May 18, 2004
Flight > Lima, Peru 8:00 / 13h 3h / $140 (one way via Guatemala y Costa Rica)
A few jacks, a bottle of Buchanan Scotch, and toca la Blue later we are layed over in Guatemala.
To enjoy some Gallo in the airport and a barril to go.
Cambia en Quetzales brings my memories back.
The lovely Leslie behind the bar encantame.
Back on the plane, stopping next in San Jose, Costa Rica.
The tempo of inflight entertainment increases as we procure half the plane, gauking our drunken asses through half a concert on Blue.
'...hey ho whaddaya know when yer glass is empty its time ta go down to kill kenny where liqour is plenty and people are friendly wherever you go...'
Doing my best rendition of an epic Irish drinking song written by Steve Poltz.
Costa Rica, where more beers and a few pizzas keep us honest and mostly out of trouble while we wait.
Back on board, last stop Lima, Peru.
Peru
VISA
90 days free on arrival
ECONOMY
3.4 Soles = $1
Diem = (3350s over 90 days = 37s/d, including 496s gas and 400s repairs to motorbike)
Extras = 1998 Hyosung 125 motorbike $1180
Food = 3s-10s (Ceviche, Pollo Brasa, Papas, Choclo, ... very good)
Room = 10s-25s (Double bed, fan, semi-functional hot water if you are lucky)
Ride = 5s/h (reasonably comfortable)
Gas = 10-12s/g
Web = 1s/h (relatively fast throughout)
NOTES
Not so open like Asians but conservative and friendly if approached, atleast you dont get hassled all day.
Don't pass Lima without playing a game of chess against Eduardo, but take it easy on him.
Lima is a confusing and chaotic mess but its a great place to learn to dance the Salsa and Merengue.
Relatively filthy in the cities, it is better to get out in the countryside.
The Pan America is one of the few decent roads in Peru but is far from the most interesting, I recommend an all-terrain moto.
Peruvians are on my list of asshole drivers of the world, but it is the dogs that will get you.
The food is very good, mostly fried meats, potatoes, corn, an occasional ceviche and cuy.
The mountains is where you will get your best shots, bring lots of film.
An easy check in and a no questions asked 90 day visa for free, very welcoming.
Having only carry-on, I exit the airport and do my best to avoid the taxi hounds and wait for the rest of the gang, delayed by lost luggage.
Jorge arrives and whisks us away through throngs of trashy chaotic neighborhoods to the posh district of San Isidro.
Together we check in to the Hotel El Marques where we share Motel 8-like doubles for $20 each.
Take some 'wow we all made it' wedding gang welcome pictures and out for a look about.
Lima - Alot bigger and trashier and more dangerous then I had expected.
A vast and seemingly boundless spiderweb of confusing streets and districts, the nicest of which still suspect.
Pull out some Soles at the ATM and hit dinner at a Chifa (Peruvian Chinese) restaurant after hours.
A fried rice and chicken which doesn't go down so nice, 10s.
Not an entirely positive first impression.
My stomach is still a bit sickly from all the alcohol and bad and missed meals and early hours as of lately.
I need some down time.
May 19 - 28, 2004
It is now 1pm and we just woke up after a night of clubbing 'until 6 in the morning'.
Not a note all week.
My journal suffers when a gang is involved.
A week packed with constant activity.
The wedding is over.
Apart from that other notable events include:
A day trip to some nearby ruins, nice but i ain't really into that sort of stuff anymore.
The best part was actually the chicharrones lunch we spalashed out on after.
Another to LunaHuana, a quaint and beautiful small town up in the nearby mountains.
A tour of the Plaza de Armas and other city sites, i really enjoy the city center.
Soccer and ceviche with Al's relatives in the barrio.
Uncle Eduardo's Ceviche
Dancing the clubs, romancing the girls, and eating and drinking just about everything.
Alot of drinking.
My Salsa and Merengue is getting better.
Atleast enough to have whoo'd Jennifer, a friend of the bride from Toronto, Canada into spending next week together before she returns.
So much has happened I could never have covered it all and enjoyed it so much at the same time.
And even after a week Lima still feels as suspicious as it felt at first.
A feeling that I think comes from the fact that it has been nothing but overcast the entire time.
It never rains here but there is always a dark cloud overhead, no sun.
It gets kind of depressing after awhile.
Some of the gang have gone already and the rest are going home or moving over to Al's Uncle Eduardo's until the 29th when they will go.
I moved over yesterday.
Tio (uncle) Eduardo, Tia (aunt) Maria, and Hija (daughter) Karina.
An overwhelmingly friendly family that is excited to have me.
A family that couldn't be happier or more helpful.
One of those places where the food never stops.
Seated around the kitchen table I work on my Spanish which is steadily improving.
They are very patient helping me along.
Scored the classified and picked up a motorcycle for my South American adventures.
A 1998 HyoSung (Korean Suzuki copy) Rx125 'todo tierra'dirt bike for $1180, 71570km.
Fairly large and heavy for its power but in great condition, about my best option for the price.
Bikes are scarce and expensive here, costing nearly double what they would in Brazil.
Registered in my name without a hassle.
May 29, 2004
Jennifer returned early from her trip to Cuzco, an about face on her plans to see everything in Peru in a week, instead choosing to spend it with me.
Plans to tour the nearby mountains by moto, returning by the 4th for Jen's flight home.
We each take compromise as we widdle down everything and pack into one bag.
Say our goodbyes and off we go closer to the center of town.
Testing the waters.
May 30, 2004
Check out of the Hotel Bolognesi, picked up some 'stuff', and set our sights for Canta, North by moto.
moto > Santa Rosa, Peru 12:00 / 6h 4.5h / 64k
The Pan America - Through a conjestion of traffic thick in smoke and chaos with the hopes of getting out of the city and onto a small back road as quickly as possible.
And no more then 20k after beginning our trip and only 1k after the turnoff the bike unexpectedly stalls and we drift to a stop.
After the basic checks I conclude the problem has something to do with the carburator.
Without even a screwdriver we push the bike to the nearest shop in hopes of borrowing some llaves.
A tire shop family who is kind to lend a hand and the tools we need.
Problem found, somehow the carburator throat throttle pin dropped out and lodged itself in the jet preventing gas from passing.
The strangest and most inexplicable problem I have ever seen.
Easily fixed by dissassembling it and putting it back in place.
Luckily not a show stopper.
Slip them a 10s while teaching Jen not to show them the wad of 100s and we're back on the road.
As we begin through the foothills the sun pushes through and it is a beautiful day.
Across a fertile valley and out of the rawkus of Lima couldn't make us happier.
Following the river between dry and barren peaks.
An interesting landscape, something inbetween Mexico and Vietnam.
Small pueblos and the ever present maniac dogs.
Beautiful scenery has Jen snapping away.
This sort of travel is new to her.
A smooth hum pushes us along nicely until a police checkpoint has us stopped again.
'No casko y no seguro', looking for some propina.
After denying their suggestions for a few they realize they stopped the wrong tourist and let us go.
Stop for lunch at a quaint little local roadside hut.
Lomo saltado y pollo frita, exceptionally good and cheap, 10s.
A couple kind drunken men wave us over and offer salud after salud of beers that just keep emerging from their car.
A playful dog nips on my sandals.
After an hour I am staggering and I can't take anymore of this salud.
I have met my new best friend and if I ever return to Lima I am invited to a special ceviche.
Waffling along and pissing on rocks we slowly make our way Santa Rosa by dark.
Santa Rosa - A small and tranquilo pueblo with a resort (the place with the pool) and a hostel (the place we stayed).
A large room with a balcony overlooking the street and a hot shower or kind of for 25s, a tenth of the resort price.
Jen is 'roughing it'.
Clean up and out for a walk about with the other guests staying, local tourists.
Up the hill to see some pigs, nothing too exciting.
Cafe as we recount the experiences of the day.
A successful first day.
June 1 - 6, 2004
An amazing week on tour with Jennifer.
Things to remember...
The 'incident' and the 'stuff' that saved us
The breakdown and the family who helped us
The corrupt cops and their good nature
The drunken lunch and that damn dog
The wrong road to Obrajillo and pushing the bike back out
Antonio's 8th birthday in that small village up on the hill
The literally shockingly hot water or lack thereof
The 4 hour horse back ride and the negotiations and the standoff
Fixing the old mans VW with a paper clip
Canta and Virma the over-jovial hotel lady
Danny our relentless 8 year old 'guide'
Fresh apple tortes and honey yogurt
Panchamanca and trujillo
The spontaneous jam with the studly wristband rocker
La Viuda and the immense beauty and tranquility
The first llama and the cheese sandwiches and tea on the way back
Racing back through god-awful Lima to the airport to extend the ticket a few days
Fixing the brakes and the tire and the battery and ...
The loud and dirty 10s truck stop night
The ride to LunaHuana and the fruit market enroute
The peaceful Garden Hotel just outside of town (with a pool)
Teaching Jen to drive the dogs that watched and the cop that wanted respect
Heaving from both ends after a bad shrimp ceviche
The horse shot injections and the recovery
Canete and the food festival on our way back to Lima
Looking for ice cream around the playas of San Bartolo
A really memorable trip.
Back at Uncle Eduardo's we say our sad goodbyes and she is off to catch her flight back home.
3pm and all of a sudden I am alone again.
June 7 - 15, 2004
Working on the bike while waiting for Alberto to return for yet another wedding.
A new rear tire 100s, paint job, broken speedo.
Relatives of relatives slowly trickle in.
Another wedding and another girl catches my eye, eager to fill the void left by Jen.
Margarita, the heart-stopping half Peruvian half Puerto Rican daughter of Tia Carmen of New York.
A much smaller but beautiful ceremony at the Haciendo Tres Canas (sugar cane), a historic ranch on the outskirts of Lima.
Horses and dancing and ofcourse vino and pisco.
Another 'until 6 in the morning' night.
Great fun.
Trip to the dentist finds me 4 more small cavities bringing the total to 10.
At only 40s per filling quite a bargain over the $100 each i paid back home.
And even better he used tooth colored enamel instead of the metal.
Nice work.
I am now a local at the neighborhood Emolliente stand.
A hot beverage of mulled fruits and spices.
El Chino, the best in Peru which probably makes it the best in the world.
And at only 1s per cup it keeps me coming back.
June 16 - 23, 2004
A week spent changing my mind between going home to a friend's wedding in PA and just hitting the road.
A decision made easier by Margarita who is eager to keep in touch and a decent deal on a ticket.
June 24, 2004
Flight > Bogota, Colombia 6:50 / 2.5h / $550 (return) + $28 airport tax
A flawless on time flight that couldn't have been more comfortable stretched across 3 middle rows.
A day in Colombia waiting for my onward flight.
A free 3 days transit visa exempt from the airport tax within 24 hours.
An ATM that surpised me when it asked for a $500 donation until i realized that there are 2500 pesos per dollar and they use the dollar sign interchangeably.
A $1000 bus to el centro.
A farmacia where I stopped for a pen and ended up in a lively chat with the staff covering just about everything.
A friendly gang that was happy to sketch up my map with suggestions and send me to the food court with a smile.
Bandeja Paisa - The 'plato typico' for the country.
An assortment of fried sausages and meats all bland and uninspiring surrounding a fried egg atop white rice.
A side of flavourless bean soup.
Atleast the fried banana was decent.
I should have ordered a steak like I see on everyone's plate around me.
I must say I prefer Peruvian food.
Maybe there are better places.
Bogota - A big city that doesn't feel so big.
Much nicer then I had expected.
Incredibly friendly people all scared shitless for my life, who warn me of the robbers by scratching their faces like they have an allergy.
Apparently there is quite some trouble here, though it is not obvious.
To the Santuario de Monserrate, a church up on the hill.
Wandered my way through the barrios toward the funicular until one old lady got so excited scratching her face she had to flag down a bus for me.
A pricey 10kp and a speedy ride up the hil by Swiss cable car.
An old and basic church with an amazing view over Bogota
It is certainly alot bigger then it seems.
As far as the eye can see, sunk into a valley and surrounded by mountains and dense jungle.
Mixed sun and cloud, some light showers, strong winds, 55f cool but not cold.
Across town to the historic La Candelaria, a fascinating area of town with it cobblestone streets and colorfully pained single story houses of romantic antigua architecture.
I stroll the narrow alleys.
Plaza de Bolivar with its magestic palace and the Catedral Primada.
Find myself to the Iglesia del Carmen with its fascinating striped decor.
Reminds me of Italy.
Stop into a small hole in the wall cafe for a Crema de Limon and a Torta Chocolate.
As i sit and enjoy, i can see the sun set through a small wooden window.
Beautiful shades of deep orange.
The friendly lady directs me to dinner.
4 stars for 5 bucks.
All in all a very nice stopover.
June 25, 2004
Flight > New York, NY 12:00 / 5h / arrive 6:30 EST
Another comfortable flight home.
The authorities are starting to question my lack of luggage.
But not having to wait for baggage claim is a true plus.
No eye scan and fingerprint for me.
Right on time and ofcourse Alberto is no where to be found.
A half hour late and with excuses.
To his place in Brooklyn and he is off to work.
Sleep off the jet lag and slough into the hot shower, my first in some time.
Take the Long Island Railroad into the city.
A night on the town.
Painted fingernails.
Alot of fun.
June 26, 2004
A nothing day spent watching tv with Marg and Al's sister.
Aretha Franklin in Times Square at night.
A party that didn't happen.
June 27, 2004
Marg's boyfriend is getting increasingly suspicious and so she spends the day with him.
I am starting to realize this is all for crap.
Spend the day watching Al play soccer.
BBQ with his family at dusk.
Mets vs. Yankees at night.
We (Mets) lost.
June 28, 2004
A day around town with Marg to the seaport and the movies.
Dodgeball - Damn funy. Recommended.
Move over to Tia's apartment in the Bronx.
No computer, no phone, nothing to do, and a shady neighborhood all add up to a decision to move back tomorrow..
Life Is Beautiful on DVD.
June 29, 2004
Spent the day walking from the Bronx to Central Park.
Fishing and chess.
Met up with Al and had a BBQ back at his place.
June 30, 2004
Another relatively nothing day.
Plans to take the bus home to PA tomorrow.
A night with Al and the cousins at the Peru / Argentina soccer game.
We (Peru) lost again.
July 1, 2004
Picked my shit up from Tia's and down to the Port Authority for the bus to PA.
Bus > Lancaster, PA 12:45 / 4h / $62.50 (return)
July 1 - 8, 2004
Back at home.
Mom couldn't be happier.
Suggestions of extending my stay to work at Eagle Falls for the rest of my life, denied.
Checked in on the park however and it is looking good.
Witnessed my friend Matt's wedding, nice.
Relaxed.
Bus > New York, NY 12:00 / 4h
July 9 - 12, 2004
Back in NY waiting for my return flight to Peru.
This time staying with Mario and Nick, two more Zebes who have a plush penthouse right in the middle of Manhattan.
Together we did a night of Comedy Club fun.
A couple days around Long Island with mom and her friend Dede.
The beach, a park, the movies, sushi.
Back to the city to spend an afternoon with my cousin Scott at his place in Queens.
Another night at the penthouse.
Al returns from seeing his new fiance in Peru and takes me to the airport.
July 13, 2004
Flight > Lima, Peru 16:00 / 6h
Back to Lima, this time a fairly direct flight.
Uncle Eduardo meets me at the airport and welcomes me back.
Good to see them again.
July 14 - 17, 2004
Finalizing getting my moto ready.
Half of a internet update making it up to 5/15.
Danced at a pretentious and posh latin rock club packed with girls on the lookout until 4am.
Gambaa's Nadaam
July 18, 2004
Slept until noon.
Ate a feast of ceviche.
Ganador de Chess with Eduardo.
Ganador de Rapido with Karina.
Washed my clothes.
Packed my bike, a perfect fit.
Helped Eduardo identify a compression problem with his car.
Finished internet update, finally completely up to date for the first time in over a year!
Start South America by Moto
Odometer 72201 km
July 19, 2004
Hoy dia, dia clave para Pancho.
The day i finally set off around South America by motorbike.
Overcast as usual in Lima.
Finish packing the HyoSung, eat my last desayuno around the kitchen table with Tia, check my email, take my 'ready to go' photos and I am off.
It is sad and difficult to leave.
Hasta Luego!
Moto > Chincha Alta, Peru 12:30 / 5h 1h / 210k 72201k START
The Pan America Sur - 35k of dirt and smog, fighting a conjestion of belching buses and taxis that prefer passing within inches just for the scare, to the fringes of the city.
The final toll booth (motos for free) and already I am filthy and tired.
Can't wait to pass Canete where the road narrows to 2 lanes and the traffic ceases.
The moto is running tops with its new carburator, which I reckon was good insurance for only 150s.
Also it leaves me with a spare and some tools in my caja just incase.
The new clutch cable starts to stretch and I make the adjustment and continue on thankful for having left that commotion behind and singing Lento as I pass from beach town to beach town on my way down the coast.
A healthy hum from between my legs keeps me company.
Stop for almuerzo at our restaurante La Cabanita in Sn. Bartolo.
Sopa Leche, Pollo de Nortena, y te de ginger, bien rico, 4s.
A pleasent break just out of the city.
Onward across a landscape of garbage ridden dirt brown sands, the beach of an ancient sea.
182k and an unexpected stall.
Switch to reserve and continue on.
Takes me another 20k where I leech a half gallon off of some chicken farmers to make it the final 10k to Chincha.
Looks like my 2 gallon tank is good for 200k.
Reset my trip odo and refill at a proper service station.
A quick search finds me a single in the basic but clean Hostal Paraiso for 15s with copious hot water on request.
The friendly administrator guides me around el mercado, centro, academia de Afro-Dance, and comida el pollo a la brasa, the 5s standard faire.
Back at the room, the hotel owner rallys about and swaps songs with me on guitar.
REM for Dos Almas, an old spanish waltz.
July 20, 2004
Chincha - An average sized Peruvian city with an over average sized market.
Chicharron for breakfast, 2s.
Gather some badly needed road trip clothes.
Windproof gloves and pants, and some underwear to prolong the washings inbetween.
The typical trashed streets of two-story cement square houses all connected and painted in the typical dust and drab colors of Peru.
A plaza de Armas like all others.
Focused on its inglesia, government offices to one side and tragamonedas (slot casinos), restaurantes, and bancos around the others.
A half lively crowd lounging on the cement benches in the semi-park in the center.
Moto <> Halfway to San Juan 15:00 / 3h / 72k
Test out my new gear on a day trip to San Juan, a point on my map and nothing else.
A bad dirt road into the mountains which progresses in getting even worse as I go.
Stop to help two men physically lift their car up to change a tire.
One bad one comes off and what looks to be worse takes its place.
A longer tirp then expected has me turning back halfway.
More market at night.
July 21, 2004
Moto > Paracas, Peru 10:30 / 72489k START
20 minutes to Carmen, the 'Black Paradise of Peru' across fields of slash and burn cotton.
A small colorful and sleepy to the point of abandoned pueblocito with a nice plaza of palms.
A community of slaves from the days of the neighbooring Hacienda San Jose.
A 350 year old plantation turned historic resort where for $40 the night you can still live like a coloniel, all included.
Convinced the lady at the from counter I was writing a tour guide and was given a special tour of the catacombes.
An underground system of tunnels once used by the slaves and stretching 60k to Pisco among other faraway places.
Photo moment with two pretty girls from Lima also on a coastal tour.
On to Pisco, 'the home of...' a terribly run down dirty port city a bit larger then Chincha.
A city where it is evident used to get it's riches from the sea.
A long and dilapidated fishing pier that is no longer.
Continue on past small fishing villages further down the coast to the Paracas National Marine Reserve.
Gather info from the eager tour guides in the launching town to the famous Ballestas Islands, grab a luxury seafood dinner at one of the better spots, and enter the park after dark, free of charge.
To camp the night in the wild on the beach under the stars.
Packed clay and limestone with a dusting of red sand, difficult to drive a stake through.
A half sleepless night.
July 22, 2004
Moto > Ica, Peru 8:00 / 72611k
Adjust the chain, rear brake, and clutch cable.
Offroad and without a map across the peninsula to a absolutely unexpected and breathtaking coastal dropoff.
Strange desert vistas and spectacular wildlife, all untouched.
Dig my SLR out of my pack, fill it with film, and start snapping eagerly away.
The thrill of photography which I thought I lost months ago quickly returns.
A foggy day across a horizon to horizon coastal desert landscape, an epic offroad adventure.
From one rough set of tracks and adventures to another the entire day.
Over rolling hills of wind swept sands.
Dust to ash and rust to gold and all shades inbetween.
El Candelabro, a mysterious candlestick drawn in the sand some 300 years ago.
Across a vast nothingness to the Mirador del Lobos, a cliff into the sea with sea lions below.
Along the bay to a fishing village where I enjoyed a local chat over an excellent sea bass for lunch.
The Cathedral, a stone arch into the sea where I cross paths with tourists for the first time.
Busses full of israelis and french on a fixed schedule and headed in the opposite direction.
Running low on gas during my 'shortcut' to Ica has me miles from nowhere driving by compass.
Wave down a few locals on old Soviet bikes headed toward Paracas for directions and advice.
And what I thought was to be another 20k forward am told is really 120k over hills which I am sure to get lost in.
Better to turn back then risk getting stuck and so I follow them on fumes.
Turns out it was really only another 30k, but that would have still left me 10k short.
Semi-Saviours i guess.
Back on the Pan America Sur to Ica.
The turnoff puts me into the center of town.
Check into the Hostal Callao just beside the plaza, 10s.
A hot shower and a decent pollo brasa puts me back into shape.
A night of shooting it with the pisco brothers down at the corner bodega, bien fuerte.
Brilliant flamenco.
A happening city with a lively night market.
Arroz con leche, 50c.
July 23, 2004
A day through the streets and markets.
Some really bad vino barato y seco, 10s.
Some better but still pretty bad vino caro y semi-seco, 16s.
Some really good cheese, bread, and olives.
An extended internet chat session.
July 24, 2004
Back to the market for breakfast and sidetracked at the jugeria.
A giddy Fritzia introduces herself over a strawberry smoothie and invites me to a BBQ with her family.
A small and simple house on the outskirts, apparently lower-middle class.
Posters of Britney Spears cover the walls, apparently a die-hard fan.
Thumb through her photo album as they fire up the grill.
Pretty girl, but local model I would have never guessed.
Eventually the place fills with relatives and questions fly.
I do my best in spanish, and it seems good enough for them.
Lunch is good, beefsteaks and soup, potatoes and corn.
Sidetracked again by her primo Juan to a party of amigos locos.
A group of government and police men whacked on pisco.
Their wives and children take shelter as the men embark on a mission.
A drunken swerve to the bus station to receive a desperately anticipated package.
Inconspicuously wrapped in newsprint, unfolded quickly to reveal a 100g sack of pure cocaine.
'The best in Peru...' he brags, confidently continuing on with 'because it was sent by the government in Lima'.
Back at the pad they hawk around the table Nextels in one hand and straws in the other, snorting line after line.
Inevitably the mood livelys up a step and before long they are on another mission.
Back in the car making rounds from one whore house to another swigging more Pisco.
Keep in mind they all have kids, and the most of them are either police or government officials.
Finish the night dancing at Fritzia's friends birthday party.
July 25, 2004
Sunday parade through the plaza, in preparation for the coming Independence day celebrations on the 28th.
More market and alot more internet chat, a growing addiction of my own.
A decent Borgonia and olives at night.
July 26, 2004
Moto > Huacachina, Peru
Finish off the bottle in the morning just as Juan stops in.
Check out and make the big move 5k south to Huacachina, a true desert oasis.
A lagoon of fresh water 200m across and surrounded by sand.
Dunes up to a couple thousand feet create an iconic scene of amazing tranquility and surreal beauty.
Hotels and restaurants fill in the narrow strip inbetween.
A tourist paradise.
Sand boarding and paddle boats.
The typical dreadlocks selling hollistic jewelry.
Dune buggies rumbling over the hills in the distance.
In my half drunken state it all looks so nice and so I check into the piscina complete Salvatierra for 15s and some badly needed relaxation.
Juan invites me for ceviche for lunch, mixta isn't as good as pescado.
Fritzia meets me later in the day to tour around the dunes and lagoons by moto.
Angelina's Crisis
July 27, 2004
Nothing really.
Some photos and more internet chat, now a daily ritual.
Campfire guitar singalong with a group of Canadians at night.
July 28, 2004
More nothing really.
Independence Day!
Out with Fritzia and her 'friends' for a night of dancing, returning by 4.
July 29, 2004
Even more nothing really.
Chess with the hotel owner has him determined to win a game before I leave.
Guitar by the poolside.
July 30, 2004
Let him win the last two games before checking out, and stopped into the excellent 'El Remo' for a final ceviche on the way out of town and toward Nazca.
Moto > Almost Palpa, Peru 72930k
2 lanes of asphalt through a desert of nothing but packed sand and rock, mostly flat and terribly dull.
As the sun sets I decide to stop short of Palpa and camp the night.
A strange spider hole onto of a hill.
Kinda feel like Saddam.
July 31, 2004
Moto > Nazca, Peru 73015k
Las lineas de Palpa, the Reloj del Sol and the Pena can be safely skipped.
Climb the mirador near Nasca for a 1s peek at 2 more decent glyphs, much smaller and less impressive then expected.
Tour planes circle overhead every 20 seconds.
At $50 a seat for the 30 minute joyride it is a tour I am not so sure I care about.
A tour that you 'have to do' if you come to Nazca.
Would be kinda of like missing the Taj in India.
Nazca - Devistating hot and dry, perhaps a South American record setter.
A lively little town only slightly bigger then Palpa with a rash of jaunts for the tourist.
The first 'real' town I have been where the tourists might out number the locals.
Check into the Hostal Nazca, again near the plaza and spend the afternoon retreating from the heat in an internet cafe posting a web update.
Will finish up sending the photos tomorrow and take the late afternoon around some nearby sites.
That is once the sun drops a bit.
August 1, 2004
Another blazer of a day.
A good place to retire from the heat and sit down for some hours to complete a web update.
Once again actually up to date.
Moto around late in the day.
The Processing of Oro - Where they turn stone into gold, interesting.
The Processing of Ceramic - Where they duplicate old pottery, not.
The Aqueducts - Where ancient spirals of stone protect the river of water underground from the heat of the day, admitted for free after pretending to be delivering a pizza.
Cerro Blanco - The tallest sand dune in the world or atleast South America, a highlight as far as sand dunes go.
Start climbing toward Pampas Galleras on the road to Cuzco.
At dusk and the first pass at 1000m a light shines on me.
To abandon my plans to get to Arequipa via the dull Pan America and head into the mountains instead getting there via Puquio and the vast of dirt roads that appear to make the connection on my map.
Looks to be alot more fun, I need a change of scenery, and besides when I think of Peru I think of mountains.
Could take alot longer then expected and I may be out of touch for awhile.
Will spend tomorrow finishing up here and set off.
A few sputters at the pass have me considering dropping the carb needle a notch for the altitude.
August 2, 2004
Readying to go.
Lube the chain, secure the caja. Various small moto repairs.
Down at the airport I watch as plane after plane of tourists pay the $60 to see the lines.
A 15 minute flight over some lines in the dirt, not particularly interested.
Besides they got clearer postcards for less.
August 3, 2004
Moto > Puquio, Peru 3200m / 73173k 155k
Back on the mountain road toward Cusco, this time for real.
The bike starts to sputter at 2500m and so I drop the needle.
Over what appears to be the pass at 80k and 3600m and 19c.
Half way to Puquio.
The start of the Pampas Galleras Reserve, where I spot my first vicuna (a small llama) at the sign welcoming me.
The bike starts to sputter again and so I take a rest and drop the needle into its lowest position.
A few k further along I reach another pass at 3855m and a snack shack.
Stop for some trucha and cana with a rusty bunch of boracho park rangers.
Songs on the guitar and my first game of chess on the box, easily won.
Continue on late in the afternoon.
Finally after 100k I reach the real pass at 4050m and 14c.
Drop down into Puquio, the most pleasent and still functional town I have been so far in Peru.
Check into the Hostal Los Andes for 7s and take dinner at La Estancia where I receive a warm welcome by all the daughters.
Down an incredible Caldo de Trigo, Lomo Saltado, and Mate de Cocoa as they flirt their best.
"Que Chevere!"
Everyone speaks slowly and I can understand.
A place I could spend some time.
The neighborhood bar pounds it until 4am.
My sponge bed, hammocked in the middle after years of abuse, keeps me tossing and turning all night.
Dave's Grand Canyon Run
August 4, 2004
Breakfast at the market, a caldo de gallena and some jugo surtido.
Make up for the sleeplessness with an afternoon nap, the quietest time of day.
Tired and with a shifty stomach.
Peruvians, put them at the top of a mountain and they still cant keep their water supply clean.
Actually I reckon my body needs time to adjust to the altitude.
Meet up with one of the Estancia folk and take a walk to the lagoon at sunset.
Billiards and chess in the plaza at night.
Andrea's Greeting From Azstria
August 5, 2004
Moto <> Jeronta Hot Springs 1h / 30k
Up early and an hour to the legendary hotsprings of Jeronta.
Continuing on the road to Cuzco another 10k and take the left hand turnoff.
Put in another 20k along the beautiful dirt road and you'll see a small shack.
Thats it.
I say this because ofcourse there are no signs.
Brilliant natural springs where the only other about are the lagoon gang from last night.
Busy stoaking up a camp fire and cooking up a feast.
Invited in for the soup and had to dodge the seconds for an engagement I promised back in Puquio.
Extended me another invitation to a special Viscacha back in Puquio tomorrow before I leave.
A friendly gang excited for their chance to show off Peru.
Return to Puquio for my engagement.
Lunch with the town locksmith, or maybe I misunderstood.
Hands me a bag of stale corn nuts and sends me on my way.
Looks like I should have stayed for seconds.
One of the attachments on my box rattled itself broke.
Found the local soldurdura to fix er up.
Guitar in the plaza as the sun sets.
August 6, 2004
Viscacha - Still not exactly sure what it is, but i think its like a rabbit.
Regardless, it is damn tasty.
An early lunch with my hotspring friends before heading off.
As I gnawl it to the bone Javier is busy building a crossbow out of spare parts and a leaf spring off a car.
Measuring twice and cutting once.
He mumbles to himself the theories involved.
Moto > CoraCora, Peru 3100m 11:30 / 73408k
A rough but easily manageable dirt road over a pass of 4000m / 17c at 30k.
Enroute to CoraCora, the next town in my scattered chain leading me to Arequipa.
Nice views off of cliff down into the Puquio valley.
Stop for a rest and play a few songs to the miners daughters at La Mina de Dos Cruces.
They seemed to enjoy despite not understanding a word I said, even the spanish.
They speak Kechuan here.
Take a tour of the mine where 20 people have been digging by hand for over a year clearing a channel some 100 feet underground and uncovering 7oz of silver a day.
What's it worth you might wonder?
Whatever it is I am sure it isn't worth the extreme risk.
Dangling from ropes and walking planks without safety.
An impressive emarald lagoon suprises me at the final pass before dropping into CoraCora.
Is it a ghost town?
Is there anyone home?
Absolutely empty streets.
I mean no one.
After scouring the town for an hour I am lucky enough to spot an old lady hobbling along a back alley and stop her for some explanation.
My good luck finds me on the first day of a four day festival.
Turns out everyone is at La Corrida, watching the bullfight.
After dark the crowds fill the streets and I find a place.
Another Los Andes Hotel, in no way related to the first but with the same saggy beds.
And again in good luck my neighbors are wino stars all the way from Lima.
Invited to their Duo Heraldos Negros concierto to promote their new CD.
Something about Dios and Amor.
Wino - Mariachi meets folklore flamenco with a looser guitar feel.
Like a pisco filled drunkard on a toy guitar playing Mexican cowboy soundtracks.
Actually sounds a bit Asian in its non-melodic ways.
Nice but after a few songs they all sound the same.
Make the early "escape".
August 7, 2004
Walk around town.
CoraCora - Perhaps a bit bigger then Puquio and perhaps even more pleasent even with the fiesta crowds.
Less of a truck stop sorta town and with more of a wild west sorta feel.
The kind of place that feels like it could be home for more then a day or two.
Meander my way down to the Plaza de Toros to watch them prepare for the second round.
Constructing makeshift bleachers around the arena and prodding at the bulls who wait for certain death.
They don't look very menicing actually, more like dairy cows with bigger horns.
Kids throwing stones at each other.
Old men sitting in the shade.
Take a seat in the nosebleed section.
Natural cliffs surrounding the ring sculpted into seats for the event.
Decide the best way to join this sorta crowd is as a boracho and so I hit up a bodega for some Crystal.
The masses start shuffling in at 12 for the fight at 1.
The first bull is released, and so are the banderilleros.
A gang of sorta-matadores who group up on the bull waving pink capes at it in attempt to frustrate, which it does.
Like matadores in training they take turns running the bull around the ring hiding behind their doors when necessary.
They decide the fate of the bull.
For if the bull appears too scared they call it off.
Second, the puntiero comes out.
A man who drives two dangling spikes into the bulls back, pinching some crucial nerves and causing the bull to drunken up a bit.
Obviously dizzy it isn't quite sure what to charge at anymore.
It most definately is wondering what is going on.
Then the matador steps out, the king of the parade.
Skillfully he waves his crimson cape at the bull and steps aside where appropriate.
In spain this is when the crowd would scream "olay!" in approval.
Here they just keep quietly drinking their beer.
Tripping to the left and right he shows his fancy-suave skills, sometimes even sitting infront of the damned bull to show his courage.
This gig carries on as long as he feels appropriate or until the bull has obviously had enough of the shenanigans and lays down to rest.
The banderilleros then step back in relieving the matador of his duty so he can take a drink and freshen up for the kill.
Back in the ring he yealds the mighty sword of death on the bull and within minutes the dead animal is being dragged around the ring by its horns and clowns are squirting beer everywhere.
And so it goes from one bull to the next all afternoon.
Bull #2 - Surpasses all odds and actually succeeds in killing the matadore, stabbing him through the neck.
The crowd goes wild.
The ambulance screams in and rushes the pobre hombre away.
I almost feel sorry for the man.
Everyone leaves the ring and the bull bits along in the middle, obviously proud of his success.
Silence surrounds.
A ribbon is put around the bulls neck and it is excused from the match.
Bull #3 - Too scared to strike at the banderilleros then let him go.
Bull #4 - An easier target then #2 and dead within 5 minutes.
Bull #5 - A bit stronger then #4.
Firecrackers ratle through the circle, causing one man to drop his cape and nearly meet his fate.
A bit more proding finds this one also a bit scared and so they let him off.
A smart one i guess.
Bull #6 - Another puss.
Bull #7 - Again a puss, actually starts humping another bull on the way out.
Bull #8 - He doesn't look too scared but they remove him anyways.
Bull #9 - A white bull, and definately scared.
This is getting boring.
I start snacking on Canchitas (popcorn) and Rozcas (biscuits).
Bull #10 - Spotted and deemed acceptable.
Gets right angry after the spikes go in.
The matador does a poor job of setting the sword.
They remove it and wait for it to cough up blood and die.
Bull #11 - Lindo Amanecer - I just noticed the bulls have names.
Big black and mad.
Resists all spikes and gives the smaller matador a good fight.
Another bad setting of the sword has the crowd waiting.
He tries again and it falls out.
And again it falls out.
Out of boredom the bull lays down and suprises the crowd when it gets back up at an untimely moment.
The matador which was busy trying to impress the crowd gets scared and runs.
The bull walks across the arena and lays back down.
A man jumps out with a small dagger and jabs him behind the neck until the bull is no more.
Bull #12 - This one is tough.
The matador is from spain and obviously he is alot more skillful then the Peruvians.
He puts on quite a show and for a second I am again interested.
An announcement comes over the intercom "No children under 14 with alcohol please".
The matador finishes the bull off in a spectacular performance doing all sorts of daring tricks.
Standing applause by all.
Bull #13 - Rages out of the pen and is dead in 10.
Bull #14 - Scared shitless.
The single lady behind me serves up an incredible pachamanca with a smile.
Bull #15 - Another rager quickly subdued.
A moment of silence follows for the slain matador.
Bull #16 - Fierce and dead.
Another spanish matador, they are clearly better.
I have been officially invited to the lady behind, who hands me a coke with a wink.
Bull #17 - Drops his final poop before falling to the knife.
Bull #18 - Dead after 5 unsuccessful tries by the only remaining Peruvian matador and a dagger to the neck.
Bull #19 - Scared.
Bull #20 - Dead.
Again the dagger man is needed to finish him off.
The matador calls it off for darkness and the fights are over.
5 hours, 20 toros, 12 dead, and one slain matador.
The most significant bullfight I have seen, but not as colorful or enjoyable as the one in Pamplona.
August 8, 2004
Moto <> Humacunsiri Hot Springs 4000m 2h / 35k
On my way out the door to Pausa and mr hotel sidetracks me to the Humacusiri hotsprings "only a half hour away".
2 hours later I am managing the final stretch of the trecherous trail there.
An adventure of river crossings and steep dangerous rocky inclines around corners.
Again no signs, just go back 10k toward Puquio and take the right hand turnoff where there is a big sign that mentions nothing of the hotspring.
Then follow that trail another 25k taking the right whenever there is a choice.
Through a half dozen livestock gates.
Past lagoons to the left and right.
Climbing upward for the most part to a grassy plain.
Heavy winds and across a valley of grazing donkeys.
Keeping the lazy hot mineral river to the left.
A small turnoff to the left suggests something and stops.
Look no further, that is the spot.
An entire river of piping hot mineral rich water cascading from one level to the next.
Just pick your temperature and jump in.
A purely natural blend of over 14 minerals.
Combined with the chill of the mountain air my body shakes from the experience.
Continue along the decrepid stone trail higher out of curiosity.
The moto starts to spit at 4200m as I climb into the snow scattered lips of a volcano.
My altimeter gives out indicating it is too high for a reading.
At 4500m or thereabouts the bike decides it will take me no further.
I dismount and walk on with considerable difficulty.
There is hardly any air up here and I can see the motorcycles dilemma.
See that over the next bumb it starts down and so I push the bike over.
A bit further and it stalls again.
Climb a ridge to see what is on the other side and I notice a beautiful lagoon in the center.
My stomach is turning and my head is dizzy, signs of AMS.
A rock lined trail draws my attention but offers nothing more.
A sign at the top announces Cerro Qellocasa.
Turn back for home.
The rattling road all the way back has the box completely disconnected.
Drop it off with the town soldudura to repair.
He is on his way out the door to the bullfights.
He'll get to it tomorrow.
Check into the El Paraiso next door.
A dodgy and gaudy discotec / restaurant / hostal with a pink flamenco water fountain in the middle.
A rough room for 10s with the promise of hot water.
Cuy - Fried guinea pig.
Tried it once and might try it again just to convince myself it really is as bad as it sounds.
It is like eating a butter flavoured tire of mucousy fat.
Hardly any meat.
Almost exactly what you suspect a rat should taste like.
No thanks.
August 9, 2004
Motorcycle workshop day.
I perform a thorough cleaning and oiling of the chain and adjust the brakes and clutch while sparky goes to work building a near bridge to support my box for "bien fuerza", 50s.
Finished up just in time to test it out racing my way back to the lagoon at the pass for a few nice shots before sunset.
On the way back a couple kids string a tape across the road to scare me into a hard break.
Drop the bike causing damage to the bike and box.
Damn kids.
August 10, 2004
A few last minute adjustments and songs and photos and I am finally on my way.
A sad goodbye to my new friends.
Moto <> Nowhere 1h / 10k
And no more then 10k down the road the bike putters to a stop.
A broken throttle cable, something I tried replacing in Lima without success.
And on the walk back I notice an even bigger problem.
The entire rear frame of the bike has split in half from the weight of the box and bridge assembly.
Raise the idle speed and slowly sputter back to sparky.
The death of the caja.
I decide the best thing to do is to trash the box and sell my guitar and pack light.
It is clear that I got too much for an offroad adventure.
Infact I am suprised I made it so far.
Sparky starts to dissassemble as I figure out how to fix the cable.
There are no repuestos in this town.
Never check into a Discotec / Hostal.
The walls rumble all night despite the fact that there is no one dancing or even in the place for that matter.
August 11, 2004
Today is the day I sold Blue.
350 more pesos in my pocketand 30 less pesos on my bike.
A profit of $80 over the 150 yuan I paid for it in China some 3 years ago, and a loss of my best travel companion.
Hotel California one last time until I hit the wrong note halfway through and decide to call it quits.
Sold to a teacher in the secondary school across the street who has been bothering me for days about it.
A painful goodbye.
Finished repairing the accelerator cable by scinching a bolt to the end with a vise and grinding it down as sparky continued putting the bike back together.
Next step to re-organize my gear and decide on how to manage it without the box.
In many ways the box was a convenience, but in many more a nuisance.
A power outage delays the final repairs until tomorrow.
August 12, 2004
9am and the power finally comes back on.
Admitted to the school home-ec lab to use a commercial sewing machine to replace the failing shoulder straps on my bag.
Finished all repairs and preparations.
Things take longer here then expected.
Spent the remainder of the day celebrating the acheivement in a properly drunken manner with everyone within arms reach.
Auctioning goods down at the night market.
A nice ponche de mani con pasteles (peanut milk with cheese pastries).
Plans to leave tomorrow.
August 13, 2004
Said my goodbye for the second time and finally against all odds actually left CoraCora.
Moto > Incuyo 2h / 53k? (Broken Odometer Cable)
Small sac of soap and tools strapped to the back and my Blue bag up front.
A much easier and more foolproof system, which would be even easier if I would just drop the extra few tubes of toothpaste I am convinced I need.
Anyways, the bike bounces along the dirt road with a new energy.
Another day in the mountains and another banos thermales, Senccata.
A comforting certainty because the hotels serve up only cold despite their claims otherwise.
Fairly certain the people here only bath bi-annually.
Atleast that is how they look.
Anyways, this time against all odds there is a sign and it isn't such a rough ride.
However, the spring is organized and the only way to enjoy the sulphur waters is by swimming pool, admission 1s.
Luke warm water alongside a dozen splashing locals.
Nothing like the previous experiences, but enjoyable none the less.
The road to Incuyo.
Over a pass and into a valley with a massive lake in the forground and a snow capped peak in the background and cutting through a few small picturesque villages enroute.
An enjoyable ride until entering Incuyo when by sheer coincidence my throttle cable decides to give out once again.
Lucky for me it happened in an appropriate place.
Hiked the bike through town and checked into a truckers lodge for the night, 5s.
Bought a stash of generic bicycle cables off the local taller and made due.
Hopefully it will get me to Caraveli.
August 14, 2004
The music here is crap.
Especially when it wakes you up at 4am and sounds like a chinese rodeo.
Where are those lovely pan pipers I thought Peru was famous for?
Up early needless to say.
Bitter cold blasting winds.
Two gringoes from Germany passing through on business, the first since Nazca.
Atleast I get some straight answers on roads and distances.
Finished chicken rigging my moto and set off.
Moto > Caraveli 1800m 10:00 / 3.5h .5h / 85k? (Broken Odometer Cable)
Across a wind swept sandy plain.
Along trails with no apparent direction.
The magestic snow capped peak to my left.
Over some hills, a pueblo assures I am on the right track.
Across a field of red rocks and cactus.
The sun emerges from behind the clouds.
Take a break for some photos and to check the bike.
All is well.
Continue into a rolling New Mexican desert scene.
A lonely packed clay and rocky road that weaves its way along seemingly senselessly as though inspired by a Don Quixote on the piss.
Again the sun hides.
The snowy peak has now moved directly behind me and there is nothing more then this as far as the eye can see.
Eventually the desert brush and cactus dissappear sand by kilometer marker 100 there is nothing but dirt and stone.
Extremely arid.
The trail drops into a dry river ravene and climbs back out.
Making its way from one to the next, each progressively smaller.
Turns back on itself and before long i am angled down and staring deep into a 100m canyon below.
A fertile valley, an oasis of sorts, Caraveli.
A beautiful and unexpected sight.
Crossbacks all the way down.
Find my way to the Plaza de Armas and check into the Hotel Caraveli where for 3s more you get a haircut, and so I did.
Made it in half the time everyone predicted.
Looks like the lighter load is paying off.
Caraveli - About half of the size of CoraCora, twice the size of Incuyo, and absolutely lacking in anything to do whatsoever.
Relatively clean and rich from its gold mining industry nearby.
A traquil and peaceful town, but with hardly any sign of life.
A hard hat workers town for sure.
Borderline boring.
After circling the town in an hour I realize there are better places for me to spend my time.
Make an early night of it with plans to leave first thing tomorrow.
As it turns out the road from here to Chuquibamba is seasonal and this aint the season.
Looks like I have no choice but to return to the coast, my only route to Arequipa.
August 15, 2004
Memorable tamales for breakfast, a sunday tradition.
Memorable mostly because they put me in the bathroom for the rest of the day.
Actually it was probably the watered down oj, the tamales were quite good.
Pack up the bike and scoot my way back to the coast.
Moto > Atico 40m 9:00 / 2h / 77k? (Broken Odometer Cable)
Along the dried river bed of a sizeable canyon all the way back to the depressingly socked in coast at Atico.
Atico - A truckstop of a town as coastal villages go.
Nothing special, just a place to recharge on those long coastal journeys.
A pack of gringoes shuffles through the roadside stalls scavenging for anything recognizable before packing back in the bus.
Back to the 50 cent piss despite the fact that the entire town wreaks of urine.
Back to the Pan America with its assholes in trucks and busses.
La Pista, the fresh asphalt my bike hasn't felt since Nazca.
Like riding on a cloud.
Moto > Camana 20m 11:30 / 2h / 120k? (Broken Odometer Cable)
A frigid and boring cloud, passing alternatively between zonas de arenamiento and dessarrumbres the entire way to Camana.
A nice fried fish at Sr. Hans on the way into town.
This country got fried foods down pat.
Just you wonder why they keep forgetting the sauce.
And why do they wait till the end to bring your drinks?
They could use a few instructions from the chinese.
Camana - A tad bigger then Canete.
The first town where interestingly enough the Plaza de Armas isn't the center of attention.
Rather a strip of grifos, cheap hotels, and pollo ala brasa shops.
Check into the Hotel Lider and took an early night tired from the ride.
August 16, 2004
Don't know which it was, the relatively clean and comfortable bed, the lack of a disco next door, or the fact that it wasn't sub zero and high altitude that made for such a pleasent night sleep.
The first in some time.
Rain all night and cold and windy in the morning.
Took my cold (pronounced "agua caliente") shower and checked out after the owner decided i should be paying more for the room.
Decided to stay the day and see how a non-touristed city operates before moving to Arequipa.
To enjoy the luxuries missed in the mountains like good food and a stocked market.
Walk to the beach which is anywhere for 1/2 to 5 kilometers depending on who you talk to.
The colors of Peru fit into a relatively small palette seemingly dictated by the logos of Pepsi, 7-Up, and Inca Kola.
Arequipena has replaced Crystal as the beer of choice.
Infact, I count 5 primaries from red to blue (obviously the only shades available at the local ferreteria) and numerous shades of drab from brick through dirt.
The persistant overcast skies and dust filled air mutes them even more.
The coast in the winter is not an entirely visually appealing place.
Half finished constructions with the rebar still sticking out,
disintegrating streets and sidewalk, security fences and locks on every door,
trash scattered about,
cobwebs of electrical wiring strung about,
skinny and scared dogs scavenging,
tire repair shops busy putting a patch over 5 others.
And strangely enough with all the apparent poverty, people arent't driving the gas miserly scooters of Asia.
Rather, they seem to prefer monstrous gas gulping oldies from the states.
Ford Falcons and Datsun Pickups.
The real answer is 3k which goes to show you that statistics do apply if you question enough people.
And it isn't a beach but a trash dump.
Condors stretch their wings among the immense piles of garbage being put to sea.
Make my way along the stoney coast to the point.
The ruins of a town obviously parked too close to the sea.
And the rebuilding of a new that awaits the same fate.
Apparently its ability to draw the summer crowds outweighs its risks.
A seasonal hotspot of sorts with boarded up windows awaiting the next.
Too bad the one cevicheria still open hasn't adjusted the prices accordingly.
My poor impression of the coast has entirely to do with the season.
Back to town for lunch.
Hithhiking here is more difficult then Asia.
People are more cautious with their friendship.
They do tend to leave you alone on the streets though which can be a plus.
Parihuela at Don Arturos in the Plaza.
A rich sefood soup said to make you "strong" as my new friends around the table are quick to symbolize with a raised forearm and fist.
Pass the Arequipena Malta, a dark beer that is changing my mind about Peruvian beers.
And finally someone explains to me the complex system of naming.
A strange system in which everyone has atleast 4 names and the fathers is never lost.
The gang returns to their day job at the Banco de Materiales and I stroll the market.
Stock up on bread, cheese, olives, crema volteada, and a flask of Ron.
Back out with the gang for a drink after hours.
August 17, 2004
Moto > Arequipa, Peru 2200m 9:00 / 4h 1h
Colder and colder as I climb higher and higher through the fog and heavy clouds until I finally pop through and the blue skies greet me.
Nothing but sun.
A few kilometers forward and a world away.
Across the protected desert plain of Pampa Baja at 1300m.
Not much to see but sand.
An oasis of sorts in the middle where they have set up some sort of agricultural project.
Stop at a roadside stand for a liter of fresh strawberry yogurt, 2s.
And within a half an hour my stomach is inside out, squatting by the side of the road.
Again the road climbs through foothills of aggregate red rock and white sand and on the distant horizon the iconic snow-capped peak of Misti Volcano forming the backdrop of Arequipa comes into view.
First the grifos, second the parts shops, third the markets, and finally the plaza.
Arequipa - A smaller cleaner and more coloniel and pleasent version of Lima.
Cobbled streets around the historic and impressive plaza.
Spur off the center down "vino street".
Bodega after bodega of vino and pisco shops and hostals.
Choose myself the first one i see to save the hassle of motoring around.
A bit of a luxury suite with a quality bed and real hot water for 15s.
Will make a move tomorrow to something a bit cheaper.
Out for a bite.
The Cevicheria El Tigre for a nice fried fish complete with a shot of Leche del Tigre and a suprising refried beans, 8s.
Suprising in that it is my first in South America.
After my experiences through Central America I had expected that is all I would be eating here.
The portions are large and the food is alot better then I had expected.
The benefits of a big city and the comforts of a small town.
My reflection in the mirror tells me I have gained a few.
Spent the rest of the day between the bed and the bathroom.
Chris's Wedding Anniversary
August 18, 2004
Downgraded to an 8s hostal just a few blocks down and spent the other 7s on a quality ceviche.
A day spent publishing a web update.
A fiasco in a shop with a crappy connection being used to also serve up international long distance.
Resigned to another shop with a dedicated connection and Windows XP.
XP, a rare luxury in Peru because of its demand for memory.
XP, the only version of windows that will read my camera without driver hassle.
August 19, 2004
To tour the city is todays goal.
Pockets full of tourist center brochures tauting Arequipa as "The White City in an oasis with a colorful history dating back to 8000 BC".
"The City of Never Ending Spring" with ofcourse a perfect climate every day.
A half dozen churches and the highlight, the Santa Catalina Monestary.
A convent within walls of white volcanic stone.
Washed in pure whites, blues, and siena it is like a trip to the greek islands.
Nice but a bit pricey at 25s.
Up to the mirador for a beautiful view of Misti.
Inspired to return tomorrow with film.
Jim's In Tears
August 20, 2004
Moto > Salinas Huerto, Peru 4300m 9:00 / 3h / 75k
The idea was to go on a light bike ride around town, and for that I bring nothing.
2.5 hours of crappy old llama trail later I am at 4300m and the entrance to La Laguna Salinas and the Aguada Blanca Reserve looking for "Chacos" or something like that.
A vast dried salt lake surrounded by grazing alpaca and dry thorny grass.
Salinas Huerto - A small pueblocito on the North shore where the 200 inhabitants spend their days farming the alpaca for food sale in Arequipa at $60 apiece.
Follow a growing crowd up to a nearby hillside at 4500m to watch a trapping and tagging of wild Vicunya.
Vicunya looks like a deer but without horns.
It is a protected species here, valued for its skin.
They tag some 30 in total.
Return to an invitation for lunch.
Apparently the locals have never seen a gringo before as they stare wide eyed from their soupline file at the local Comedor, a free food handout spot.
A government program to keep the industry alive and the people in the far out places delivering the goods.
Special of the day, Caldo de Alpaca and a segundo of Lomo de Alpaca; infact, it is the same everyday.
Actually tastes quite nice.
A bit like beef but lighter.
Sign the register and head out in a hurry to get back before dark.
And 5k down the road my first pinchazo.
The rear tire.
The new one.
The Chinese one.
Ofcourse.
Stop a couple bicycle passers by for a hand and hike it back into town.
A cold patch while drinking beer after beer in fine peruvian tradition.
A cheat who tries to take me for 20s, about 10 times the going rate.
We settle on 10s and I hike it back as the sun sets with a grumble in my voice.
So the fault is this.
I have only my fleece on and it is near 10c.
And that is before the sun sets.
And the return to Arequipa is hours away on a bad trail.
And it is likely the fix will flare its ugly face on me and fail half way.
And so I recognize this moment of hope and desperation on the long darkening hike back.
And in this moment out of all coincidence the very man who I had stopped to talk to at the pass on my way here passes.
And more coincidently it was of this tire and how crappy Chinese tires are and how I really should carry a patch kit that we had spoken.
Picks me up and helps me put it back on the bike and then as only a shining star in a sea of cheats would, invites me for the night.
Juan Mamani Juamani the park ranger, my own personal Jesus.
An adobe shack of three rooms and a galvanized roof.
A hot coffee by candlelight in the kitchen to warm my frozen carcass.
A friendly housemate who offers his bed to me.
A hundred heavy blankets.
A long cold night.
Hardly any air.
August 21, 2004
Moto > Arequipa, Peru 2200m 9:00 / 3h / 75k
The brilliant sun rises at 7, casting its light on a quiet town where a team of men are already busy hefting sacs of lake salt into the back of a truck for delivery to the big city.
A gust of icy wind blows through as a scrawny dog passes by.
There isnt much to life out here.
And before I can set off myself, Juan proudly offers me the park register to sign.
The 227th visitor since my trip began in April of 2000 and only the 3rd gringo ever on record.
He also offers me some contacts in Canahuas to stop and visit on my way to Chivay.
Give the sun a chance to warm things up and say my goodbyes.
Stop in Chiguata for a rest.
A plaza lined with race cars and pit crew.
A redneck expo of sorts.
Grab myself a few chicharron sandwiches and watch on with interest as soon it becomes evident that a road rally is underway.
Consuming 10k of the way, my way, the only way back to Arequipa for 2 hours.
Not wanting to spend another unanticipated night, I keep a low profile and manage to inch my way mostly back before the cars come whizzing through.
Change the brake fluid and pick up the needed pump and patch kit on my way back into town.
And finally I manage my way back to the mirador, this time with film.
And ofcourse Misti is clouded over and so failed the picture I had planned to put up on my wall.
It just isn't the same in digital.
A late night chat with the Wiggins has me revamping my compromised Mailman for something much simpler and more secure.
Introducing the GroovyBroadcast.
August 22, 2004
Finish stocking up on spares and tire tubes and off toward Chivay and the Colca Canyons.
Moto > Canahuas, Peru 4000m 12:00 / 2h / 80k
Pista over the pass at 4000m and Canahuas where I momentarily stop to deliver Juans message.
Ada kindly welcomes me in with a cafecito.
She is busy preparing cena while the other two rangers are out enjoying the nearby hotsprings.
They return and I break out the rum and everyone is toast within minutes.
Appears it doesn't take much at this altitude.
The winds pick up and there is talk of rain and snow ahead.
Better to stay the night they offer.
With half a day to go and nothing to do I set off to the hotsprings myself.
Tibido no mas, a less then satisfying but probably nice earlier on a sunny day bubbling hole in the ground.
Back to "town".
All of 6 empty houses and one tourist tienda that pulls bank (nearly 500s per day) on the busloads of euro tours that pay 2s for a mate de cocoa and another 22s in postcards of llamas and Snicker bars.
Down myself a mate, negotiated for half price, and carry on a chat with chinese owner and crew.
Hitch a couple of the crew back to the puesto de control where they wait for the bus to Arequipa and where I finish off the evening early with the less then exciting rangers.
Jodi's Baby Has Arrived
August 23, 2004
A much more restful night then Salinas.
Balled up inside a Slumberjack on top of a bunk bed that a few times had me wondering if it was coming down..
Even heavier winds in the morning make it clear that yesterday would have been better.
Help the post fix their motos, down my last cafe y ron, and say my goodbyes.
Stop for breakfast at the tienda, again a touch of spanish easily negotiates it down to half price.
Seated in the back room at the special table with the bus drivers.
It is when I learned the difference between "trucha" and "chucha".
You must be very careful how you pronounce it.
I thought I was talking about fish.
They heard something different.
Moto > Chivay, Peru 3600m 10:00 / 2.5h / 85k
Off for Chivay into the blistering cold.
Inching over the sub-zero and snowy pass at 5000m.
The Mirador Los Andes where a circle of rocks points you to any one of 8 volcanoes on the horizon and a few crazy locals sit shivering and waiting for the next euro bus to come through.
Selling sweaters and blankets for up to 50s the day and some days nothing.
Sit down next to one of the old ladies and strike up some conversation.
She offers me some pasta out of a tupperware container.
I recommend they sell hot chocolate instead.
Everyone gets a charge out of this.
Carry on.
Unexpectedly stall out of gas as my odometer is broken and drift the 20k downhill into Chivay,
putting on my goggles as I pass through the "tourist control post" unnoticed.
The post that has a deal with the bus drivers to levy a "fee" for any gringo visiting the canyons.
I think it cost around $6.
Find a convenient luxury hostal and check in, again with the plan to make a move tomorrow after a nice shower.
Well, atleast a warm shower after having to haunt the management about it for an hour.
Chivay - A pleasent little town at the head of the Colca Canyon valley protected from the scourge at the pass.
A colorful street market where locals in traditional wears barter with a relaxed feel.
Men in cowboy hats and dusty jeans, women in bright and ornamented vests, dresses, and hats.
A friendly place where passers by still greet you with a simple "hola".
A place that hasn't yet lost its tradition to tourism which is just starting to explode.
A walk about over the old stone bridge connecting the two sides of the canyon gorge and up the hill to the wooden cross for a beautiful vista over the town.
An abundance of stunning cactus, wildflowers, and gum trees clinging to the sides of the canyon.
Interesting hiking trails in all directions.
A really nice place to stay a couple days for some photos before lollying my way from pueblo to pueblo down the river.
With the rebuilding of the road here and the cheap multi-day tours from Arequipa this is a place that is sure to change soon.
Fixed my speedo cable by solduring two pieces together, sure to break again soon.
Atleast now I will know how much gas I have left.
August 24, 2004
Rain all night.
A fresh layer of snow on the surrounding mountains.
Overcast all day, perfect for a trip to the hotsprings nearby.
Downgraded hotels and set off to La Calera, a well established set of 5 hotspring pools.
Segregated with 3 for tourists and costing 10s while the locals have their own 2 pools for 1.50s.
Argue with the man at the dooruntil he accepts that I won't pay 10 and I accept that I can't pay 1.50 and we settle on 2.50, the local price to use the tourist pools.
Sink into pool #2 alongside a busload of schnitzels and a bit of a crazy New Yorker and his Peruvian girlfriend.
He doesn't speak spanish and she doesn't speak english, but they have a translator.
A 2 hour soak in the perfectly temperatured calcium rich waters.
Actually the ticket says it is 30% Ca, 18% Zn, 19% Fe, 1.5% C, 10% Salts, 8% Others.
The other is the dirt and dead skin that falls from my back.
Said to cure arthritis, rheumatism, and a batch of other illnesses.
Nice.
Back in Chivay I snuck in on a tourist buffet lunch on the third floor complete with a "traditional" music gig.
I don't know how traditional "The Doors" is but it was the best food I have eaten in Peru so far and all I could eat negotiated for half price to 12s I wasn't complaining.
Spent the rest of the dismal day sitting in a bar, nursing a beer and watching the Olympics in Athens.
Heavy rains all night.
August 25, 2004
I love the street market here.
Especially the row of molliente carts with wild flowers in the stew.
Something different today.
Kiwicha, a hot drink of Quinua and cream with apple and cinnamon, nice.
My new tradition.
Back to the hotsprings for my second new tradition.
An hour in pool 2 is enough to put me away for the day.
10am and the local children jump in.
Starts to look like a playground and smell of piss and so I decide it enough.
I reckon it is best to come as early as possible for the tranquil and fresh water.
And bring with you a kilo of sole cinquenta mandarines from the market, you'll thank me.
Back to town I sit for lunch in a tourist restaurant disguised as a local hole.
A spark of spanish spoken with confidence goes a long way.
Half price with a wink on all menu items.
And interestingly enough we talk about it in the open right infront of a table of full-fare gringos none the wiser.
The pompous Euro backpacker types who think they are in the travel cause they are wearing silly clothes.
Me and the dueno have a good laugh about it all as they take turns bragging to each other about such and such.
The food is exceptional.
A beautiful day of blue skies and scattered clouds, better for photos and worth the wait.
Hike it up the hill even further this time to what appears to be an old castle, but was probably just a lookout.
An even more incredible view and on a beautiful day it is even more inspiring.
Snow capped peaks surround the city on all sides.
The energy keeps me going and I do a bit of a exploratory wander through the neighboring villages before deciding to get my moto and take it further.
Back at the hotel I fix up my clutch with a new bicycle cable and stock a few more just incase.
Set off in the late afternoon over the bridge and along the other side of the canyon.
Absolutely stunning scenery the entire way to Yanque, where a hotspring waits for a dip and a bridge takes me to the otherside for the return.
On my way back at dusk.
Sheep herders and road workers shuffling their way home for the day.
There is alot of work going on here to turn this place into something even bigger.
I reckon once they finish the road it may be too late, if it isn't already.
12.9k and my speedo breaks again as predicted.
August 26, 2004
Check out of the friendly Hospedaje La Casita, the most comfortable stay in Peru so far.
A "put me to sound sleep in a second" bed and real hot water, even though it did take a bit of setup each time.
Yelling through the window to the man on the roof and back to raise or lower the water.
Something about a termi-stat which I never could understand.
Moto > Cabanaconde, Peru 3200m 4h 2h / 80k
Refixed the speedo cable this time decently, and set off for Cabanaconde where treks into the canyon are said to begin.
More beautiful views into the canyon along the way.
Take the turnoff to a geyser and find myself on an absolutely devistating 9k trail requiring a 250 at the least.
A treacherous hike follows when the trail ends and my bike refuses to take me further.
In the end, basically nothing but a small spout of steam from some rocks in the unreachable distance.
I was so dissappointed I even forgot to take a photo to show just how dissappointed I was.
And again my altimeter is beeping at me.
Don't waste your day.
Arrive in Cabanaconde, a nice village more or less the same as every mountain village I have encountered in Peru so far.
Nothing really going and so I take a walk to the edge of the canyon to ponder my trek tomorrow.
A nice vista down into the gorge which is said to be the deepest in the world, just not here.
I can just make out the small villages on the far side where I will pass through.
A day down and a day back or something around 10 hours of hiking supposedly according to a rant in the hotel guestbook.
Decide to do it light, nothing but me and my camera and a few fruit.
Back in town I overhear a conversation about a chess club and find myself at the primary school in the middle of a competition.
Beat the little girl, and then the little boy (who I think is the class champ), and then their pro-fes-sor.
He is devistated and the students turn to question.
3-Day Colca Canyon Trek
August 27, 2004
Trek > The Mirador 3300m 8c 6:30 / 30m / 3k
Heehaw donkeys and howling dogs all night.
Checkout early leaving all my gear behind, armed only with my fleece, my 2 cameras, and a pocket full of mandarines and bananas.
Head back out of town down the road to the mirador where the trail begins.
Trek > The Bridge 2300m 24c 7:15 / 1.5h .25h / 5k
Cold in the shadow of the mountain.
Slowly down an easy and obvious dirt and stone trail.
Turns to the sun and becomes a bit more rocky, downward, and diverging.
Almost hard not to run it in half the time.
Catch an especially beautiful view of the river below, with the rising sun reflecting sharply off the snake of water.
After an hour I am at 2600m and 24c and the trail zig zags back and forth on the final stretch to the bridge.
Make it to the bridge in just under an hour and a half.
Sit for a rest and some fruit.
Trek > San Juan, Colca 2350m 24c 9:00 / 15m / 1k
2 x 10's tied together by clothes hangers to cross the river and 5 minutes back up the hill and through tropical gardens.
Follow the white and blue arrows announcing restaurants and camping to the small village of San Juan.
Stop at Gloria's and negotiate my Coke down from 4s to 2.50s striking a hard bargain.
She says a month ago 50 would pass a day, but now hardly a one.
The start of the off season and business is tough.
Lucky me.
Stare back up at what I had just done.
I can't quite make out the trail but clear are the Condors circling at the cross.
They call this a canyon, but it looks more like a river between two mountains not created by the river but rather the reason for it.
Maybe I don't know what a canyon is.
Trek > Cosnirhua, Colca 2600m 22c 10:00 / 45m 15m / 2k
A bit hit or miss on the trails and where they go but basically to the right and up are the towns.
Convert to shorts and headress with my fleece tied around my waist.
It would have been better to leave the fleece behind.
A long, steep, hot and dry climb to Cosnirhua.
Cosnirhua - A few adobe shacks with galvanized roofs typical of the ancient Incas, a field of cactus, and a community of borachos.
Stumbling across the road to their next glass of cana, a nearly 100% distillation of sugar cane.
An obviously tranquil place far from nowhere.
Kids seem to be the thing to make here.
Stop for a deserved glass of lemonade.
Trek > Malata, Colca 2550m 22c 11:00 / 15m
On to Malata, a skip down the road.
Where two men are actually working.
Digging the foundation to build another hut.
Brief conversation indicates it will take them 10 days to build.
They are getting paid 25s each per day.
Trek > The Oasis, Colca 2200m 26c 11:30 / 1h (slowly)
Walk along with a couple backpackers from Holland on a whirlwind tour of South America.
Slowly we make our way along, snapping photos of the beautiful view down on the swimming pools of "the oasis" and a few nice waterfalls.
And down again to the river to cross over the second bridge, same as the first.
And that is where we part to check into the desired bamboo and swimming pool resort of choice.
Three options and I check into the third, only because the first two weren't willing to negotiate anything.
"El Paraiso", the third in the chain and the prettiest of the bunch.
An owner devistatingly proud of his swimming pool and the quality of his grass huts.
And in the absence of his "higher quality guests" he is remotely willing to negotiate, kind of.
And that is where I learned about the hard monopoly of "the oasis".
Prices pumped sky high, my attempts at securing a Coke for anything less then 6s is shot down.
They aren't interested in negotiations and any attempt is harshly silenced.
My persistance bends the owner out of shape.
I have now been labelled the "bad man".
Stay in one place and you better eat there too.
Got the whole 3-ring circus in a tiss by trying to break their bond by finding my dinner elsewhere.
Warned harshly I am not to even enter a camp I am not staying in.
And so I find an obviously segregated tienda and an old man who is willing to serve me.
Half price and double the food, including the 2.50s Coke I was craving.
Spies crawling through the bushes watch as I eat and report back to the base.
Critical eyes on me when I return like I have done something wrong.
Like I have done something illegal.
The politics of the canyon.
Serious politics.
If you want to stay here you better not wander.
Some games at night with the other guests.
A few drunk and horny German girls and a few thus inspired guys from France.
A few rounds of chess and a fiercely competitive game of Go.
How delighted they were to jump on the "spank the American" wagon when I won.
August 28, 2004
Spent the day swimming, eating at "the other place", and avoiding contact with the owner.
A quiet day with only 2 others from Boston arriving late in the day.
Dropped my sock in the pool.
Played the pretend not to to have contention game by helping the owner plan his latest great idea, a new dining area.
An extreme engineering feat as far as he was concerned, taking his "team" a half dozen tries to get it almost right.
Hours to map out a simple hexagon on the ground big enough to seat 50 or maybe 60.
All the while he kept himself in humour over the catastrophe of the twin towers.
Decided to just forget the conflict and eat his rice and potato dinner, 10s.
August 29, 2004
Trek > Cabanaconde, Peru 6:00 / 2h
Up and out early to avoid the sun.
A relationship with El Paraiso that was perfectly summarized on the way out when their dog bit me in the leg, the owner gave a chuckle, and I squatted on the first step of his beloved pool.
A present for the pleasent stay that I had the joy of watching him encounter from a lookout half way up the mountain.
An enduring climb out but not so bad early in the morning.
May I recommend you do the entire trek from start to finish in a day.
If you start early in the morning you should have plenty of time to take a swim in his pool and leave before he charges you.
Start your climb out in the late afternoon after the sun drops below the rim and you should make it out well before dark.
Back in Cabanaconde I inspect the damage.
My Groovy Convertibles took the most of the blow but still left me with a scratch.
The town doctor brushes off my concern for rabies and sends me off with a handful of Amoxycillin.
If I don't die in the next few day I guess I will know.
Moto > Chivay, Peru 9:00 / 2h / 55k
A bit late arriving at the Condor Cross I see one pass far and high and a hundred tourist waiting for the next.
Just a big bird which actually I have seen plenty of flying over the various passes on the way here, not terribly dissappointed.
Actually more fascinated by the sparrows.
The hourly bus comes and they all dissappear.
I see 2 more, this time far and low and returning home.
Back to my room in Chivay.
A nice alpaca saltado at my now favorite restaurant.
Feels good to be out of "paradise".
I am tired of the canyon which is actually prettier closer to Chivay.
August 30, 2004
Couldn't get up early enough today, it was already a playground.
Actually I may be wrong about the timing.
It seems to come in waves, calming down after 9 and peaking again at 10.
Probably 7 would be best.
Lately my mind has been perplexing over whether to head South from here and go to Bolivia next or continue with my original idea of returning to Lima and then heading North.
This decision is now important to answer, because if I decide to go to Bolivia now then I should head to Cuzco next.
Otherwise, I should better head to Puno first and loop around.
Since it has taken nearly double (and then some) what I had expected to get this far my ideas about seasons and where and when are changing.
It appears now that it would be better to continue South making it to Patagonia in the summer.
August 31, 2004
Decide on Cusco and South.
Moto > Caylloma, Peru 4200m 11:00 / 4.5h 1h / 73620k (start) 100k
The friendly guesthouse owner draws me a map of a better route, taking me through small scenic villages along the way and off I go.
Humming along merry atleast until 13647k when my accelerator cable snaps.
Luckily I have spares.
A half hour quick fix and I am back in action.
Replace the carburator needle at the same time with a fatter one from the old carb and raise it up.
Too high and 2k later I drop it down one notch from the top.
I have become an expert at this.
Finally a setting providing enough fuel to give decent power on the hills without providing too much to foul the plug and sputter at 3700m.
A setting which actually gets me up to the pass at 4500m with only a hint of attitude.
Ofcourse the total power of the bike is compromised by the lack of air but it ain't bad.
Stop to give er a rest and watch the alpaca.
Some things I am coming to terms with:
1. Chinese tires are crap (something I have known since travelling China but am now committing to).
2. This bike has a propensity for repair, maybe it is jinxed.
3. A 125 os a bit small for high altitude adventure travel. A good condition 185 - 250 is best.
Starting to think I really gotta sell this bike before leaving Peru and upgrade it in Bolivia where I hear they have better bikes for less.
A Honda XL200 passes in the other direction with 2 people and sounds comfortable.
Head first into light snow (better then rain) turning into hail (worse then rain) and heavy winds on the final stretch to Caylloma.
A nothing truck stop of a mining town where I decide to stay the night because of the delays.
The municipal Hostal, 5s.
Spend the rest of the afternoon in an intense volleyball competition.
Gaseosa gratis!
September 1, 2004
Moto > Suykutambo, Peru 3900m 8:00 / 1.5h / 73730k 40k
A Cambodia grade road through a beautiful rocky canyon.
Take rest in the peaceful and pretty sleepy village of Suykutambo.
A gang gathers to discuss the merits of my bike.
An impressive looking bike with a solid frame, too bad it lacks the power.
Quite possibly the most exciting thing this town has seen all week.
Moto > Espinar, Peru 4000m 11:00 / 2.5h 1h / 35k
The road gets alot nicer and the scenery does too as I slowly follow the bank of the lazy green river 35k to Espinar.
Stop in Puente Blanco on the way for some trucha frita and some small nasty dirty potatoes.
Actually they aren't potatoes, but I wish they were.
Espinar - Suprisingly alot bigger and more happening then I was expecting.
A modern and relatively rich city with broad streets, clean, and orderly.
An impressive old church.
A couple high rises of 7 floors being constructed.
A fiesta of sorts in the plaza, hundreds of women crowding one street.
Another street witnesses a mass of school kids on their way home for the day.
An extraordinarily lively place.
A pueblo on the go.
Sit down for some chicken and an interesting aside.
In Asia they won't let you eat without first washing your hands with soap and water.
Here, the bathrooms don't even have soap.
You gotta ask for it and this usually causes a suprise.
Needless to say no one washes their hands here before eating, nor even after using the bathroom apparently.
Hygiene here isn't what it is in Asia.
Interestingly enough I haven't gotten too sick yet.
Only once.
Infact, the people here don't shower much either, perhaps monthly.
Obviously because the water is ice cold.
Not showering often is the reason the soaps here all contain high doses of anti-perspirants and anti-biotics.
The thing I don't understand is the cold water bit.
I mean considering the power of the sun in the mountains on a clear day in the winter which is when you would want a hot shower the most.
Solar heating isn't very costly.
I am fairly sure it is free.
Turns out that wasn't a fiesta at all.
Rather, someone was killed yesterday at the Comisaria and the women were gathering in protest.
Or rather, curious to make sure it wasn't their husband.
A festive atmosphere on the streets at night.
September 2, 2004
Out to see some ruins that are twice as far and half as nice as the locals would make believe.
Cold and rainy in the afternoon.
A dull day climaxed by trying to ignore a drunk over a Cusquena beer in a local dive.
Peruvian bars (infact most of the latin american bars i've been in) aren't very pleasent places.
It is where the dirtiest of the men gather for the express (and it is express) purpose of getting pissed.
Retreat to the comfort of my room.
It is days like this when I miss Blue most.
September 3, 2004
My good luck, the 5th Annual Alpaca Festival.
Ranchers from all over Peru and their herds gather for a 4 day hoedown.
Unfortunately it doesn't really get kicking until tommorrow when the governor arrives and I ain't in the mood to stick around just to watch a bunch of farmers haggle over the price of their herds.
One farmer indicates that a typical Alpaca goes for around $100.
They want to trade me 10 for my bike.
Moto > Vilille, Peru 3600m 11:15 / 2.75h .5h / 73896k 85k
A decent dirt road toward Santo Tomas showing me an average speed of 40k/h slightly above the 30k I have become used to as of lately.
Over a pass at km50 / 4500m with relatively no complaints by the motor.
It is now performing almost respectably, albeit a little sluggish even for my tastes.
Were it not for the bicycle cables and chinese tires I might think twice about selling it.
Refill in Vilille just incase, as I have no idea how far the next town is.
Neither do the locals.
Moto > Santo Tomas, Peru 3600m 2:00 / 1.5h / 73984k 57k
Across a valley and over a second pass at km36 / 4200m.
Drop down into another valley and it just happens to be Santo Tomas.
Suprisingly not as far as I was expecting.
Santo Tomas - A small and pleasingly friendly and well kept town with just enough amenities to make you comfortable but not too much to make clutter.
Perhaps the most attractive and appealing of Peruvian villages on my trip so far.
Interesting slogans posted at each corner.
Check in to a place in the plaza and soon thereafter it fills with activity.
The graduating class of the local college of dance parades through.
A thousand kids dressed in traditional wears and putting on a show for the town.
A colorful celebration.
September 4, 2004
Since Chivay it has become increasingly and more consistently cloudy and rainy.
Something the locals claim isn't typical for this time of year.
A heavy downpour last night has the mountains a brilliant green.
Up to the cross on the hill for a nice view over town.
Spent the rest of the morning in an internet cafe not posting an update or chatting but teaching the local teenaged riff-raff guitar.
Later in the evening we head back out to the chicharia for a swig and the discoteque for a jig.
A pitch black room with 6 guys and 2 girls and some bad techno.
The girls leave.
Then it is just the guys and the bad music.
The same "wake me from my bed" scene but on the other side of the fence.
Running a disco in these parts doesn't appear to be a very good business.
September 5, 2004
Changed the oil in my bike.
Today a hurricane tore Florida to bits and there was a fiesta in Santo Tomas.
The start of a four day celebration.
Perhaps more of the education thing but im not exactly sure what it was about.
Colorful "tribes" from all over and more parading around the plaza.
A massive market of farmers and potatoes and corn and everything take over the entire town.
Every street packed full.
The largest market I think I have ever seen.
Some nice shots.
More entertaining of the internet gang in the evening.
September 6, 2004
Moto > Haquira, Peru 3600m 7:30 / 2.5h / 74041k 77k
Slowly I make my way along the decent dirt road that elegantly makes its way from mountain to mountain, pueblo to pueblo.
A beautiful easy clear blue skies day that I am in no rush to let pass.
Along the way my mind keeps itself occupied writing a guide to motorcycle travel.
A forest of aloe, eucalyptus, and pine stirs my senses and awakens me from my dream and welcomes me to Haquira.
Just another small town where the residents are suprised to see me.
An absolutely dead town where the silence is only broken by my muffler and periodic PA announcements to signal to residents when they are being called on the local shortwave.
A beautiful old church faces the plaza where I stop for gas and brunch.
Its the only place in town serving, and it is where I run into the police force all liquored up.
Apparently crime and law enforcement aren't big issues here.
The typical "menu".
Starts with a soup and goes to a second of some sort of fried meat on top of rice and potatoes and finally ends with a drink, te or mate.
You can get pretty tired of the same things every day, but this one was nice.
I am getting conflicting answers on the distance to Chuquibambilla, the next significant town toward Abancay.
Could be anywhere from 2 hours to 8 depending on who you ask.
Inflate upon those who look at your bike with big eyes and deflate those that even wonder how you got here.
The true answer lies somewhere inbetween.
Moto > Progresso, Peru 3800m 11:30 / 2h / 74118k 60k
From here the road becomes alot rougher and rockier, more unpredictable and demanding on my attention.
Across fields of grazing sheep and climbing to another pass at km50 / 4300m and dropping down into the ugly truck stop town of Progresso.
Slight showers.
Fucking dogs.
Good for nothing here except keeping you up at night and creating terror in the day.
Every house has atleast 1, but they usually work in teams of 2 or more to maximize the potential for the most dangerous situation possible.
In rural areas the average is a dozen per kilo.
Hit one on the way here, nearly wiping me out.
I don't so much mind the playful happy to run alongside you barking ones, it is the ones that look to kill you that bother me.
Progresso - Where half the population spends its time rocking back and forth on the seesaw rock trying to extract gold and the other half cheat what they can to earn their living.
3 tries to find a resonable price on gas for a refill just incase.
Here the road splits, one way to Cusco and the other to Abancay.
I continue on toward Abancay.
Moto > Vilcabamba, Peru 2800m 2:00 / 2.25h .5h / 74182k 52k
The road returns more or less to decent dirt but with enough of a dose of sand to keep me slow and sliding around the corners.
More and more corners, to the point where it starts seeming senseless to travel 20k for each 2k of "progress".
Black storm clouds raging of wind and cracking of lightening on my tail.
I push er as fast as I can but as usual the clouds win and within moments the fringes are pissing on me.
Luckily the road turns back on itself as it usually does and before long I am out again.
My wet jacket quickly dries.
My goggles stay fogged.
Through a few small and unanticipated villages.
Stop in one for a rest and a bite.
More then 4 hours on a road like this really wrecks me.
Excited to get somewhere significant.
The rocks return and in full force.
A dangerous and seemingly endless 1000m descent into Vilcabamba, the largest town so far.
Decide to just push it the final squirt to Chuquibambilla.
A distance that the locals for once argue over a difference of 1 kilometer.
Moto > Chuquibambilla, Peru 4:30 / 30m / 74243k 14k
A rocky and rainy ride along an absolutely stunning series of tropical gorges.
Chuquibambilla - A bit ridiculous sliding down the side of a mountain.
An entirely unattractive and unfunctional town where you need to climb a dozen stairs to find out you went the wrong way.
A task finding a reasonable room in that there are no signs for the hostals and the owners are usually not there.
I would normally say a long day on road deserves a day off, but in this case I might make it two.
Anyways, I find a room and spend the evening in the rain looking for a place to eat.
A poor menu atleast improved by the chess game with the owner.
Tomorrow I continue on.
September 7, 2004
The trend seems to be sun in the morning and clouds by midday.
Up and out early to avoid the possibility of rain.
Moto > Lambrama, Peru 3000m 7:15 / 3h .5h / 74263k 62k
An inspiring ride climbing into snowy peaks.
An iconic Laguna Lliullita at the pass at km26 / 4500m.
A fairly unpredictable, narrow and rough road with just enough traffic to make the cliff a dangerous proposition.
Stop and wait for 2 men to clear the road of the tree they cut down.
Drop down into Lambrana for brunch.
A heaping plate of quality fresh vegetables (ofcourse including rice and potatoes, sweet this time) the first in some time.
Moto > Abancay, Peru 2400m 11:00 / 1.5h / 74327k 56k
Along the river on a lane marginally paved and in desperate need of a sweep.
Reaching speeds I have only dreamed of since Arequipa.
My first sighting of a quality paved and divided road from the other side of the river and below.
Must be close.
And by km99 it discreetly merges (sign free ofcourse).
The 3s at km448, the Pan America to Cusco.
Riding the cloud to Abancay at km468.
Abancay - A relatively ugly and sprawling city which it is apparent grew considerably after the Pan America passed through.
Nothing inspiring nor different then any Peruvian city on the rise.
Street after street of shopping.
They must have won a football game.
"Gooooooooooooooolllll !!!" all night from the TV and the fans outside my room.
September 8-9, 2004
Overcast and rainy, a good time to publish a web update.
Another case of crappy connections consumes two days.
An internet cafe with a lady still stuck in the American Eighties.
Shes got the hair, the makeup, and all.
Even the music.
A bit of a vegetarian kick in town.
Been eating fruit salads and triga for breakfast.
September 10, 2004
Changed the front fork oil with hydraulic steering fluid and gave her a wash before setting off toward Cusco.
Moto > Curahuasi, Peru 2700m 2:15 / 1.5h / 74384k 76k
Slowly back and forth and up the hill to the Mirador of Abancay for a nice view over town.
And even slower back and forth and further up the hill to the pass at 3900m.
A stunning wall of snow ahead.
And down to Cutahuasi where I heard there were some hotsprings.
Moto <> Hotsprings 1h
A sucker I am for hotsprings and so I stop for the night.
An organized set of pools only slightly warmer then cold and costing 2s.
Can be safely skipped.
September 11, 2004
I woke up and somehow magically my accelerator cable snapped itself overnight.
Looks like a bicycle cable will only get you so far.
848km actually.
Replaced in a snap with another in my bag.
Papa rellenos con huevos enteros for a sole and I am off.
Moto > Cusco, Peru 3400m 9:30 / 6.5h 4.5h / 74495k
And no more then 10k downhill i have my second flat.
You guessed it, the Chinese rear.
Dragged the bike a bit further to a abandoned roadside temple where I setup shop.
Jacked er up on a rock and took er off in a half and patched her up before noticing the entire stem valve was busted.
Luckily I had packed an extra tube in Arequipa.
But not without two holes installed from the rough ride inside my bag.
Cleaned and adjusted the brakes and the chain as the glue dries.
A half a jar of glue, a strip of patches, and an hour later I am putting it back together.
And ofcourse my Chinese pump breaks.
Lucky enough a trucker also broken down nearby allows me to hook up to his compressor.
Put er back on the bike and adjust the chain and notice still a slow leak.
2 hours have gone by and I am taking it all back apart.
A hole I just can't locate.
Down to the river where the passing cars plow through to drench me as I submerge it to check.
A small factory installed hole on the inside of the tube.
A Chinese tube ofcourse.
Another patch.
A 1 hour repair finally finished in 4.
Complete with 3 patches on my new tube and my old tube hanging from the cross.
Another pass at 3700m and the speedo breaks.
This time it isnt the cable but the actual speedo.
Down again and I stop for a killer chicharron.
The last 40k seems forever.
Cusco- A bit trashier then expected outside the 1 square kilometer tourist center.
A center that could just as well be called Little Israel.
I can't read Hebrew but I am confident they are selling pizza.
Gringoes are everywhere and the prices are outrageous.
Find a cheap stay only a block off the plaza.
A bit of agency to agency probing has me realizing a new rule as of a month or two go.
That if you want to hike the Inca Trail then you must reserve it a month ahead.
Ofcourse I want to do it but I don't got a month to sit around and wait.
The condition of a heap of travellers passing through.
And quickly to fill the need they have come up with a slew of other tempting options on doing Machu Picchu as a trek.
In all directions, in any number of days, and by any means; rafts, bikes or trains and costing up to a couple hundred.
All the while they seem to have conveniently forgotten that the whole point was to hike the Inca Trail.
I mean I could trek anywhere if that were simply what I wanted to do and pay nothing.
Anyways, this leaves me at a loss for a happy answer.
I really wanted to hike the trail.
To look for a back door?
September 12, 2004
Spend the morning preparing my bike for sale.
Repainted the rusty rear fork and cleaned, lubed and adjusted everything, 20s.
To the internet to print out some flyers and ended up the rest of the day in a bout of chess with the owner.
Victory!
Broke down and got a pizza.
A simple thin cheese about the size of personal pan and at 16s costing more then my room.
Atleast it was enough to fill me even though the cheese made me a bit sickly.
Enough of that for some time.
September 13, 2004
More postings.
A hundred flyers around town with the help of the friendly guesthouse owner.
Two different periodical classifieds and radio for a week, 20s.
Busy burning a CD of photos just long enough to miss the town parade.
Something instantaneous and huge that I had no interest in being part of.
Something to do with the local Cienciano just winning some big soccer cup of all South America.
Girls screaming at the passing floats carrying the team.
The meeting of Kevin Pedlow.
A fellow amishman from my hometown of Lancaster, PA who heard about my travels while shopping for EMS gear down at the mall.
Contacted me through my website to invite me to dinner during their wham-bam tour to Machu Picchu.
To meet him and his crew in the Conquistador at 2.
Or was it the Ganador?
Finally got it right at the Liberador, but they have yet to arrive.
Sink down into the comfy 5 star lobby couch and wait.
So comfy I fall instantly asleep and 2 hours later awake to find they still haven't arrived.
And just as I am ready to move on they show.
Without the promised scrapple.
Out for a bit of a show around town and dinner.
The Inca Grill - The best in town according to "the book".
Nice, but with a menu that an Inca would have trouble recognizing.
Probably cause he has never tried glazed duck or vegetable lasagna.
Atleast the band stuck on Wantanamera and the heavy Pisco Sours kept us in good spirits.
Something our bitchy American neighbors weren't too happy about.
"You know we can hear everything you are saying over here..."
September 14 - 17, 2004
More out and about with the Amish contingency until they left on their well organized and properly reserved Inca Trail trek.
Alot of ignorant people who want something for nothing.
A hundred offers for $1000 on my bike, always something less then the $1300 I am asking.
Fill the spaces inbetween with re-matches down at the internet cafe.
Reserved a tour of the Sacred Valley tomorrow for something different.
25s for the tour from 9-6 and another 21s for the "permit".
The Sacred Valley Tour
September 18, 2004
The bus circles the plaza for the 6th time picking up the last of the gringoes.
A merry go round of sorts.
Just as I start to dizzy it sets off and the guide pipes up on the intercom.
Bus > Pisaq, Peru
The beginning of her endless rant.
The inability to shut up for even a second.
A terribly aggrivating condition all guides seem to poses.
Even the stupid jokes are translated both ways.
A headache within minutes that will linger for the reminder of the tour.
The bus makes its first photos stops at the pass.
Locals come running from all directions dragging their llamas behind them for the profit of a Kodak moment.
Back onboard in under 5, a group of tourist excited over their purchase of a Coca leaf and the prospect of smuggling it home.
"You better declare it!"
As they argue the point the bus makes its way down the hill into Pisaq.
Direct to the market for a 25 minute shopping spree.
It don't look much like a typical market.
I decide to grab lunch instead.
The 10s "menu" and the 50c bano.
The bus drivers find their way to the back room.
I manage to negotiate the proper rate.
Pisaq - A pleasent little town otherwise with alot of nice vegetables.
Back on the road I have learned that if you open the window and stick your head out you can almost forget she is talking.
Up the hill to the Pisaq Ruins.
Like a mini Machu Picchu perched at the top of a scenic peak with a nice view over town.
Impressive stone work, utilizing the laboring of a thousand people to cut a notch in a doorway.
It is entirely possible they had a few screws loose.
Slush showers on the return to the bus.
Like a herd of soggy cattle slowly huffing their sorry ass way up the hill.
Bus > Ollantaytambo, Peru
On to Ollantaytambo for more ruins, nice.
I bought the 21s "permit" at the first Pisaq Ruins stop, but you really don't need to.
Just get off the bus and back on and no one will know the difference.
And when the group floods into the Ollantaytambo Ruins just walk past the window as though you belong.
What was a small headache has worked its way into something serious.
This endless chatter is driving me crazy.
I can't even imagine travelling by package tour.
Bus > Chinchero, Peru
To Chinchero, the last stop on the tour.
A church not much more impressive then any other and apparently closed on Saturday.
Seemingly something the guide should not have been suprised by.
Anyways, not so exciting and staying in the bus would be a better option.
Bus > Cusco, Peru
By far the best part of the tour was getting off the bus in the end.
Back to the Liberador to meet the boyz back from their trek.
Word is that it would be impossible to pass all 5 checkpoints along the way without getting cught.
Looks like either the train or another route for me.
More pizza.
A museum of some silver and gold trinkets.
Accompany them on a souvenir shopping spree before handing off a bag of film and the CD to cargo back home.
Say our goodbyes.
September 19, 2004
Tired of dicking around in Cusco waiting for a serious offer on my bike.
Pack er up and head off back toward Ollantaytambo on a rehash of the Sacred Valley Tour for the purpose of somehow getting to Machu Picchu.
Not sure exactly how but I will figure it out as I go.
Moto > Pisaq, Peru 2900m 10:00 / 1.5h 45m
Back on the road on a pleasent version of the trip I should have done yesterday.
Fall in behind a group of 8 Israelis on rusty Honda 250 rentals, $30/day.
Open the throttle and keep up well considering my push is half of theirs.
A bit of a race around the mountain corners.
Feel the thrill of the sport.
Inspiring.
Stop in Pisaq to check my plug and adjust the mixture.
Looks like my recent fixings in Cusco are doing well.
I had replaced the over-sized needle collar and am now using the original needle in the middle position.
Enrich it one notch just to see.
A full market on Sunday much livelier and more real then yesterday.
Sit down with the old ladies for a strawberry chicha, obviously considered a womans' drink.
A nice rocoto relleno full of vegetables and easily at the right price, 3s.
Moto > Calca Hotsprings, Peru 12:30 / .5h
The hotsprings of Calca lure me in.
Dirty and mildly warm swimming pools crowded with splashing kids, 1.50s.
Skip it.
Moto > Salineros Salt Mines, Peru .5h
Countless pools of salt carved into the side of the mountain for mining.
Spectacular and impressive.
Moto > Ollantaytambo, Peru .5h
Immediately to the train station to check into my easy options to Machu Picchu.
An on-hour luxury tourist train for $45 one way.
An off-hour backpackers tourist train for $12 one way.
A locals only train for 10s one way.
How to become a local?
Continue on past Ollanta. to get a glimpse of the famous km82 and the start of the Inca Trail.
A bit of research on finding a back door.
At km77 there is a small foot bridge across the river without a post and a local informs me that the trail connects.
According to him, it would be possible to pass at dusk and the first on trail checkpoint after dark without trouble.
It's an option, but better to just slip past the official start if possible.
And so I continue on to km82 and find the official start of the trail secured by a large bridge and a guard on post after dark.
Half asleep but just awake enough to catch me as I give it a shot.
A half hour talk wih the boss still leaves me on the wrong side of the bridge.
I never planned to do the trek tonight but I just wanted to see how far I could get.
Hitch one of the guards back to town as I consider my options.
September 20, 2004
I must be getting older because I have settled myself on first trying the easy route.
To simply try and get on the local train with my good looks.
The Peru Rail Nazi - Apparently good looks are not good enough.
I try to use my motorcycle registration as proof of living in Lima.
He gives it a thought but then after consulting with another officer in the booth won't have it.
He does however mention that had I a "Tarjeta de Extranjero" (a card that foreigners are given who move to Peru) I could purchase the ticket.
Ofcourse.
I lost mine.
The man refuses to sell me the ticket and a fence and officer securely guard the platform.
Over to the local Comisaria to find myself a "Tarjeta de Extranjero".
Welcomed by a police officer much more willing to hear my plea then the Peru Rail nazi.
And after a bit of sloppy talk and proof by registration he sits down to the typewriter.
One peck at a time and by crbon copy he slowly produces a convincing and official "CERTIFICA".
A letter announcing that I officially live in Lima and have merely lost my card enroute.
Ofcourse losing your card cost 5s to the "Banco de la Nacion".
A receipt he pulls from his wallet and affixes to my letter.
I hand over the 5 soles and thank him for his help.
Interestingly enough the Comisaria doesn't know enough about their own vehicle registrations to realize anyone can get one.
Or maybe they do ;)
I am now a local.
Back at the train station the Peru Rail nazi is impressed by my persistence.
As he glares at me with the "there is no way in hell you will pass" expression I pull the letter from my pocket.
Instantly his expression changes to one of defeat.
A few pecks later and he regretfully hands my 10s ticket through the window.
The guards at the gate do a double take before letting me board.
Train > Agua Caliente, Peru 2100m 9:30 / 1.5h / 44k / 10s (local one way)
So to summarize your options for getting to Machu Picchu...
Getting to Machu Picchu
Legally
3-5 day organized trek of the Inca Trail with a guide and reserved atleast a month in advance $200
3-5 day organized trek of one of the other many routes on a moments notice $200
Luxury on Peru Rail from Cusco to Aguas Caliente and back $90 + bus to park and back $10 + tourist ticket $20
Backpacker on Peru Rail from Cusco to Aguas Caliente and back $25 + hike to park and back + student ticket $10
Via Santa Maria and Santa Teresa by moto and a short walk and train ride from there
Illegally
3-5 day sneak trek of the Inca Trail, by crossing at km77 and passing km82 at dusk and the checkpoints by night
3-5 day sneak trek along the train tracks, passing km82 at dark and shortly after crossing the river with care to meet the Inca Trail
2 day sneak trek along the train tracks the entire way, passing the km82 station at dark and reaching aguas caliente at km126
The Groovy Way
Local on Peru Rail from Ollantaytambo to Aguas Caliente and back 20s + hike to the park and back + local ticket $10
An attractive but slow (30kph) and uneventful ride along the river through thick jungle and a dozen or so tunnels to Agua Caliente.
Agua Caliente - A row of pizzerias and souvenir shops cut only by the train tracks which pull right through the town.
A fully capitalized town in a picturesque canyon at the base of towering peaks ascending to Machu Picchu..
As small as a tourist train stop for a one night stay needs to be, as every tourist passing through Peru spends atleast one night here.
And as such it is ripe for the picking.
Nagged for the 10s "tourist menu" by every shop I pass.
Stop in a hole where sweaty and grungy porters fresh from the trail stop to refuel on weak rice soup and celebrate the end of their treks with a stiff chicha, 2s.
Wrinkled skin and a look of twice their age, a rough life for 25s the day.
Light rain falls and so I decide it best to hold off on Machu Picchu until tomorrow morning.
After considerable negotiation I manage a simple bed in the otherwise empty Hospedaje John for 10s.
Back out on the strip for more nag-dodging.
Happy hour from 5-11 and 3 for 1!
3 glasses and 1 very watered down pisco and costing 3 times the non happy hour price.
An interesting variation on a good deal.
Gringoes are none the wiser.
This is the mentality.
Find an empty shop with an owner happy enough just for a game of chess.
A self-declared champ who doesn't even know the rules.
Dissappointed by the easy victory and the need to argue over the legallity of each move I dismiss myself.
Drag myself up to the Aguas Calientes.
Having named the town after them I would have expected more.
A few pools, one reasonably hot.
An allergic reaction to something in the water.
Nice, but it wouldn't be worth it if you had to pay the 5s the ticket man tries for.
Just walk past him and smile because there are some free waterfalls just past.
And once you pass the ticket window nobody is the wiser.
The local price is 1s but he will lie to you about this.
A few more games against the quiet hotspring snack bar man who knows the rules and might actually be the champ.
September 21, 2004
Trek > Machu Picchu, Peru 2400m 3:15 / 1.75h / 12k
In the eerie empty early hours I begin the hike up the hill to Machu Picchu.
A windy, slow, and seemingly endless road.
The same road the $5 bus uses.
On entering Machu Picchu - If you quietly arrive at the main gate by 4:30 in the morning then you can sneak in for free.
Having said that, I knocked by at 5 with my light on, woke the guard and paid my half price $10 local fare in.
There are actually a hundred ways to get in for free, I just picked the wrong one.
Up quickly to the Puerta del Sol (the entry the Inca Trailers arrive by) before they open the flood gates of 500 at 6.
A beautiful, magnificent, and solitare view of the ruins from above and the road I labored all morning on.
Absolutely inspiring and surrounded by a surreal landscape of massive peaks.
No one but me.
Overcast.
I notice the first bus sneaking its way up the hill and start down to avoid the crowds.
And nearly just in time, but not enough to avoid the "look at me" Israeli muscle shots from the ledge above.
Or that persistent Japanese lady in the red jacket with the bright green hat.
Why is it that in every group there is someone wearing flourescents who has perfect timing.
Just as the shutter clicks.
Through the impressive stone door to the temple where some embarrassingly American kooks are busy doing a dorky jazzercise yoga routine.
Making corny heavy breathing grunting sounds and flapping their arms like birds.
Stroking the stone as though they are connected by some energy field.
Barefoot ofcourse.
By 8 the sun is out and the crowds are in force.
After what looked like a cloudy day, turned out to be beautiful.
The likelyhood of a photo opportunity with both the sun and the absence of Nagi Saki is slim.
9 o'clock and 2 rolls of film and a hundred digital later and I am done.
No ticket checks on the way out.
Trek > Agua Caliente, Peru 9:00 / .75h / 4k
Straight down the fairly direct footpath, now easily visible.
A comfortble stumble for 45 minutes and I am back.
Pick up my 5:30 return ticket with a little struggle and relax.
Back at Champ's shop for another shot with the master.
Prices here are a bit more dear then back in the states.
Champ brags to me how he pulls in from 500s to 3000s per day.
The cost of labor is still however under 20s the day.
Apparently this is a rich town by any country's standards.
The rains return by noon, continuing on the recent trend.
I couldn't have had more perfect timing for my visit.
Train > Ollantaytambo, Peru 5:30 / 1.75h / 44k / 10s (local one way)
The same trip back only darker and in the other direction and a bit slower.
So to summarize my experience it was about as close to perfect as I could have imagined.
2 days to Machu Picchu and back for a total price of 54s including all transport and tickets.
The only fault being waking the guard, otherwise it would have cost 20s.
And I even got to see it absolutely empty.
I still would have liked to do the Inca Trail, however.
Back to the hotel where my moto and bag await.
September 22, 2004
Moto > Cusco, Peru 10:00 / 1.5h
Back to Cusco in express.
A bit of internet checkup and I make the decision to head offroad a bit toward Manu instead of direct to Puno.
A nice chicharron in Saylla on my way out of town.
Moto > Paucartambo, Peru 2800m 3:00 / 3.5h / 108k?
And in my attempt to find the quickest route to Paucartambo I find myself passing through Pisaq.
A complete suprise, and an indication that maybe I hadn't taken the shortest route after all.
Infact my maps don't even show the intended road passing anywhere near Pisaq.
Regardless I find myself on the right road.
I am still confused about this.
4:45 and over a pass at 4000m and 66k from Pisaq.
Down along a decent dirt road through barren mountains that eventually turn forested.
Pull into town after dark just as thunder and lightening begin to strike.
Again luck is in my timing.
September 23, 2004
An early morning walk about town.
Nothing special but the old stone bridge and the church in the plaza.
Fairly typical "special things" in most Peruvian towns.
A nice caldo de gallena in the market before heading onward to Pilcopata.
Moto > Mirador Tres Cruces Turnoff 3400m 8:30 / .75h
3/4 of an hour of puddled dirt road ad a sign welcomes me to Manu National Park and points me down a turnoff to the Mirador Tres Cruces.
Curiously I take it.
Moto <> Mirador Tres Cruces 3500m 9:15 / 2.5h 1.5h
A half hour to the mirador where a team is busy rebuilding the lookout lodge.
Clouds obscure the view from the final ridges of mountains down into the silva.
The dense jungle valley of the Amazon where 3 important rivers meet.
Take a Sublime Extreme chocolate break while the sun clears the clouds and momentarily presents a magnificent view.
The clouds quickly return and so do I.
Moto > Pilcopata, Peru 600m 11:45 / 3.25h 1h
As the trail winds its way down the forest around me get thicker and turns to jungle.
An absolutely stunning 30m trailside waterfall stops me for photos.
A hundred varieties of birds and butterflies flutter about.
Thunderclouds rumble.
The road is dotted with tiny lakes from last night's storm.
Another waterfall.
Absolute pristine beauty surrounds.
The exact experience I was hoping for on this excursion.
The trail turns quite rocky and my focus shifts to it.
Pass the Manu Lodge at a scenic river crossing where package tours of $1500 stay the night before continuing on.
Another hour and a half the man says.
The insect spray in my face gets so bad I stop to put my goggles on.
It is extremely hot and humid.
As I leave the final stretch of mountains behind the skies turn blue and the road turns straight.
Wooden planks replace the adobe bricks in local constructions, goats replace the alpaca.
After a drop of over 3000m I am now at 600m, the lowest I have been since Camana.
The breathing is easy and the air holds a lazy Asian feel.
40c and all of a sudden I have way too many clothes on.
Pilcopata - A wide open nothing much town reminding me of somewhere in Cambodia.
Stop for a bite and a rest.
Signs announcing "Fiebre Amarillo" (yellow fever) make me think back on the last time I had a shot.
I can't remember and this installs a piece of concern.
Down to the local Puesto to check on the immunization.
They need atleast 5 people to open the kit and it needs 10 days to take affect.
It lasts 10 years.
They are sorry they can't give it to me, but assure me yellow fever is a real concern around here.
A nice piece of comfort to carry on with.
Moto > Atalaya, Peru 500m 4:00 / .5h
Word has it there are boats to Manu from Atalaya another half hour along.
And to perfectly compliment the scene the road turns Cambodia grade.
Bouncing me from one river to the next.
Atalaya - 6 shacks leading up to the river, one hotel, and one bar.
Check in and make my way to the bar overlooking the river where the boat drivers linger.
A beer with the gang assures me the only boats leaving here are once daily tourist boats which my chance of jumping in on is slim to none.
And if I want to go "express" it will cost me $200.
It is a 3 to 4 hour trip.
On the upside; however, if I continue on tomorrow to Shintuya another 30k further then sometimes there are local supply boats.
I will need some luck but I should be able to find one within a day or two they say.
And so the plan is to head even deeper into the mush tomorrow morning.
September 24, 2004
Sit at the bar hoping to catch a bit of luck and jump in on a tourist boat.
2 Japanese pass through.
Their guide reassures me to do it from Shintuya on a local boat is far better.
And so off I go.
Moto > Shintuya, Peru 400m 8:30 / 2h .5h / 37k?
Across the river.
One of the many sizeable river crossings along the way.
The river bed rocky road to Shintuya.
The type least likely to pop a tire and most likely to throw you off the bike.
A rough and seemingly long ride to the end of the trail.
Shintuya - Another 6 shack down to the river launching point.
Spend the day sitting in the bar drinking Masato and waiting for a boat.
Masato is a milky white fermented drink of yucca similar to chicha but better.
It kinda tastes like soy milk but sweeter and with a punch.
Nice.
With a loss for anything else to do I head down to the local Puesto to check vaccine availability.
Here they only need 4 people and there are two others in town waiting.
She tells me to return at 4 and so I do and get my shot.
No pain and no charge.
Heavy on repellent until the vaccine kicks in in a week.
My Shots
Preparations are abound for a fiesta here tomorrow to celebrate the anniversary of this sorry little village.
Is it just my luck or is there always a fiesta here?
Everywhere I go seem to be a fiesta.
Hopefully there will be traffic to Manu.
And in an interesting coincidence two gringoes come up from the river.
Missionaries from Texas and headed in their boat to Manu on Sunday.
Maybe I can hitch a ride if I don't find another sooner.
Camp on the beach
September 25, 2004
Take a bath in the river and hang with the locals drinking more Masato and teaching them Hearts.
In the middle of a good game a call fills the air.
"Hay un bote!"
And so I load up my bike and off we go.
Boat > Boca Manu, Peru 10:00 / 6.5h 3h / 20s + 10s bike
An incredibly slow trip with one man taking a village by village census of chickens on the way.
Boca Manu - A community of one time boat builders now centered around the tourism to the nearby Manu Reserve.
A relatively rich and semi-socialized structure of pristine huts around a grassy soccer field of a plaza.
Nobody here has seen a motorbike before and are surprised I made it without an agency.
A couple of Swiss welcome me.
They have been here 3 weeks and had their tents slashed and stolen from.
I chose the guesthouse.
Amazing discounts are uncovered when you are a local, the price dropping from $10 to 10s.
Out with the half drunken caretaker to complete the job.
Suprised when I refused to foot the whole bill.
A drunken Hotel California stumble through the plaza home.
Masses of mosquitoes demand me to set up my tent inside on the bed.
Hot and sweaty night.
September 26, 2004
Woken by a rather loud and large parrot emulating the sounds of screaming kids, barking dogs, people having sex, and the occasional "hola".
Spent the morning walking through the silva counting chickens with the scientist.
265 more or less.
A dull afternoon of nothing more then being told there aren't many boats headed down river from here to Colorado where the road to Puno exists.
An evening of Rummy with the two missionaries who have successfully converted me to Christinity by walking me through the scriptures and joining in a group prayer.
Tomorrow morning I get baptised in the river and then my sins will be forgiven.
September 27, 2004
Heavy rain all night and morning.
Turned down a trip to Colorado because the man wanted 120s, over double the normal rate.
Baptised before seeing the Texans off down the river.
They can't take me cause they aren't very good with the small boat they have.
It could be dangerous they claim.
I can believe it.
Spent the rest of the day building a 50th scale model of my hovercraft for the interested boat builders of town.
Dreams of a future industry.
September 28, 2004
A day spent sitting and waiting and drinking chicha as nothing passes.
Checked out of my room and setup my tent to reduce my costs.
Stash my goods in a restaurant during the day.
How come a place that boasts such a diversity of plants and animals eats the same crappy food every day?
I am completely exhausted on weak potatoe soup and rice and fried fish.
Not a single real vegetable, never.
September 29, 2004
A piece of possible luck.
Tomorrow a local boat builder named Domingo is towing a couple fresh boats to Colorado for sale.
I give him a visit and he allows me along for 40s including my moto.
He is still building the boats so I have my doubts.
Spent the day building a half sclae model of the hovercraft for an ever increasing crowd of insterested folk.
Interesting that what took me 8 months took only 8 hours now that I have the experience.
I reckon I could build the whole thing in a few days given the materials.
September 30, 2004
Rains all morning and the boats still not being finished has me questioning the reality of leaving today.
And amazingly enough a bit later we are.
Boat > Hut enroute to Boca Colorado, Peru 3:00 / 3h 1h / 20s + 20s bike
Hitch up the rig to tow two big new boats with one old small one using a 16hp Briggs and Stratton lawnmower engine.
A bit of a trick getting my bike down the muddy cliff and on the boat.
A half hour down river and Domingo gets into a rnt with a pirate of sorts.
An old man who is piping mad at Domingo for not hitching up his new boat to take along for sale.
That and something about 5 galons of gas.
And so we wait as he returns to hitch up a third.
We are now 4 boats and one motor and moving about 5kph.
On a trip that should take 5 hours and may take forever.
Park it for the night in a one hut clearing where a lonely family is excited for the company.
Mama cooks up a catfish bigger then the house baby in a soup of water and rice.
Setup my tent out and away from the Whino.
October 1, 2004
Fried fish and rice for breakfast before heading off.
Boat > Boca Colorado, Peru 300m 6:45 / 9.25h 1h
Another overcast and rainy day.
Make it to the "native community of Puerto Azul" by 7:30 where we drop off an old man with one bad eye.
Continue on.
Half empty tourist boats pass using finely tuned 60hp outboards at 4x.
Boats that wouldn't have anything to do with riff-raff.
The exact reason I had to wait so long for a ride.
It might have been a little easier without the bike.
But still they are fairly stuck in their circuit of sights.
1pm and we drop off 2 more boats and another crew.
Continue cruising along quite a bit faster.
A half hour further they decide to switch me and the moto to a single boat that caravans along with the gang.
And even a bit faster now at around 20kph until finally we arrive.
Domingo collects his 1000s per boat and turns back toward Manu.
I unload my bike and fix the various damages enroute.
Boca Colorado - The first real town since Pilcopata and not much of one.
3 muddy streets and a handful of hotels and shops.
Compro de Oro seems to be the business at 40s the gram.
A town based around an industry in extracting gold.
A row of typically blaring and empty bars gives it the bandit town feel.
Strangely enough it feels like a metropolis after nearly a week in Manu.
Check into the typical cheapie hotel for 5s.
More damages develop on my bike as the town police goes for a joy ride, only to return hours later and with a busted headlight.
My luck finds me a replacement "foco" just around the corner.
There is no shortage of stuff for sale here.
October 2, 2004
Moto > Punquiri Chico, Peru 7:15 / 2.25h .25h / 37k
If it weren't for the past 3 days of rain and the downpour last night the road would be a race.
Cautiously through pools of mud at 10kph and with frequent "rests" (read spills).
The road is now not only like the worst of Cambodia, but during the rainy season in Vietnam.
Sweating and cursing my way along.
Punquiri Chico - A small nothing on one side of a river.
Stop for breakfast.
Boat > Across River .25h / 3s including bike
Load the bike into a small boat to cross the river.
Moto > Mazuko, Peru 300m 11:00 / 1.5h / 35k?
The road imporves considerably from the endlessly straight stretches of swampy "pay the construction team so they don't complain even though they will never finish the job"
mire to a packed dirt and river rocky climbing and avoiding the trucks around the corners copy of the road to Pilcopata.
And then into a copy of the road to Atalaya with its river crossings.
A friendly welcome to the truck stop trade town of Mazuko.
Invited to use the showers at the gas station.
Obviously the mud spills took a beating on me.
Lunch and Jackie Chan on TV.
Moto > Puente Inambari, Peru 500m 1:30 / .75h / 35k?
A half hour the the puente Inambari where the road splits to Cusco at 300k or Juliaca at 390k.
I take the road to Juliaca.
Moto > San Gaban, Peru 500m 2:15 / 3.5h / 35k?
A dangerous road with so many rocks and truck hole craters my chain bounced right off, a first.
Starting to tire and actually thankful for the break.
Passing small villages where the locals are busy drying heaps of coca leaves by the roadside.
The fake climb - One of those trips where you are climbing all day and somehow haven't gained anything.
As I pull into the one absurdly wide boulevard town of San Gaban at dusk I can see the real mountains ahead.
They built this town cause it is the only flat spot in the foothills and that is all.
They speak spanish here but I can't understand a word they are saying.
They like to look at me with big eyes and repeat everything twice seemingly knowing I don't understand them.
They crack open the door of the only hostal in town for me.
No mosquitoe net but not to worry cause "there are none here" she assures me as they circle my head.
A long rough day on the road (or should I say off) has me completely exhausted.
The same watery potatoe and noodle soup, rice, and a strip of beef for a second.
Not a single real vegetable, really strange considering I am in the middle of a jungle.
A Peruvian verion of the Beastie Boyz on the "Camino de Fama" on TV.
It just ain't the same.
An early night cause anyhow there isn't anything to do.
Chris's Expensive Sled
October 3, 2004
More rain, the 5th straight day.
No matter what they try to tell you, it is definately the season.
I wait until it quits.
Moto > Ollachea, Peru 2700m 8:30 / 2.75h .25h
Adjust my carburator to begin the real climb.
More rough and rocky.
I am becoming an expert in treacherous roads and river crosings, with a few coming all the way up to the seat.
Sun by 10.
It has turned into a beautiful day with waterfalls cascading from every crack in the towering walls that surround.
A piece of pista leading to a high security hydro-electric station at 1800m where the jungle instantly gives way to low shrub and eucalyptus.
And by 2000m a light grass and nothing more.
Adios Amazon.
Take a break to let my altimeter adjust.
Feels good to be out of the muck and back in the mountains.
Break out the heavy clothes for the cold ahead.
Make it to Ollachea by 11:15 and stop for lunch.
The little Rascals on TV keeps me entertained.
Moto > Makusani, Peru 4200m 11:30 / 2h
The road onward is now packed clay in good condition.
It pitches up considerably and starts the zigzag climb.
In a half hour the temperature drops from 35c to 25c.
The moto feels the altitude.
By 3000m the grass turns to needles and various moss.
Back to snowy peaks and canyons of crystalline waters.
Llamas and ladies in strange derby hats.
Pass the considerable town of Makusani with the 1st internet since Cusco.
Moto > Asillo, Peru 3800m 1:45 / 3.25h .5h
Over a pass at 4400m and ice storms to another snowy and blisteringly cold pass at 4700m.
From there the road turns down, fast and flat to gentler grounds.
And alas a pista from San Anton for the final 20k to Asillo where I park it for the night.
And ofcourse there is a festival in town today and all the hostal owners are at the bullfight and so I must wait.
A much smaller more personal bullfight, with only 3 bulls and 4 matadores.
No incidents.
October 4, 2004
Moto > Pucara, Peru 3700m 8:00 / 1h / 30k
A washboarded dirt road passing a few ghost villages on the way to Pucara, where it once again meets the Pan America to Juliaca.
Moto > Juliaca, Peru 3700m 9:15 / 1h / 60k
It took me by suprise how trashy Juliaca is.
For some reason I was expecting something nicer.
An extremely dusty main road leads me into a town littered in wreckless rickshaws and honking minivans.
Endless and cheap street markets from one end to the other.
Countless single sole internet cafes, peluquerias and boticas.
A row of motorcycle parts shops and cheap and decent hotels.
A good place to rest up and fix up the bike.
A new front fender to replace the one that broke off in the mud, breaks front and back, and some electrical rewiring, 58s.
Loads of hot water at the Senor de Huanca for a refreshing shower and shave and a clean room for 8s.
Possibly the best shower in all of Peru.
A haircut, 2s.
Some chess against the radio repair man.
Internet for 1s with a 100 spams in my inbox and 5 real letters.
October 5, 2004
Walk about in the early morning.
A bit of an indian (anything goes) street scene where you have to keep moving or you will get hit and you gotta constantly watch where you are going.
A quickly tiresome condition.
Down to the Plaza de Armas, a pleasent area with a beautiful old church completely out of place with the rest of the mess.
Back to the hotel to checkout and get out.
Moto > Puno, Peru 3800m 9:00 / 1h / 45k
Signs welcome me to Puno and Lake Titicaca, "The highest navigable lake in the world".
A mirador on the way into town offers an impressive view of a Cusco-esk city up against a beautiful blue lake with a frigne of grass green algae.
Slowly wind my way down and through the beautiful plaza, one of the most attractive in all of Peru.
Much more pleasent then Juliaca and without the ass of rickshaws and minis.
Again a suprise because every has told me how awful Puno is.
I couldn't disagree more.
Stop for a ceviche Pejerrey (the lake fish) and a spiced cherry chicha of cinnamon and cloves, 5s.
Haven't had a good ceviche since Arequipa and this one was nice.
After I thought it was finished she brought out a hot fish broth soup.
RC Cola has become the local choice.
They speak slowly here and I have no trouble understanding them.
A beautiful sunny day, something that always makes a place more inviting.
To the pier to research the boat trips to the 3 famous islands of Uros, Amantani, and Taquile.
A 2 day 1 night tour including everything for 40s.
I feel the need for a vacation from my travels.
A chance to interact with the local gringo scene.
And so I sign up for tomorrow morning and take a room.
Hard negotiations for a 15s simple room and a place to store my bike while I am out.
A walkabout Jiron Lima off the main plaza.
The tourist drag.
It is where the pizza is.
Lake Titicaca Island Tour
October 6, 2004
The bus does the hotel pickup rounds until it is full.
Boat > Uros Island, Peru 45m
A quick boat to the Uros floating islands made from beds of lake reeds.
Infact everything is made of it.
The traditional boats, houses, tables and chairs, and especially the souvenirs.
A mysterious culture the last of which died in 1957 and today is a community of souvenir sales.
Anyways it is a pretty plac and interesting.
Cross to the capital island in a puma boat.
Reminds me of the floating cities in Vietnam.
Interestingly enough just behind the fake capital island where they dropped us off, the real capital island sits with its tin shacks instead of the traditional tee pees.
The island tourists never visit.
Boat > Amantani Island, Peru 2h
A long dull ride to Amantani.
A bit of a lottery off the boat, dividing us up amongst the village families whose daughters have been sent to lead us back to their homes.
Paired up with a Shay of Israel to stay in the home of Gloria Mamani Quispe.
Vegetaians or so they say.
Served up a really horrible quinoa soup and a stir of potatoes, carrots, and onions.
Shay breaks out his stove he just bought in Cusco.
He is excited to make some soup and tea of his own.
It isn't any better.
Dragged down to the plaza to witness their once a year anniversary festival.
How lucky am I?
A traditional dance show that is reasonably colorful and interesting.
After the show we cattle up the hill along the only paved walk to the sound of frerejaka on the pan pipe to witness the sunset from one of two temples.
Missed by a minute as a result of an over talkative guide.
Could have been a really nice sight.
October 7, 2004
A quick breakfast of something different.
Little donuts and sugar.
Hardly fullfilling.
Boat > Taquile Island, Peru 1h
Off to the final island of Taquile.
A bit of a walk about.
A pretty and quiet island with some nice views across the lake from the hilltop village.
Some ruined ruins and alot more meaningless talk by the guide.
Boat > Puno, Peru 3h
An even longer and slower return to Puno.
Back on the strip a crowd of Peruvians stand in amazement and confusion that a freek dressed in white can make money by acting like a robot.
Ofcourse no one pays, but they stand and watch for hours.
An organized pizza night of all things with the tour gang.
October 8, 2004
Cold leftovers in the morning.
A day spent typing in a web update.
12 hours and 10 soles and not even including photos.
I hate how the girls sit 6 to a internet cabin here and you start getting squeezed from both sides.
Especially when they are saturated in their moms' best perfume.
And a half hour after finishing my update a furious hail and lightening storm moves in, knocking the power out for the entire town.
A true candlelight final dinner in Peru.
An indian curried chicken on corn tostada with baby bananas in an orange compote and a papaya pina shake for 30b.
Almost divine.
Tomorrow I off to Bolivia.
October 9, 2004
Moto > Yunguyo (Bolivian Border) , Peru 7:45 / 3h .5h / 140k
My stomach has been dodgy ever since the bad Chifa I ate on my 1st day in Puno and came back in force after the pizza.
Squatting and resting by the side of the road all the way to the border to Bolivia.
A fast and easy crossing except for the Peruvian guard who told me the bike needed a special permit from Cusco to pass.
After a bit of confused discussion he wrote me a 2 day permit to leave telling me to return for the permit.
Checked in by the Bolivians without a question and given a "tramite" for the bike for 90 days.
A guard that tried for 10b to sign the papers, denied.
Total time out and in under 30 minutes and with a 30 day visa all for free.
To return in 2 days?
Not.
Bolivia
VISA
30 Days free on arrivial
90 Days free possible in La Paz
ECONOMY
8 Bolivianos = $1
2.3 Bolivianos = 1 Sol
Diem = $/d ($ over Days)
Extras = 460b tires&tubes + 100b oil + 440 chain&sprockets + 270b clutch + ...
Food = 3-10b (Same as Peru sin drink, saltenas, parrilla, fricase, sajta)
Room = 10-20b (Same as Peru with more hot water & the same half toilets)
Gas = 3.4b/l
Web = 2-10b/h (Slow even in La Paz)
NOTES
Prices are 25% off of Peru but you will probably end up paying more
The double standard and cheatery is strong here
A ''pendejo'' culture of relatively unfriendly, uncompromising, and unhelpful people
Posted distances are never correct and quoted travel times are usually half
They don't like photos so you better be tricky or carry a pocket of coins.
Moto > Copacabana , Bolivia 3700m 12:00 / .25h / 15k
Copacabana - A beautiful and small lazy day village on the coast of Lake Titicaca.
A popular tourist destination but pleasent just the same.
Hike half the mirador where borachos and others sit around chewing coca and opening bottle after bottle shaking and squirting beer everywhere.
Appears to be some strange ritual to Christ who hangs from a cross infront of them.
In the end they read palms and hand out fake hundred dollar bills in good fortune.
Apparently the Virgen of Copacabana has the power to grant fortune.
Strange rituals.
Further up the hill barefoot one cross at a time to Pachamama (the mother earth) at the top.
More beers are cracked open to celebrate the climb.
A symbol of the death to christ.
A beautiful view down over the town.
Back in town I find the main plaza with its beautiful garden and impressive church where I change my excess soles to bolivianos at a rate of 2.3b to 1s.
Feeling too sick to bother I settle into the first hotel that will park my moto for 15b.
A bit of a rest and out to the main drag to check out the gringo scene.
Internet has taken a huge leap since Puno, at 10b/h and damn slow.
Guess connections dont cross borders so easy.
Down to the malecon where the tour boats to Bolivias two famous lake islands of Isla del Sol and Isla del Luna depart alongside a swarm of plastic paddle boats for rent and Bolivias entire navy of one boat and 40 sailors.
The sun has gone and the wind picks up.
I get a chill and my stomach turns.
I decide that i am not feeling well enough to care and i would rather be using a free toilet and so i return to the hotel.
Incidentally, I am writing this as i sit.
The plan is to fast and flush this bug out.
Lots of water and no food for 2 days.
An early night.
Ruppert's Bolivian Affairs
October 10, 2004
Feeling a bit better I decide to check out the Isla del Sol for lack of a better idea.
A bit of a gringo gathering like Puno but less guided.
Boat > Isla del Sol (Norte), Bolivia 8:45 / 2h / 20b return
Dropped off on the North of the island for a self guided walk to the South where they pick us up.
Gang up with the McKenzy Brothers, Dave and Adam of the Canadian Yukon for the walk.
A couple good humoured and adventurous guys on a couple months vacation from school.
You can spot a Canadian from a mile away.
Its the scruffy beards.
Trek > Isla del Sol (Sur), Bolivia 11:00 / 4h
Up hill to the "tourist walk begins here" gate where an old man gets us for 5b and hands us our "permits", never again to be checked.
A bit of a huffer along an old stone "Inca" trail across the island with absolutely breathtaking spectacular views down and across the lake the entire route.
A couple more Canadians (also scruffy) tag along sharing stories over exactly who's brother taught who ice hockey, small world.
A bit of a toll road with the token kid and llama "take my picture and pay to pass" moments.
It was at the end when I saw the fresh trout that my fast abruptly ended.
Boat > Copacabana, Bolivia 4:30 / 2h
A tired gang of sapphire sunburn slowly putts its way back to Copa.
Toasted and exhausted.
A highly recommended trip.
Arrange to meet up later with the gang.
In the meanwhile I back to the plaza to visit the church.
A really pleasent place this is.
An aboriginal band of digeredoers and pan pipes.
More Canadian small world talk over some meaty pasta that took all night to deliver.
October 11, 2004
Moto > San Pedro de Tiquina, Bolivia 9:45 / 1h / 38k
A nice view looking back on the road to La Paz.
Over the hills to the small town of San Pedro.
Military enroute oversees a team of slave labor on their knees repairing potholes by chisel.
Ferry > San Pablo de Tiquina, Bolivia .25h / 5b (including moto)
A ferry of sorts shuttles me and a bus across the Tiquina Straight to San Pablo.
A dodgy flat boat with absolutely no structural rigidity whatsoever.
Moto > La Paz, Bolivia 11:45 / 1.75h / 110k?
Gas has taken a sharp drop here at 3.4b per liter.
Along a flat plain with the Cordillera Real mountains of snow to my left as I enter La Paz.
An unbelievably broken and trashy road.
Stop for lunch.
Chancho - A slab of heavily spiced and grilled lechon alongside campfire potatoes.
A heap of salad and a Simba (an even worse Inca Kola knockoff) for 9b.
It is no wonder there are so many fat people about.
Mostly the ladies.
Everyone looks like a butcher.
Stop at 16 de Julio to perform a few anticipated motorcycle improvements on the way in.
A knock on a small unadvertised door opens up a shop full of parts until now unavailable.
New Pirelli MT40 tires and real Pirelli MX tubes for the front and back, 460b.
And at a price equal to what I had purchased the crappy Chinese tire in Lima for.
Definately a better place to buy bikes and parts.
A tire witch got me a trade in of only 14b and not even a smile.
Gone are my days of the pinchazo.
Finish up by dark and wind my way down through the city to the Plaza San Francisco.
A tangle of traffic that appears to happen only once in a lifetime, but happens every day.
A few confusing loops around before finding a place willing to garage my moto and me for 15b.
Out for dinner.
Silpancha - Some sort of meat patty with a friend egg atop a small beat salad and ofcourse rice and potatoes.
Followed by a chicken oil soup; no chicken, just the oil.
One of the worst meals I can remember.
A deal at only 3b, but never again.
Try to forget the whole experience with a slice of pizza across the street.
An unusually local pizzeria without the gringo clientele nor the high prices.
Unbelievably a really nice pizza.
A treasured spot.
October 12, 2004
A walk about abajo del San Francisco to richer hoods.
Signs in english tell me this is where the guidebooks recommend.
Pick up my Bolivia map at the tourist information office, 5b.
All of the sudden I have the resources.
An expensive couple Saltenas (hotpockets of chicken and juices) for lunch, 8b.
Enjoyed alongside a kind man fearsly proud of his country and in disgust with Chile.
Pencils in my new map with where to go and where not to.
All of the sudden I have the insight.
So far I have to give the food award to Peru.
A really nice bag of local chocolates soften me up a bit.
A bit of research on bicycling "The Worlds Most Dangerous Road" by organized tour incase the McKenzies arrive.
A joke at $50 and requiring you to wear bright orange vests and helmets.
All in all it aint so bad, cause you gotta consider their safety record and the quality of their bikes.
And dont forget the free "I Did It" tshirt, postcard, and beer at the posh tourist resort at the end.
I'll let them decide.
Apparently Che Guevarra died here 37 years ago on October 8, 1967.
As far as I know he was some sort of Communist from Cuba who also toured South America by moto.
Apparently he wasn't too popular here at the time.
After the fact they love him still.
A bit more about and some internet plans for a future.
My good friend Joe is splitting up his Santa Barbara ranch and parceling it off.
2 lots of 3 acres and going for a sweet million each.
Something I am seriously interested in but would need a friend or two.
Dreams...
Back at the hotel a post-it high on my door announces the McKenzies arrival.
Infact they are just upstairs.
Out to a dodgy disco lit upstairs bar for a brew to celebrate.
Surrounded by classic characters, all easily understood after no more then a quick look.
A few El Incas, something between a Samuel Adams and chocolate syrup, candy beer.
A good talk covering all the bases from conveniences to Kampuchea, and my ranch.
October 13, 2004
Blood in my urine causes for slight concern.
Down my Cambodian cargo of 2g Fasigyn and carry a bottle of water with me all day.
A busy and full-filled day around town with Dave and Adam,
dropping off our digicams for repair $15,
reviewing the road tour details,
extending my visa to 90 days for free,
witnessing the sunset from a beautiful mirador playground vista,
and the highlight meeting of Jose Mamani of San Jose Guitars and his one room factory.
Ordered mine right off the drying rack he is finishing up for tomorrow.
A mini and a bag for 140b and appropriately named Jose.
A nice day.
George's Back From The Jungle
October 13 - 19, 2004
The McKenzie Brother Travel Log (Part 1)
October 19, 2004
Our last pancakes possibly ever.
After a week of good times we finally get the motivation to check out and take "the ride".
A few last minute adjustments on the Chinese specials, including crow-barring the wheels back straight and tightening the brakes so much that they never release and we are off.
Slowly make our way corner by corner to Villa Fatima where the buses depart for the pass.
The boyz share a few cold beers before boarding and I follow behind.
Moto > La Cumbre Pass, Bolivia 4500m 12:00 / 1h / 40k?
La Cumbre Pass - The start of "the ride".
Bitter cold with a frosty breeze, a light slushy rain, and socked in.
Couldn't have picked a better day.
Unload the 2 wheeled trash from the top of the minivan and check them over one last time.
The token "here we go" photos before we begin the descent.
The World's Most Dangerous Road
Bike > Unduave, Bolivia 1:30 / 2.5h 1.5h / 10k?
Wobbling their way down on pristine and easy pista.
A heap of oranges lay by the side of the road where a truck must have spilled.
Stop to collect our share and enjoy the sharp mountain slopes through the breaks in the clouds.
And onward in agreement that maybe we should stay the night somewhere and hope for a better day tomorrow until the first tunnel.
BAMMMM!!!
Look back and Davey's rear tire (chinese ofcourse) is a flapping piece of rubber.
Stop for the fix.
A gash over 3 inches long in the tube and the tire itself apparently where it was rubbing the brakes.
A patch under 3 inches long and 2 broken chinese pumps never puts her back together.
And as much of a trooper as only Davey is, he continues on.
On the rim.
Within moments, somehow Adam's rear derailer miraculously wraps itself around the wheel putting him in a sideways skid to stop.
And in complimentary trooper style he gets right to work using as rock to removing the problem.
The idea has become to redce the bikes to their essentials, 2 wheels and a frame.
To leave nothing left to break.
Stop for a few egg sandwiches at a drug precursors checkpoint in Unduave.
Bike > Some Truck Stop 4:30 / 1h / 5k?
I am convinced we should stay it the night but the boyz are determined to continue on.
We are having good fun laughing over our sorrows and so we continue on.
Make it a bit further along before in "an accident" Adam's bike dissappears over the cliff.
Turns out it wasn't an accident after all.
Adam was the first to give up.
Preferring to ride the back of my well functioning "bike" instead.
Onward we humour ourselves over Davey and his sheer determination.
Eventually the skies darken and turn to heavy rain.
It is bitter cold, we have been on the road all day, and still we aren't yet to the "real part".
The part where the pista turns to stone and dirt and becomes actually "dangerous".
Davey shows honorable stamina before finally giving in.
And in a classic movie take we film his bike getting tossed over the cliff.
The boyz have had it.
They decide to thumb it from here to wherever it takes them and release me in my hyperthermic state to continue on alone.
Everything I own is soaked and I am freezing with an uncontrollable shake.
In the light of my headlight they say their goodbyes and don't worry for us'es and wave me off, assuring me they'll see me tomorrow in Coroico.
Onward through the dark slowly alone and in heavy fog and rain of near zero temperature I go.
Luckily, I encounter a broken down trucker who directs me down a side road to the nearest town, supposedly 5k further.
Coincidentally, this is where the "real part" begins.
A rocky steep decline of mud with oncoming trucks blinding me with their headlights.
Quickly, after considerable insult from the splashers I learn that I am supposed to pass on the left.
The cliff side of the road where it supposedly drops by a thousand meters.
A condition I am glad I cannot see.
Eventually I make it to the town.
All of a half dozen roadside shacks trying to sell cena and wanting nothing to do with my sorry ass.
It has been quite some time since I have met so many unhelpful and unconsiderate people.
Turning me away from their warm and dry and otherwise empty rooms without the slightest hint of concern.
Eventually I come across one old man who reluctantly offers me a 10'x5' tin and leaky storage shed for the night at a price.
A price he has yet to determine and will tell me tomorrow.
And so amongst wheelbarrels and old oil cans I light a candle and lay out my soaking sleeping bag.
I hang all my goods in a hopeless attempt to see them dry by tomorrow.
Ofcourse the man is interested in me having cena at his shop and so I follow him out.
Here the fat lady calls the shots.
Seated plump in the middle of her dark and ornary tienda, she points around calling orders for a younger woman with a baby on her back to carry out.
Truckers come and go stocking up on cigarettes and beer.
The old man in an unusual display of kindness offers me a dry coat as I take down my soup and chicken, savouring it for its heat alone.
Everyone else's dinner around me looks better but still I pay more.
The less for more philosophy they like to take advantage of here.
A bit of a "pendejo" culture to say the least.
The shits in the middle of the night.
October 21, 2004
Tweety birds in the morning have me up and out in hopes of sun.
Dissappointed by more heavy fog and rain I push back into bed where I lay cold and damp trying to bagpipe my clothes dry and hoping the sun will break with no luck.
After another hour and with a pair of marginally dry clothes on my back I decide it time to make the move.
Pack out and pay my double price dues and fall in line behind the orange vested "Extreme" bike tours on the World's Most Dangerous Road.
Apparently I accidently happened across the right turnoff.
Moto > Coroico, Bolivia 1800m 11:00 / 2h / 55k?
The World's Most Dangerous Road - I'll give it dangerous in the fog and only because it is a one blind-bending dirt and stone lane with a thousand meters sheer dropoff,
but the cars and buses drive cautiously, honk around every corner, and there are plenty of passing zones.
With the worst section being only 10k and the worst part ofcourse the pack of dogs chomping at my heel.
That and the orange vests around every corner stopped for photos.
The World's Most Dangerous?
Never.
Driving the streets of La Paz is more.
Infact, this might be one of the safer roads I been on in South America.
Anyways the bikers seem to be getting their kicks and that is all that really matters.
Amazing the perception of adventure some people have.
Noon and 2800m and finally I break cloud base and see what I was missing.
Subtropical mountain slopes falling gently in a V-pattern and a sizeable town in the distance on another smaller peak.
Must be Coroico.
Nothing heart-stopping to say the least.
A few nice roadside waterfalls and one that actually falls on the road.
Another hour of fast and wide dusty dirt boulevard and I am there, lucky to be alive.
Coroico - Guess what? A fiesta!
Make my way through the crowded streets of bands and performers and find myself a place in the plaza, inflated for the event.
Swarms of drunk and getting drunkers in all directions.
Lots of annoying types stumbling along and stirring up trouble.
If it weren't for the fuss I would say this were a pleasent town.
Decide to join the frenzy.
Stop for a beer in a back alley bar where a gang are involved in a spirited spanish guitar gig.
One man with a beautiful voice sings love songs on top of a simple and dramatic flamenco rythm of Am-G-F-E strummed by his son with great feel.
The rest of the table is passed out and lying on each other.
Empty bottles fill the spaces inbetween.
The search for the McKenzies not to be found.
I reckon with the fiesta they couldn't find a non-full bus headed here and took one back to La Paz instead.
They will probably show up tomorrow by bike tour instead.
A bit of research on the plush tourist resort they should arrive at, The Esmerelda.
A bit further up the hill for a nice meal at an even plusher Sun and Moon resort.
The kind of place that draws more of the hippie hindu type crowd as it is far away from everything else.
Back to my slum dorm one floor up from the raging party with a nice view down on the catastrophe.
Banging drums and blaring horns all night.
George's Second Half
October 22, 2004
Quiet and empty in the plaza early morning if you weren't to notice half the town strewn out over the benches and passed out and lying in the streets after a heavy night.
It doesn't take long before they stir and start to wonder how they even got here.
Force another fountain from my ass and do a load of laundry.
Out on the streets the vendors try selling off their final bottles of champagne and beer.
The trumpet and tubateers for once take a rest from blowing their horns.
The rest of the riff raff start looking for rides home.
That is until they realize there is still more to be drank and so ever so sluggishly the party starts up again.
Check out and make the move up the hill to meet the boyz at the Esmeralda as they come in from their $50 proper tour as expected.
Gringo-ville, a negotiated dorm room for an extra 10b then I was paying in the plaza but further from the noise and with a pool and a sauna (the owner is German) that literally peeled years from my life.
The free beer and t-shirts are passed out as they grub on their buffet lunch.
The option to purchase a video of the tour on CD for $5 or have it sent direct to your house for another $5.
A scene that repeats itself daily here.
A day spent in the typical traveller chat forums with the loads of POMs and ozzies.
A night of sheer drunkery and pizza ofcourse.
October 23, 2004
During an intentionally lazy day sitting by the pool, Dave decides to get more Ron.
Jumps on my moto and within an hour literally burns my clutch to nothing.
The bike wont move.
Push er to the only man in town with tools.
Spent the rest of the day theorizing on how it could have possibly happened.
That and drinking quite a bit more.
In the sauna.
October 24, 2004
The mechanic pulls er apart and sends the bits off to La Paz for replacement.
More sitting by the pool.
More quality sauna time.
More Ron & Coke.
A new wave of gringos.
Chris's Tragically Hip
October 25, 2004
Waiting for parts.
Another day by the pool.
Adam was convinced he wasn't leaving the hammock.
That is until the suprise leftovers awoke the hunger enough to stumble downtown for 3 brews and a milenesa.
And another 3 bottles of Ron, 1 bottle of Coke, and an entire chicken.
Back at the ranch a new couple of Ozzies get into it and decide they need to kick in.
Back to town we put on an impromtu bask netting us a whole 1b.
Almost enough for another 4 and 3/4 bottles more we reckon.
Again back at the ranch we stir a scene around the pool and gather a few more followers.
3 more beers in the sauna and up to the bar to finish off the night (and the chicken) with wine and pisco sours and hearts and an interesting contradiction in relationships.
George's Next Trip
Jim's Headed To Key West
October 26, 2004
More waiting for parts.
A lazy day of recovery.
The boyz finally pack up and carry on.
Back to La Paz in a specially contracted gringo minivan and then further South.
Say our sad goodbyes and plan to meet up someday again in the future.
Ice fishing in the Yukon with the eskimoes.
A very nice French restaurant at night with the remainder of last night's gang.
Llama medallions in a raisin red wine curry with sweet potatoe pate, 50b.
October 27, 2004
Even more waiting for parts.
The mechanic has himself gone to La Paz to find them and should return tomorrow.
This is gunna cost me.
Decide to economize on my wait and check back in near the plaza, since vacated and discounted.
A town that is now actually the pleasent place I expected it to be, however boring.
A day of sleep.
One of those days you just don't feel like doing anything.
October 28, 2004
Still waiting.
Here nothing is for certain.
After yesterday's hiatus I woke up with a desire to do something and with nothing else to do I set out to see "the sights".
A long and dull hike to the 3 famous waterfalls nearby.
Actually more of a study in plumbing then anything naturally impressive.
Nothing special.
A long dusy walk home with my token companion dog on the road.
A dozen cars pass and ofcourse no one will give me a ride.
There just isn't any trust in this country which actually makes sense since everyone lies.
Consume the rest of the day playing guitar and shooting it in the plaza with Yohan, a German new world hippie who ran from "the machine" and been now one year around South America making jewelry for sale.
An interesting philosophy on life and travels that mimics mine after a year out.
Reckon he'll be home within another.
October 29, 2004
Finally my parts arrive!
New Suzuki clutch plates and an oil change and a few electrical shorts.
270b later and the bike is back.
Dave, you owe me!
Figure I had better take er around a day to make sure all is well before trying what they say is a treacherous road onward.
Say no more as I am saddling up for a simple trip to the river and an older heavier Professor Chendo Fraga petitions me for a lift.
An Argentinian biologist not wanting to be cheated by a taxi on a ride "only 9k" to a Estacion Biologica Tunquini to study some birds.
I can understand his position and so why not?
Loaded up with a 50lb bag in front and another 50lb bag in back and a 250lb biologist inbetween we roll off.
Moto > Chairo, Bolivia 1500m 12:00 / 1.5h / 30k?
The immense beating on my bike I don't even want to imagine.
30k and over an hour and a half later we arrive at the small town of Chairo, where the road turns to footpath.
Over a beer he pleads for me to help with his luggage for the remainder of the trip.
Again, not wanting to be cheated by a porter.
Moto > Estacion Biologic Tunquini, Bolivia 1600m 2:00 / .5h / 7k?
And so my soft soul hauls his bags on a trail a thousand times more dangerous then the WMDR as he walks it.
I find myself somewhere deep.
A research cabin deep in the silva, occupied by Faustino, a caretaker wondering if the Professor will ever arrive.
Served up a rich quinoa, carrots, and backbone soup and the standard slab of beef atop rice and potatoe as we wait.
Around me are jars of bats and snakes floating in fermaldehyde.
Scientific charts of species populations on the walls.
Backtrack a half hour and eventually find the prof. slowly making his way along.
Show him the rest of the way.
Not able to return before dark, I am invited in for the night.
A hot shower.
Some cards.
A cold bunk.
October 30, 2004
Invited along for a couple hours of early morning birdwatching before setting off.
The only American ever to sign the register.
Moto > Chairo, Bolivia 1500m 8:30 / 20m / 7k?
Moto > Coroico, Bolivia 9:00 / .75h / 30k?
A much easier and more pleasent ride back to Coroico sin peso.
Check out and off I go.
Moto <> Vagante Rio, Bolivia 1200m 10:30 / 20m / 10k? one way
To the river I had planned to go before becoming a taxi.
20 minutes downhill on a road again more dangerous then the WMDR.
Butterflies swarm about some pretty waterfall pools along a river perfect for a cool swim.
Nice.
Moto > Aripata, Bolivia 9:00 / .75h / 30k?
A bumpy and dusty ride to Aripata.
Stop for lunch.
In Peru, a drink will eventually make its way to your table.
Here, unless you order one it won't.
Moto > Coripata, Bolivia 1:45 / .75h .25h / 20k?
Old Soviet era Jawas parked under branches of leaves for shelter every km along for some reason or another.
One and its desperate owner for lack of gas.
Stop to offer a liter.
Coripata - A virtual copy of Coroico except without the population.
Moto > Chulumani, Bolivia 1800m 3:00 / 2.5h .5h / 40k?
Continuing on.
In an unexpected moment the engine stalls.
Pull the plug, looks to be a little hot and lean and so I raise the needle.
A little weak but the alternate plug in my bag has damaged threads and so I put it back in.
The bike works!
Strange and unexplained.
Stuck between buses slow enough to put me in a cloud of dust and fast enough not to pass.
The road is thick in finely powdered dirt.
An experience something like riding on a beach in a wind storm.
A dangerous and unpleasent trip, once again making the WMDR look like a playground.
Chulumani - Small and pleasent and without any good food.
The shits return, seemingly following a weekly cycle.
Find myself a cheap 10b room in the plaza, without parking ofcourse.
Enjoy a coke on the balcony and relax until dark.
An energetic night market finding me some small mangoes at 50c each and some custom tire sandals to replace myy dying Tevas, 15b.
The disco downstairs rattles the walls all night.
October 31, 2004
Most things are of poorer quality here then in Peru with the thankful exception of the showers.
Here hot showers are more of a hit then a miss.
Electric on demand.
A system who's effective operation is tricky.
For something warmer then cold, set the water pressure to the lowest possible setting that keeps the unit on.
And unless you want a shocking experience, don't touch the faucet while you are in the stream.
Smiling happy faces in the garden plaza where Toyota Land Cruiser pickups load up for the days voyage.
Apparently an important transit town.
Moto > Iripana, Bolivia 9:15 / 2h 1h / 15k?
Another unexpected and unexplained stall.
Possible a fuel blockage or a plug on the bad.
Within minutes it works again and onward I go.
This pattern repeats itself until finally I've had it.
Rethread my second plug with a precision screwdriver I got in La Paz after tearing apart Adam's camera which was never fixed at the shop (but charged anyways).
Carefully insert the plug so as not to strip the engine threads.
Onward, having me think I beat the problem until Iripana where it gives out again.
Decide to open up the carb and check for fuel problems.
None to be found.
Change the oil.
Moto <> Nowhere 2:15 / 6h 5h
Continue on and get absolutely nowhere.
Cars and empty trucks pass but Ofcourse no one along the way helps.
Drive, stall, and wait my way back to Iripana for the night and a mechanic.
It is apparently a problem with temperature as the longer I wait the longer I can drive.
Park it at again the only man in town with tools and find a cheap penthouse near the center for 10b.
Tomorrow to tear er apart and figure it out.
Looks like I might be here some time.
November 1, 2004
Tear the bike apart for a day spent in the grease and nothing found.
And in the process of finding nothing I strip the plug hole I was so careful not to earlier.
And so now with even bigger problems and no solutions I decide to hitch a camione back to La Paz for some real help and parts.
Truck > La Paz, Bolivia 8:00 / 21h 16h / 50b (including bike)
A tough negotiation with a local truck driver on his way to La Paz to cargo me and my bike.
Load er up and settle in for a long trip.
Stop and go in and out of town picking up cargo all night.
600kg of oranges and 21 others.
Dave's Burnt Clutch Pads
Jim's Passage To Africa
November 2, 2004
The anything goes naranja rodeo truck from hell.
By 10am we've gone the 15k back to Chulumani and the boy decides to dismount my wildly bucking and sparsely tied moto.
Reaffirmed of my Bolivian pendejo conclusion.
People that would rather laugh at you then help if you have a problem.
It's not their problem so why should they care seems to be the mentality.
Lunch break for a Caldo de Res, unexpectedly nice.
I try to adopt a better attitude on the trip but it is hard in this condition.
The dirtiest I can ever remember being.
2:30 and we have made it to the Unduave tunnel and checkpoint where the bozy bikes started their end.
The police rat works with the truck driver to try and take me for 10b on "papers" for my bike, denied.
And finally by 4:30 (after 21 hours) the 6 hours trip is over.
I never thought I would be so happy to see La Paz.
And with only slightly more damage to my moto then it had before the trip.
Moto > La Paz (El Alto), Bolivia 4000m 5:00 / 1h / 5k
Sputter my way in intervals up to El Alto where all the grungy riff raff and more importantly the cheap parts shops and mechanics are.
A tough search to find me one who appears marginally competant and honest.
Ofcourse tomorrow is a festival, but he will take her the next day.
To strip down the top half and change out the timing chain and rings for 200b.
The suspect in the temperature is the timing.
Find myself a dodgy hotel with crabby owners nearby for 10b with the coldest shower I have ever had.
They won't let me have a hot shower cause I am paying the same price as the Bolivians do.
Dave's Sorry
November 3, 2004
The Dia de Todos Santos - Kind of like their haloween.
It is when they rest the day to appreciate the dead saints.
After a rawl with the hotel owners son over using the clothes wash sink to wash some clothes, the father said it was ok.
And so as I washed my shirt he stood over me and kept telling me to wash faster.
A real asshole that even looks like one.
You can see it in his face.
A day around the street markets.
Finally found a functional Chinese foot pump pretending to be German.
Mango season!
Jim's Dreams Shattered
The Major Overhaul
November 4, 2004
Down to the shop to work on the bike.
Torn completely apart and good luck in finding the parts.
Tomorrow to have the stripped plug hole fixed.
November 5, 2004
All day at a machine shop repairing the stripped spark plug hole.
Essentially cutting a bigger hole and filling it back in.
A bar at night with the crew to celebrate.
November 6, 2004
Put the bike back together and suprisingly it works, smooth.
So far the repairs and bill look as such:
Major Overhaul
Timing Chain 155b
Piston Rings 45b
Valve Seals 12b
Gasket Set 20b
Spark Plugs x2 54b
Spark Plug Cap 15b
Ignition Coil 45b
Speedometer (0k) 240b
Muffler Paint 30b
Grip Rubbers 25b
Fork Oil (1L Motul 10w) 54b
Engine Oil (1L Ralleye 30w) 20b
Engine Oil (1L Motul 15-50w) 100b
Oil Filter 50b
Gas Filter 10b
Nuts & Bolts 20b
Electric Labor 120b
Motor Labor 200b
Machinist Labor 45b
---------------------------------
TOTAL ($157) 1260b
Other Repairs
Front Tire (Pirelli MT40) 165b
Rear Tire (Pirelli MT40) 195b
Front Tube (Pirelli MX) 52b
Rear Tube (Pirelli MX) 55b
Drive Chain (The Best) 300b
Drive Sprockets 40b
Clutch Plates (Dave) 120b
Mechanic Labor 300b
---------------------------------
TOTAL ($153) 1227b
Excited to give it a test ride tomorrow before heading off.
George's One Last Trip
November 7, 2004
Stalled on my way down the hill.
Apparently after all that the problem still lingers.
Decided to spend the rest of this depressing rainy day on a web update, 7h 21b.
Svein's Motorcycle Journals Review
November 8-11, 2004
The next target is the generator and spark trigger inside the case.
Waiting 2 days for the electrician to finally show and 2 more for him to do anything about it.
Time spent nitpicking.
Manufacturing a new oil filter from something nearly the same.
Repainting the muffler as the paint the shop used wasn't "high temperature" and they kept lagging on doing it right and so i had to strip er off and do it myself.
Down to El Bajo to find the right stuff.
It is much more pleasent down there.
Have made friends with the mechanics and machine shop folk.
A few lunchtime soccer matches and another after hours celebration, this time big on the guitar and something tasting like saki; however, slightly more potent.
The bar owner want to contract me on the weekends.
No thanks.
Kerensa Becomes Bertolino
Jim's Big Decision
November 12, 2004
Finally El Electrico arrives... WHALLA... she works!
A fault in the spark sender, rewound or so he says.
Dreamy smooth riding like never before.
A few last minute fixes like rethreading the oil drain hole which the boracho in Irupana stripped,
replacing the grip rubbers with something suave soft and comfortable,
and finally breaking down on a new and expensive speedometer appropriately reading 0 kilometers.
The trip begins!
Well not before a bit of celebration and confidence exercises.
Tonight, another bar room fiesta with the gang.
Tomorrow, to replace some more nuts and bolts and assure myself it actually works.
Sunday, off to Cochabamba.
Start "New" Moto
Odometer 0 km
The Test Run
November 13, 2004
Moto > Palca, Bolivia 3400m 12:30 / 2h .5h / 53k
The test run to Palca.
So smooth and uneventful it scares me.
With none of the high altitude jitters and stumbles of the past.
The best the bike has ever run, without even a hint of stall.
And the speedo is right on, without even the slightest wobble.
Very happy.
An absolutely beautiful ride once the ravage of La Paz falls behind.
Twisting and climbing on a cobbled stone road through Valle del Luna like eroded peaks and dropping into a valley of eucalyptus with a massive snow covered peak in the background.
Ofcourse my camera battery is dead and so I miss out on some epic shots.
Stop to inspect the bike and oil the chain, looks good.
Palca - A pleasent, quiet, and tranquil one road village along the mountain river.
Friendly people.
Nothing really to it, but a nice place for a couple day break from La Paz.
Grab a late lunch.
A really nice and heavily spiced pollo del horno and a grilled sweet banana, 7b.
Moto > La Paz (El Alto), Bolivia 4000m 3:00 / 1.5h / 53k
Head back to La Paz.
An even smoother ride home.
Say my goodbyes to the gang and ready for tomorrows trip.
The Trip Begins
November 14, 2004
A brawl with the fat lady over whether I did or didn't pay one night on checkout.
And now I have paid twice.
Moto > Almost Cochabamba, Bolivia 2500m 8:30 / 7h .5h / 00106k ODO. START
A smooth 70k/h (80k/h max) over pristine pista across the 3900m altiplano, a high windy plain of nothing but thorny grass.
With the new additional power I find myself now searching for a 6th gear.
Poor pueblos of a dozen huts or so every few km.
Not as enjoyable as the road through the Yungas but much faster and easier.
Heavy trucks and buses terrorize their way past.
Stop for breakfast after an hour at the Gran Poder where the man pretends to ignore my request for the posted special in favor of something more expensive.
A really nice and hearty chicken soup.
The Beatles on the radio.
Dark storm clouds on the horizon become three hours of heavy hail and rain that seems determined to follow me.
Over La Cumbre at 4700m without the slightest hesitation in the motor.
Soaked and frozen to the bone, I navigate through a small crack in the plastic lens of my Peruvian googles.
A crack just big enough to let the occasional ice pellet nab me in the eyeball.
And finally after 300k the road makes a dedicated effort down, dropping 1000m in only 10k.
Dryer and warmer and feeling better, I stop for a short rest.
And take a piss on the tire.
And check the chain.
All is well.
Further down into a fertile lower valley.
My stomach is wondering what happened to lunch and so I stop for a king's chicharron just outside town that could very well beat out Sayta, Peru.
A liter of chicha later has me on the sidelines waiting for the effects to dull, not as concerned that my meal cost twice what my neighbor's cost, 20b.
I got to thinking... the only difference between us and animals is we cook the meat first.
Deep philosophy.
Back on the road again, and just as soon off.
The second diversion, El Paraiso.
The roadside sign sounded too good to be true.
After the second cycle of Sauna, Sage Steambath, Cold Pool, Hot Tub, and Shower I realize it may just be true.
Easily making up for my weeks long lack of shower in La Paz, and taking off the remains of what Esmeralda left behind.
Dripping away the final residue of stress from my moto repairs and the icy trip here.
15b for the day, and another 15b for the night and another shot tomorrow before moving on.
A well thought out complex, definately worth the stop.
A locals joint without a tourist anywhere.
Never imagined Bolivia famous for it's spas, but it is starting to look that way.
Aunt Pam's Just Wondering
November 15, 2004
My bad luck finds the spa closed for cleaning on Monday.
Moto > Cochabamba, Bolivia 2500m 10:30 / .5h / 21k 00466k ODO. START
Check into the Roma and realize I left my passport back at paradise.
Moto <> Paradise 4:00 / 1h / 42k
Cochabamba - Bolivia's version of Arequipa with a touch more Snta Barbara.
An easy-going, perfect climate, and friendly city, immaculate by Bolivian standards.
A high society of relatively rich.
A comfortable place easy to lose a few day in just checking out the fashion and enjoying good food.
Fresh icecreams and orange juices on every corner.
Take a long circular stroll about sampling foods along the way.
A beautiful garden plaza, typically more so beautiful then Peruvian plazas.
A somewhat ordinary church, typically more so ordinary then Peruvian churches.
A university, full of beautiful youth.
A posh movie theater.
Anaconda 2 - 2 for 1 for 15b.
English with spanish subtitles.
A research team in the jungle of Borneo searches for a flower offering the "fountain of youth".
Ofcourse the anacondas have found them first and in their larger then life state slowly devour the team, one by one.
Skip it.
An early city, the greater part of which is shut down and in bed by 8.
November 16, 2004
Another walk about day.
Through the busy market to pick up a bag of mangoes, 3b per kilo.
And up to the Jesus on the hill lookout by funicular for a great view.
An internet cafe on the way back where an old man scratches out my backroad journey to Valle Grande on a napkin.
Copied the GroovyPac in a slightly better material and a slightly worse construction, 25b.
Showers in the eve.
November 17, 2004
Moto > Tarata, Bolivia 2700m 10:00 / 1h / 37k 00529k
A couple nice saltenas, a fricase and a picante across the street before heading off.
Looks like the overhaul has me saving.
I used to get 30kpl now I am getting 40kpl, sounds too good to be true.
Some quick math suggests it should pay for the repair in 50823.529 km.
That is about one year.
Speeding along the old paved road to Tarata alongside eucalyptus and defunct railroad.
A few strategically placed speedbumps throw my tool bag off the back.
Torn wide open and hanging from the bungee, I notice it a few km further along.
Nothing lost.
Tarata - A small colonial traditional village with a beautiful tranquility.
Decide to stay the night in the only lodge.
Run by a kind old lady who has never had a foreigner stay.
It is just before the bridge.
It has a pet monkey.
It has no name.
Walk through town for some photos, quiet and solemn.
A town full of peach farmers waiting for the January harvest.
Lunch in a small and popular (the only one) eatery in the plaza.
Through the trash piles between the older and rougher neighborhoods on the outskirts and the "big city".
A drunk man, after being turned down asking me for a dollar, assures me the town has good chicha.
Seems to be the theme here, symbolized by the red flags over the doors announcing where you can get a good swig.
Finish my tour by peering through the keyhole at the monestary before deciding to take a swig myself.
Besides, the overcast skies and rain has put a damper on my original mission.
And how could I pass through and not experience it?
Ceberino - The best chicharria in town they say.
Seems to be the reason the rest of town is vacant.
Drunken ladies raise their glasses to me as I enter, "Buenas Tarde".
Amazing how people can be so poor and still afford to piss their final pesos away on alcohol.
A coconut shell full of the yeasty brew 10 times stronger and more bitter then any before.
A bit of a brawl between two fat ladies over a man who apparently knows them both well.
Stumble my dizzy ass back to the hotel just in time to avoid the heavy showers.
A downpour that carries on throughout the night.
November 18, 2004
Moto > Mizque, Bolivia 2000m 7:30 / 4.5h 1.5h / 130k 00566k
Plow my way through streets flooded as high as the seat.
Stop for breakfast in the colorful market of Punata.
Wheelbarrels full of flowers, vegetables, bananas, and pineapples.
They speak kechuan.
Api - A hot berry and honey and creamy cereal based drink, and some cheese bread, 2b.
A nice and refreshing change from the usual cheap beefsteak or chicken.
A bag of peaches for the road.
90k of cobbled stone road and believe it or not a nail in my front tire.
I'd like to blame it on the chinese, but this time infact I have to thank them for a functional pump.
Patched in 45m without removing the tire.
And just when I thought my days of the flats were through.
Back on the road over a cloud forest misty pass of planted roadside pine.
An amazingly wide and decent quality road for a route seldom taken.
I have passed one truck so far.
Winding down along the side of Kuri Canyon, passing the "Puente del Liberadores" used by Simon Bolivar and his crew during the liberation of Bolivia and into Mizque.
Mizque - A small pleasent town with beautiful surroundings.
Stop at the Copa on the way into town for lunch.
Looks like lunchtime for the school kids too as they gather around the TV to watch The Simpsons.
Check in to a hotel near the plaza and back out to the "sites".
Back to the bridge for a short hike about.
Moto <> Puente del Liberadores 2:30 / 2h 1h / 44k Return
On the way back into town I stop at a ranch advertising fresh cheese.
A luxury ranch and the home of a displaced gringo from Germany, obviously pursuing something different.
And why not?
The money goes alot further here.
Back in town, El Mas (a political group) is rallying hard in the plaza, campaigning for the December 5th elections.
Royal blue flags wave to peppy and upbeat music as a man in the back of a pickup truck makes his claims into a PA.
The crowd cheers after each statement and cheap fireworks shoot high.
November 19, 2004
Moto > Aiquile, Bolivia 2200m 8:15 / 1h / 45k 00745k
Along the continued cobbled road over rolling hills of mist and green, fresh blue flags along the way.
Switch to reserve at 240k and roll into the small one lane wide boulevard town of Aquile.
Suprisingly a capital of an apparently even smaller town.
Refill the tank and continue on.
Moto > Saipina, Bolivia 1250m 9:45 / 3h .5h / 104k 00790k
Through heavier fog and rain, winding down to Pena Colorado at 1200m where the road manages between the base of a series of copper canyons and a grand and impressive muddy river.
The landscape turns dry with goats grazing among fields of cactus.
A rough and dusty ride to Saipina.
Lunch.
Moto > Mataral, Bolivia 1:15 / 1.25h / 58k 00894k
A fantasy ride through a semi arid desert forest of cactus and meeting the pista (the road I would have taken had I not listened to Mr Internet Cafe) after 26k.
Another 40k to Mataral, the turnoff to Valle Grande where I refuel just incase.
Moto > Valle Grande, Bolivia 1950m 3:00 / 1h / 51k
And almost ironically as my bike turns 1000k from its overhaul I drop into Valle Grande, the resting place of Che Guevara.
Pay my respects by giving er the salutory changing of the oil.
And even more ironically there is absolutely no sign of his existence, maybe I have made a mistake.
A visit to the government office finds me an english speaker who informs me that he wasn't actually killed here, only paraded and buried.
Still, I should expect something.
He puts me in a taxi to the grave site.
A small white road sign points to the back of the locals graveyard.
An unkempt brick shack with a hole in the middle and the stones of Che "ernest" and 6 of his closest revolutionaries.
Apparently the bodies have since been bulldozed and moved to Cuba.
Hassled to make the photos quick.
The driver then shuttles me to the Senor de Malta, the hospital where he was pronounced, disrobed, and presented to the world as proof.
A white hut in the back where they washed him off.
A mural and a wall of grafitti from tourists.
Back to the plaza, nothing more.
There isn't much, and what there is seems more of an afterthought of the people living here then anything of importance.
Check into the cheapest room in the plaza for the night.
Plans to make the 60k trip tomorrow to La Higuera, a small village in the mountains where he was actually killed.
Valle Grande - Otherwise a pleasent but dull town with a typically nice garden plaza and church.
Special in that it's town clock not only keeps the right time but chimes the hour.
A couple of "off the beaten path" gringos look equally confused by it all.
November 20, 2004
Milk heavy juices and fruit salads in the market for breakfast.
A cloud follows from my ass wherever I go.
Revisit the Che spots before continuing on toward La Higuera.
Moto > La Higuera, Bolivia 2000m 9:45 / 2.75h .5h / 62k 01016k
10 minutes down the road and the accelerator cables pops out of its holder.
Fixed in 15m.
Follow the red stars along an otherwise unmarked (as though no one who doesn't already know might want to go) dirt road passing from peak to peak.
Pukara after 45k and just past a french man with stencil and paint showing the way to his posada he recently put together in La Higuera.
Lucky for me, a project he started just a month ago.
Assures me it is only 15k further and points me the way.
La Higuera - 10 shacks along an Avenida 8 de Octubre (the date of Che's death) with the famous Che portrait stenciled about.
A small plaza at the end with his memorial, a painted statue in some rocks.
A nothing lost in the mountains sort of town.
Strange place to choose to "spread the word".
It's like, even if the people did catch on (instead of shooting him) it would have taken another 100 years for word to reach the next town.
That is had they not a telegraph office, now turned into the posada.
Two pretty and half naked french chicks bounce out in glee as I pull into the lot.
Checked in to the small room where the telegram was received that lead to his capture.
A bright yellow hammock now hangs out front.
A bit spartan for 30b, but historic and pleasently tranquil and with a nice "view" and so I settle in.
They tempt me with a beer and whip up a nice meal in a flash.
A sift through the records leaves me suprised to find out only a few tourist make it here a week.
I had expected it a popular destination for the hardcore backpacker type, but I guess the rough trip puts it "off the beaten track".
Not suprisingly is that ost of the visitors come by moto, following in Che's footsteps.
I more or less ended up here by lucky accident.
Out to see the escuelita (one room schoolhouse) where Che and gang were held prisoner before being shot, now a museum.
A bit of a struggle to find the lady with both the keys and the willingness to let me in.
And a bit of a disappointment once inside.
I mean the museum was good, but my make-believe of what Che was about and who he was was destroyed by the history on the wall.
A communist guerilla and nothing more, less the obvious charisma that made him popular after the fact.
A somebody wannabee sucking on the thumb of Fidel Castro for his popularity and screwed by him in the end.
A preacher to the dumb.
Was he really into his cause or was he just at a loss in life for a cause and clinging to whatever came his way?
Was he really a man with strong passion or did he just need to feel important?
The photos tell me the answer is the second.
A geeking the camera type.
And I had this image of this naturally cool guy just passing through by moto and trying to spread the word.
In reality, he was camped out here training gorillas with this absurd idea of South American revolution.
Apparently his bad idea didn't last long, and when the word came through the wire that was it.
No where near as clever or honorable as I had taken him for.
With nothing more to see or do I take an early night.
Chris's Chinatown Duck
November 21, 2004
Moto > Nuevo Mundo, Bolivia 2200m 9:15 / 3.25h .25h / 85k 01078k
Coast the 35k downhill to skimp on gas and for the piece of silence.
Absolutely beautiful scenery.
Cross the Rio Grande over a new high tech bridge and light her up.
More spectacular scenery on a very rough road along the banks of the river before starting a climb toward Sucre.
Pull into Nuevo Mundo to find not even a single liter of gas.
They assure me it is only 25k to the next real town, the only real town.
Switch to reserve and go for it.
Moto > Cerrano, Bolivia 2100m 1:00 / .5h / 30k
Literally coast the final 2k downhill into Cerrano, a real town.
The people are starting to lose their indian roots and actually look attractive.
Must be getting closer to Argentina.
A quick lunch, a nice spicey chicken and curried rice with a pitcher of quinoa juice, 5b.
Moto > Sucre, Bolivia 2800m 2:15 / 4.25h .75h / 180k 01188k
50k of rocky rough, 60k of relatively decent packed clay, and 70k of pista.
Stop for a mango break enroute.
The sweetest small carrot orange mangoes I ever had, 50c apiece.
A sheep herder over the hills in the distance pipes up on a fife.
The ambiance of the surrounding mountains and the open air bring it to life in an enchanting way.
One truck passes, the most traffic I have seen since Higuera.
My nose is blood red and my face on the verge of burn.
Clear blue skies with only scattered cloud.
One of the nicest days so far.
Back on the bike, the road climbs from the sweltering heat of the desert up to 3200m where pipelines of oil take the shortest route toward Sucre,
the road cuts a more circuitous route, and the defunct train tracks a third all obeying fundamental laws of the specific mode of transport.
From the hot and dry sub-2000m deserts to the cold and barren wind swept highlands above there isn't much of a happy inbetween.
Stop to change clothes, an act that I go through on the hour.
Seems that just as I take something off, it goes back on.
Meet the pista at Tarabuco, 110k since Cerrano.
The Bolivia Route 6.
Pull into Sucre at dusk after a long and tiring day on and off road.
Sucre - The capital of Bolivia.
A very rich, well to do with an uppity attitude, colonial center with character.
Model railroad stoplights that make you believe someone is changing the lights by hand.
Churches on every corner.
Chocolate shops.
Hard to find a place for 15b, eventually suceeding.
Pull my bike into the garage for an additional 2b and set out to walk the strip.
A busy boulevard near the plaza where the market blends with the street.
Tomorrow a walkabout.
November 22, 2004
Up and out early for a walk.
Parque Bolivar - Beautifully layed out and with good intentions, however mistreated by the people.
Trash scattered everywhere.
Climb the 1:100 scale Eiffel Tower in the middle.
A girl is hassled by a man over letting her dog run free.
He picks up a stone and hurls it at the dog.
Up the tree-lined avenue exiting the side to the park.
Still a bit confused why the busses all have chinese written on them.
Even the people in the Chifa restaurants don't speak it.
To the main plaza where once again the gardening is immaculate, but no one wants to pick up the trash.
Mistake, there is one old lady slowly raking the wrappers, but they are being replaced faster then she can handle.
What kind of hell would break lose if they actually enforced a litter law here?
The majority of people passing through are well dressed and appear to be headed somewhere important.
A few casual teens just strolling.
Families in from the countryside inhabit the benches and stretch in lines around the corner waiting for the banks to open.
Birds pick through the bright orange tree pods that have fallen to the ground.
Kids throw popcorn from a bag and they are sidetracked for a second until they are thoroughly convinced none is left.
Back to the beans.
Senor Sucre stands tall and proud in the middle, sword by his side and lions by his feet.
A nice and peaceful plaza.
Down a side road where I happen across a lady in an art shop with a guitar.
Sit down for a strum.
A bit further along I take a mid-morning empenanda, same as a saltena.
Continue on to the cemetary where my 10 year old "guides" me in "english" (spanish with an english pronunciation).
To witness the tombs of the past presidents, the underground catacombs, and the commoners cells.
Other kids make their money renting laddrs to refresh the flowers and greeting card watch batteries in the displays.
A magnificent cemetary.
To the central market, colorful with all its fruit.
Where a fat lady threatens me with a knife for sampling a single black raspberry.
Prices instantly double.
Up to the mirador and university where the students invite me in to witness their choir practice their anthem for graduation.
Over and over again, I should know it myself by now.
Accompanied by one back to the plaza to help me find some new strings for my guitar and a taller quoting me 80b just to move the saddle back 3 millimeters.
Just laughed at him and did it myself in 30m with a piece of sandpaper.
Treated myself to a quality meal on a balcony overlooking the plaza.
A nice Ckoclo Chicken that has me reconsidering who has the better food.
Bolivia just may have Peru beat.
Met some friendly Bolivians today.
The Wiggin's Chronicles
November 23, 2004
Back to the mirador for a sunny day view and to splash out on breakfast at the "Cafe Gourmet".
When you pay twice as much and it is three times as good, is it a good deal?
In places where tourism alone won't save them, if you pay a little bit more you get something really nice.
Decided, Bolivia's big city good food beats Peru's small town street food.
The owner puts on Hotel California just for me.
Must have heard us playing it yesterday.
The town deputy shows up to film a promotion for mayor Fidel.
Moto <> 7 Cascadas ??? 9:15 / 3.5h 1.5h / 45k 01364k Return
The fruitless search for the 7 cascades.
Misled the entire way by pendejos and never found.
November 24, 2004
Moto <> Dinosaur Tracks ??? 8:30 / 3.5h 1.5h / 20k Return
A few hours hiking the nearby hills in search of the legendary dinosaur tracks.
Another site that either doesn't really exist or were so insignificant I mistaken them for something else.
La Glorieta on the way out of town.
An old palace now just a set of stripped empty rooms and a spiral tower with a nice view.
Nothing special.
Moto > Potosi, Bolivia 3900m 12:15 / 4h 1h / 155k 01435k
Windy and windy on the pista uphill.
Thump Thump Thump...
My front tire goes flat again.
Finally I can blame it on the chinese.
For the patch fell off due to cheap glue and ofcourse the tube broke open in my bag leaving me none left to make the repair.
Luckily I carry a spare tube.
Unluckily it has half a hole in it already from rubbing inside the bag.
Luckily it still holds air.
Hopefully it will make it the final 55k to Potosi.
For once someone stops to help.
Remove the front tire and swap er out.
Back on the road in an hour.
It makes it.
A convention in town has me rooming with Eran, an Israeli met on the street.
I could have had the room myself, but he was lugging a bag nearly as big as me and I felt sorry for him.
My most expensive nothing special stay so far at 25b apiece for a room not even big enough for one.
Find some German patch glue to fix the tube and out for some pizza.
Too expensive, we settle on some llama steaks instead.
Don Keyhote's Checking In
November 25, 2004
Moto <> Silver Mines & Hotspring 8:00 / all day / 66k 01591k Return
Up early and together to the silver mines on the hill where we exchange a bag of coca leaves, a pack of cigs, and 20b for a personal 2 hour tour deep inside a real working mine.
Interesting.
Follow it up with a nearby volcanic crater hotspring and a picnic lunch.
Ofcourse regardless of how the conversations start, they always end up on the same topic, hummus.
A nice day.
Eran takes the night bus to Cochabamba.
November 26, 2004
Check out and end up in an arguement again over whether I paid or not.
Which surely I did, because she demanded it from me when I checked in as they always do here.
Clearly a cheater and you could even see it on her face that she knew she was full of shit.
Unhappy that she wasn't able to talk me out of paying twice she switched gears and decided to get even and charge me 5b on a coffee served as "complimentary" the night before.
Not interested in arguing all day, I give in on the coffee bit and in my process of searching the entire street for someone to change a bill mistake upon an old saltena lady across the street who breaks into a verbal lashing for even the thought of asking.
This country is full of asses.
You can tell the general dickheadedness of a country by whether they charge you upfront or after for their services.
But it is when they try for both that you know you have a winner.
Moto > Tupiza, Bolivia 2900m 8:00 / 6.75h 1h / 263k 01657k + .5h/20k "Detour"
Highland pista for 50k before turning abruptly to lowland dirt and stone.
Stop for lunch in Palca de Flores.
Continue on into so much damn useless and incomplete construction and detours I find myself lost.
Immediately after the big bridge, take the unposted detour off the side of the road to the LEFT.
If you go straight you will run into a pile of boulders and if you take the posted detour to the right you will end up 10k in the wrong direction before realizing you made a mistake.
Amazing after spending so much time building a road you wouldn't even post a single sign saying where it goes.
In a sky of blue, a single small cloud containing a brutal ice storm carefully follows over my head to further flair the temper.
It eventually falls behind and is replaced by twisters that threaten to swallow me whole.
A long, hot, and dusty dry ride through the cactus and into the canyons.
Why Tupiza?
Because Eran said that "the book" says that there are some good desert horse treks to be had.
And feeling that I may have missed everything "the book" has recommended thus far I felt obliged to follow.
Arizona-esk red clay canyons actually not any nicer or more impressive then ones i've seen all over Bolivia thus far.
Tupiza - A small and nothing much town in the middle of the canyons.
Signs in Hebrew and gringoes in the plaza indicate I must be ontrack.
I am here and so I check into the horse trekking scene, 100b per day and 2 days for a decent trip.
No one else has signed up yet and I reckon that if I am going to do it by "the book", I should atleast do it in the middle of a group of gringos.
So the plan becomes to hold off a day and see what happens.
November 27, 2004
A day of reorganizing my gear and publishing my
Money Log and Moto Log to the web.
Luck has found me two more for the horse trek tomorrow.
A short and chunky German girl who would rather be from England (and sounds like she is) and a taller and older manish type girl from New Zealand.
We settle on the standard issue 2-day ride South and back with La Torre Hotel.
2-Day Tupiza Horse Trek
November 28, 2004
To the market in the morning to stock bread and cheese for the trek.
Horse > Somewhere South 9:30 / 8h 2h
A slow and pokey ride on an old horse who took a spill.
A drunken man enroute has a spat with the guide over not allowing gringos to use the road, his road.
I give a chuckle to the man in humour to lighten the mood.
In response, Ms. NZ pipes up to me in disgust and dictates to me
"You know I don't think it is a good idea to humour or smile at drunk men on the street..."
and continuing on to tell me how I should act, where I her.
An interesting comment coming from someone with absolutely no experience whatsoever in these sort of affairs.
Instead of the obvious rebuke I just keep my mouth shut, apologize to her, and continue on thinking to myself what a bitch she must be.
The kind of butchy "tough girl" with nothing to offer but her bad advice.
The type that usually like horseback riding.
The type that ride in the "english way".
Anyways, I continue on as though it didn't affect me, joking with the guide about other things for fun.
My cavalier response seems to make her even more aggrivated and she slows her horse to meet her friend and they exchange some words.
It's a nice day and we are fine, so I am not sure what the problem really is with her.
Seems the 2 have already decided even before today they were not going to like me for one reason or another.
Successfully establishing the rules of interaction for the rest of the trip.
We stop for lunch at a nice riverside area.
A chicken salad that left my stomach a bit uneasy.
No words are exchanged.
Tension builds.
Another 4 hours across a windswept and dry river bed.
Stop the night in a small village in a pre-organized local's home.
Some guitar for the kids appears to upset the girls more.
A bottle of wine loosens them up enough for a few games of Yahtzee before bed.
The German keeps score.
November 29, 2004
Up at 7 to finish adjusting one of the kid's guitars before we go and accidently I barely touch one string.
From what appeared to be a deep sleep, the girls instantly start cramping in unison.
"Do we have to do that at 6?!"
and when I apologize and leave the room
"...and close the door!"
As I do I hear them gossiping over
"...never met a ruder man in my life..."
Honestly, I have not done anything to disturb anyone.
Infact, I am surely the locals' favorite of the bunch.
The truth is they just had to decide to dislike me to give themselves something to talk about.
A tactic for dealing with the insecurity of feeling insecure in a frightful environment.
The disability of not being able to loosen up under uncertain circumstance.
I reckon it is my cavalier style of taking it easy under pressure that must intimidate them.
The fact that I seem to have no trouble interacting with confidence in their uneasy environment burns their ego.
To appear to fit in where they cannot or would rather not makes them mad.
The same self confidence that attracts the pretty girls, who because of their looks have self confidence, disturbs the ugly ones.
A reaction I seem to get quite often with insecure tough skinned manly-type western women.
And when they realize I overhear their obviously rude remarks, it makes ME even ruder.
And so the rules of interaction have become refined.
It is when they turn down your offerings when you see how stubborn they are to making amends on whatever the "hidden" issues are.
That is because their are no "real" issues and it puts them in jeopardy of a friendship to end the drama they so love to create.
A drama about the world around them that keeps them as the center of attention.
Apparently they travel single for reasons other then desire.
A longer and hotter and quieter day back to Tupiza.
And finally the tour is over.
Burned, bruised, aching from head to toe, exhausted, quite a bit poorer and wondering why I had this idea in the 1st place.
The typical feelings for me after animal treks like this.
Should hopefully keep me away from them for some time.
I reckon one day would have been better.
Or two, but with half the horsing around.
Not even a friendly "goodbye" and definately not an invite out for pizza.
What a feeling it is to part on bad vibes.
And so still for lack of gringo friends I invite the guide out to dinner.
His name is Carlos and he wants to learn web design.
November 30, 2004
A day of rest and recovery.
A day spent at La Torre Hotel helping Carlos design a page for the family business.
La Torre Hotel
Invited in by mama Irma to stay a few days while I help them on various other computer and technology issues.
December 1, 2004
Make the move to La Torre Hotel where my free and first class room waits.
Loads of hot water and a real bed as opposed to a hammocking sack of springs.
My back is feeling better just thinking about it.
More photos, more web work, and more technical advice.
December 2, 2004
Have become the inhouse technician.
Fixed up their old computer with Windows XP and advised them on upgrading the memory.
More dicking around.
Tomorrow I go.
December 3, 2004
Say my sad goodbyes to a really nice family, the nicest people I have met in Bolivia, and set off on the direct road to Uyuni.
Moto > Atocha, Bolivia 3600m 10:00 / .5h / 35k 01942k
A remarkably beautiful departure, even more so then the horse trip and definately alot more comfortable on a bike.
Twisting its way through the remains of the desert and beginning its climb back to the highlands.
Within an hour all sites are left behind and I am back at 4000m on a barren thorny grass plain.
There is really nothing inbetween.
Across heavy sand and winds to Atocha, a sulphur mine from the smell of it.
It is where the train stops.
An oddly colorful and interesting little wild outpost.
My arrival draws stares.
I hear old Clint Eastwood western flick whistles in my head.
I don't think many come this way.
Small shack along the tracks for lunch.
A plate of noodles with a fried egg on top.
Betty Davis Eyes in the background interrupted every 5 seconds by the announcer.
Moto > Uyuni, Bolivia 3600m 2:30 / 2h / 120k 02054k
Across the flat high plain to Uyuni, a tourist town of inflated prices and little value other then the nearby Salar.
Tour agency ladies chase me desperately through the plaza trying to sign me up on tour.
$60 for 3 days South through the Lagunas Reserve to the border of Chile.
Gather the necessary maps to do it myself.
December 4, 2004
Stock up on Oreo cookies and an extra 5l bottle of gas for the trip.
First stop, the Train Cemetary.
A stretch of track just out of town where old steam engines "donated" by neighboring countries that have capitalized on Bolivian land sit in a state of rust.
Tokens symbolic of their mutual respect in more ways then one.
Moto > Colchani, Bolivia 3600m 9:15 / .5h / 20k 02175k
What used to be a 15 minute smooth and straight shot to Colchani is now a 30 minute punchout on a tangle of sideroads as a result of the 100's of Land Cruisers racing their tours along.
Heavy washboard.
Why they haven't regraded and paved this small section is beyond me.
Especially seeing this as one of the most important stretches of road in Bolivia.
Colchani - Gateway to the Salar and nothing more.
10k along an obvious route to Playa Blanca, the $20 hotel made entirely of salt.
Onward, a fork in the tracks has me making a decision.
Pick the less travelled route to the right for the same reason as the sideroads here, to avoid the pitfalls.
A sweet 70kph over a perfectly flat and bone white 6" thick sheet of pure salt extending to the horizon in all directions.
Close my eyes for over a minute as rest from the intense light and remain on course.
A good couple hours before the tour jeeps come racing through and all alone.
Stop to appeciate the serenity.
Complete silence.
Never seen or experienced anything like this.
There is no need for a guide as it would be impossible to get lost with the volcano sitting on the horizon as reference.
The only thing that is a definate "must" is a strong grade of sunblock.
The intense reflection and altitude guarantees a 3rd degree sunburn.
Ofcourse, it is the one thing I forgot.
Another 50k and the Isla del Pescador comes into view.
Another 27k and I reach the "shores".
A stump of rock and cactus.
An ancient corral reef of the now dry seabed.
Make my way to the other side where a restaurant sits.
A nice Chili con Carne for an outrageous 20b.
A jeep scratches up on a flat.
Offer a patch and some glue.
Moto > San Juan, Bolivia 3600m 1:30 / 2h .25h / 90k 02274k
40k straight South on smooth salt and 50k more on washboarded dirt and heavy sand to San Juan, nothing more then an overnight on the way South.
Check into a guesthouse of 15b and stroll about the remainder of the day.
A herd of llama drink from the algae scum pond.
An old lady fights her way against the strongest headwind down the dusty main street.
To the bar at night to socialize with the other jeep crews passing through.
December 5, 2004
Election day!
Who will act as mayor for each of the 327 municipalities of the country over the next 5 years is in the peoples hands.
Or atleast that is what they tell them.
El Mas?
Moto > Laguna Colorado, Bolivia 4200m 7:15 / 10h 2h / 245k 02365k
The old lady at the Tienda Amiga is content on her title of Ms. Monopoly over the price of gas, 4.50b per liter.
Across another Salar, but smaller and less impressive.
A couple drunks badly bruised and cut up and lying on the ground in the middle, stuck with a flat tire on their also badly bruised Suzuki.
Apparently they were attempting something sporty when the rear tire blew, putting them down fast.
Break out my patch kit and fix both them and their bike up.
A fault of one too many attempted repairs of bad wheel spokes piercing the tube.
And after all the help I offer, he tries stealing my screwdriver.
Some thanks.
Utterly confused tracks split in all directions and before long I am in Chile, or near abouts.
A train station where the man with the gun points me in another direction.
Over a sand dune of a hill to the side of a volcano and before long I am lost again.
Helped out by some road workers and finally a tour jeep passes on its way my way and leads me along.
Stop to chat with the gang from last night, busy holding a picnic at a river crossing.
They have doubts about my ability to cross it and so I show them one of the many tricks up my sleeve.
Draws applause.
Quickly passing through a village of 3 huts and a steep incline.
A teamwork of 2 dogs determined to kill me.
A good chomp to the left ankle draws blood.
Damn dogs.
Pass a series of beautiful lagoons of a thousand flamencos and catch up to a mangle of jeeps caravaning through.
Across extremely heavy sand and washboard, the most exhausting, difficult, and dangerous ride I can remeber for some time.
The jeeps take turns breaking down along the way, making it possible for me to keep up.
Heavy winds make it even harder.
Over 4700m and the beautiful Laguna Colorado comes into view.
Absolutely impressive with its deep burgundy color, flocks of flamenco, and backdrop of mountains.
My mileage is at an all time low considering the altitude and rough terrain, requiring me to break out the 5l of reserve gas.
They say it is 190k from San Juan.
It has been 245k according to my bike and atleast 350k on my tires, fish-tailing and sliding from left to right the entire way.
Amazingly I have only dropped the bike once.
A 250 with quality suspension is nearly manditory for this trip.
I'll buy a beer to anyone who does this by moto.
Pass the checkpost as the jeeps have the guards busy registering the tourists into the park and make the mistake of asking around long enough at the lodge for them to catch me and charge me the park entrance fee of 30b, never again to be checked.
Moto <> Nowhere ??? 2h / 55k
The gang from last night invited me to dinner and so I drive in circles around the lagoon in search.
Eventually and in a stroke of sheer luck I happen across them.
A nice evening of wine and guitar.
December 6, 2004
The motorcycle is a tough start and I notice it low on oil.
Must have burned a bit off on the enduro trip here.
Offered a half liter by the friendliest of the jeep drivers, who also fills my tank with gas.
Some new sounds.
Hope I didn't do any damage.
Moto > Border of Chile 4360m 7:45 / 4.75h 2h / 112k 02665k
Up and over a pass of 4500m and 30k along a decent international shipping road to some bubbling thermal geysers.
Pools of boiling sulphurous mud at over 600c and huge clouds of steam.
Very impressive.
Check the oil, ok.
The engine is starting to sound happier now that it is warm and lubricated.
That and the road being much more comfortable then yesterday.
It must be thankful.
Climb another pass and at Km54 drop to the shores of a yet another beautiful lagoon.
An advertised hotspring on its fringes stops me for a much needed bath.
Absolutely one of the finest all natural crystal clear perfect temperature and peaceful hotsprings ever.
Took the spike off of yesterdays ride and now I too am thankful.
The highlight of the tour so far.
Back on the road now with both me and the bike happier then ever.
To Laguna Verde at Km90, absolutely the most beautiful lake I have ever seen.
Deep aqua marine waters meet shores of white salt with a iconic pyramid volcano in the background.
A high vantage point that makes for a perfect Kodak moment.
And finally at 12:30 and Km112 and 4300m I reach my final Bolivian pass, the border to Chile.
A stick for a gate across the road, a proud but lonely flag shivering in the wind, and a small two room shack where the border guards are fast asleep.
Could have passed unnoticed, but decided to wake them up and pay their 15b "fee" to receive the official stamp.
Simple as that and I am out.
Goodbye Bolivia!
Chile
VISA
90 Days FREE on Arrival
ECONOMY
560 Chilean Pesos = $1
Diem = $/d ($ over Days)
Extras = ...
Food = 1-4kp (soups, churrasco sandwiches, and alot of heavy bread)
Room = 3-5kp (A small step for quality and comfort and a giant leap for service)
Gas = 450-550p/l (Most expensive in all SA)
Web = 300-800p/h (Usually reasonably fast)
NOTES
Pickup trucks on dusty roads, friendly faces from shabby shacks, and a scarcity of quality sites in a twisted economy.
The warmest and friendliest people so far.
Damn expensive, especially coming from Bolivia.
A confused economic position with relatively high costs and low standards.
A budget travelers only option is camping and cooking for yourself, so bring a stove.
But you will get tired of eating so much cheap pasta and heavy bread.
There isn't anything inspiring culturally, a copy of America but 20y behind.
The principle highway is a 500p moto toll every 100k South of Santiago.
In the North there is nothing but sand.
Easter Island is interesting but not worth the expensive ticket.
Best you avoid the most of the country except Valparaiso and South of Puerto Montt.
ESSENTIAL CHILENO
Huevon = Friend
Cachai = Hear me out
Si-po, No-po = The po don't mean nothing
Welcome to Chile!
Moto > San Pedro, Chile 2400m 1:00 / 1h / 50k 02877k
Perhaps the easiest border to cross without a visa in the world (besides Mexico/USA ofcourse).
A road that enters the country for over 50 km before a sign informs you that it is "obligatorio" to check in at immigration.
Just for kicks I decide to go through the official formality.
A roadside office where I have to look for the guard with the stamp.
Again, easy, fast, free, and no questions ask to enter with the moto.
Looks like Mr. Peru was full of it.
San Pedro - For such a dingy and dusty outpost (outside of the tourist center) it is tough to find a dorm for under 4kp.
Damn hot here.
It is instantly obvious my Peru/Bolivia wear is out of fashion.
Pick the HI hostel for 5kp as it includes breakfast to save to the expense.
Stop in a cafe for a sandwich and juice, 4kp.
Aji in plastic packets.
Sticker shock has me a bit nervous and I am hoping it is just a condition of this tourist town.
Over 5 times the prices of Bolivia with some things being more expensive then the states.
To give you an idea, it cost more here for 2 eggs and a piece of bread (1kp) then a four star meal in Bolivia.
And a personal Coke which would have cost me .25 a few days ago is $1.50 here.
A good sandwich, but worth 4 nights accomodation?
So far I have spent more today alone then all of last week.
Granted the quality has taken a step up (the bed is firm, the water is hot, and the toilets have seats)
but is still something less (jackhammer leaky faucets and toilets that don't accept the slightly softer paper).
It is like they are living with a 1st world economy but in a 2nd world environment and mentality.
Dirt streets and adobe brick shacks, washed in white to up their appearance.
Sporradic electric, telephone, and water.
Strangely enough, the exact same juice they export to Bolivia costs twice as much here.
And even stranger, it is cheaper to buy the juice here then water.
There are refigerators in the shops, but they aren't turned on.
Like a country with money flow that hasn't quite sorted it out yet.
Plans to do a bit of camping as I move quickly South.
December 7, 2004
It is 9am and they are just starting to wake.
The work smarter then harder attitude but still a bit slow in the delivery.
Breakfast is an instant coffee and 2 small pieces of heavy bread.
The table rocks on its uneven legs.
It is supposedly one of the world's driest deserts.
My face is tight and starting to peel.
Take two more bread, which they don't nitpick over.
Service here seems to be the goal, regardless of how pokey it is.
10 oclock and the stores are nearly all open.
Looks like my schedule is going to have to change too.
Ethnic mood music eminates from all the open doors.
The elevator type with African and Indian tribal chants in the background.
Tourist agencies and hives fill the streets.
Gringos everywhere with their beady trinkets and stones and tatoos.
Feels like I am living in a hollistic health store.
Beautiful women surround, a big change from Bolivia and Peru.
The look of the people has dramatically changed.
Something further from indigenous indian and closer to colonial spaniard.
Much more european and attractive and also much friendlier.
Plans to loop through the local sites today and off tomorrow.
Gas has taken quite a climb at 550p/l (3x the price from Bolivia) but is 97 grade and a pretty green color.
Hoping my mileage also triples, but I kind of doubt it.
An array of quality motor oils here.
Moto > Toconao, Chile 10:30 / 1h .5h / 30k 02835k
Straight and flat asphalt across a low shrub and otherwise empty desert plain.
My first ride sin jacket in awhile.
Through a small planted forest and then nothing but sand.
Stopped at a border checkpoint for lack of helmet, and asked nothing of my visa.
After a short chat and a bowl of apricots they let me go.
Moto > Laguna Chaxca, Chile 12:00 / 1h / 30k 02865k
A dirt road to Laguna Chaxca across the Salar de Atacama, nothing like the eyes closed experience of Uyuni.
More like a farmers plowed field with a crust of white.
A circle walk behind a busload of Germans to the lagoon of a half dozen flamencos (apparently lost on their intended trip to Colorado) and far away.
After such an amazing journey here, this is a complete waste of time.
Definately not worth the 2kp admission which I managed to avoid arriving by moto.
How dissappointed I would have been to pay the 20kp tour price from San Pedro.
That is one good characteristic of these slacker-type cultures.
They usually aren't at thier post and so you can make a get away if you got your own gear.
It is the unexpected arrival and so it is free.
Moto > Laguna Miscanti, Chile 4100m 1:00 / 3h 1h / 100k 02900k
A long way up for another small letdown.
A nice lagoon, but again after the others this one isn't worth the trip or the 2kp more.
Along the way I make a 30km mistake on what looked like a road but was mearly a sand dune.
I must start to consider the cost of gas and ween myself off of these off-road adventures and mediocre sites.
On the subject of gas, once again my tank runs unexpectedly dry leaving me at the doorstep of Mr monopoly.
Charged an absurd 1600p for two liters.
Moto > San Pedro, Chile 4:30 / 2h / 115k 03000k
Moto <> Valle de la Luna 6:30 / 1h / 40k 03115k Return
And straight to the Valley of the Moon for sunset.
Nice from the top of a sand dune.
Camp in the canyons.
December 8, 2004
A nice restful night under the stars.
While filling my tank with green, I notice my clutch cable nearing to snap and my left front shock dripping oil.
Really took a beating on the trip here.
Will fix er later, closer to Santiago.
Moto > Banos Puritama, Chile 9:30 / .75h / 29k 03155k
Prefer my cheapest breakfast option, a liter of juice and I am off.
The dirt road to banos Puritama.
Clear luke warm waters cascading from artificial pool to pool in a canyon ravine.
Park early and take a quick dip before a tour agency guide tries to charge me the 5kp admission.
A crazy price to pay for a natural attraction.
No thanks and off I go.
Recommend you park a little earlier and be a bit sneakier.
Moto > Geyser Tatio, Chile 4100m 11:00 / 1.25h / 64k 03184k
One significant improvement so far in Chile is the signage.
Not only do they usually tell you where to turn, they say how far it is, even though their concept of what a kilometer is sometimes confused.
Geyser Tatio - Supposedly the highest geysers in the world.
Not one but a series of boiling pools no where near as impressive as the ones in Bolivia actually just on the other side of the same mountain.
Suprisingly free however and with a decently hot pool to enjoy.
In many ways nicer then Puritama.
An Italian couple arriving by rental keeps me company.
Moto > Calama, Chile 2300m 2:15 / 3h / 129k 03248k
Across a flat desert plain of nothing but sand.
Directly into the sun and a 40kph headwind.
Headache and face sore, dry, and cracking.
I recommend a different route, atleast in the after noon.
10 to go and there begins piles of trash scattered about.
Calama - The center looks like any nice mall in the States.
Double locks and gates guard every door.
Blockbusters and Pizza Huts.
Not a hint of culture, a boring scene.
An upscale town where the gas station attendant tells me they average 3kp the day.
None of this makes any sense considering the cost of living.
I stop in a supermarket and pick up a piece of bread and cheese and a small bottle of sunblock for 5kp.
How can this be?
Futbol game fans parading through the streets after an apparently important game.
A man on the corner wearing the wrong teams shirt gets a brutal kick in the face by a drunkard with the winning spirit.
The crowd continues on down the street smashing bus windows and whatever as they go.
The man with a bleeding face lays on the ground.
Nobody watching seems to even care.
Strange.
A thorough search of all the streets finds me a run down old hotel for 3kp.
A 3 bed dorm room ratty and musty and a tight squeeze for the moto.
No hot water and women lounging outside looking for customers.
I should camp, but I am beat from the elements.
The owner is still at the futbol game and so chat it up with an old miner who offers me a Coke while I wait.
Soccer seems to have replaced bullfights in vacating entire towns.
Take dinner next door.
The standard "menu", a chicken soup (a big and pretty chemical chicken with no flavor) and a bread for starters.
Followed by 3 small steaks (also chemically enhanced and flavourless) on a bed of rice pilaf.
This and a small Coke and a tea (charged extra but without having to ask) for 2300p.
The same cheap toilet paper napkins.
Nothing of interest in town.
Might just resign myself to covering kilometers South as quickly as possible.
Tools, Socks, and Salt Plains
December 9, 2004
Moto > Antofagasta, Chile 50m 8:00 / 4h .5h / 125k 03377k
The Pan America to Antofagasta.
Still to the west, but early in the morning with the sun and wind to my back.
Everyone here seems to own a new truck.
Nothing older then 3 years I see.
Flashing me as they pass for not having my headlights on instead of the off.
Straight to the sea for the first time since Camara, Peru.
The engine is racing and running lean from the additional air and so I tune er down and raise the carb needle a notch.
At the same time I swap out the nearly broken clutch cable and change the brake fluid to DOT4.
A charge of power I have never felt from the bike before, running strong and like new.
Antofagasta - A good sized city on the coast.
Well kept and laid back with nice beaches.
An uplifting change of scenery from the altiplanos and deserts of the past 3 months.
The same array of strip malls and chain stores.
Pass through quick and down the coast a bit to find a tranquil spot to camp.
Pointed to Coloso, a small fishing village 15k along by some resort valets.
Route 1S, massive sand dunes to the left and the Pacific to the right in the same flavor as the Peruvian coast.
The difference is it looks like I am finally "in season".
I now imagine the Peruvian coast as a nicer place.
Stop at a beach restaurant anticipating my first ceviche since Puno.
"Frescito!" she assures me.
Either they have no clue what ceviche is or she completely misunderstood me.
Hard to believe as I was pointing at the menu item saying "ceviche" and clearly saying "ceviche" at the same time.
A fried fish on a plate with some rice, and not even so nice, 4kp.
Oh well, maybe tomorrow.
A bit further to the end of the road.
Setup camp on the beach.
Sunset at 8:25.
An ass parks right next to me in a pickup truck and plays 80's rock all night.
December 10, 2004
Moto > Chañaral, Chile 10m 8:15 / 7.75h .5h / 409k 03616k
An easy 80kph straight and flat across nothing but sand, cement mines, signs releasing their liability on personal injury,
billboards selling insurance, and pieces of old tires and broken glass.
The road turns to the sun and wind and starts a slow climb and I find myself again fighting for 60kph.
The Mano del Desierto, a cement hand sculpted by Mario Irarrazabal in the middle of nothing.
An unexplained stall.
Low on gas I switch to reserve and pick up 2 liters at a construction site.
Gets me to the next Copec station where I stop for lunch.
More chemical chicken, this time on noodles with a side of peeled tomatoes, 1500p.
Some 1200k more to Santiago could take some time.
An absolutely boring ride across nothing.
Having a feeling I should have preferred to do this trip through Argentina.
I hear gas is alot cheaper there too.
Through the wind and back to the coast at Chañaral.
Grab a fish sandwich to fill the gap.
So far Bolivia is winning in the food, especially if you factor in the cost.
Moto > Copiapo, Chile 400m 4:45 / 2.5h / 167k 04027k
With a good 3.5 hours till sunset I continue on.
Along the rocky coast with some nice views.
After Caldera it cuts inland through a fertile valley of olives and grape.
Chile may not score high in food, but they do in drivers.
Following some concept of rules-based driving instead of free-for-all.
Practicing caution instead of crazy at corners and on the road.
Allowing a full lane of space on passing instead of cutting it as close as possible.
The best drivers so far.
Prices have dropped quite a bit since San Pedro, and seem to be continuing down as I go South.
The same gas that was 550p is now 500p.
The food that was 2000p is now 1000p.
Was planning on passing through quick but a roadside motorcross track of activity stopped me out of interest.
Within moments I have been invited to stay the night at one of the racer parents home.
Carlos, a mechanical engineer for General Electric and Maria, an english teacher (not entirely obvious, however they both try) and their 2 MX sons and daughter.
A fully stocked American style 4 bedroom 2 bathroom ranch house.
A garage with a pickup truck to haul their custom dirt bikes and their 4 wheeler.
A swimming pool, table tennis, drumkit in the living room, all the toys.
A dog bigger then me and only 2 months old starts hounding.
Step in a pile of shit on the way inside.
Looks and feels just like home.
Living the Chilenian Dream.
The scene makes obvious the problem here.
The huge gap between the rich and the poor.
It is this gap that makes the dream so enjoyable for one half and envious for the other.
It fuels itself in senseless consumerism.
I would like to blame its personal warmth on economics, but friendship doesn't require any of this.
I thik back on my cold shoulder experience of Bolivia.
They are packing to move to a farm closer to Santiago and the house is full of boxes.
Enjoy plate after plate of Chinese food for dinner as 2 cats jump from carton to carton.
They invite me to play my mini guitar and out of nowhere 4 more big guitars emerge.
Everyone is a star as the oldest son points to the durmkit signalling he can play.
Together we keep ourselves occupied in half songs of the oldest classics while everyone veers off into their own version of something else.
The sum of the parts is a bit of a racket.
A nice hot shower.
Setup camp in the back for lack of a spare bed.
Motion sensor lights that go on everytime I turn.
The dogs bark and the cats scratch at my bag.
Somehow I drift off into a sound sleep.
December 11, 2004
The pool starts its filter cycle at 7.
The live in maid starts her sweeping and polishing at 8.
Saturday and the gang sleeps in till 10.
A nice breakfast together before packing up the truck to return to the track.
Preparations for a weekend of races.
Check out the scene and do some small fixing up of my bike until realizing I may wait forever to actually see them race.
It seems to be more of a social event then anything serious.
Gather a lead for a parts shop and place to stay in La serena before saying my goodbyes.
Moto > Vallenar, Chile 400m 2:30 / 3.5h 1.5h / 144k 04220k
Low on oil again.
Stop at a truckers dine and chat it up long enough to score myself some.
Too much infact.
Apparently the man doesn't realize the difference between a moto and a truck.
Thank them all and push er just far enough down the road to where I can leak it out to the right level.
A long push across the final stretches of desert.
Moto > Almost La Serena 100m 6:00 / 2.5h 1h / 157k
The scenery changes and I continue on up and over mountains of green to nearly La Serena.
Pull offroad at a cliff overlooking the ocean and setup camp.
A dinner of bread and cheese.
December 12, 2004
Moto > La Serena, Chile 50m 9:00 / 1h / 35k 04522k
Finish up the final piece of coast leading to La Serena and check into El Hibisco, my lead from Copiapo.
A friendly family, moto parking, and a small but clean room including breakfast for 4kp.
Down to El Faro (the lighthouse) on the beach with a kilo of strawberries.
The idea is to spend a day or two here relaxing and fixing up a few remaining nags on my bike before the trip South.
December 13-15, 2004
I highly recommend El Hibiscus.
Ultra-friendly over three nice days of rest and repairs.
New wheel bearings, serviced front suspension, new drive sprocket, and a good cleaning of the chain.
Not even a complaint when I spilled oil all over their garage.
Moto > Los Vilos, Chile 50m 10:30 / 4h 1h / 250k 04565k
Amazing the difference a sprocket with 2 more teeth makes.
An additional 10% in speed, now cruising comfortably at 80kph and hitting 95kph max.
Expecting savings in gas also.
My first toll booth in South America requiring motos to pay, and a hefty 600p.
A 100k further and another.
Switch to reserve at 240k and push er the final 1k into Los Vilos.
7.5 liters for 260k dissappoints my expectations.
Using even more now, must be the heavy winds.
Lunch at La Paletita, an upscale truckers trap.
2 hearty soups, a mixed vegetables and a corn, beef, and bean.
The usual heavy white bread.
The Cure and Survivor on the radio.
No cultural "shock and awe" here.
A spanish America stuck in the 80's, or perhaps a spanish Australia.
Friendly people with few real restrictions.
It isn't too much further before my third and fourth tolls for a total of 2kp since La Serena.
Accelerator cable pops out of its holder, fixed in under 30m.
Off the toll way and onto a back-road lined with eucalyptus.
The closer I get to Santiago, the more it looks like California.
Along the coast from beach resort to resort.
Past Vina del Mar, the biggest and trashiest of them.
Decide to search for a stay in Valparaiso, a haphazard port city.
A blend of San Francisco, Pittsburg, and Naples.
What before the Panamal Canal used to be a popular resting port for ships around the horn.
George's Back
Don Keyhote's Machu Picchu
December 16-25, 2004
And by coincidence of time and position I find myself asking for a guesthouse to a lady with one.
Invited into Armando's Lodge of Patricia and Luis, Calle Pelayo in Playa Ancha.
A homey place high on the hillside with a great view over the city.
An extremely friendly and fun-loving easy-going couple.
And what was to be a quick day or two update of my website turns into a week or two of hacking, good times, and talks.
A massive update effort much bigger and more involved then I had imagined.
Firstly, my website with over 700 photos, 2 dozen movies, a dozen stories, and a month of journalling.
Secondly, two new websites for them and their guesthouse and sign businesses.
Armando's Guesthouse
A-Visuals Sign Making
On top of that my motorcycle has been "upgraded" to a Suzuki with a few crafty stickers,
and my guitar has adopted an airbrushed snake.
An invitation to stay for Xmas that I couldn't turn down.
A really relaxing and enjoyable stay.
I more highly recommend Armando's.
Betico's Porn
Che's Chimichurri
December 26, 2004
After 11 days of Valparaiso I finally fire er up and move on.
A sad goodbye.
Moto > Santiago, Chile 500m 18:00 / 2h / 103k 05005k
Cut back inland, through a forest of pine leaning in the opposite direction.
A heavy head wind that has consistantly resisted me since leaving Lima.
Toll booths and tunnels through the mountains.
Four lanes in each direction of racer-x types.
A busy and unpleasent trip.
Santiago - Where the price of gas has dropped to its all-time low of 430p per liter.
Not much more to say about it other then it is a big and very developed city of no interest.
Like a small NY without the atmosphere, skyscrapers, excitement, or culture.
Alot of red-mohawk-chain-studded-black-leather-pierced-punkers walking around.
A little far behind in their fashion statement to say the least.
Otherwise quiet on Sunday.
All shops closed.
Check into Casa Roja on the outskirts as reserved for me by Patricia.
A heavy set mexican teen with an attitude checks me in for 4500p, without breakfast.
Parking for my moto cost me an additional thou.
Throw my bag in the 10 bed dorm and out to reassure myself I haven't missed anything.
An uneventful 20 block walk to the main plaza (where the only activity is) and back.
Shopping for crap, seems to be the only interest of the most of the people here (and in the world).
Bras and bootleg CD's they couldn't pawn off for xmas.
Wander into a supermarket after my stomach reminded me my Valparaiso feedings are over.
Ham sandwiches and fruit on a park bench while a drunk teen harrasses me for money.
Back at the casa a hundred or so handbook toting backpackers slouched infront of the TV or sitting in their social circles staring at their digicams' daily catch.
Breaking News - The biggest earthquake in over 40 years has triggered a tsunami off Sumatra killing atleast 20,000 across 6 or more countries.
One french gringo named Nicholas turns me onto a discounted air ticket to Easter Island, leaving the morning of the 1st.
Will check it out tomorrow.
December 27, 2004
Early to the LAN Chile office to find out that the $239.000 ticket was in pesos instead of dollars and after taxes actually cost $450.
Already too excited to give the idea up I impulse buy my return ticket, to leave on the 1st and return oon the 4th.
Only 3 days, but the island is quite small and my only other option was for 10.
Better to do it quick and get going further south.
Should be interesting.
Spend the remainder of the day fixing up my guitar with new golden plated tuners and quality american strings to compliment the new paint job.
Sounds sweet and looks dangerous.
More groceries.
December 28, 2004
A wave of common sense hits me and I decide it way better to waste away the next 4 days back in Valparaiso.
A nicer place to stay with friendlier people and at a better price.
To pass the time over the internet
To witness the legendary new years fireworks.
A place to store my moto while I am gone.
Moto > Valparaiso, Chile 11:45 / 2.5h / 130k 05167k
Back I go with a moto piled high of groceries and tied off with scrap wire.
And somehow the same trees that were pointed against me on my trip to Santiago are pointed against me on my return.
An impossible coincidence that proves Murphy correct.
As I putter up the hill to a stop, the garage doors open wide and there stands Luis with a warm welcome back smile.
An afternoon siesta and an evening of catch-up over the standard piscos and vinos.
Good to be back.
The tsunami death toll has reached 50,000 and is rapidly climbing.
Jan's Happy New Year
December 29, 2004
A bit more exploring around the city in search of something to do.
To the house of Pablo Neruda, a famous poet I never heard of before paying the 2kp admission to what has now been turned into a museum.
Nice views from the top floors, but nothing so much more impressive then what can be seen from any of a hundred other spots in the city.
Down the hill past the famous murals to the bustling center.
Cars stop for people at crosswalks.
Crosswalks that the strays use just the same.
A song and dance show setup in the main plaza.
Back to the house I prepare a spaghetti lunch for them.
An onion, garlic, and butter heavy fresh tomato sauce they lick from their plates.
The death toll is up to 70,000.
December 30, 2004
Alot of counting was done last night as the death toll rose to 120,000 by morning.
The US has raised their contribution from 35m to 350m in attempt to impress the muslims.
And secretly hoping it will help to end terrorism.
You know, when they see how generous we are.
An otherwise quiet day, changing the failing headlight on my moto, learning new songs, eating leftovers.
The ubiquitous "onces", a semi-almuerzo-like tea-time with toast and cheese and other snacks.
They go through more white bread and tea here in a day then most places do in a month.
The little england of South America.
I introduce the concept of a bread machine to open ears.
Nicholas's Easter Island
December 31, 2004
The death tolls has reached 150,000 and they say it could pass 200.
It seems the tsunami was only the start of the problems.
The lack of food and the spread of disease have become serious concerns.
Another relaxed day for me.
A holiday crowd has rented the entire place out for the night, to arrive in the afternoon.
And as I sit and browse the web and joke about with Luis, Patricia is in her typical full on mode.
Sweeping and rearranging everything within reach.
She is a ball of energy from sunrise to sunset.
Always with a smile and good laugh about her.
!!! Happy New Years !!!
!!! 2005 !!!
Impressive fireworks light up the entire coast as far as can be seen.
And just as soon as the bottles of champagne break open, I am packing out the door for my early morning departure to Easter Island.
A dazed goodbye carrying only a camera and my GroovyPac burstingly filled with only food to a max of 12kg.
Chris's Big Happy New Years
January 1, 2005
The bus chain to the airport.
Bus > Pajarito Roadside 6:00 / 1.25h / 100k / 2800p
Nearly my first and hopefully my last set of buses.
A Tur Bus, exceedingly overpriced with sparse comfort and still 15 minutes late.
An angry lady starts the ranting.
Bus > Airport 7:20 / .25h / 10k / 1300p
Dropped off roadside to catch the second bus in the chain.
With a pocketful of new tickets and receipts I stumble into the airport.
An easy and hassle-free checkin.
Dig into my stash to help lighten my load while waiting for the plane.
Flight > Easter Island, Chile 11:45 / 2.5h / 130k 05167k
An uneventful flight over nothing but sea.
A round of applause after a rough landing.
-2 hours.
3-Days Easter Island
Heavy winds and overcast skies.
Light rains and 20c, the worst it gets they say.
An obviously unslept and still drunken Nicolas greets me out of the plane.
A hitched ride to the home where he has found a room for "only $10".
Not wanting to sleep in the rain I break down and accept.
Cockroaches and rats scramble as we open the door.
No hot water.
Drop off my food and immediately back out into the jeep to a BBQ party.
Vino and Pisco with the locals as they force feed us chunks of beef from the grill.
A well stoned home-owner who has us listen to the same U2 song over and over.
Tired of that scene we find ourselves back in the jeep crossing the island.
Stop for a piss at our first Moi (the famous rock head statues nobody can explain).
And eventually find ourselves on a small empty white sand beach.
Nicolas works overtime trying to close the gap with Claudia, the Santiago girl who invited us along.
The "driver boy" sits and waits, looking dissappointed that Nicolas got to her first.
I take a long nap in the shade of the cave as the sun breaks through.
Jetlag and a disorderly array has me for an early night.
Lee's Putting on Mass
January 2, 2005
Up early for a dive.
Scuba > Some Caves 9:00 / .75h / 51ft / $50
A quick glance at my C-Card and $50 later and I am in a wetsuit with a tank in a boat along the coast to some rocks and a cave.
A kinda dull dive actually, far less then my expectations.
Through some caves of very few fish, nothing big and nothing thrilling.
Once again Santa Barbara has it beat.
Skip it.
Blue skies with only scattered clouds, a nice day.
A long hot and tiringly slow climb up Volcan Hanga Roa for an absolutely amazing view down into the crater from the lip.
A marsh lake of wild grass in patches with a backdrop of the sea, past the far side of the crater.
Birds flutter through chirping as they prepare to swoop down and catch their days prey.
Hitch back into town with a japanese couple on single-day tour.
And ofcourse end up seated in a restaurant with them make believing the ceviche is a sushi and the canned beer is a saki.
Back to the casa for a siesta.
To the coast near the pier where they put on a traditional music and one redneck euro-canadian lumberjack blues gig.
Seated next to a roaring camp fire under a sea of stars as bikini-laid native girls sway their hips and move their arms in mysterious ways.
January 3, 2005
Up early to rent 2 bikes for a day trip around the island.
A chinese chinker for Nicolas at 5kp the day, and so as not to repeat the McKenzy Brothers episode, an american bike for me at 6kp.
And ofcourse his bike begins to fall apart almost immediately.
I warned him, but it is one of those things you have to experience to believe I guess.
Along the coast to see two famous Moi sites, actually impressive, and the quarry volcano from which they were carved.
Another nice lake inside the crater, however no where near the spectacle of the first.
Another nice white sand beach, this time populated by splashing kids and gringo faces.
A deep sunburn etches a line in my arm and has me standing out as white trash during my quick dip.
Terribly exhausted from a day of rolling hills, I hitch er back to town and splash out on a 1200p liter of Coke.
Our last night spent at a bar so Nicolas could "tie the knot" on his efforts with Claudia.
And as they pop open the pisco and settle in for a night of "romance", I am left rubbing aloe vera leaves on my burns.
January 4, 2005
2 days here and you can easily see everything without rush.
3 days gives you a day to relax.
A day too much.
Thankful I didn't sign up for 10.
Actually, you can skip it all together and not miss too much.
A forced early checkout so the fat lady can clean the house for the "more important guests" on their way from Santiago.
Expected to arrive on the same plane we depart on.
To the airport to check in early and out again to kill the time.
A tourist pineapple juice for 3000p, a local churrasco for 1500p more, and a few games of chess on the magnetic board Che made for me.
Flight > Santiago, Chile 2:00 / 4.25h
An uneventful flight over nothing but sea.
A round of applause after a smooth landing.
+2 hours.
The bus chain back to Valparaiso.
Bus > Pajarito, Chile 8:30 / .5h / 1100p
Bus > Valparaiso, Chile 9:05 / 1.25h / 2800p
The dogs nearly tackle me as I walk through the door.
An inspiring welcome back full of warm smiles and curiosity.
A house that is more and more feeling like a home to me.
A nice feeling.
Nicolas' Photos From Chile (Easter Island 1)
Nicolas' Photos From Chile (Easter Island 2)
Nicolas' Photos From Chile (Easter Island 3)
January 5, 2005
A final day of relaxing before starting my strong push South toward Patagonia.
A morning modifying my chessboard slightly smaller to save weight.
An afternoon helping them setup and test their new bread machine.
An evening of learning the etiquette and politics of yerba mate.
"¡Esta Lavado!".
To Patricia and Luis, my family of Valparaiso.
Thank you very much for your friendship and humour and stories.
Thank you very much for the good times I will never forget.
Thank you for making my experience so special.
I will miss you.
A small web update to start again fresh.
Nicolas' Photos From Chile (Valparaiso)
January 6, 2005
The day i leave Valparaiso for good, and on a bike that now resembles a trophy race car full of stickers.
Maybe Luis and I got a bit carried away.
It was the bright yellow "Daryl Devil" that took it to the top.
Reckon it will draw unwanted attention.
A sad goodbye as Patricia prepares a special paella for my going away.
Outside i see some of the heaviest winds ever and somehow I already know which way they are blowing.
How great it would be if they were tailwinds?
I must be crazy to be having such illusions.
And not wanting to go.
And putting on my pants and jacket.
And Patricia offers I stay just one more night and for free.
And I see they don't want me to go.
And so how can I go?
Okay, one more night.
I leave early tomorrow morning for sure.
An evening in Vina del Mar to Patricia's childhood home and to meet her family.
An introduction to Cola de Mono (Monkey Tail).
A nice mixed drink of Coffee, Milk, AguaDiente, Cinnamon, Nutmeg, and Sugar served cold.
January 7, 2005
A few errands before heading out.
The typical frantic and wreckless Patricia drive circuit all over town to find an ATM and a can of paint.
The entire morning shot in a last minute tour of town.
Another sad goodbye and this time for real.
Moto > Rapel, Chile 200m 1:15 / 2.5h / 145k 05305k
A much more pleasent day with less wind (but still in my face).
To Casablanca and off just before the toll, heading South through San Antonio.
The Camino de las Frutas, a double lane of good asphalt over hills of forested pine and eucalyptus.
A nice smell in the air and a pleasent ride without the traffic and tolls of the Pan America.
Pick up a kilo of the sweetest strawberries from a farmer in a beater Pinto selling them roadside for 1000p.
Take a break in Rapel, a small and pleasent one road town to picnic on the machine fresh loaf of onion bread packed for me.
Nice.
Moto > Pichilemu, Chile 50m 4:45 / 1.5h / 80k 05450k
Work my way back to the coast at the tourist beaches of Pichilemu.
Black sand and broad with horse rides and flocks of the Santiago weekend crowd.
Wealthy couples and families who arrive by SUV to spend as much money as they can in as short a time as is possible.
On my way out of town to the Punta de Lobo I get tagged for no helmet by the only officer ever to actually trade me a citation for my license.
And suddenly the town I was just passing through becomes my stay until the offices open on Monday to pay the bill.
And as he writes me up I wack myself in the eyebrow with a broken bungee, cutting it deep and pouring blood from my head.
The cop just looks and gives a chuckle and keeps writing, the asshole.
A nice day that turned bad.
Find myself an abandoned and peaceful plot out of town and across from the Laguna del Perro to setup camp.
January 8, 2005
Just motoring around the back woods dirt roads through mountains of forest.
Nice scenery but still nothing cultural of interest.
Return to town and take a nap on the beach.
Cazuela for lunch to the sound of David Bowie (Eyes Without A Face) and Van Halen (1984 - further proof they are atleast 20 years behind).
Back to Dog Lake to camp.
January 9, 2005
Another day of playing the waiting game.
Tomorrow I should be free.
On my way into town I pass the same spot where the same cop is busy ticketing just about everyone who passes.
A trap it were.
A bit further ahead the entire road is fenced off and in the middle a man lay dead, apparently hit in the crossing.
Police taking photos and measurements.
Detour alongside a 4-wheeler dirt track of people racing and smashing into each other, without helmets ofcourse.
Dogs not on leashes chase me up and down the streets in all directions.
Pickup trucks pass, piled up and stuffed full in the bed with people.
A few entrepreneurs are setting up a trampoline to break your neck on.
Apparently businesses here don't need to hold liability.
I can't help but think about the justice in my ticket.
With nothing else to do I end up back on the beach where a sand and wind storm makes enjoyment impossible.
Not even a single pretty girl to keep my attention.
An army of of hawkers selling rubber balls, ice creams, and peanuts and kicking up even more sand as they pass 6 at a time.
A salesman for every 4 or 5 families.
There is certainly no shortage of crying babies and whining spoiled kids around.
They get what they want.
Everyone is fairly chunky.
Possibly all the bread.
Devo and Duran Duran over the loud speakers.
After an hour of turning into a sand dune I decide that the beach (although it is the only option) may not be the best option on a windy day.
Stroll the main boulevard into town for lack of a better idea.
850p for a small ice cream and 800p for an hour of internet.
My cheapest option is to buy a box of wine and sit on a park bench.
I whould try basking here had I not left my guitar hidden at camp.
Simply observing the happenings.
A man in a shoestore teaches his 14 year old employee how to carefully balance the shoes on their display platforms.
Once again it seems shopping is the thing to do for most.
That and making out with your overweight girlfriend in public.
Stroll a bit further along and happen into a gang of 4 20somethings of Rancagua on break from school and busy setting up a shop to sell fruit juice over the next 3 months tourist season.
Rent for the 3 months is $1700 and they reckon on making 4 to 5 times that (and meeting some chicks) before returning to school next semester, spirits are high.
Finally I found my best option of helping them setup shop.
Keeps me out of trouble and costs nothing.
Together we decide their best option for a ceiling cover is a fish net full of eucalyptus leaves.
Paint the walls olive green and hammer up strips of bark and such.
They leave for lunch and I take mine at the Casa de Empenadas.
A popular place with a wide array of 25 types of empenada at 600p each.
Take an assortment of 3.
Very good but 2 would have been plenty.
Back to finish the juice bar.
January 10, 2005
Finally after 3 days I sit and wait until 2 for "la audiencia" (the hearing).
And by 3 I am called in to talk to the judge.
Within 5 minutes my bill is cut in half to 15000p.
Pay and collect my license.
A bit more waiting and hassle with the police chief to file a report of a stolen helmet (which he won't do) before I decide to just continue on.
Moto > Chevica, Chile 4:30 / 2.5h / 123k 05667k
A nice and scenic dirt road to Chevica where I stop for some food.
A chemical chicken bigger then a small dog.
Absolutely no flavor whatsoever.
Moto > Almost Talca, Chile 7:45 / 1.5h / 90k 05790k
After hassling with backtracking along a mess of unposted roads I decide to just cough up the bucks and get back to the 5S toll road.
As bad or even worse then I had expected.
4 lanes of fast and furious trucks with a 500p toll every 100k and pointed directly into the setting sun.
And since there is no other realistically functional roads to travel the length of Chile (which is the only way travel through Chile actually goes)
the tolls are roughly equivalent on my moto to adding 200p per liter on the already extreme 500p per liter pump price, bringing the price up to 700p per liter or 2700p per gallon or $4.10 a gallon.
And to make the pain cut even deeper, roadside billboards assure me all the money is going directly into someone elses future retirement fund.
I am really looking forward to leaving Chile.
It is just too expensive here and has nothing to inspire me.
If you are headed to or from Patagonia, I highly recommend skipping the most of Chile by taking the trip South through Argentina instead.
At 5000k it should save you nearly $100 in gas and tolls alone.
You will eat better and the scenery should be nicer.
Pull off a dirt side road to find myself a remote patch of unfenced ground for my tent.
Not looking forward to tomorrow, the Pan America day from hell.
January 11, 2005
Moto > Parral, Chile 8:45 / 3h 1h / 112k 05880k
Up early and back on the racetrack.
Coincidentally at the first toll my front tire goes flat again.
Seems these chinese cold patches just don't hold.
Streetside repair for an hour to put another on just to get me to Parral where I give another hour and 1000p to a friendly vulcanizer who does it right with heat.
Shouldn't have this problem again.
The typical cazuela for lunch in the plaza.
A chunk each of potatoe, carrot, corn, and vacuno in a weak soup base with noodles.
Something inbetween a soup and a stew.
A perfect side dish to the huge piece of white bread that comes first.
1000p and another 500p for a Coke.
Travelling Chile you will save half if you camp and nearly half again if you don't drink soda.
Moto > Los Angeles, Chile 1:45 / 2.75h / 190k 05992k
The sun is in force and so I strip off my plastics.
A long day of nothing but avoiding road warriors.
Moto > Villarrica, Chile 5:00 / 4.5h .5h / 236k 06182k
On again with the setting sun to Villarrica.
Pull into town after dark and immediately to the Copec to fill er from the few remaining drops.
A man in a hurry drives his truck over my bag luckily causing no damage other then tearing the tent straps nearly off.
Searching for a camp spot near the lake and am invited to stay in the yard of a resident.
German Gutierrez, a fellow motorbiker and long time resident of the lake feeling sorry for me.
A freezingly cold shower, my first in 5 days.
January 12, 2005
Villarrica - A relaxed and friendly little town on the fringes of the big tourism industry of Pucon a bit further down the shores of a beautiful lake.
The impressive snow covered Volcan Villarrica on the horizon.
Moto > Pucon, Chile 300m 1:00 / .5h / 29k 06418k
Showing true Chileno hospitality, German jumps on his Africa Twin and together we biker gang to Pucon where he also owns some lakeside property which he offers for me to camp on.
Hands me the keys to the beautiful and tranquil spot on the outskirts and waves goodbye and goodluck.
Hide my gear in a bush and take er into Pucon for a look about.
Pucon - Wow!
An absolutely gorgeous little town with a beautiful beach, and a pier with a stunning view of the towering volcano nearby.
A tourist town with a bit of an Epcot Center fake backdrop sorta feel but beautiful still and with plenty of reason to be a popular tourist destination.
Sailboats fill the quiet little bay.
The prettiest of women surround.
Stroll the strip and book myself a tour to hike the volcano to see the lava inside for tomorrow, 22000p.
There are alot of excursions and tours but climbing the volcano seems to be the most significant.
Was thinking to do it on my own until I was told special ice gear is required.
Back to camp and just in time to scare off a man from taking any more then my goggles and gloves from my gear which I obviously didn't hide well enough.
My first direct experience with theivery in South America.
Decide to pack out and stay somewhere else.
Drive the road half way up the volcano to the mirador for some nice views back over town.
Since I leaned out the mixture, the moto has been acting strangely and so I put it back.
The timing chain or something related is also rattling pretty loudly, makes me a bit nervous.
The search for a free hotspring on the return failed.
Nothing is free here.
In pains of hunger I receive directions from a friendly man to stop at a "Casa Azul" which is actually yellow.
It is where I surprise a farming family who sometimes prepare food for the various tours around the area, but where busy preparing dinner for themselves.
After an awkward entry, big mama welcomes me in to join them and serves me a soup no where near as good as the 4000p she thought it were worth.
In all fairness to her, I asked what it were worth and it took her a long time to think up what a tourist would pay.
Camp in their farm to cover some of the loss.
Volcan Villarrica Tour
January 13, 2005
Roosters at 4:30 and up by 6:30 in anticipation of the volcano hike.
An unbeatable view of the volcano perfectly posing with a stretch of wind blown smoke from the top.
Tent still soaked I stuff it into its bag.
I have great luck for this perfect day.
My luck continues as it just so happens the bus driver for the tour company my hike is booked with is papa.
And so after downing a bonus breakfast and big mama sending me off with a paper bag in hand we drive together into town.
Quickly gear up and by 9:30 I am back on the bus now full of gringoes impatiently waiting.
The bus climbs slowly back to the mirador where I was just yesterday from where we take a ski lift for 3000p higher to 1800m where we start the cow train zig zag up through the slush over a well trodden path.
It is far from demanding and only a hassle at an unnaturally slow pace in these plastic cannonball boots and with 30 pounds on my back.
A pack of crap heavier then my travel gear, complete with an ice axe and cleats and all the bullshit people use to look cool on "expeditions" such as this.
I start regretting not just running up it yesterday in an hour in my Tevas.
Stop on the half hour to "rest".
I am not even tired.
A higher lookout where a hundred other euros and the like (300 per day) pose for each other.
Do yourself a favor and hike this alone.
The special gear ain't necessary.
The guide hawks on me to wear my sunglasses because "it is very important".
Atleast he didn't write me a ticket.
If you arrive after noon you won't have to worry about "officials" as they all go home immediately after profitting off of running the lift.
10:45 and 2200m and we stop for a bite.
Big mama did me well with some nice fruit and cheese sandwiches.
I start to give her more credit then before.
A bit steeper onward but still no issue.
12:30 and 2600m another sitdown and rest.
Absolutely beautiful clear views on a beautiful day.
From so high up you can see the entire lake and 2 more volcanoes in the distance.
One of the most impressive scenic experiences I have had in Chile so far.
The wind picks up and the final push starts to show in my breath.
1:00 and 2800m we reach the crater lip.
Smoking from a hole some 30 meters down and bubbling of red hot magma.
Sulphric acid fills the air and burns my throat, lungs, and eyes.
My first actual lava viewing.
An incredible experience you cannot miss regardless of doing it by tour or not.
Small eruptions shoot the lava 30 meters overhead, showering the banks with colorful spongey stones and ash.
Absolutely amazing.
Definately a recommended trip, tour or not.
If you do this on your own just be sure to bring plastic pants for the best part, the slide back down.
After an hour of shooting the flumes and freezing the ass we are back in the bus, sun and wind burned and beat.
If you do this by tour, do it with Sol & Nieve for just a pinch more.
They have nicer shoes and matching uniforms.
After a couple hours of internet chat the clouds have moved in heavy cloaking the peak.
Turns out the Navimag ferry from Puerto Montt to Puerto Natales is fully booked.
The ferry I had planned to take further South with an Elaine also from California who I have been in contact with.
Looks like that idea is out.
And so I consider my options over Atleast until now I really had some luck today.
Treat myself to an honest 4000p Paella de Marina in a tourist restaurant before heading back to the farm.
A paella-like mix of mariscos but more like a soup.
I aint real fond of mariscos as it turns out.
Last nights soup was better.
Maybe big mama's carbon was worth the 4kp after all.
Hitch my way back in the dark.
A small puppy terrorizes all night jumping on my tent and tugging out the stakes.
Nicholas's Navimag
January 14, 2005
Around a few sites before heading off.
Ojos del Caburga and Lago Azul, 250p - A small waterfall into a nothing remarkable equally small blue pool.
A nice place for a romantic picnic, but nothing more.
Salta La China, 750p - Where the lady was hoping she could get away with forgetting to hand me a ticket.
An impressive 73 meter falls, but for a quarter of what the average Chileno makes per day?
And that is discounting the 500p in gas it takes to get there and back.
A glance at my map indicates I am in the perfect place for a scenic diversion between San Martin and Bariloche, Argentina that a German on a BMW in Santiago recommended.
Tired of my money melting away and getting nearly nothing in exchange my plans change from hitting Valdivia to a sneak peek of Argentina only 60k East.
Moto > Border of Argentina, Chile 5:30 / 3h 1h / 57k 06620k
37k left and the pavement ends.
Chilean back roads - A mound of packed dirt just round and gravely enough to keep a moto fighting from being pushed the progressively steeper and rockier shoulder.
Dusty enough to force you even harder when the pickup trucks blaze past in a cloud.
And with just enough washboard to allow the trucks to whiz by while you go slow to avoid falling off the side.
I forgot what it is like to go so slow and painstakingly.
Consequently while trying to capture the moment, my digicam bites the dust.
Does its little "buzz buzz errr errr" sounds and comes up with the infamous E18, never again coming to.
The first completely overcast day in some time.
Icey rain over the Paso de Mamuil Malal at 1200m.
Stunning scenery passing between the base of Volcan Lanin, shrouded in clouds and crystal clear lakes surrounded by exotic flora.
Orchids, bamboo, and some strange prehistoric wooley pine tree I never seen before.
Too bad it is brutally cold and overcast.
A brand new official border crossing in the middle of the park.
Easy and friendly out of Chile and a bit of a tough guy attitude on the entry to Argentina.
Only allowed in after playing a waltz.
Learning Dos Almas back in Peru finally paid off.
Argentina
VISA
90 Days FREE on Arrival
ECONOMY
3 Argentina Pesos = $1
Diem = $/d ($ over Days)
Extras = ...
Food = 5-15p (asados, pizzas, pastas, alot of good food)
Room = 8-18p (More or less the same as Chile, but with a bodea)
Gas = 1.15-2.00p/l
Web = 1-2p/h (Relatively fast)
NOTES
A bit cheaper then Chile but with much better quality.
Often friendly helpful people but sometimes suffering from a "my shit don't stink" gene.
Portenos (those from Buenos Aires) are a bit hysteric and nervous.
Their fashion and mannerisms remind me of characters from the Brady Bunch.
The women are absolutely beautiful, almost all of them.
They are terribly inefficient with their work and very lazy, always a line in supermarket.
It is impossible to know when shops will be open, but 9-12 & 4-8 is a guideline, except Mondays, Sundays, and Feria.
They have the best steaks and wine in the world and good pasta, but little variety otherwise.
Mate is an addictive social drink tasting at first like cigarette ash and making you take shits.
90% of the country is nothing but flat grassy plains and so covering it by moto can be dull.
Trains are the cheapest way to get around but run odd schedules.
They are the most bullish drivers in all South America, passing within inches.
Riding with one will leave you grabbing for anything.
ESSENTIAL ARGENTINO
'll' and sometimes 'y' is pronounced as a 'sh'
Vos = You
Che = Friend
Boludo = Friend or Idiot
No hay porque = Your welcome
Welcome to Argentina!
Moto > Just a bit further, Argentina 8:15 / .25h / 10k 06677k
The road angles down and soon enough all the trees are left behind, replaced by low shrubs and sand.
Definately a more interesting park on Chile's side of the fence.
Decide to park it in the bush and camp the night in hopes of clear skies for a nice volcano view tomorrow.
Sunset 9:30.
January 15, 2005
Sunrise 7:30.
Awaken from a cold shivering sleep to an absolutely gorgeous day.
Pure blue skies and the view I was hoping for.
Incredible scenery.
The perfect place for a semi-functional camera.
Moto > Junin, Argentina 750m 9:00 / 1.75h / 06687k
A friendly mate' clutching construction crew busy grading the road to be paved by March.
Stop for a photo and am invited to try my first Argentinian mate'.
A friendly and easy going gang who finally speak slowly enough for me to comprehend.
Continue on, stopping every couple minutes for photos and chat.
At this rate it could take some time to get to Bariloche.
The competition of the countries and what will they be remembered for.
So far...
Peru wins for its food (ceviche, chicharron, chicha), cultural shock and awe, and all around value;
Bolivia for its cactus deserts, salars, vast nothingness, and cheap and nasty ways;
Chile for its friendly people, roadside shrines, heavy breads and wines, and seatbelted traffic to sanitized beach resorts;
and from what I am told but to be seen, Argentina for its beef and women.
I could use a good steak.
35k further and I reach asphalt near the first town of Junin de Los Andes.
Stop at an ATM to fill my pockets with Argentinian pesos and save away my Chilean and fill er with gas.
Excited to see the price of gas drop to 1.90 per liter or .63.
A happy medium between Bolivia's .43 and Chile's .89.
A 1.5k bag of assorted fruit for just under a dollar.
Junin - A pleasently lazy small town apparently famous for its fly fishing, as all menus announce trucha and street signs are posted on pictures of fish.
More older cars then newer trucks and more motos all without helmets.
Lots of bicycles, wider streets, nicer houses, and old men wearing purple berets.
Moto > San Martin, Argentina 600m 12:30 / .75h / 43k 06747k
On to San Martin across rolling hills of shrub with patches of pine and eucalyptus.
Ofcourse into the wind which is strengthening the further South I get.
I reckon had i done this trip in reverse I would be getting a good 20% better mileage.
San Martin - Slightly larger then Junin and with more of a tourist and backpacker scene.
A relaxed but posh Swiss-like village complete with chocolate shops and ginger bread style homes.
Popular in the winter for skiing and in the summer for bikining on the beach of the alpine surrounded lake on the Southern edge of town.
Stop for a pizza and end up with a tarta, something inbetween a pizza and an empenada.
The man behind the counter shows me the best route, El Camino del Siete Lagos.
Take a nap on the beach where bare breasted bikini babes and bench press body builders leave very little room for a balding big belly like me.
Moto > Lago Espejo Chico, Argentina 750m 3:30 / 5h 2.5h / 97k 06791k
Hitch hikers in a line for 5k out of town Southbound.
Quality pista weaves over and around mountains of virgin forest, beautiful scenery.
Eventually the pista turns to dirt and what was an enjoyable ride turns so dusty with passing traffic that I can't see anything.
I recommend you do it in the half season or bring a serious pair of swim goggles.
Seems like alot more then 7 lakes enroute, each with its hitchhiking post.
For thousands of Buenos Aires students on summer vacation, partying their way down to Patagonia seems the thing to do.
Come across 4 at an unmarked intersection and stop for directions.
Get along well and as I am hitching one to the next campsite on their tour I decide to join them.
Lago Espejo Chico - Crystal clear aqua marine waters and a campground full of the local rats.
Guitar all night by the campfire.
Good fun.
January 16, 2005
Soccer, fly-fishing, and a long tiring hike up the nearby mountain for a nice view over the lake region from 2000m.
Packed along a bad sandwich that the lady back at camp turned psycho over when I asked for a refund.
Deciding against good business practices and preferring to resort to verbal attacks on me and every other gringo she ever met.
It is sheerly luck she made it as far as she has.
Another night of campfire sing-along and my first asado on the parilla.
As we work through the classics and some spanish tunes the girls move in closer.
I am now convinced both the women and the beef are very nice here.
January 17, 2005
Moto > Villa Angostura, Argentina 12:15 / .5h / 20k 06888k
Pack up camp for the big move 20k further down the dusty road to Villa Angostura and the next campsite, Unquehue.
Clans of cars pass in both directions making it impossible to enjoy until finally hitting asphalt just before rolling into town.
Villa Angostura - A small and lovely little lakeside village.
Stock up on the essentials:
A half kilo sac of Yerba Mate (Rosamonte) 3p, sandwich supplies 10p, a bottle of vino 3p, and a 2k slab of asado 13p for the gang tonight.
January 18-19, 2005
Camped out for a couple days.
Beach lounging next to the lake during the days and disco dancing in the tavernas at night.
Getting along good with my new friends.
Talk of the asado they will show me if I ever make it to Buenos Aires.
Thinking of taking an apartment there for a month or so possibly.
A bit of real relaxation time is in order after I make it to Ushuaia, the point furthest South.
Tsunami deaths have now reached 212,000.
January 20, 2005
Moto > Almost Bariloche, Argentina 12:30 / 1h / 60k 06918k BROKE!
Plans to meet up in El Bolson fail when the wratcheting sound in my engine finally elaborates 60k out of town.
Come to a drifting stop in the middle of nowhere.
Open the engine top to find no problem with the timing chain which I had suspected was the culprit.
Put er back together and within meters the bike kicks its last time and will push me no further.
Truck > Bariloche, Argentina 3:00 / .5h / 20k
Flag down a truck and an offered a lift by the two friendly men 20k out of their way to drop me off at a mechanic in Bariloche.
Take her back apart to find on closer inspection that the cam bearing is completely shot.
Spend the afternoon stripping her completely down and cleaning her up.
To find the replacement tomorrow.
Bariloche - No where near as impressive as I had dreamed it up to be.
A fairly industrial medium sized city by a lake.
A bit dodgy and run down in parts with a newer overpriced tourist shops in the center.
For lack of finding any accomodation not full or under 40p I take a bus out of town and lay my bag in the wild.
January 21, 2005
And ofcourse the only night I dont use my tent it rains.
A cold and wet morning I wander the streets looking for something to do until the moto shop opens at 10.
Bakeries begin to open at 9.
I am quite confused why this town is a tourist destination at all.
Besides the chocolate "artesianas" there isn't anything about it.
San Martin was alot nicer.
The moto shop eventually opens and the man tries taking a piss on me.
180p for two simple and fairly standard ball bearings, including installation.
Bearings that had i bought directly from the bearing store woulda cost me 30p for.
And considering that the work consists of simply tightening 4 bolts I turn sour.
I could do it myself in an hour.
The kicker is to do it requires one special tool, his tool.
A half hour of negotiations and "do i look crazy?" looks later I finally widdle him down to 70p.
To do the work myself, with an extra set of "expert" eyes to check the timing when i finish.
And so I do it, and it takes an hour, and it works perfectly, without the "expert".
Only jumping in on my work once to assert his opinion on the valve adjustment.
The smoothest and quietest my bike has ever sounded, dangerously silent.
This is what I hate about mechanics.
And as I am putting the top back on in rolls an older man from Nebraska on a Suzuki 650.
Looking for an oil change and loaded so full of gear the springs are bottoming out.
So much weight and power that he goes through a tire a month, the Pirelli MT40.
The same type I have had for 6 and still look like new.
There are many advantages to travelling light.
Get to talking.
John is his name and he has travelled most of the world, but by bicycle.
This is his first real experience by moto, and so he still has alot to learn.
The rains get harder and before long we both abandon our plans to free camp the night for a homestay nearby.
I could really use a hot shower, especially after last night's disaster.
Tomorrow to give er a test run around some local sites.
January 22, 2005
Fire up the bike to give er the test run and notice a hairline crack through the frame.
A crack resulting from forgetting to install an engine mounting bolt back in La Paz.
Down to a muffler shop, where an hour and 20p later it is well caked in solder.
Moto <> Test Run 100k
A successful 100k test run half way to El Bolson and back has me the confidence I need to continue on.
On my way back through town I stop in a Home Depot wannabee to stock up on some rubber gloves and workshop goggles for the winds.
Then a posh trekking shop in the downtown for a nice pair of real synthetic Columbia thermal underwear to replace my ass-sweat-disintegrated silks for the cold of the deep South, 120p.
Suprisingly, there are alot of Columbia products for sale in Argentina and at reasonable prices.
I have decided to take the Carretera Austral through South Chile instead of a boat.
Much cheaper, and everyone tells me it is an amazing trip.
Plans to take a ferry across the lake and back to Chile toward Puerto Montt where the road starts.
January 23, 2005
Up and out too late to catch the ferry according to the homestay lady.
And so I follow John to a campsite where we join up with the Horizons Unlimited biker gang.
Horizons Unlimited - Moto Touring
A gang of a half dozen or so bikers who met through the internet and are now on their way back from New Years in Ushuaia.
Big bikes with lots of gear, they are awestruck in disbelief as I pull up on my Korean 125 with only a small bag in front.
Some good "been there done that" type chat and as they slowly disperse on their days plans I take off further down the lake to check on the ferry schedule.
Bad news.
$60 for the passenger boat (fully booked for a week) and $120 for the moto on a special "cruise".
Looks like the only realistic option is to just head back to Angostura and cross the border there.
To spend the night with the gang camping and head off tomorrow.
Back at the campground the gang rallies.
Out to a posh restaurant for an excellent bife de chorizo (sirloin steak) and a few brews at an "irish pub".
Alot of typical traveller talk and a sampling of some really nice local micro beers.
A few are also headed toward Angostura, a chance to go biker gang style.
January 24, 2005
Heavy winds.
Decide to postpone my trip and join the gang around a few local sites.
A tough dirt road straight up the side of a nearby mountain for a nice view over all.
Meet some local bikers on tour at a smaller lake on the return.
Another early evening of bife and beer, extended into a late night of pollo on the fogon and guitar.
January 25, 2005
Worried about the dangerous silence of my bike and its less then acceptional performance on the mountain yesterday.
Armed with a feeler gauge from one of the gang I open the top to find my concerns justified.
The valves have been set way to tight by the "expert".
Loosen them up to spec.
After 2 days of waiting on the whims of the weather and the gang we finally pack out.
Moto > Villa Angostura, Argentina 3:30 / 1.25h / 83k 07260k
And finally in perfect Hells Angels fashion we make our way back to Villa Angostura.
Moto > Lago Espejo Chico, Argentina 6:30 / .75h / 26k
Late in the day, I decide to forgoe the Chile crossing until tomorrow in favor of one more campout with the gang who is continuing North to Mendoza.
Coincidentally find ourselves back at Lago Espejo Chico and the the sandwich Nazi campout.
Me not wanting to stir waves and John not wanting to pay find us pitching our tents just outside.
Meet up with the others inside after dark and spend a final night banging on guitar around the fire and creating needless drama.
January 26, 2005
Moto > Villa Angostura, Argentina 12:00 / .75h / 26k
Say our sad goodbyes around the parting gang and return to Angostura to fill up on cheap gass before returning to the expensive Chile.
Moto > Border, Argentina 1:30 / .5h / 25k 07396k
A much busier and more dissorderly crossing, however relatively painfree, done in under 5, and not requiring first a song and dance.
- CHILE AGAIN -
Moto > Border, Chile 2:15 / 1h / 41k 07421k
A long stretch of road between borders as is always the case since Pinochet's rule.
I like the feeling of being in no-man-land.
Cutting through mountains and beautiful rivers to reach the Chile post at Paso Cardenal Samore.
Stock up on maps of the Austral at the border tourist office.
The check in for a moto is always longer then checkout.
Done in half an hour.
Back to higher prices.
Back to warmer and friendlier faces.
Back to massive and dry chemical chickens to replace juicey steaks, cazuelas and the heavy bread that seems to rule every meal.
Back to unintelligably fast and choppy chat.
Back to being a huevon.
Moto > Frutillar, Chile 5:15 / 1.5h .5h / 48k 07508k
Pass the grubby town of Frutillar and setup camp on a beach of the lake next to some friendly locals.
After only 8000k since changing the chain, it and the rear sprocket are already bad.
Must replace atleast the sprocket in Puerto Montt as insurance for heading further South.
January 27, 2005
A cold bath in the lake as the blue skies and beaming sun that pulled me from bed early quickly are covered by clouds.
Moto > Puerto Montt, Chile 10:30 / 07628k
Once again, the back roads of Chile prove themselves a motorcycle riders worst nightmare.
Pickups blow by in a hurricane of showering stones and dust forcing you into the pits.
Decide to just jump back on the 5 instead of fighting for the final 20k into Puerto Montt.
Pull into a small bicycle shop where just happened to be a sprocket that fits, kinda.
As usual modifications must be made to fit my special bike.
The hammers and dull drill bits that wobble in their chuck come out.
Three kids hawk over making twice as many holes as necessary and all in the wrong positions.
As they crouch closer with their hands in on it, the bit grabs and throws the sprocket across the room like a chinese star.
An even shabbier job of incompetance then that of Bolivia and for 4 times the price, 7500p.
Out of my interest in living, I leave and let them handle it.
Check into a homestay to freshen up, 4000p.
A shower that fluctuates between fire and ice at whim and trickles out of the age old nozzle in every direction but down.
A buzz cut to Barry Manilow, where the buzzer kept making disturbing electrical shocking sounds and then shutting off, 2000p.
Out to the internet cafe for a long evening of depressing chat.
A dingy cafe where my 3 leg chair slowly breaks out from under me while Jen fills me in on the lies she has been feeding me for the past 3 months.
The cheating and lies slowly trickle out as she finally decides to come clean about her secret affairs with guys met in clubs.
Plagued by power outages and internet disconnects with near perfect timing.
For the next 7 hours I am pounded with deception, disgrace, and regret.
Lies become "omissions" that keep slowly trickling in.
Kisses change to sleeping with which eventually changes to sex.
Weeks become months and before long I can't say where the lies end and the honestly actually begins.
Apologies and desperation, as though she made a mistake and wants to be forgiven.
Pleas from the other end of the line and promises to visit me within the week to try and work through whatever is left.
Where is the love?
4200p.
Back at the homestay I try to forget about it all.
All night echoes of the strangest and loudest snoring and assorted noises from the fat man in the room next door.
Stark reminders of Gary from Pittsburg.
It is pouring rain outside.
Sometimes it feels like the whole world is against me.
Michael's 3-Weeks & 4-Stars Vietnam
January 28, 2005
Heavy rains continue throughout the morning.
Woken up by a violent street fight is going on just outside my window.
Shop owners stand in their doorways and watch as a man is kicked to the ground and smashed repeatedly with broken bottles.
Nobody attempts to help or even seems to care.
Spectators.
Today Jen promises to finalize her plans of visiting me and so I hold off on my trip South.
A walk about in the drizzle makes it clear my gear is in a sad state of disrepair and a care package is desperately needed.
A Goretex shell peeling of laminate like dead skin and a once black fleece that is now purple and holds no heat.
Tevas with holes through the sole suck the cold wet off the ground like a sponge and socks with permanent stink.
A digicam that wont focus and another that wont even turn on.
Back in the room, a tent that drips and has a snapped pole.
A sleeping bag which is torn and leaking down.
Clothes hanging on the laundry line.
I am left with nothing to brave the storm.
The rains take a break and I make my way down to the port where the Navimag waits for its next journey South to Puerto Natales.
Local tourist stroll the embarcadero by the bay where small wooden boats ferry others across the straight to Isla Tengalo.
A relatively trahsy strip of bums and beggers for cigarettes or anything else they can manage.
An airshow streaks across the sky painting its hearts and smiles in grey smoke, an amusing distraction for those below.
Straight climbs endlessly upward, eventually stalling and spiralling back down.
Pass through the Angelmo fishermans market and decide to treat myself to a plate of Locos, 4500p.
A sort of small but rich and tasty sea slug.
Mostly meat, something like a baby abalone and served with mayonaise like everything else here.
Plates of salmon and topped in mountains of mariscos surround.
Definately the place to eat in town.
To the center of town and the plaza.
Nothing different then any other downtown in Chile.
Western shopping to the left and right and nothing much else to see or do.
With butterflies in my stomach I stop in to an internet to hear from Jen.
Before she even reluctantly speaks I know the answer.
Once again and for the final time she flip-flops on me.
Thats it, we are through.
The headaches should fade in a few days.
With nothing more to do I return to the room to ponder the course of things on Jose.
In my life I have yet to meet a single girls who both inspires me and is honest.
And for the past 6 months I thought I might have found that.
Broken in a flash all the plans for a future that had slowly built themselves in my mind.
Apparently, an obviously foolish mind from the start to think we had anything.
Tear apart one of my disfunctional digicams to render it completely useless.
Thrown in the trash along with a few other useless "accessories".
Seth's Leap Years
January 29, 2005
Ready to push on and try to start forgetting.
To head South through Chiloe and then take a ferry across to begin the Carretera Austral.
Not without first a lengthy chat with Mrs. Homestay over life and love and a few pieces of Pizza Hut.
Just enough to awake my hunger for another round of fish market to spoil myself to again.
A quality salmon with all the fixins including the typical peeled tomatoe and lettuce salad.
A bit of a mariachi marches through with his 5 year old singing a campo.
Something of a Mexican cowboy song.
The smiley family of the table beside waves me over for a glass of wine and the standard 20 questions.
My conversational skills are definately improving, though I am still far from fluent.
It is a much nicer day with partial blue skies that aren't threatening.
And as I continue to discuss how nice it is, the dark moves in and rains fall.
Within 5 minutes is is nice again.
The weather changes very quickly it seems.
The worst type of weather for motorcyling because it leaves you unprepared for what comes next.
It should be quite a trip camping through this for the next few weeks.
Pickup a cheap plastic poncho just incase, 1800p.
Moto > Puerto Pargua, Chile 2:30 / 2.5h .5h / 91k 07667k
Caught behind a herst and its followers on an extended tour of the entire coast from Puerto Montt to Chiloe at 5 kph.
A beautiful coastal route, changing from paved to broken and finally to dirt after 15k.
My new rear sprocket with even 10% less teeth (43 instead of 47) has raised my speed by 10% once again.
The heavy rains return and I suddenly remember what I had forgotten since Vietnam.
That cheap plastic ponchos don't work especially on a moto and so I stop and wait it out.
Cheap plastic just doesn't do it and neither does Goretex.
No matter what day and age we are in somehow both breathable and waterproof are impossible.
Maybe if you spend a fortune on their latest hype and the rain is warm it is ok for a month or 2.
But in a real scenario your best bet is a simple rubber rainsuit, the yellow lighthouse keepers type.
On a motorbike there will be more then enough wind to keep you well conditioned.
The rains pass and after another 20k my poncho is nothing more then a flapping piece of crap.
Throw it away.
It is obvious whoever drew the maps of Chile has never ridden the roads, because the two bear absolutely no resemblance to each other.
And it is obvious whoever posted the road signs was equally aloof.
For example, at a t-intersection the arrow points straight, but your only option is left or right.
An intersection that doesn't even show on the map.
A frustrating scenario that mimics the way the locals offer directions by pointing and talking in circles about a road that only goes straight.
Makes you feel like you might have missed something along the way.
To take backroads in Chile assures you alot of backtracking.
I recommend you do yourself a big favor and save the hassles by just sticking to Route 5 the whole way.
Or do yourself an even bigger favor and skip the country North of Patagonia all together.
Sitting by the side of the road in the bushes.
Seems that mariscos always leave me with the shits.
Pargua - The ferry port to Chiloe and nothing more.
Ferry > Chiloe, Chile 5:15 / .5h / 800p for me + 4000p for moto
An obviously biased ferry that knows where the tourist come from.
A person cost 800p, a motos cost an astonishing 4000p, but a car of 4 cost only 3000p more.
It is apparent the sole gringo is the one crossing by moto.
Steep prices for a trip of only a half hour.
A very rough channel with some pretty good sized rollers come through.
Hide behind the cars from the spray over the deck.
Moto > Caulin, Chiloe, Chile 6:00 / .5h / 10k 07758k
Take the back road to Caulin.
Pull into the Santuario de Aves where they just happened to be celebrating their annual food and cultural festival.
An interesting assortment of seafoods cooked in their traditional pitfire ways.
Traditional Plato Coranto
Assorted Mariscos (Cholgas, Almeja, Choro)
Assorted Meats (Pollo (chicken), Chancho (pork), Longanisa (sausages))
Assorted Lard Pancakes (Milkow (potato), Chaparel (potato & flour))
Sit with a few local viejos and a few bottles of Gran 120 later we are singing to the folk music on stage.
Difficult to dismiss myself without first a few songs of my own.
Interested girls circle the tent and give me the eye.
Setup the tent in a organized but free campground by the beach.
What it is like to be in the middle of a party of drunken local teens until 8am.
The kind that shake your tent in vain calling for you to come out and in the process dumping the water from the walls soaking you and freezing you so there is no other option.
The kind that then have to talk right into your ear repeating everything they say twice.
Where everyone is either named Huevon or they use the word 3 times in every sentance.
Wonder how they can't be tired talking like this their entire life.
A long cold night to say the least.
January 30, 2005
Pack out as soon as possible to escape the ruckus and attempt to enjoy the island.
Moto > Punihuil, Chiloe, Chile 10:30 / 1.5h / 56k 07769k
Pass through the town of Ancud and further down the West coast to the penguin sanctuary of Punihuil.
Fishtail my way across the beach chased by a ravage dog and park it near the rocks where locals are busy collecting luga at low tide.
A purple sea weed they sell to the japanese for 200p per kilo to make plastics and shampoos.
50 kilos a day is their net.
Take lunch at the tourist restaurant before settling in for a nap.
As i rest, the touts slowly drop the tour boat price from the gringo rate of 2500p to the local rate of 1500p for the half hour trip to see the penguins.
On the boat and around a few islands just off shore to witness the spectacle from afar.
Nice but nothing special.
Moto > Nearly Dalcahue, Chiloe, Chile 5:00 / 07825k
On the 5 (here it is the 2) down the center of the island toward Castro.
A double lane of old asphalt constantly under patchwork construction every 10k along.
Someday they will figure out it is much better to just repave the whole thing then keep chopping up little bits.
Until then, I am glad to know my taxes are being spent so foolishly when there are plenty of other roads in the country in more need of help.
I guess they gotta waste my money on something.
A turnoff just before to see some of the old churches that Chiloe is supposedly famous for.
A small rocky road (that could really use some help) to the Colo Church, a small old wooden church under repair.
Nice but nothing fabulous in comparison to the thousand of other famous churches I have seen in the past 5 years.
On the side lot a group of missionaries having a fiesta of their own invite me in to their Coranto and song and dance.
Spirited and friendly faces all intent on hooking me up with someone's homely church daughter.
Offered a corner of the church yard to setup camp.
Obligated to a prayer session in the old church after dark.
A lengthy affair reminds me why I don't go to church.
A dozen prayers and a couple dozen songs later and finally after the group hug and peace session I am free.
A good night of sleep sin lluvia.
January 31, 2005
A pure blue skies day.
The first since returning to Chile.
Moto > Dalcahue, Chiloe, Chile 10:30 / 1h / 07936k
After seemingly forever on another dirt road that could use some help, I pull into Dalcahue.
A small and pleasent port town where a couple older euro-tourist seem to be following me around with a video camera.
Down to the port and fish market for a nice cazuela and some empenadas, 1000p.
The typical working class mans' fare here.
Your second cheapest option lunchtime option behind a bag of fruit from the supermarket.
Leave my moto behind in favor of taking the free ferry to the Isla Quinchao where the missionaries have told me the really nice churches are.
Ferry > Isla Quinchao, Chiloe, Chile 10:30 / 10m / free for passengers
A 10 minute crossing free for passengers.
Hitch? > Achao, Chiloe, Chile 2:30 / .5h / 20k / 800p
Hitch on a bus that reminds me of a trip i had through Indonesia.
All the seats taken and plastic furniture fills the aisle.
I am left standing the entire way while people keep ribbing me to get on and off.
Can't complain I guess since I am getting the ride for free, not.
Charged in the end.
A nice church but not worth the hassle of getting to.
Another attempt to hitch back failed after an hour of watching people pretend to look the other way.
Flag down the bus.
Bus > Dalcahue, Chiloe, Chile 4:45 / .5h / 20k / 800p
My impression of Chiloe - The churches are nice, but it is the people who make this place special.
The friendliest of the already friendly Chilenos, the best of the best.
Unfortunately at the same time they are also a bit dumpy with some apparent inbreeding.
And if you add to that their also apparent chunk from eating far too much chancho and manteca with their pan, you end up with a peculiar scene.
It is one of the more pleasent and interesting places in Chile, but still doesn't justify the visit.
Moto > Chonchi, Chiloe, Chile 5:30
Pass up on the capital city of Castro for Chonchi a bit further down the East coast.
Check into the Hotel Esmeralda on the recommendation of an anonymous email from someone on the Horizons Unlimited website.
And quickly I find myself back on "the circuit".
A semi-pretentious landing zone for gringos clutching "the book".
A half humourous expatriate owner introduces the gang and shows me my dorm, 5000p.
Take a walk about.
Another church and more old wooden homes.
The architecture is mildly stimulating.
Take a break for a drink at a hole in the wall bar.
Three half dressed ladies behind the bar keep the eye on hoping to provide some additional service other then my beer.
Otherwise, a jukebox service man keeps them occupied selecting the music of the month.
Back at the hostal a good gang cooks up some impressive market seafood.
A couple israelis, a couple english, and a couple canadians.
A cheery couples scene complete with the addition of Jose and I.
February 1, 2005
Moto > Chiloe Natl. Park, Chiloe, Chile 10:00 / 1.5h .5h / 25k
Pair up with an Italian in the hostel for a day trip to Chiloe National Park.
Riding two along a foul dirt road that is advertised to be "extremely dangerous".
Stop along the way to strum a bit of guitar with a pleasent church choir gang.
A mistake at the "enter here" gate paying admission when there is a free entry just a few meters further down the dirt road.
A nothing much park hardly worth mentioning.
Take a nap on the beach before heading back to Castro.
Moto > Castro, Chiloe, Chile 2:00 / 1.5h / 50k
Where we sit down for a nice Cazuela and wine in an upscale dockside tourist joint.
Pick up some big and heavy rain gear at a fishing store and purchase my ticket for the ferry tomorrow to Chaiten before returning to the hostel in Chonchi.
Moto > Chonchi, Chiloe, Chile 6:00 / .5h / 25k
Another night with the gang.
Patagonia
This is when I start bouncing back and forth between Argentina and Chile.
February 2, 2005
Moto > Castro, Chiloe, Chile 1:00 / .5h / 25k
Into Castro to catch the ferry alongside a couple Israelis from the hostel.
Spend the waiting time fixing their rental car hood closure with a piece of wire and exchanging my rain gear for something lighter in polypropylene.
That and deciding on a pile of other stuff I dont really need but am forced into anyways since the lady won't refund the difference.
Customer service hasn't found its way this far south apparently.
Ferry > Chaiten, Chile 5:45 / 7h / 12kp me + 14kp moto
On the late ferry to Chaiten.
A long and uninspiring trip kept occupied by Julia, a pretty local marine biologist to my right and Don, a nearly morbid newbie traveller from Yosemite to my left.
After having just been released from the hospital for being stabbed with a knife in Castro, he recounts his story of stumbling drunken and aimless alone and around titty bars at 2am.
Turn him on to the concept of possibly buying a motorbike to finish off his trip.
Arriving at some awkward early morning hour, Julia invites us into her small cozy home for the night.
Fire up the wood burning iron stove to keep warm and reintroduce ourselves over tea.
A marine biolologist originally from Temuco and now living in Chaiten and working as an advisor for fishermen along the coast.
The kind of place and job she thought would keep her motivated when she began a year ago, but has since left her longing to pack the bags and move back to the social city life.
A lonely condition fueled by the loss of a boyfriend who left her with a child.
A child she just returned from dropping off at her parents back home during an interview for a new position.
She hopes to hear from them tomorrow.
Jim's Psychological Leverage
February 3, 2005
A beautiful blue skies day and the Israelis up early and push forward down the Careterra Austral in their rental car.
I decide to stay behind and make a day trip the other way through Pumalin Park, a private reserve established by the Northface billionare.
Nice trails through the forest to impressive waterfalls and lakes and volcanoes.
An evening out with Julia, both excited to be on a first "date" in quite some time.
A memorable chinese chicken I managed using only a handful of grubby spotty veggies from the lacking corner store.
A romantic wine and dine fireside.
I can't imagine living here for so long.
My recent relationship woes start to dissappear.
February 4, 2005
The first fogged in day after a string of perfect weather.
Just in time for my trip down the Austral.
The Carretera Austral
Chile's famous scenic dirt road through Patagonia.
Moto > La Junta, Chile 50m 11:00 / 4h 1h / 140k 08300k
Pista carries me out of town.
Cutting inland through a valley between mountains, the clouds are left behind and I am offered another perfect day.
The moto hums along happily at 80kph as for once the light breeze is at my back.
By km20 the pista ends and the road turns to packed dirt and loose stone, dropping my speed to 40kph.
A road that is in bad need of an annual sweeping at the very least.
Large stones keep me bouncing and entertained on the bars.
A perfect Chilean rocky roundtop road and a man on a grader making sure it stays that way.
The scenery is incredibly inspiring as I cross a bridge over a bright blue river leading to a perfectly snow-capped mountain on the horizon.
A scene that is unfortunately spoilt by powerlines cutting across all the best bits, a condition that seems to be the norm on routes like this.
I mean didn't they even look once before deciding to put it there?
The further from "progess" I get the better the road gets, turning to packed clay with a dusting of gravel.
My speed ups to 60kph as the scenery continues to surround.
Dense forests of evergreen cast their shadows over the road which manages to weave itself skillfully between sheer mountains.
Great glaciers in the distance shed their skirts of blue ice to form cloudy turquoise rivers.
La Junta - In desperation I stop for gas at the only station so far enroute.
Outrageous rapery at 650p/l ($5 per gallon) and ofcourse with the "fuck you... you have no choice" attitude.
Into "town" for lunch.
A small leg of over cooked chicken and some old fries and bread (without butter) for 2500p.
Looks like it is time to lose some of those spare pounds I have put on since entering pan-land, Chile.
Absolutely nothing worth dulling around here for.
Moto > Parque Quaulat, Chile 4:00 / 1.5h / 70k 08445k
Pull off at the turnoff to Parque Quaulat to check out the glacier advertised by a roadside sign.
As usual, an entry gate just before the view enforces admission: Adult 1500p, Child 500p, Camping 5000p.
I manage to convince the guard I am a child.
A massive glacier of blue ice at 1000m melts into cascades flowing from its skirt and showering into to a lake below.
An absolutely spectacular site.
After my success at admission I try my hand haggling over an outrageous 2500p and 5 minute boat ride to a closer view.
After an hour of hard haggling techniques failed, the sun begins to set and I decide it far better to hike the mirador tomorrow instead.
Setup camp in a plush mossy clearing just outside of the park gates, far enough that they can't see me but close enough that they know I am there.
Reinforce the proximity by walking back in to bother them over fresh water for my dry and failing moto battery.
Looks like the road vibrations have worn a hole right through one of the cells.
Replace a couple broken tent poles using sections from the foot arch pole I no longer use.
February 5, 2005
Another beautiful day.
Enter the park again on yesterdays child ticket to hike the trail missed out while haggling with the boat drivers.
Trek <> Glacier Mirador 10:30 / 1h / 3.5k
Cross the bridge over a river of naked crazy Israelis taking an icy bath to find the trail head.
Up in an hour, but a few hours too soon.
Take a nap and wait till the sun shift to the face.
Huge chunks fall off in a thundering sound.
A couple bikers from switzerland arrive and also take a seat to wait.
Having arrived by 6 weeks cargo ship between Hamburg and Valparaiso they have some good stories.
They say it cost them about $2000 each for the oneway trip, and I think it went through the panama canal.
They mention a boat between Seattle and New Zealand which grabs my interest.
Tired of the wait, they took their snapshots and left me with a handful of illegible web links which I could never get to work.
Another short nap and I awake to find a small gang of Israelis trickling in, a dozen or so.
A country of 6 million with only a couple hundred actually living in the country at any one time.
In military fashion they immediately arrange themselves in circles and fire up their stoves for tea and cookies.
A mate over talk of Easy English and Esperanto and before long there are a mass of philosophers surrounding.
Good conversation until the topic of the pork fat in the vegan girls cookies and the new hope for peace in the middle east with Arafat's death sent them off.
Still more come.
And so hour by hour I wait thinking the best moment is still to come as the entire day passes infront of me.
I finally tire of the wait as I convince myself the best time for a photo is between 4:15 and 5:00, and just as I snap the shot and leave I hear the biggest rumble from behind.
Just my luck I think as I head back to camp.
For the best experience, I recommend you start the hike at 3pm and be back by 6pm.
Moto > Manihuelas, Chile 5:00 / 4h / 130k 08517k
A nice ride onward until 20k from Manihuelas where I meet the pista once again.
Over Quaulat Pass at 500m, I look up to witness the largest waterfall I have ever seen showering somehow from the highest lip of the mountain range.
A puzzling impossibility that has me only imagining a bigger mountain that I cannot see behind it.
The road turns downward and the winds which to this point have been non existant begin to rage.
I cross an area of dull scenery and as the sun sets I reach the small town of Manihuelas.
Stop at a roadside diner for the nights special, Salmon & Mash 2000p.
Nothing special but still much better then my chicken leg experience.
Pick up some fruits and juice at the grocery, 1500p?!?!
Prices seem to be getting worse the further south I go.
Head out of town just far enough to avoid the commotion and setup camp along the side of a secondary frontage road over a bridge on the far side of the river.
An unusually nice bridge considering it leads to absolutely nothing.
Moto gets stuck in a pile of gravel.
February 6, 2005
Moto > Puerto Aisen, Chile 10:30 / 1h / 54k 08655k
Back across the river I continue on the pista to Puerto Aisen, the first real town so far since Chaiten.
A good place to do your grocery shopping without getting the tourist price and to catch up on the internet if you are already here.
Otherwise, it isn't worth the 40k detour off the main road and the port isn't really a port.
My luck has me here on a Sunday and so nothing is open anyways.
Moto > Coyhaique, Chile 1:15 / 1.5h .5h / 68k 08712k
Back to the main road.
A scenic ride which climbs a bit to a high windy plain before dropping down into the pleasent capital town of Coyhaique.
Another reason not to waste time stopping in Puerto Aisen.
If you need anything, this is the place.
Excited to see normal town-like activity and resources, I humoured the concept of hostelling it the night before deciding to just continue on.
Moto > Almost Puerto Tranquilo, Chile 3:30 / 5h .5h / 168k 08781k
Up until now the Careterra Austral has been nice, but despite my moments of inspiration as noted there has been nothing exceptionally remarkable.
My attitude about the trip has dipped and it could have to do with the recent stretch of pista and dull surroundings of the past day.
Seems more of a way to get South by road to where the "real sites" are then a "site" of its own.
My Patagonia Advice
I am starting to think a better overall experience would be taking the Navimag from Puerto Montt to Puerto Natales as was originally planned, and doing the Carretera Austral on your way back North.
Doing it as an alternative to the Ruta 40 stretch in Argentina along the same length which I have heard is rough and hella-windy and dull.
Besides the advantage of being hit by the stunning Patagonia scenery all at once and from a different perspective, doing this also allows you to schedule your sites better and ups your chance to get a good deal on a boat to Antarctica.
It also gets you in and out of Patagonia during the relatively short and extreme decent climate season.
Basically, start your trip South from Puerto Montt by Navimag boat at the end of December.
Visit Torres del Paine, but skip Perito Moreno on your way down (you will catch it on the way back), to land you in Ushuaia by New Years.
Enjoy the New Years parties that are pretty happening down there and hang out just long enough to score a backpacker rate on a boat to Antarctica.
Start your way back by the end of January taking your time to see Perito Moreno and El Chalten in Argentina before entering Chile for the Carretera Austral.
If you are on motorbike, take the required and unfortunate stretch of the 40 to get you to Cochrane, Chile and then take the detour South to Tortel before turning North.
If you are hitching or bicycling, go straight to Tortel, Chile via the tricky ferries and back roads from El Chalten.
Take the Carretera Austral North.
Cross back into Argentina at Futalifu just below Chaiten and then head to El Bolson and Bariloche.
From Bariloche do a few days trip into Chile to see Pucon and then back.
Continue to camp and hitch your way along the 7 Lakes Road North through Argentina all the way to Mendoza.
Cross into Chile over the Paso Del Libertadores and visit Valparaiso.
Return to Mendoza and take the 40 (now a nice section) to Salta.
Doing this also helps you avoid the bulk of Chile.
Snap myself out of my daydream guidebook planner mode to realize I am hungry and so I stop for a picnic over a pass looking down and into lowlands and canyons ahead.
Jamon crudo and cheese sandwiches and a can of Escudo, which is a shitty beer.
The buzzing assortment of greenhead flies couldn't do a better job at annoying me.
They are everywhere in Patagonia.
The road returns to stoney dirt at Villa Cerro Castillo, 95k from Coyhaique.
The scenery instantly improves but so does the dust from the oncoming trucks.
It has gotten so bad that I have resorted to using Swim Goggles (one of my forced purchases) to keep it out.
Quality moto goggles that absolutely seal everything out are a requirement on this trip.
Pass a couple nice lakes and setup camp next to a cloudy river and an abandoned shack about 60k from Puerto Tranquilo.
Chomp off the rest of my bread and block cheese before diving into the tent at sunset to avoid the swarms of mosquitoes fighting with the netting.
Thank god for No-See-Um.
February 7, 2005
It has become like clockwork, that my gear is dry and I am packed out by 10:30.
I don't use an alarm clock, but my body seems to be consistently pushing itself into motion at the same time every day.
Some basic bike adjustments.
Oil and adjust the chain, which for the past 2000k has been running out on me, indicating it is time to change.
Do a few laps up and down the road in attempt to adjust the steering column which is rattling more and more and getting harder and harder to control every day.
The main bolt is loose and I have nothing to tighten it with and so I just try to ignore the fact that the bearings are getting a beating and definately need replaced.
As I fiddle with the bike a police stops at my site and notifies me that in the night there was an accident and to be on the lookout for a dead girl floating down the river.
I assure him I will as he waves off his partner standing by the shore with binoculars.
Nothing like a bit of adventure to start your day.
Moto > Puerto Murta, Chile 10:30 / 1h .25h / 36k 08949k
And so I keep my eyes on the river instead of the road until I nearly do it in with the oncoming trucks and realize there will be another death if I keep it up.
Massively reinforced old German military trucks proudly announcing "ALEMANIA" in big letters across the front and 2 white haired schnitzels at the helm.
I have seen atleast a half dozen of the same along this road.
Must be the adventure alternative for retired Germans wanting to tour the world.
Take a detour 8k to Puerto Murta.
A small tranquil lakeside port where you can get gas if you need it.
A beautiful lake surrounded by a blend of forest and snowy peaks.
There is nothing else about it.
Wake the Tourist Center lady from her sleep to find out besides her not really having any information to provide, that I am the only tourist to have stopped here all week.
Sit on the curb out front eating fruit and answering the kids questions.
Still another month of vacation.
Moto > Puerto Tranquilo, Chile 1:00 / .5h / 26k 08989k
Continue on to Puerto Tranquilo where I literally drift down the final hill to the gas station.
So far the longest stretch without gas has been 225k, which most bikes can handle without reserve.
Ofcourse the stations like this will charge 580p/l but it saves you the hassle of carrying extra.
Sign up for a boat tour of the Cavernas de Marmol and spend the afternoon waiting for the boat to fill.
Boat <> Cavernas de Marmol 4:00 / 1.5h / 3000p
An hour and a half through caverns cut into an island by the water, very nice.
Moto > Cochrane, Chile 6:00 / 3.25h .5h / 116k 09016k
My opinion on the road scene is much improved during this section.
It was only the paved bit that dragged on, but I still recommend it for the return trip.
A bridge under repair has a temporary ferry crossing.
As the scenery again dissappears, the road turns bad and the wind and washboard that up until now have only occupied the horror stories of other travelers starts to materialize.
It won't be until I hit the Ruta 40 and the plains of Argentina that I feel the full force.
Reach the massive swirling baby blue Rio Baker and follow along its banks, racing against time to reach cochrane before dark.
My map has sadly once again been not even close on its distances, leaving me wondering even how far I have to go.
And as the sun sets I pull into the 5 road dusty nothing town.
After 116k, not 88k and definately not 142k.
Why is it so hard to make an accurate map?
Maybe I should buy one instead of relying on the free tourist center handouts.
A rapeage on gas at 620p/l.
The Esso on the way into town is cheaper.
Inspires me to do some calculating on my budget so far, half way to Puerto Natales...
Carretera Austral Budget
(Half Way to Puerto Natales)
Food: 5,000p/day @ 5 days
+
Gas: 600p/l @ 1000k & 35k/l
=
42,000p = $75usd = $15usd/day
Eat my once a day restaurant meal, now down to a small 1/4 chicken in the middle of a plate with nothing else, 2,000p.
Pull just outside of town and camp by the roadside.
February 8, 2005
Moto > Tortel, Chile 10:15 / 3.75h .75h / 125k 09135k
Forced to make an early oil change as my moto seems to be either eating or leaking a bit.
A rough road to Tortel.
Tortel - An interesting arrangement greets me.
Required parking in a lot above a bay which is lined by a boardwalk instead of streets.
No vehicles.
One of the oddest places I have ever been.
I can't quite describe it and so I take alot of pictures.
Spend a few hours strolling the boardwalks and witnessing this incredibly interesting town made entirely of wood.
Tired of walking I end up back at the parking lot guitarring it with some hitchers from Santiago waiting for a ride out.
A small hippie festival on the rocks.
In rolls a 3-some of cyclists met on the road enroute earlier in the day.
To tired to search themselves down a place to stay, I invited them in on a deal I found for myself.
And together we check into the Calerta Hospedaje, offering beds at 3,000p and spots on the floor for 1,500p, half the price of the next cheapest place in town.
Step in on a jolly fat man busy cracking open fresh steamed crabs and happy to have a full house during an otherwise business lull.
To organize a group tour of a famous glacier by boat tomorrow.
February 9, 2005
Boat <> Big Glacier 10:30 / 10h / 10kp each for group of 15
Somehow we managed to pull together the minimum group or 15 for contracting the boat and we are off.
A 4 hour ride slowly through calm bays of blue icebergs floating by to the edge of a massive glacier chunking off into the water, very impressive.
Dock on an iceberg to celebrate with a cardboard box of fine wine.
A long ride home shortened with shots of whiskey over million year old ice.
A recommended excursion.
February 10, 2005
The others take off early, leaving me alone to relax the day away.
Atleast it was to be that way until my hot shower turned into something hotter.
Sitting outside drinking a tea and strumming my guitar, nobody home, just me.
The scent of smoke lingers by.
Think it strange and keep plucking at my happy-nothing-to-do-today song.
Again passes a whiff, only quite a bit stronger.
Turn to look and see a plume of black smoke rising from the roof.
FIRE!!!!
Jump up and enter the house to find it full of smoke so thick I can only see a violent orange glow coming from the direction of the kitchen.
Quickly find the neighbors to call for help and return.
Duck down low and by the time i make it to the kitchen I am crawling under the clouds.
A blast of flames being thrown 5 meters from a hole in the gas pipe leading to the water heater.
The paperboard walls are on fire and it is spreading fast to the roof and in every direction.
Reach for the gas shutoff valve on the pipe only inches below the blast and cut it off, burning my hand in the process.
The flame thrower quits but the place is going up quick in a fire that is sure to spread to this entire matchstick town if it isn't put out fast.
Grab for a bowl of old pasta noodles and water soaking in the sink and throw it at the pipe.
The shutoff valve and gas tank sizzles showing just how close it was to bursting.
Fill er up and continue frantically dowsing the kitchen in all directions.
After 5 minutes of fighting the fire I manage it down to a flame and then to a fizzle and then out.
The firefighters arrive with no tools, no hoses, nothing but stupid looks on their faces.
That and relief that I managed to put it out in time to save the town.
Moments later the fat man lollys in from his walk stroll across town time not so jolly.
Immediately points the blame to me until the firemen determine to him that to the contrary I was the savior.
And that had I not done what I did and in 5 minutes later the whole place would have burned down.
A poorly installed water heater that was at fault and not me.
Immediately I am his best friend.
The rest of the day passes uneventfully.
Prepare pancakes for breakfast and pizzas for dinner.
My final night is for free.
February 11, 2005
Had planned to do the cross into Argentina at O'Higgins, but after consulting with the carabineros accepted that it isn't possible.
A 20k stretch without a road on the Argentina side he says.
Only bicycles he says, never has he seen anyone make it by moto.
And so my only other option is a big 400k loop back the way I came.
Moto > Cochrane, Chile 12:15 / 2.75h .25h / 125k 09263k
And so I say an unforgettable goodbye to Mr. Jolly and I make my way back.
A bit faster this time without all the rest stops.
Sit down for a top steak to rid myself of my last Chilenos.
Moto > E. Baker Border, Chile 4:00 / 2.25h .25h / 84k 09391k
And against the warnings of the Asado eating Argentinians indicating the bad state of the road I take it anyways.
One of the best and nicest dirt roads I have been on in Chile.
Over a pass seperating the cordilleras of Chile from the pampas of Argentina.
The last of the real mountains before dropping between canyons to the lower plains.
Herds of llama for the first time since Bolivia.
Small lakes and rivers and very nice scenery.
Just goes to show how you should never rely on the opinion of another before forming one yourself.
A crossing that sees only a handful a day.
The officer keeps himself amused reading my passport like a book.
Never actually finding the corresponding entry stamp for Chile but stamping me out anyways.
- NO MANS LAND -
Moto > Paso Roballo Border, Argentina 6:30 / .5h .25h / 10k 09475k
Between the borders of Chile and Argentina there is always quite a distance.
A beautiful lagoon with pink flamencos.
Stop for a piss and a picture.
And to breath a fresh air that doesn't belong to anyone.
A nice feeling.
A border protected by a rusty chain, a squadron of chickens, and a sleepy dog in the road.
Another song and dance is required before entering Argentina.
'JoJo' by the Beatles is the password.
- ARGENTINA AGAIN -
Moto > Lago Posada, Argentina 7:15 / 1.75h / 65k 09486k
As I drop down into Argentina, I turn towards Lago Posada and cross some more inspiring scenery.
A New Mexican badlands sort of experience between untouched canyons of burnt sienna and dozens of small salars and lagoons.
Loads of wildlife different from that just a half hour earlier.
An armadillo scaredly digs himself a hole with only his tail end sticking out.
Ostriches striding at great speeds in directions away from the sputter of my tailpipe.
Skunks and hundreds of wild rabbits run for cover.
Make it to Lago Posada at dusk.
An outpost that appears to have been setup soley for tourism but really has nothing to offer.
A bit of a ghost town feel leaves me guessing that either this isn't the season or this isn't the place.
Stop in a small store to stock up on food for the night.
Back to slow and clear speech that I understand.
A people nearly as friendly as Chile but offset by a "my shit don't stink" gene that sometimes seems to get in the way.
A noteably higher quality of life but at a lower price.
Or maybe it is just the Bode in the bathroom that makes it seem that way.
Better food.
Pull just outside of town and camp it besides a lazy river.
Mosquitoes swarm.
February 12, 2005
Replace the clutch cable, desperately clinging on with its last strands of wire.
Moto > Bajo Caracoles, Argentina 10:30 / 1.75h / 74k 09575k
Fast along a wide half gravel road to the 40 at Bajo Caracoles, a few shacks and a fill station.
The Argentina 40
Argentina's infamous 'ripio' dirt road through Patagonia.
It is where the man informs me that the next gas is at 340km, and so I find some empty 2 liter bottles to fill in reserve.
Tighten the steering nut which has managed to loosen itself gradually and unknowingly.
And in much the same way as you lose your vision, as soon as it is corrected you are in awe as to how much and for how you missed it.
But really the exact opposite, because in the case of a steering nut this means certain damage has occured that you are now in awe as to how you will fix it.
A constant fight with the steering to keep the bike going in a straight line.
Grab a milanesa before heading off.
Moto <> 18k 2:00 / 1h / 36k 09647k
A rough washboarded ride for 18k until one of the reserve bottles falls from my bag and smashes open on the ground.
Not having enough to continue and so the only option is to return and get another.
Moto > Campo Langostura, Argentina 3:00 / 4.5h .5h / 190k 09682k
I don't know which is more boring, the desert of Chile or the plains of Argentina.
But one thing is for sure, that the plains are windier.
The first 100k into a 35kph quartering but mostly headwind.
A nice day according to the two smiling gringos on KLMs who pass in the other direction.
Obviously a better direction.
The road splits and turns nearly 180 degrees back on itself on the other side of a small hill we apparently went all this way to avoid simply crossing over.
Atleast it is now a quartering tailwind.
My average speed jumps from 40kph to 70kph and all of the sudden I feel the progress.
Ruta 40 - In general about 20 feet wide of packed clay with a healthy dose of loose gravel which forms pairs of truck tire sized heaps and troughs of 5 "lanes" across.
Relatively fast and easy in the "lanes" and with a dead dull background which is extremely effective at lulling you into a coma just as something big jumps up and tries to spank you.
While riding inside the "lanes" is somewhat safe and easy, touching outside of the lanes is a different story completely.
Riding the mounds of loose gravel inbetween starts your heart racing until either you are lucky enough to fall back into a "lane" or are thrown off the bike completely in a frenzy.
Shoulders that gradually roll off by 5 feet on each side of the rute.
Shoulders that if you get too close to will begin an unstoppable process of certain death.
Add to this picture a heavy crosswind (and a bad steering bearing) and it is certain be far from enjoyable.
Another 60k and another split and the road turns back 90 degrees to the right, perfectly exposing the crosswind.
Between dodging the showers of rocks from oncoming trucks I get to thinking.
You could make a shitload of money operating a small snack shack and service station here.
My speed drops down to 50kph as I negotiate the right shoulder hanging strategically close enough to its dropoff to not fall off the road while not being blown over in the other direction by the heavy winds.
Fighting the already difficult steering I am pitched at an angle of 10 degrees sideways to the right as the bike is blown slowly across the entire road from one lane to the next in nervous sucession.
Upon reaching the far side of the road I must stop and bring the bike back to the near side.
The road sees that I am still making slight progress and so it decides to turn just a bit more, adding back some headwind and sun in my eyes.
An already frustrating posture gets even worse.
A wind which has now raised to 40kph, has dropped my speed to 40kph and increased my angle to 15%.
Any more angle (ie. any more wind) and the road will no longer support the angle without a higher speed which is impossible.
My front fender is bent in half and flapping sideways.
I can't help to wonder why they didn't build this road closer to the Chile border and the mountains where it is protected from the extreme wind.
I can only be happy it is sunny and not pissing rain.
Fight er another 30k before calling it the day.
The wind gets stronger as I pull off the road into a canyon where the only organized camp for the next 80k tries to pull me for 10p.
I could really use the shower, but instead decide to backtrack a bit to where the wind is partly cut by the canyon and pitch my tent for free.
Stack it down with everything I got and position the bike to block the blast.
As the gusts pass the bike pitches up, balancing on its kickstand in a dangerous threat of crashing down on my tent which itself is warped in half and flapping like a fish.
A long difficult night until 1am when all suddenly falls still and silent.
A deadly silence until 4am when it is broken by the patter of rain.
The first since Chiloe.
February 13, 2005
Forecast - Cold and pissing rain.
Pack out between a lull in the rain and the heft of wind.
Moto > Tres Lagos, Argentina 8:00 / 4h 1h / 175k 09875k
A half hour trying to find my way back to the 40.
The road narrows to 10 feet and 2.5 "lanes" and again turns directly into the prevailing winds which miraculously or knowingly have turned 180 degrees since yesterday.
I say prevailing winds because they are disorderly and no matter which way I turn they seem to prevail in the opposite direction.
I talk here alot of the winds and road because frankly there is nothing else to talk about here.
A flat and thorny grass plain as far as the eye can see in all directions.
Every now and then a small hill.
I am not sure why but my speed has improved since yesterday, averaging at 75 and topping at 85.
A tour bus of Germans stopped by the roadside for photos of wildlife turn their Hasselblad lenses on me as slow to take a break where they are stopped.
A wave of stupid questions comes forth and so I fire it up and continue on.
Further ahead a German Monster Truck of white hairs sprays me with gravel.
And a bit further 3 Germans on BMW 1100's pass in the other direction.
Their jaws drop wide in disbelief at how little I am carrying as they break out their Hasselblads.
Return the favor by taking a shot of their weildy loads.
The sun starts to break.
My bike turns 10,000km since its Bolivian major overhaul.
And after 367k I tap the spigot on my last half liter of reserve as I drift into the YPF at Tres Lagos.
Interestingly enough, even though I am further South now, gas is half the price of Chile.
Add a quarter liter of oil and lube the chain.
Something I have to do now every 1000k.
Looks like another overhaul is needed if I ever make it to Buenos Aires.
Tres Lagos - A small nothing 2 street 200m pueblo where I would have been 2 days ago had it not been for the 20k of missing road.
Hungry for a real meal, but ofcourse it is Sunday as it always seems to be when I need something.
And also as always is the case, my luck shines in times of need and the kind lady at the Rotiseria Flopi opens her doors to me.
Served up a special spinach and ricotta stuffed crepes covered in a carrots and beef boulanaise with cubes of filete, hot tea, fresh bread, and a postre of fruit salad in a icy fresh cream.
A very gourmet suprise in the middle of nowhere.
Pricey at 17p, but in my sorry condition I would have paid twice for it.
Moto > Past El Chalten, Argentina 450m 2:00 / 3.5h 1h / 125k 10052k
35k further along the 40 to the crossroad to El Chalten.
50k of brand new pavement and another 50k of packed gravel that should be paved later this year.
Enroute I run across the crazy Japanese cyclist that I also met roadside on my trip from Bariloche.
Talk of sushi.
Teaches me to use toilet paper for earplugs, something I wish I knew along time ago when I still had my hearing.
My ears have taken a huge beating on this trip.
El Chalten - The newest town in Argentina built as a tourist epicenter.
A handful of streets filled to the brim with tourist trekking shops and overpriced internet and accomodation.
A trekkers heaven with the beautiful backdrop of the iconicly jagged snowy peaks of Fitz Roy.
Go directly to check out a trek agency that Elaine recommended to me only to find out it costs $60usd a day for a group or $120usd alone.
A trek into the ice of a glacier that apparently I could do atleast a good part of without a guide or gear.
Sorry Elaine...
Pass through town to the nearby Chorrillo del Salto, an impressive high volume 10m waterfall.
Further out of town to the end of the road at the Lago del Desierto in hopes of running into the 3 cyclist from Tortel that I was told were enroute by the crazy Japanese.
Looking back from the other side of the missing 20k toward O'Higgins.
Stop to question the ferry man responsible for crossing the final stretch of lake.
He wants 180p to carry my moto across on a "special trip".
An asshole trying to take advantage of the tourists coming through.
Otherwise it sounds like I could have made it after all.
For the desperate need of a hot shower I negotiate at the nearly emtpy the lakeside campground down from 15p to 5p to pitch my tent and use the facilities.
Spend the evening socializing with a couple and their kids on vacation from Tierra Del Fuego.
After a few songs, they cut me a healthy chunk from their campfire chicken and steak.
Continue to drink their wine as we meticulously translate each line of Hotel California.
February 14, 2005
A quick trek up to the nearby glacier before a second heavenly shower and packing out to return to El Chalten.
Trek <> Glacier Huemul, Argentina 9:45 / 1h .25h / 2k
A half hour up and 15 minutes back and 15 minutes composing an impressionable shot of a beautiful and impressive glacier.
Definately a worthwhile trip even if they charge you the 8p advertised to take the trail, which nobody collected from me.
Moto > El Chalten, Argentina 450m 2:00 / 3.5h 1h / 125k 10052k
Back in El Chalten I run into Donn Curry, the California man from the Chiloe ferry who got stabbed.
Sit down over some quality asado in a tourist dive and catch up.
Dissappointed not to have purchased a motorbike, but stoaked to have rafted one of the best rapids in the world in Futilefu.
Back to the campground at the entry to town where I finally run into the 3 cyclists from Tortel.
Yurgen and Saskia, the Dutch couple on a world wide tour, also publishing a website.
Dutch Couple Website
coupled up with Charlie, an English guy who also has quite a bit of experience travelling solo by bike
and now with Oliver in tow, a French Canadian relatively new to the bike touring scene.
More catch up as I pitch my tent to enjoy the next few days doing some treks with them.
Been running into alot of people lately... must be back on the trail.
February 15, 2005
An overcast day of bullshitting about.
Delay the trek till tomorrow.
February 16, 2005
Beautiful blue skies, perfect luck.
Trek <> Pliege Tumbado 1500m 9:00 / 8h 2h / 20k
A long hot dusty climb for 4 hours to a peak with an unbeatable view of Fitz Roy and the multitude of other peaks, glaciers, lagoons... absolutely incredible.
A day that couldn't have been more perfect.
A couple hours of picnic lunch and rest before heading back along a shortcut straight down and through a forest and thorny grass that has terrorized my socks.
Beat from the hike, celebrate with some more steaks where I met Donn and call it an early night.
February 17, 2005
Slightly cloudy, another trek this time to the base of Fitz Roy at the Lago de Los Tres.
Trek <> Lago de Los Tres 11:00 / 7h 2h / 22k
A long trail and a rough final climb to a beautiful couple glaciers and lakes cut from the base of the Fitz Roy peak.
Stick around hoping to see the peaks clearly through the clouds, unsuccessful.
Would have been incredible yesterday.
Oliver takes off to get a head start to Calafate.
February 18, 2005
Say our sad goodbyes.
Moto > Calafate, Argentina 10:15 / 4.5h .5h / 219k 10266k
Back to the 40 and further South.
The road has since improved, seeing as I am now directly inbetween important tourist sites on the gringo trail.
Less gravel but with more larger rocks.
Around the lake and between the canyons.
Catch up with Oliver enroute, 60k from Calafate and stop for a chat.
Look down at my rear sprocket and it somehow has managed to become completely worn already, with all the teeth broken off.
The sprocket that I changed in Puerto Montt, for the specific reason as to guarantee me not to have to worry about it in some remote patagonia place such as this.
Atleast that was the idea, apparently discounting the fact that not having changed the chain at the same time would wear it out so fast.
A couple thousand kilometers at most.
Take it easy onward to Calafate and eventually find 'Mono' (monkey), an active taxi driver who is the only person in town who knows anything about motorcycles.
Informed that my closest option for finding such a rare replacement part is Rio Gallegos, 300k on the other coast of the continent.
And to compound my dilemma, the last boat to Antarctica supposedly leaves Ushuaia Feb. 28, leaving me with not enough time to hit first Torres del Paine before then.
So I must return later making the trip South into a big figure 8, and adding 600k to the journey.
While pondering over this, Oliver rolls into town looking for a hot shower and a drink and a good meal.
Opens up his book and suggests we stay at a campground in the back of a hostel in town.
I feel obliged to follow.
Never thought I would be paying 8p to camp in someones backyard.
Out for a nice mixed kebab and wine and helado artesanal.
Back at camp, the local BA students on vacation whip us up some cafe Argentina style as I strum the guitar America style.
February 19, 2005
Not wanting to burden my bike more then necessary I take up a late post with Oliver by the roadside for a hitch to Perito Moreno Glacier.
And after over 2 hours of SUVs and rental cars with turning heads and fingers wiggling in other directions I give up realizing Argentinians aren't as genuine as I had them as.
50p for the bus or 5p for the gas, so I break down and crank up the engine and set off on my crippled craft, taking extra caution.
Moto <> Perito Moreno Glacier 12:30 / 1.5h / 75k 10482k
A routinely beautiful blue sky day with a piercingly sharp chill from the headwinds blowing over the ice fields ahead.
50k of pista to the ticket window, 30p foreigners / 10p locals, and another 25k of what soon will be pista.
Could probably pass as a local if you succeeded in hitching, otherwise you could get out early and walk around for free.
I was stuck with paying.
A glacier more impressive then any other I have ever seen.
A 4km wide Lago Argentino of milky turquoise waters and radiant blue iceburgs broken off from the mass of snowy peaks forming the backdrop.
Absolutely incredible.
A definite must see.
Slowly back to town.
While talking to Mono once again about my Peruvian battery which has worn a hole in it from the road vibrations, the gang rolls into town.
Confused at where to stay I show them to our camp.
Chat and such.
February 20, 2005
Fire up an epic asado on the parrilla before pushing off.
The best 4p steak of my life.
Moto > Rio Gallegos, Argentina 1:30 / 6h 1h / 310k 10640k
Across a vast plain of nothing but the same thorny grass to the middle of the contry where I stop for a refill before continuing on to Rio Gallegos on the East coast.
Catch up to the crazy Japanese biker and stop for an hour to chat.
Rio Gallegos - A scabby ugly industrialized typical small South American city that has nothing going for it.
A coastal town with no coast.
Nothing inviting and no attractions.
A town where you can't really take photos because of its high military presence, but wouldn¿t want to anyways because of its unsightlyness.
Disorderly dirt and gravel one way streets of 1 and 2 story half constructed cement block and brick houses with tangles of powerlines above.
Empty plazas of rusty swingsets that really serve no purpose.
The standard strays roaming unkept.
A wasteland of plastic bags resembling a trashdump, but where people live.
Had I not needed a new rear sprocket I would have no reason to be here except to document how "off" a place could be.
Is it necessary that poor people do nothing to improve their environment?
They like to make believe their economy collapsed, but it was obviously over inflated from the start, just like Chile is now.
White trash with a salvation army wardrobe that race by in their equally half functional and fully unfashionable Fiats and Ford Pintos.
Apparently you can pick up a right dodgy car here for dirt.
Maybe not a bad way to tour the country, especially with the lack of reasonable accomodation.
Most accomodation here is pumped high by the elite BA SUV crowd that seem to be the only ones able to stretch their legs out of their hometown and gringos like me.
The funny thing is we should be the ones thanking god for the luck of the draw, but instead these people are the ones praying to him to offer them luck.
An area of heavy religeous influence.
Tired of searching for a reasonable and agreeable stay I stealth it in an office complex under construction.
Nicholas's Chess Dilemma
February 21, 2005
Up and out early to avoid detection.
Not very hard in a country that doesn't really start until 9.
The distinct residue of lard coats my mouth after a few tortas de membrillo at the panaderia, the first shops to open.
Rejuvinate the distaste from the bad empenadas of last night and wash it down with Baggio Juice and fruit from the Autoservicio which run on the typical 10-12 and 4-6 schedule.
Open only a few hours during the day and closed at all the important times.
A strange sense of business that makes it no wonder all the cars are sitting on cement blocks here.
Traffic lights that are perfectly timed to allow nobody to get anywhere.
Sit down at an internet for 2p/h to pass time until the moto shop is sure to be open, whenever that would be.
The one real shop is shut till the 28th and the second lesser known shop has newspapers over the windows and no one to be found.
Disfunctional is the only word to describe it.
Question around and accidently find the old store of the second shop; SM Motors, which they are in the process of moving from.
Mechanics busy drinking mate and slowly filling boxes for the move.
Have them break her down and change everything that they can.
A long day of rain on the outside and work on the inside including plenty of breaks for mate.
Change out the fork seals and oil, grind the steering bearing back to decent, change the oil filter and cap screws, and finally replace the sprocket and this time the chain.
Don't have the cylinder parts here, guess the burning oil will have to wait till Buenos Aires.
Charged a bit steep at 400p but invited into their home for an incredible dinner of homemade gnocchi, and a hot shower, and a spot on the floor.
Mana seems to put them in a good mood.
February 22, 2005
Various symphonic cell phone alarms go off at 8:30, 8:45, and again at 9:00.
I keep myself occupied watching Mana Unplugged on their DVD until they finally fall from bed at 10:15.
It isn't a weekend, this is just the way it works, or doesn't.
I am guessing they made enough off of me yesterday to take a break.
A beautiful 3 bedroom house in an Edward Scissorhand neighborhood.
The sun is out but the winds blow fiercely.
They must know I am thinking to push toward Ushuaia today if the bike works out.
The dogs are busy barking at each other or whatever.
Eventually we make it back to the shop to finish it up and take er for a test.
Steering so smooth and loose it took me a few minutes to relax enough to be able to even drive it straight.
Stiff forks, much more responsive and controllable.
Good work.
A group photo and a sad goodbye.
Hands me an extra fork seal and some spare spark plugs on the way out.
Nice guys.
Not so fast I saddle up and a man I met while working in the shop yesterday invites me for a coffee.
After a few coffees and a few more songs for him and his wife and I am finally free.
A surprise email finds me a spot on a suprise "last minute ticket" for $2500 usd to Antarctica!
The moto is smoking quite a bit more then before, though not the result of our work.
Between the bike and the wind something doesn't want me to make it to Usuaia to catch this boat to Antarctica.
Moto > Monte Aymon Border, Argentina 4:00 / 1.5h / 68k 10985k
A perfect quartering headwind of 70kph and gusting to over 90 regardless of the direction of the road.
Stop for a piss and watch as it vaporizes right infront of me.
The bike is pitches 20 degrees on pavement and is being pushed across.
The paving ends and I have 20k more to the border, another road that will be completed soon.
An easy out and into Chile.
A quick bite before the prices double.
- CHILE AGAIN -
Back again in Chile.
You could easily fill a normal passport with all the bouncing back and forth between Argentina and Chile on your trip through Patagonia.
Seems they should unite the process somehow.
Or better yet, Chile should just give Tierra Del Fuego up to Argentina since they seem better capable of managing things down here.
Moto > Cruce Angostura, Chile 6:30 / 1h / 56k 11062k
Continue through the wind to Cruce Angostura, where the ferry crosses to Tierra Del Fuego.
Punta Delgada to Bahia Azul every hour.
Wait an hour and board alongside 3 Mexicans on Yamaha 650 XTs, rented at $80usd per day from Santiago.
Wonder why they just didn't buy them.
Ferry > Bahia Azul, Tierra Del Fuego 8:45 / 20m / Free!
2 Chilean shipmates instantly recognize me as their social victim for the trip across and offer me into their special dining area for TV and coffee and cakes.
°NEWS FLASH°
Torres Del Paine National Park is on Fire!
The result of a Chechoslovakian tourists campfire gone wild in the winds.
Looks like my coincidence to see it later ain't such a bad one after all.
The ferry reaches the other side and they stuff my pockets with extra cakes before waving me off.
Off the boat before realizing they never charged me.
The rich Mexicans paid $6usd each.
Moto > Nearly Cerro Sombrero, TDF 9:00 / 1h / 30k 11108k
Chopper along as the full moon rises.
An abandoned barn on the left tempts me to take a look.
A massive old barn of 100m x 20m.
Corrugated steel with holes that the wind whistles through.
Bats flutter above as I enter with my LED light.
From the hides scattered around it is apparently used for sheep sheering.
Otherwise emtpy it is a perfect place to camp.
Out back I happen upon two tents and give a good scare to the two bicyclists from Missouri inside.
As they "reckon" to me that I had better ask the owner across the street first, around the corner he comes.
And piping mad I didn't get the idea first, assuming I knew where he lived before finding the barn.
Tells me to get lost and on my way out he reconsiders and invites me back to stay.
A silly old man with pompoms on his head.
Lay my bag out on the inside of the barn to avoid the winds.
February 23, 2005
A freezing cold night and a blue sky but again a tremendously windy morning.
The bats have been replaced by chirping birds on the rafters.
Migratory bird watchers the Missouri are.
Otherwise they are uninterested.
Don't seem to like how I found "their camp".
And so they get up early and pull on their tight stretchy pants and peddle out without even a goodbye.
Within minutes they are embarassingly back after having forgotten to take shits.
All the way back to prefer the outhouse to the roadside?
Strange people.
Moto > Cerro Sombrero, TDF 10:00 / 20m / 12k 11140k
Meet up with the Mexicans at the pump in Cerro Sombrero, where gas costs double what it did in Argentina, 510p/l.
Lube the chain, looks good.
Inspect the forks, looks good.
Filter housing is no longer vaporing.
Old man with one eye shoots the gas all over the place.
Wonder how he lost his eye...
Two more English on BMW motorcycles pull in going the other way.
Take our token bad ass biker photos and wave them goodbye and goodluck.
Team up with the Mexicans to form a 4 man moto gang onward and within minutes they all dissappear ahead.
Moto > San Sebastian Border, TDF 11:00 / 3h 1h / 124k 11153k
More ripio across more windy thorny grass plains.
The ripio and wind is much easier to handle now with the decent suspension and steering.
Amazing how stubborn farmers and politicians turn roads that should be straight into circles.
Clouds move in, and before long ice and rain add to the wind and ripio.
It enters through all the cracks in my now failing polyurethane jacket and pelts me with a bee's sting.
I can only hold one hand infront of my face and peer around the fingers to see where I am going.
Even with glasses on it manages to hit me in the eyes.
A hassle of papers and stamps to leave Chile and put me back in Argentina once again.
Should be back and forth atleast 3 more times before the end of my Patagonia experience.
- ARGENTINA AGAIN -
The price of gas drops back down from $.90usd per liter to $.40.
Moto > Rio Grande, TDF 3:45 / 1.25h / 80k 11291k
Finally back to pista on the Argentina side.
More grazing sheep and grassy plains.
A boring and cramping ride with my head cocked at an absurd angle to compensate for the wind and the angle of the bike.
From the vast number of pumping stations around it is obvious everyone wants this land for its oil.
What I don't get is why don't they take advantage of its wind?
Surely a few windmills here could power the whole country.
Pull into Rio Grande too exhausted from the days extreme conditions and decide to call it the day.
Rio Grande - "A compromise of all" ... well put!
A copy of Rio Gallegos, just further South and a bit richer.
Only here as a home base for the workers of the oil fields.
And with all things heavily subsidized to tempt the people to endure the harshness of it all.
The average summer temperature here is 8c.
I am wearing 5 layers (tshirt, thermals, fleece, goretex, poly) and still cold.
Alot of searching finally lands me at the only real hostel in town with a reasonable price and a kitchen.
Hostel Argentina at the end of San Martin on the left.
My first real stay and bed since Tortel in Chile.
A nice shower and stir myself up a nice chicken pasta with olives and wine.
A bed that instantly forces me to sleep.
February 24, 2005
An incredible and much needed night of sleep.
Moto > Ushuaia, TDF 12:00 / 5h / 213k 11375k
And in a highly unlikely change of events the wind is at my back pushing me along effortlessly at 90 kph in complete silence.
Happily I sing myself along down the coast glancing out over the Atlantic for the first time since I can remember.
And to make good even better, the scenery changes to low forest of mossy trees over rolling hills.
The sun peeks out every now and then.
Eventually my luck turns and I am back on dirt quartering into a growing wind.
The trees get bigger, the hills turn to mountains, and the road begins to turn for reasons other then property lines and politics.
Along side Lago Escondido climbing to Garibaldi pass with a nice view back where I stop for a break and a bite and a touch of leftover wine.
A bit of a pre-party for nearly making it.
My first and only real long term goal of South America since leaving Lima, and one of my goals for my entire world tour.
Fierce winds challenge me head on and ices hail from the heavens above, but nothing can stop me as the small spark between my legs ignites the furnace that carries me the final stretch.
Ushuaia, the "end of the world".
Roll through town in such elation I decide to carry it onward the final 11k to the end of the road before checking in on my Antarctica ticket.
Stopped by an entry to the coincidental Tierra Del Fuego National Park.
Created in 1960 by law number 15554, protecting 63,000 hectacres of the South tip of the Andes.
In my opinion it is protecting nothing more then the point most South that I want to be.
They offer me 2 options, to pay 12p and enter now or wait till after 8 and enter for free.
And so I back down the road and treat myself to the second pre-party no-holds-barred meal at Patagonia Mia.
4 stars or atleast that is what it has given itself.
I give it 3 stars for having to ask for soap in the bathroom,
and 2 stars for waiting for the cashier to finish smoking her cigarette and get off the phone to request they light the fire and take my order,
and 1 star for the fact that my mignon cordon blue looked more like a hamburger and came with tater-tots,
and finally a 1/2 star after waiting another half hour for the bill following the arrival of their first group of Germans and seeing the outrageous price of 40p.
Customer Service in Argentina is non-existant.
Back to the park and this time waved through with a smile.
Strange rules we make for ourselves.
And on this day of February 24th, 2005 at exactly 20:22 and 11619.0 km as the Daryl flies from La Paz (3063 km as the road goes to Buenos Aires or 17848 km as it goes to Alaska) I finally reach the end of the road at the end of the world !!!
Find some tourists to snap the token "me" at the end of the world shot and take the short walk onward to the viewing platform of the Lapatia Bay and out onto the Beagle Channel.
Back down the road to Laguna Verde where I double my gains by deciding to stay at the "last campsite in the world".
February 25, 2005
Back to the bay in the morning to see it in good light on a nice day.
Up to the mirador where the sound of a thousand japanese micromotors are busy zooming in and out, focusing, releasing shutters, and rewinding the film of another 10,000 photos of the same thing from the same place.
The passing clouds never move just right for me to capture my version.
Back into town I find my way to Rumbo Sur to discover my "reserve" for the boat to Antarctica was sold out from under me.
The last seat on the last of the "last minute price" boats going to Antarctica for the year.
And the worst part is not only was it bought by an old man in my hostel, but an hour before I showed up.
I am broken into a thousand unassembleable pieces.
Deeply depressed.
Sign a "waiting list" and check into a dorm in Almacen de Bahia for 25p to wait.
It is when I run into Donn (the California backstab man) once again on the streets.
Fill him in on my misery and arrange with him and some various other gringos to hit up a "tenedor libre".
19p for all you can eat steaks and cordero and salad bar and drinks.
In the unsuccessful process of trying to cheer me up Donn summarizes on his trip through South America with some classic quotes...
Donn's South American Summary
On Bolivia...
"when I first got to La Paz I saw 2 dogs screwing in a pile of trash"
"if i see one more fat indian lady with a hoolahoop ass..."
"...she'll take a squat in the street and then hand you an empenada"
On Chile...
"overrated as hell"
On Argentina...
"the only thing it has got going for it is Chile is worse"
February 26 - March 1, 2005
To try and forget Antarctica... a hard thing to digest especially seeing as nearly everyone in the hostel has a seat on my boat except for me.
Instead I try to be thankful of the $2500 I saved by researching the new digicams I could buy with the money instead.
Days spent on a semi-web update plagued by persistent chats, and distractions and return trips to the various "tenedor libres" with the hostel gang.
Ugly days of cold and rain except for one nice day where I managed an afternoon at the nearby glacier which pales in comparison to all others I have seen on the way here.
Trying to remain hopeful while knowing well that nothing will change.
Helped Donn put together his new art gallery website...
Donn's Curry Art
Buy some of his fine art.
Even if it doesn't get me to Antarctica, atleast it will make him feel better.
March 2, 2005
An internet update to wrap up January and I am off.
Moto > Rio Grande, TDF 5:30 / 4h .5h / 210k 11670k
For the first time since entering South America, I turn the bike North, the only way to turn.
The plan is to first head to Torres Del Paine to see what I missed out on and then bee-line it to Buenos Aires, where I plan to plant my ass for a month or two.
My first planned "settling" since my tour began over 5 years ago.
A beautiful day to begin the journey.
Blue skies and a suprising lack of wind.
A much more pleasent ride, enjoying some sites I missed on my way in.
Roll into Rio Grande after dark.
Pick up some supplies and settle in back at the only hostel in town.
An evening of songs and mate around the kitchen table with the drunk owner and her friends.
Hernan's Do You Remember Me?
March 3, 2005
Another nice day to drive, but I am no longer in a hurry to get anywhere and the bed is so comfortable so I stay the day.
Napping and fiddling on guitar, a bit of unwinding.
Note on Argentina (and Chile)... you can never play guitar without someone turning on a radio and gathering to talk loudly in competition.
And so ofcourse you get disturbed, and when you stop they want you to start again, but nobody listens.
Pick up some cheap workshop sunglasses, 15p.
March 4, 2005
Probably should have gone yesterday and rested today.
Heavy winds, icey cold and rainy.
But now I don't feel like sitting around here any more and so I put all my clothes on and head off into the blizzard.
Moto > San Sebastian, TDF 11:00 / 1.5h / 81k 11888k
And just as I fill the tank, a new wave of thunderous storm blows through and floods the streets.
Should have been enough to convince me to stay another but then as I contemplated over it, it began to clear and look as though it may be nice.
That is until I am a half hour out of town where it begins to shower in a half rain and half hail and blow furiously.
Oil trucks pass and throw up waves on me.
The absolute worst possible day to go.
Soaking and shivering at the border in San Sebastian.
Back to Chile.
- CHILE AGAIN -
Moto > Chile 1:45 / .25h / 14k 11969k
Not so fast... the standard inter-border gap.
Pinochet put some real tough-asses in power.
A sharp contrast between the authorities and your average Chileno.
Barking and spitting at me for papers I don't have.
Papers that after a big dog hassle he decides to do himself.
A pile I must carry from one border to the next.
Moto > Cerro Sombrero,TDF 2:15 / 2.5h / 113k 11983k
Straight into the 80kph wind and heavy hail all the way back to Cerro Sombrero.
The absolute worst weather I have ever motored through.
Dodging pools in a road that really needs paved but shows no progress.
Chile really should turn this over to Argentina.
The podunk nothing town of Cerro Sombrero.
"The Oasis of Patagonia" they claim, oddly enough it is exactly that at this moment for me.
So cold and shaking I must stop.
Pointed to the municipality by OneEye at the service station.
Seeing my sorry state, the friendly secretary offers me chocolates and coffee as I huddle over the gas wall heater.
Quickly she organizes for me a cabana in the municiple campground.
My own 10'x18' 4 bunk dorm with an electric heater.
A quaint place, one of my best finds in Chile, and for only 3000p.
After a half hour under a well hot shower.
Hang everything to dry and ofcourse just as i settle in good to my refuge the sun comes out.
But still the wind howls and so I don't mind so much.
Get comfortable again and head out on town to shop for some food.
Back to bread, double prices with less variety, the friendl snapperhead huevons, and paper receipts.
Argentina is better.
A house on the outside opens to a full diner on the inside.
Cazuela, bistek con papas fritas y huevocito, 2500p.
March 5, 2005
Pure blue skies and light winds, quite a contrast from yesterday's nightmare.
Out early to take advantage before things change.
Moto > Bahia Azul, TDF 9:00 / .75h / 42k 12100k
The last ferry just left.
Wait the hour for the next one.
Ferry > Punta Delgada, Chile 10:20 / 20m / FREE!
A smooth crossing, again for free and recovered my forgotten map of Argentina that they had saved for me.
Goodbye Tierra Del Fuego.
Moto > Puerto Natales, Chile 10:45 / 6h 1h / 314k 12143k
Along the coast and inland crossing pampa and minefields protecting Argentina from Chile and vise-versa.
Into the West wind and under a quickly greying sky, threatening me with rain but holding back until the last 10k.
Puerto Natales - A small Uyuni-esk holding bin for tourist on their way in and out of Torres Del Paine.
4 streets in each direction full of hostels and restaurants and travel agents and gear stores and internet cafes.
Check into the first reasonable hostel and cook up a pasta alongside the standard kitchen gang.
Aussies and a group from North California.
Everyone is either coming from or going to Torres Del Paine.
Stories of the fire now under control, and the weater obviously turned bad.
March 6, 2005
Check out and move to Niko II where I was supposed to meet some girls met in Ushuaia with no luck.
Rainy day spent fiddling guitar and watching the Dukes of Hazard.
March 7, 2005
More generally nasty and otherwise unpredictable weather.
To wait until it clears up before exploring the Torres.
Take a peek at my ISRG stocks and realize they have nearly cuadrupled in the past year, an extra $500 today alone!
Plans to move my non-profiting savings in my bank account to the PayPal money market netting 3%.
Celebrate my skillful investing sense on some really good food in a white glove restaurant, 11,000p.
Dreams of reaching a point where I am living off purely the interest.
Back at the hostel, more guitar and Bad Boyz II on HBO.
An action packed flick, good entertainment if you are into shoot 'em ups.
Fernando Munaretto of Igatu, Brazil moves in to the bed next door.
A friendly face, also travelling by moto.
Invites me to visit.
March 8 - 10, 2005
3 days more of waiting the storm.
Heavy winds and showers look like I may never get to see the Torres.
Accidently run across the dutch couple Saskia and Yurgen in the internet cafe.
Together with Taka, a retired timing chain engineer from Japan on 3 years around the world by moto.
Camped nearby, is it really worth saving a couple bucks for a room inside during a storm?
Fix their broken tent zippers on the hostel machine, cook some pizza, and play some music.
Instructed on how to get in "the back door".
Reorganize myself a bit in the meantime.
Trash my old green rain jacket (laminate peeling like old skin) and Bolivian rain pants (never stopped a drop) for a new Sierra Designs Hurricaine LT jacket and pants set, 65,000p.
Design and install a automatic chain oiler out of $1.50 in plastic and copper tubing, some epoxy, and a bottle of 3in1 oil.
With a fancy new domain and plans to start a new business based on ideas from the open source community...
www.FreeOiler.com
Basically the idea is to give away these oilers for cost and asking only for donations if people like them.
To put out of business all the others charging hundreds...
March 11, 2005
Finally blue skies and light wind!
Finish with Yurgen installing my chain oiler and testing it and say our goodbyes.
Moto > Torres Del Paine (The Back Door) 10:15 / 2.5h .5h / 85k 12465k
Gang up with Taka to enter Torres via "the back door".
20k of pista to the end of the main road to the park, where it continues straight by dirt or a sharp left in the direction of Miladone Cave.
Take the left toward the cave along 45k more of decent packed dirt and 20k more of blasting teams and heavy rocks.
Told to turn back a couple times by road workers frantically miming out explosions but pretend stupid and continue on with no serious problems.
An impressive trail with beautiful vistas the entire way of the towers and glaciers and lakes stunning and in clear view.
An easy and free in saving us the 10,000p admission charged at the front gate.
Moto > Hosteria Torres, TDP 1:00 / 1.5h .5h / 50k 12550k
Across the beautiful park on a beautiful day, couldn't be more perfect.
Straight to the start of the Torres trail where Taka reorganizes for a couple hours and I sleep before we start the hike.
Trek > Torres Camp, TDP 4:45 / 2.25h .25h / 8k
Other then the motorbikes, Taka and I couldn't be more opposite, me and my 5 kilos and him and his 20.
An already tough climb made worse by stops to strip off his leather gear and puff on cigarettes enroute.
Arguements over the possibility of a moto driving a boulder field and the wind danger of Ruta 40.
An up and down finish, thankful to be done.
Setup camp in the Israeli packed free campground at the base of the Torres.
Rain all night finds its way into my tent at my feet where they touch the tarp.
Cold and wet.
March 12, 2005
Trek <> Mirador Torres, TDP 6:30 / 3h (1h up) / 1k
Pissing rain in the morning but we go for it anyway and in 3 hours we are back.
What was a tough climb over boulders to the mirador, all the while wishing I had the moto Taka claims can make the climb.
The Torres - Obscurred peaks lit by a torch of mandarine orange as the sun rises through the clouds.
Heavy clouds thick enough to keep us back a day and hope for better tomorrow.
Slipping down the rocks in the rain on the way back to camp.
Make friends with the park rangers out of necessity and huddle around their wood stove.
Hot oatmeal and tea as my socks drip dry.
Guitar at night.
March 13, 2005
No rain and a decent morning up early to try again.
Trek <> Mirador Torres, TDP 6:15 / 5h (1h up) / 1k
Back up to witness a reasonably nice view but still through the clouds.
Decide to stay long after everyone backs down and eventually the clouds clear to expose the full show.
An amateur photographer claiming to be a professional shows up and spoils an otherwise pristine moment.
Back at camp I organize the hike out with the rangers to avoid another Taka arguement session.
Trek > Hosteria Torres, TDP 12:00 / 1.5h
Much faster on the way back with Taka falling way behind.
Take a nap as he catches up and repacks for his trip to Calafate.
He isn't into stay in Torres any longer then he needs to and reckons this is a good time to cut his losses.
As I ponder cutting my losses myself or crossing the park to hike to see the Grey Glacier I notice my oiler dripping from only one side.
A session of scientific reason leaves us with the reason, air vacuum.
The copper delivery tubes are too narrow for both air and oil to pass together, and so the one has become oil tube and the other the air tube.
Fix it by cutting a small hole in the plastic tube to allow the air in above the oil and both start dripping nicely.
Moto > Posada Rio Serrano, TDP 5:00 / 1h / 45k
Realize i'm being a pussy by the junction and wave goodbye to Taka as I head across the park to hike the glacier.
Continuing on to the Posada, where an english man who just walked out 5 hours and 17k jonesing for a cigarette informs me the trail can be done by bike.
And so I do.
Moto > Camp Carretous, TDP .25h / 7.5k
Some confused (and suprised by my moto) Italians at the free camp enroute flag me down, indicating it would be impossible to go any further.
And so as the rains hit I take refuge under the tin picnic area roof letting the wash pass and deciding to scout it out by foot.
It calms to a drizzle and I scout it out.
Over a small mountain and across more pampa, it looks passable.
Pitch the tent and decide to go for it tomorrow.
Rats scratch about at night and something bigger.
March 14, 2005
Heavy showers all night leave me thankful for the roof.
The rats found my food.
The past 2 weeks haven't been just a big storm in passing... it is a new season, an ugly one.
March is a no go south of Puerto Montt.
All of my days have been consumed avoiding or being stuck in the middle of bad weather.
Decide against continuing on to the glacier and for getting the hell out of Dodge.
To make the move North to better weather, and quickly.
The problem is now I am stuck and with a good 2500k to get out of it all.
Should prove disturbing.
Moto > Posada Rio Serrano, TDP 11:45 / .25h / 7.5k
Back to the Posada through puddles across the pampa.
Fill up with one overpriced liter more just to be sure.
Moto > Cerro Castillo, Chile 12:00 / 2.25h .25h / 95k 12660k
Take a break just before the border to dry my clothes and eat my last Chileno meal.
"Un menu porfavor"
A decent but much better under the circumstances beef roast with rice and carrots and ofcourse pan.
Noticing my cold hungry state they stoak the fire and refill my plate with last nights chicken.
Makes me feel like a special guest until the bill comes in at 5500p.
Charged for the second serving without even being asked.
I've had enough.
...a break from journalling to exercise the broken 'y' key...
yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
... and back to the storyyy...
The winds that terrorized me all the wa down have now knowingly turned to the North East.
I will never win.
An easy out, finally.
Moto > Border of Argentina 4:00 / 10m / 8k 12750k
Crossing the gap.
- ARGENTINA AGAIN -
Moto > La Esperanza, Argentina 5:00 / 2h / 127k 12758k
A freezing cold and cloud filled ride back across the country with its nothing pampas to the truck stop of La Esperanza.
Somehow in the desperation of not wanting to go any further and looking for a friend I happen into the "hideaway".
The back room of the YPF where all the local contractors and soldaduras of the areas petrolearos stay.
Invited in after a couple songs and a few drinks.
A steak dinner and a space on the floor.
A better deal then the 80p hotel across the street.
And now I have many more friends.
March 15, 2005
Woken and pushed out at 6 as the gang parts for work on the pipelines.
Grey skies, heavy fog, and rain and winds.
Decided to begin keeping tabs on the exact direction of the winds and m travels to see if there is a correlation.
Call me crazy but today it is dead on.
Moto > To the 3 via hell 8:30 / 5h / 212k 12885k / Winds ENE - Me ENE
Brave the storm.
The absolute worst route decision I have ever made.
To save 50k I end up on a 212k road from hell.
Hailing hard as I plow through mud and water and skid in all directions.
Along the "2" and then the "9", two road that look perfectly happy on my obviously deceptive map.
Completely drenched.
Whoever is up there had to be sure my last dirt road in some time is the worst.
Finally make it to the "3" pista where a sign cautions entering traffic from taking the road in the rain.
Very glad they decided not to put the same sign on the other side of the road.
A much longer trip then expected.
Moto > Puerto San Julian, Argentina 2:00 / 5h 1h / 178k 13097k
Switch to reserve as I reach the pavement and make it exactly half way to the next pump.
Stand by the roadside and prey.
A man stops and fills me from a container in his truck.
Ask for 1 liter and he tops it off at 7.5 liters and charges me 20p.
At double the pump price only 20k further I wonder if he were really sent here as an angel or the devil.
A bit further stop to check my oiler.
As I do an empty flatbed stops and asks if I need a ride the rest of the way to Buenos Aires.
We tried and tried but we couldn't do it.
If we could have lifted her i'd a had it, damn!
Pull into Puerto San Julian and observe the closing clouds, seeking for a place to avoid the showers sure to come.
Check into a ratty hotel/bar at 15p.
Spend the evening hiding from the storm and clean the chain and air filter for the big trip North.
Out for dinner, through flooded streets to Popeye's, pronounced Pope-Ey-Sh-Eys.
A nice bife de chorizo a la mostaza and pure de papas and coke for 15p.
When you order something here, whatever it says that is exactly what you get, nothing more.
A plate with a piece of meat in the middle and some mustard.
A second plate with mashed potatoes, making the meal enough for two.
In all of this, not a single real vegetable to be found.
Were you to order each item needed for a properly balanced meal you would have to eat for 3.
The concept of a "set meal" is really needed here especially since every restaurant has nearly the same menu.
Steaks, pastas, milanesas.
Nice food, better then Chile and at a better value, but gets boring.
March 16, 2005
Finish up the general bike maintenance and give her an oil change and a good washing at the service station on the way out.
Moto > Caleta Olivia, Argentina 12:00 / 6h 1h / 353k 13275k / Wind 295 WNW
Over rolling hills of thorny grass and pebbled dirt plains.
The moto is humming along nicely at 80kph after the tuneup.
And finally at 100k North of Julian at KM 2158 from Buenos Aires I climb from Roberto Canyon and pass under the final cloud.
The moment I have been dreaming of.
An imaginary climatic line separating my past few weeks of hell in the South with my next few months of heaven in the North.
Nothing but blue skies above and ahead, with all the dark and gloom behind.
A rather abrupt but welcome change.
My attitude should improve from here on.
Stop to slather on the sunblock.
Don't need it, but it just feels good to think I will soon.
Continue on until once again I run dry of gas in the middle of nowhere.
Luck to find a cable crew roadside to offer me 5l at 10p, enough to get me the 150k further to the next station.
In these parts they are far and few, like in the deserts of Chile.
Well the sun is out and there aren't clouds or rain, but the wind is still against me.
Once again, my measurements show a certain correlation.
295 degrees WNW.
Along the coast past oil pumping stations into Caleta Olivia.
Stop to reload on food and fuel.
Decide from now on to use Normal at 1.07 per liter as opposed to Fangio at 1.45.
The spread in price is quite extreme here, and either way my moto eats oil and gets the same mileage.
A bit of internet chat before moving on.
Moto > Just outside town 6:15 / .25h / 15k 13630k
Continue North along an amazingly much busier road then on the Southern side of town to find myself a place to pitch my tent on the beach just outside of town.
Yesterdays leftovers.
Nearly 400k.
Not bad for a half day.
At this rate I should be in Buenos Aires in another 4.
March 17, 2005
Another blue sky sunny day.
Can get used to this.
Moto > Garayalde, Argentina 9:00 / 4h .25h / 240k 13275k / Wind 320 NW
And for the pupose of wreaking havoc on my correlation the wind is for once in my favor, atleast one component of it.
The traffic dies after Rivadivia and the trip is a pleasent one.
Baking in the direct rays, the sunblock is now necessary.
Garayalde - A truckstop service station in the middle of nowhere, reminding me of an aussie roadhouse.
Stop to take lunch, now packed out of the basket strapped to my bike that I installed in Ushuaia.
A short nap on the carefully balanced picnic table top.
Moto > Trelew, Argentina 2:15 / 2.75h / 193k 13887k / Wind 140 SE
Onward to Trelew and somehow midroute the wind switches a 180 to 140 degrees SE.
Stop for a fill at a Petrobras and am distracted by the free showers.
My best shower so far in Argentina.
Something to look out for.
Moto > 100k further 6:00 / 1.5h / 100k 14081k
With nothing else to hold me back in Trelew, I continue on until 7:30 sunset and climb a roadside fence to camp.
The moto is up to a good 300ml of oil per 1000km.
A black trail of smoke follows me along.
Something to look at in Buenos Aires.
March 18, 2005
Moto > Sierra Grande, Argentina 10:00 / 1.5h / 100k 14178k
Tail in the draft of a truck to the nothing podunk town of Sierra Grande.
Stop for an email session and am informed by one of the BMW riders met in Ushuaia that I must stop in Azul at a place called La Posta Del Viajero en Moto.
"The coolest place i ever stayed" he says.
Gives me the address, Mendoza Street 685.
Should be something.
Moto > San Antonio Oeste, Argentina 2:00 / 2h / 126k 14181k
Out of my truck friends draft and into a heavy headwind all the way to San Antonio, where the government subsidies on gas have ended.
Prices instantly up from 1.07 to 1.67 per liter, or 50%.
Rest and lunch.
Moto > Viedma, Argentina 5:00 / 2.5h / 178k 14307k
The road turns East.
The wind is now cross and the sun at my back, nearly no traffic offering a pleasent ride to Viedma.
Viedma - An ugly dodgy looking city.
It is starting to look like I have left Patagonia.
Gas has bumped up yet again.
Pull out of town and setup camp in a field of cows.
March 19, 2005
Moto > Bahia Blanca, Argentina 8:30 / 4h / 267k 14588k / Wind 40 NW
Up early and on to Bahia Blanca where I take the shortcut from the 3 for the 5 to Azul.
The wind changes directions as I do.
Overcast but no rain.
A long dull ride to finally find "La Posta" in Azul that Patrick told me about.
La Posta Del Viajero en Moto
Invited in by Marco, a fat and jolly Swiss German on Africa Twin who has been "posted" for a month, drinking mate and recovering from his broken fork incident in Vladivostok, Russia.
A free place for motorcycle travelers to stay as long as they like in the converted garage of an open doors and endlessly kind Jorge "Pollo" and his lovely family.
A great gang with some great stories.
A motocyle convention next week.
And so I stay...
The King Is Back
March 19 - 30, 2005
A long pre-settle-unwinding with m new friends at "La Posta".
Jorge, one of the friendliest people I have ever met, certifiably.
An avid motorcycle enthusiast who has dedicated his life to helping motorcyclists.
Offers me his prized original Roal Enfield Manual to copy for all those desperate travellers in India...
An unsurpassed friend of all who has opened his home to motorcycle travellers for free, only asking for help and donations to keep the place going.
"Amigos... pero nada mas" became my slogon with him, painting it proudly one day over an empty space on the wall as most passers do.
Walls covered in a rich history of good people and good times.
The motorcycle convention attracts crowds, similar to a HOG convention in the states.
And La Posta fills with HOGs from all over Argentina on their choppers.
The energy is high, and it is a great place to be.
Nightly vinos and asados complete with guitar.
Afternoons of socializing over mates while making mods to the bikes.
A handful of assorted fixes I been considering for some time.
Adjusted the valves and replaced some of the valve screws that were nearly stripped.
Installed a compact hand pump to replace the chinese foot pump which got auctioned off to the HOGs as a donation to La Posta.
Completed my chain oiler by replacing the 3in1 squeeze bottle with a proper metal oil pump can.
One pump every 100k and no mess, a compelling package improved by its $5 price tag.
Watchout ScottOiler, the FreeOiler is on its way.
Days pass as I decompress a bit.
Patrick was right, really one of the coolest places I have ever stayed.
Some friends are waiting for me in Buenos Aires and so I must go.
A very slow and sad goodbye.
I will return...
Jon Goes - Bike Stays
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