that we did what is usually only possible on foot. While our noodles are cooking we are being rewarded. The sunset is painting the sky and mountain in wonderful otherworldly colors. With the Chachani’s snowcapped peak glowing in different shades of red we are enjoying a romantic end of the day. It is always great when Alex is right.
2. April 2012
Ordeal and Tears of Joy
Could you tell me the way to the canyon please?
Shortly after breakfast we see a Peruvian coming along our way. He is short, wearing old shabby clothes and sandals. It is the kind that you can buy anywhere here whose sole is made of old car tires. It is still early and cold and we are looking at his feet. He starts talking to us but we don’t understand anything because he speaks in a hard to understand dialect. We say “no comprendo” and he just stays where he is. We assume that he wants to know how we got here so we try to explain that we came by bicycle. He doesn’t understand as well but doesn’t seem to mind either. Since the conversation turns out to be a bit difficult and we also need to get going we continue with our morning activities. After a while the Peruvian goes to the other side of our tent where he discovers our bikes. NOW he understands “ah, bicicletta”! He keeps standing there as well looking at our bikes, contemplating. After a fairly long time he moves on into the direction we came from.
We finish packing our stuff and climb the last meters of altitude to the top of the pass. We are making good progress but unfortunately the asphalt soon comes to an end. The rest of the way to Cabanaconde will only be gravel and dirt. But the weather is gorgeous and we are motivated. The snowcapped volcanos keep appearing and we can’t get enough of this beautiful landscape. We keep stopping to take photos or just to take time to watch.
It is only downhill to Huanca and slowly we are bouncing down over the gravel. As we are approaching the the village we are encountering the first people again. Here in the country in the mountains they are even more friendly than we are used to, we are greeted with a handshake, they ask where we come from and where we are going, find it great that we are from Alemania, want to know our names and are happy that we are traveling through their country and village by bike. Finally we are where we wanted to be, in nature and with people who still have time and are not caught in civilisational stress.
The first thing in Huanca is FOOD (Empanadas) and our desperately needed sugar-caffeine-kick: coke! We are hungry like wolves and the empanadas are only taking care of the surface. The village cops are walking up to us, we answer above questions and pose for photos. And they ask us how the street to Arequipa looks like, if cars can get through because there hasn’t been a truck for so long
We buy 12 liters of water in small bottles since the big ones are out because there hasn’t been a truck with supplies. And, for the first time we have the marvelous idea to fill one of our bottles with coke. A wise choice as we will see.
In the village we also hear for the first time that there is something wrong with the bridge in the canyon. We ask if it is passable by bike and are getting different answers. We nevertheless keep going as we don’t want to 1. turn around and 2. not fail in the mountains again.
After a little up and down behind the village we are reaching the upper rim of the canyon. On the opposite side we can see where we have to go up again. OMG! But before we can go up again we are going down on a bad, from the rains washed out path so that even here we need to get off and push the bikes at times. After a few turns we encounter three Peruvians sitting on the side on the hill asking us where we are heading. We explain: “Through the canyon to Lluta.” they answer something which we once again don’t really understand but it sounds like either the way and/or the bridge is not passable. After a bit of back and forth we ask them if it is possible to go on foot and they say it is but the skeptical look on our bikes remains.
We decide to keep going anyway. A bit further down the road we finally can see the bridge, and it is in one piece! But right behind the bridge half the mountain has come down and a huge pile of rocks and debris is right where we want to go. Before the bridge mud, that was washed down the hill by the rain, has gathered on maybe a stretch of 10 meters and as Markus who is in front of me tries to push his bike through he is sinking in up to his ankles and his wheels up to the spokes. Alone he can’t go an inch further so I am taking off my socks and push from behind. Same with my bike and then we have reached the bridge where we can easily push across. Yet behind the bridge there is this big pile. A bit underneath we can see an abandoned hut with a fairly plain patch of grass in front. We decide not to go any further today but to set up camp here. So we unpack our bikes and carry all the stuff and the bikes over the pile of rocks to our place for the night. Out tent is set up quickly, we are taking a bath in the river again and Markus is fetching water a couple of times to clean the chains, wheels and brakes of our bikes form the mud.
A few people are passing with mules and a motorcyclist on his Enduro is coming from above. We ask him if it is going to be like that up until the top and he says the piles of rocks are getting smaller and it is slowly improving. Gulp! We are cooking dinner trying not to think about tomorrow and enjoy our idyllic spot by the river. Now there is no turning back anyway!
2. April 2012
Ordeal and Tears of Joy Part 2
Camping on the path
Breakfast at seven, that was the plan…unfortunately the morning shift hasn’t been informed it seems. So we are eating our muesli and one after the other we are being served hot water, tea, eggs, rolls and jam. Everything is fine, we are not able to eat everything at the same time anyway. At 8 o’clock we are rolling out of town and shortly after we are taking off our sock because the road is flooded. Friendly workers in rubber boots are signalling the best way and little Hübi in me is having fun because of the wet adventure.
The asphalt has given way to a gravel road that is good to cycle. We are gradually going uphill and see the first terraced fields. Every half hour or so we are passed by a truck on the way to the mine, other than that it is beautifully quiet. After lunch the road turns to Huanca and (yippehh) there is asphalt again. The road is lazily winding uphill along the valley. Time and again we are making our way around rocks and gravel, the rain has left its traces. Soon we are learning which damage the rains really have done. In parts the water has flown underneath the road with the result that, at two points it is gone altogether. The second time we are not able to go around and have to push our bikes through the river bed one at a time, one of us steering and one pushing from behind. But for us it is easier than for the bus driver who got stuck going this way and who is now trying to arrange the rocks in a way that he can get out again. He’s here since yesterday and greedily drinks the water we offer him.
In the afternoon clouds start piling up again and we are looking for a place to set up camp. It proves to be difficult as there are not many flat spaces here and when there is one it is obvious that this was the place where the water flowed last night. Finally we are setting up camp right in the middle of a little path. We haven’t seen any car in ages and hope that on this minor road none will be coming any more.
It is still early, we have gone all the way we wanted to and are enjoying camping on 3200 m (9600 ft). A little below the path there is a river where we are taking a bath (brrr), I am taking photos of cactae that are indoor potted plants at home and with the breaking dusk our camping stove (the Ortlieb kitchen, insider for Colleen) is spreading a delicious smell. It is starting to get cold and after everything has been cleared up I am happy about my cozy and warm sleeping bag, as usual.
2. April 2012
Ordeal and Tears of Joy Part 1
Gradual good-bye from civilisation
We are leaving our little apartment with mixed feelings. It means saying farewell to comfort and cozyness and heading for the unknown. It’s time to go though otherwise we might not want to leave at all.
Because we haven’t been in the bike seat for three weeks we’ve decided the first part on our way to the second deepest cañon in the world to be a short one. Our goal is Yura, a small village with hot springs, a kind of a Peruvian spa. Due to the fact that it is Sunday there is less traffic on the road, nice! Nevertheless the clouds of exhaust fumes are getting on our nerves on the way out of the city. Passing the local airport in best weather we can enjoy a final glimpse on the volcanos Chachani, El Misti and Piccu Piccu, an impressive farewell panorama especially now that I got to know the El Misti more close up!
The way out of Arequipa is dragging along. More and more people are moving into the city and so it is spreading. The suburbs are poor, the name Ciudad de los Dios seems to be a bad joke.
At some point there are abruptly no cars and houses any more. We are listening to the rolling of our wheels on the asphalt and the sun is comfortably warming our backs.. I am starting to feel adventurous again. Finally we are back on the road! In spite of a few flowers and a modest green it is dusty. We are still driving through a desert that is trying disguise itself after all the rain of the last weeks.
After a cement factory we are leaving the main road and take the turn to Yura. It does not really look like hot springs at all and the few shops that are there are closed. I am starting to doubt if we will be lying lazily in the water today. Behind the village we ask a woman who is walking in our direction for the hot springs and we know we are on the right track. Not even one kilometer further we are carrying our stuff into the Hotel Yura which should be renamed to hotel mould. Painted in blue and white it has a lot of colonial charm from the outside. But as we have often observed they are having a problem with moisture in the walls for whatever reason.
We grab our swim clothes and head to one of the little pools with nicely warm water which is a bit smelly due to the natural sulfates. But the numerous Peruvians are seeming to have a good time. Our skin is soft as baby’s butt after the bath and we are enjoying a meal in the hotel. Only a few minutes after we are back from a digestive walk it is starting to rain heavily…We are thankful that we are not lying in our tent tonight. Our decision to take it slow on the first day seemed to have been the right one.
