With the arrival at Peruvian border we were back to "tierras calientes", the lowlands. The border of Macará, situated at 600 meters of altitude, is one of the 4 border crossings between the two nations, and contrary of that it is common in Latin America`s borders, there is an easy and relaxed atmosphere.
Less relaxed were the waters of the river Calvas, that run underneath the bridge who bound the two countries, and a stage for the main activity that seemed to liven up that easy going border crossing: contraband!
Some youngsters, taking advantage of the indifferent look of the officers, swim across gasoline barrels, defying the strong current of the river and probably their lives too. I question myself if the wages do compensate the risk, but as it is common in these countries, probably not.
The visa of 3 months is free for European Union citizens and is also valid for other countries of the Andean community like Bolivia. After all the paperwork done and the passports stamped we were ready to brave the roads of the new country.
While Jeff fixed the first of a series of punctures that he would have in the next few days, caused by his "new" 10 dollars wheel bought the previous day in Macará, Joana and me had our first introduction to Peruvian "latinidad": In what it seemed to be the only available bank, we try to change some dollars for the new currency - the sole, but with a some what funny excuse, our dollars were refused by the bank`s smiling employee. However, his friend who happened to be there "by chance", had his pocket well stuffed of Peruvian soles and offered to change us some money. We grabbed our poorly exchanged soles and followed our trip.
I touch with my fingers on the dirt to fell the land, as I always make when crossing a border. Peru was an incognito land, where for certain there would be many adventures waiting, at least by the looks of histories told by other fellow touring cyclists, that were not always positive.
We follow through what`s officially the Pan-American highway in Peru.. The traffic was scarce and the temperatures high. The dry air and impious midday sun made for a lazy cycling. We cycled with all our senses on alert, anxious to observe the differences of the country who we just entered, and the differences were well obvious!
Peru is much poorer then its northern neighbour. And for brief instants, the smells and the chaos of the villages reminded me of India.
In our first night of free camping in Peru, underneath a big tree, in some scrub land away from the road, Joana received her welcome to the country through the sting of a scorpion, infuriated by our invasion of its territory. We applied some cream and a garrote and continued our journey.
Chulucanas
Days later we arrive in Chulucanas, situated between the end of the Sechura desert and the beginning of Andean slopes. We only had an idea in mind; find a hotel with a good shower, have a good meal and move on the following day. At the entrance of relatively clean and organized city, a lady with a young man on a motorcycle, questions us through the chaotic traffic noise, our destination.
- We are looking for a hotel, I answered.
- My husband is a archaeologist.
- Que buenno, I answered disinterested. In a country where there are no shortage of archaeological sites, I first though that it would be plus another humbug to delude the tourist to an undesirable hotel.
- He would love to met you. I invite you to my house, she insisted with a genuine and smiling sincerity.
We decide to follow the motorcycle through the labyrinth of streets, stopping in front of a house adjacent to a school. In this permanently-under-construction-looking-kind-of-house, that looked like thousand others in the country, lived the Salazar family. One of the most hospitable families on my trip so far.
Mario Salazar is an archaeologist who works for the national institute of culture in the city of Chulucanas, and in partnership with the municipality, he promotes the tourism of the region. In a country where tourism is concentrate in axle Lima-Arequipa-Cuzco-Machu Pichu, its work is far from easy. Very few tourists make it to this northeastern corner of the Piura province. There is not much to see.
Mario received us with open arms in his humble house. We mount the tents in the yard of Santa Catarina`s school. A private school that belonged to Rosa, Mario`s wife.
In the 4 days that we stayed there, Mario showed us around, on his motor-taxi, the "touristic attractions" of the region.
Piura Vieja, the first village established by the Spaniards in Peru, but that today are no more than some rocks scattered around a mount, and kept by an old man living in a nearby house, that kept complain about the neighbors stealing stones for the constructions of houses and bridges.
La Encantada, a village where most citizens seemed to live out of pottery made with some Moche influences. The village was surrounded by mounts, that according to Mario were tombs of the ancestors of the Moche, a pre-Inca society, but that to my eyes they seemed only pastures for goats.
- There, he said pointing to an empty mount.
- There, where?, I asked.
- There, cant you see it? That it is a tomb of some important feudal Moche!
- Haaaa we gasped, pretending to be surprised.
Despite the "guided tours" with Mario in his motor-taxi being of an irrelevance and modesty that was almost comical, we could not deny him the credit for its effort in promoting the tourism of the region and its passion for archaeology.
La Encantada
Piura Vieja!
Water salesman
Mario`s motor-taxi
What Mario didn't know was that the highlights of our visits was his company, and the kind hospitality of his wife and children who made us feel like at home. The long hours chatting, the playing with the children in the school`s yard, the 3 meals a day, that Rosa cooked with so much affection, it all had transformed our idea of Peru.
Where in another part of the world an archaeologist transformed into tourism promoter offers its house, shares its food, show us around on his motorcycle and shares his life experiences, without asking for a single cent in exchange?
We say farewell to the Salazar family with sadness but grateful. Its families like Salazar`s that make it all worth!
We leave happy and motivated to face our next experience in this country not always portrayed as it deserves.
In the following days, we cycling through the province of Piura and watched the landscape slowly changing from dry forest, scrub land and dusty villages to the sand dune and garbage infested desert along the Pacific coast. A zone with little cycling interest unless you like to share the highway and the vast emptiness of the desert with a bunch of loaded and hooking trucks. But eve been a dull ride, there was a lot to keep ours eyes fascinated.
Chiclayo
Chiclayo was our first introduction to a good size Peruvian city, and like Barranquilla in Colombia, was marked as one of the most chaotic cities I`ve cycled on this trip. An error in our planed route. The only reason to put the ironically self-proclaimed "ciudad de la amistad", in ones itinerary, is the fascinating museum Tumbas reales de Sipan, situated 11 km north of the city. In the modern museum is displayed the vast and fascinating collection of artifacts of "señor de Sipan", found recently in a tomb, 20 km East of Chiclayo. Some sort of Tutankhamen of the region. The road followed south near the coast, but it was only around Pacasmayo that we had the first glimpses of the Pacific Ocean. We spent the night in the pleasant city-beach, where we were interviewed by a local radio.
Paijan
We leave Pacasmayo very early in the morning with the intention of making the remaining 90 km to Trujillo in two days. In our itinerary was the village of Paijan. Yet another dusty road side town that the Pan-American highway crosses on its way through Sechura desert. We had been warned by other cyclists we met in Ecuador, that its a place to avoid, where some cyclists been robed recently.
We were determined to cycle through Paijan, but a police check point at the exit of the city just increases our concerns and advises us not to cycle through there.
-Yesterday 5 tourists had their car tires blown off at gun shots and robed of all their possessions, they said.
We gave away to the police advices, when we noticed that it was referred not only to us tourist, but to the locals as well. They stop a pick-up and "order" the drivers to take us and all the bike to Trujillo.
It was very strange to see the vast desert landscape passing through my eyes so fast. Excluding some boat trips (La Paz-Mazatlan in Mexico and the crossing from Panama to Colombia) it was the first time, since a small part of the Cassiar highway in Canada, that me and my "Burra" travelled south in a motorized transport.
Trujillo
-Bienvenidos a mi casa, es un plazer terlos aqui, said that man of dark skin, tired eyes, sincere and firm voice.
I noticed sincerity in his affirmations.
-You can stay as long as you like, he continued point out that we were the first Portuguese he hosted in his vast and impressive list of cyclo-travellers that he welcomed over the years.
The first time that I heard of "Lucho" was in California over a year ago, when another touring cyclist referred to me the "casa de la amistad" in Trujillo. Since then a few other touring cyclists have spoken about this emblematic reference in Peru.
Lucho already received nearly 1000 touring cyclists from around the world over the last 20 years. References to his great hospitality can be observed in the registers of the several guest books, with comments and photos of others cyclists, or through the innumerable books about bike travel published in several languages and autographed by the authors, who fill the bookshelf of the simple room where he lodged us. Between many others, a book of Heinz Stucke, the charismatic and mythical German cyclists that had been cycling on the roads of this planet for more than 40 consecutive years.
Our supposed stay of few days was dragged for almost 3 weeks. It was the ideal place to wait for the torrential rains in the mountains to diminished.
The news papers in the country published systematically the damage caused by the strong rains, attributed this year to "La Niña". It was a little difficult to believe when in Trujillo it was a sweltering heat and burning sun. The days passed by, among dinners at "casa of la amistad", music jam sessions (the second passion of the Lucho after cycling), and visits to the region archaeological places, like Chan Chan.
Chan Chan was the biggest adobe city of the world and capital of the Chimu empire, before the Incas and later the Spaniards sacked the city. When the dry heat hindered the imagination to contemplate these vestiges of the great Peruvian past, we headed to the beach of Huanchaco, where on the shade of the "cabalitos of Totora" (traditional reed boats), we had a more contemporary interpretation of the sun worshipping.
Trujillo founded by Pizarro is situated in the north coast of the country, and is one of the many city-oases that give life to that it would be otherwise, a vast desert that covers all the coast of Peruvian Pacific Ocean, from the Ecuador border all the way into northern Chile.
The time to leave has arrived. With or without rain we would head to the mountains.
The next leg of the trip: Cycle for a few more days through the Sechura desert and then up to the Cordillera Blanca, following the river Santa to Huaraz. If the weather is on our side, it will be a fantastic journey through deserts, canyons and river valleys, and some great cycling along craggy white peaks with over 6000m altitude. If the weather remains like in the few weeks, it can be a miserable, rainy and cold journey and without any views of the second highest mountain range in the world.
We say goodbye to Lucho and his family, and to this oases of color planted by the pacific ocean and follow trip for the Pan American highway through the desert of Sechura.
Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa
In Ayacucho, Peru
