Dogs, horses and bit more of Peru

The last few weeks in Peru have taken us past the ocean, mountains and jungle, all while being pursued by a multitude of teethy dogs that have become much more vocal in their disapproval of cyclists. So if you feel like reading through the latest section of our travels imagine every scene with a salivating hound hot on our wheels.

 

From Lima we spent three more days of dismal coastal cycling with a view that changed sporadically from sand dunes to industrial plants to slums. The weather was an indecisive and unchanging brand of wet, dry, hot and cold whilst being at the same time oppressively none of the above. It was an ugly section that changed almost the moment after taking the road inland, leaving the shrouded ocean behind us and climbing climbing climbing back up to the beautiful heights of the Andes. Two slow days of upward grind took us back up to above the 4000metre mark and another down to Huaraz, the tourist destination famous for hiking, climbing and every outdoor pursuit that can be enjoyed in the Cordilleras Blancas, the picturesque snow capped mountain range of central Peru.

Our attempt at hiking was a three day, turned two day adventure that involved getting lost, getting blisters, getting wet, being saved by some professionally clad Germans, failing to save a cow that was stuck in a hole and seeing some breathtaking mountains, glaciers and lakes.

We left Huaraz with aching bodies and headed North. The traffic thinned out as we entered the canon del pato (canyon of the ducks), a road chiseled out of the mountain, a single lane dirt track with huge drops down to the river bed below and over 40 pitch black tunnels.

The road passed through the canyon and continued back down towards that gloomy coastline from which a vicious wind slowed our progress towards Trujillo. The warnings of roaming gangs and the fact that we no longer have that luxury of time forced us to take a bus back inland. We arrived next day in Chachapoyas, a small town on the fringes of the Amazon jungle that stretches on almost uninhabited for thousands of miles towards Ecuador, Colombia and Brazil.

 

 

 

Just a days cycle away we visited a small village, put on the map in recent years by the discovery of a the Gocta waterfall, a cascade that measures 771 metres in height which, depending on who you ask is pinned at somewhere between the 3^rd and 14^th highest in the world. The locals of the village, with just two family names between them are the very embodiment of close knit and were friendly enough to let us stay in their community hall. The following morning we decided that after our recent hiking failures we would rather be carried. We organized a couple of not particularly enthusiastic horses and set of at a canter/slow walk through the rainforest. I can confidently say that 1 hour on a horse has done far more damage to my nether regions than any amount of time on a bicycle ever could.

From that little excursion we set off along an empty jungle road, the weather hot and humid with the inevitable daily rain a cooling relief. These were some of the best cycling days of Peru, back to the countryside and camping reminiscent of the open expanses of Chile and Argentina. Our final two nights left us with some fond memories of Peru, first being invited in to stay with an elderly couple who fed us three meals grown and produced on their little farm and then a chance camping spot with a motorcylist that entertained us with stories of the world.
 

And so the Peruvian chapter of the trip was closed as we crossed the border a couple of days ago, dragging the border guard from his game of volleyball to stamp our passports. Not such a busy crossing.