Hello and Goodbye

I always expected the last few days of my trip to be relatively mundane - spent on dull desert roads making my way back to Buenos Aires. But as it turned out, South America still had a few more unexpected adventures to throw at me before the trip was out.

The Long Road Home
Having reached the Equator in Ecuador it was time to turn around and begin the long road back to Buenos Aires - 4000 miles of dull Pan American Highway in ten days. And with my bike still in Lima getting repairs, the first 1250 of those had to be by bus.


Long distance buses are an extremely popular way of getting around South America. They ply the highways, connecting the continent´s cities, packed full of tourists and locals alike. That doesn´t make them good though. My 36 hour non-stop journey from Quito to Lima was nothing short of tortuous. Made bad by the terrible Peruvian videos that served as entertainment. Made worse by the air conditioning packing up. Needless to say, the other passengers and I arrived in Lima well-done.

Mercifully though, the capital - which is perpetually shrouded in sea mist - was cool. When I arrived I expected my bike to be fixed and ready to go as it´d been over a week since I dropped her off. But, as is often the case in South America, things aren´t always done on schedule and I was made to wait another day for the repairs to be finalised.

Hello
I filled my time wandering around the upmarket and surprisingly Americanised district of Miraflores - the Beverly Hills of Lima. While running along the misty waterfront I stopped to admire the view over the bay. I hadn´t been running for a while and was panting heavily. At least I thought it was me. But out of the corner of my eye I spotted an oddly familiar sight - a brown, white and black furball slobbering heavily.

>"Hello Tom" - the furball said.
>"Boddingtons!" I exclaimed. "I hardly recognised you with that haircut. What are you doing here?"

As it turned out, Boddingtons had quickly gotten bored with his new home of Ushuaia (it really is just a place to go to say you´ve been there). And so he´d decided to get most of his shaggy coat sheared off and see the warmer parts of the continent. Like me, he´d been doing a big circuit and was now making his way back home. And with 3000 miles of riding still left, I didn´t hesitate in asking him to join me for the return leg of the trip. He agreed, providing we make it a return dog-leg.

It was good to be back on the road with the freedom of the bike and company of an old friend. There´s something very different and infinitely better about actively riding through a country rather than sitting passively in the back of a bus. And with Boddingtons grinning behind me and his ears flapping in the breeze, the riding was easy and fun.



Deja Vu
After a day we´d covered about 500 miles from Lima and it was time for another petrol stop. But as I pulled over I heard a churning noise coming from the engine. Boddingtons noticed it too and asked what it was. I didn´t know for sure, but it was oddly reminiscent of the noise my bike made in Malawi just before the engine seized on my last trip. Worried, I checked the oil for the umpteenth time that day and confirmed yet again that the level was fine. Puzzled, we hopped back on the bike and motored on.

A few minutes later the engine temperature began to rise and the engine quickly lost drive. Surely not another seized engine? I couldn´t believe it. Twice in as many trips and only 500 miles since the last set of repairs. This was irritating and serious. We were in the middle of the desert in Peru - a country not known for its abundance of Kawasaki parts. And if something had broken in the engine it´d take weeks to get the necessary parts shipped in from Chile - weeks we didn´t have.

Boddingtons howled his condolences as I kicked the dust angrily. A quick game of fetch calmed us both down, and we soon set about hailing down a truck to get the bike to the nearest big city - Arequipa, in Southern Peru.

Following several failed attempts at flagging one down, Boddingtons offered to do a few parlour tricks to attract attention. After playing dead, doing a backflip and offering his paw to the drivers, we hit on the Peruvian sign for "Stop - I need help with my bike" - a dog with a spanner balanced on his nose.

A big 18-wheeler soon pulled over with Zach and his friend in the cab. Their truck was too high to lift the bike onto but they offered to help us flag down another truck. And soon, Paul Martin and his big transporter had pulled over. Together we all heaved the bike onto the behemoth and Paul used his expert knot tying skills to lash the bike between two shiny new Nissan 4x4s.




As I climbed into the transporter´s cab, I was surprised to be greeted by Paul´s young family. Apparently his wife and three year old daughter often accompanied him on the long journeys from Lima to Arequipa. For a pleasant hour we made smalltalk as we chugged slowly along, passing through the occasional village.

On the outskirts of one village - Tambillo - the road narrowed as it turned a blind corner. Paul chugged the transporter slowly around the bend only to see an unbelievable sight - two big trucks side by side coming the other way. One of the foolish drivers was trying to overtake the other in a dangerous passing move I´ve witnessed a hundred times in Peru. But with nowhere to go, the three trucks smashed together - the sound of crunching metal and breaking glass echoing through the village.




Fortunately no one was hurt. But all three truck cabs were damaged. It took five hours to clear the scene and get through all the formalities. Meanwhile, Boddingtons and I did out best to entertain Sara and her mother - who were both shaken up by the experience. Eventually everyone had calmed down.

By nightfall we were back on the road, but with our damaged cab and slow pace it was clear we weren´t going to make Arequipa that day, so we pulled over. I bought us dinner and Paul explained the sleeping arrangements for that night - the family would take the truck cab and Boddingtons and I would sleep in the back of one of the shiny new pickups. Doubtless the future owner of the red Nissan Frontier that I stayed in that night will never know that a grubby Brit and pongy pooch slept in his nice new truck before he even got it. But that´s exactly what happenned.


Up at dawn the following day the priority was getting the cars delivered - they were already a day late. As a small measure of compensation for helpìng me with my bike, I offered to help and became assistant transporter for half a day - helping to unload and deliver the cars. A fun and surprisingly laborious experience.

Goodbye
With his work done, Paul arranged for a smaller truck to take my bike to a mechanic in town. Once there, my worst fears were realised. The mechanic confirmed that the engine had seized and that it´d take days to get the parts (a blown piston rod) from Chile. I still don´t know the cause of the fault - perhaps a busted oil pump or clogged pipe. But regardless, I didn´t have the time to wait for the parts and so decided to sell the bike there and then.

A somewhat surprising decision you might think. But I´d actually been planning on selling my trusty steed for some time. I´d had her for only three years, but it´s not the years that age a bike it´s the miles. Together we´d covered over thirty thousand - the equivalent of riding more than once round the world. And with mechanical faults becoming increasingly common I think the Phoenix was trying to tell me that she deserved a quieter life.

And so, with the help of the mechanic, I lined up a buyer - Filipe Pastor - and after a a day of negotiations I was standing in front of my bike for the final time - saying my goodbyes.


It was with mixed feelings that I bid farewell to the Phoenix. She´d been something of a burden towards the end and there was some sense of relief at selling her. But we´d been through so much together, travelled so far, that it was sad too. At least the memories and experiences will stick with me, even if the bike cant.

The circle is complete
With my bike gone, the only thing left was to catch a bus from Arequipa for the final few thousand miles back to Buenos Aires. During 60 hours of arduous bus-ing, Boddingtons and I had plenty of time to discuss our trips. For Boddingtons the unquestionable highlight was Argentina - where the abundance of steak and glorious open spaces (for walkies) made his life all but complete. For me, it was Bolivia that made the trip particularly special. The trials of Tupiza Creek and the Salar de Uyuni will be with me forever.

Now, after 62 days on the road, we´re both right back where we started. A journey of 24,000km - 15,000 by bike, 7500 by bus, and the remainder by river raft, barge, bicycle and on foot.

> "It´s been a helluva trip - ay Boddingtons?", I said.
> "It certainly has" he barked back - "but what next?"

A good question. It´ll probably be a few years before my next big adventure. And with my bike gone I´m not certain the next trip will even be on two wheels. There´s still much of the world to explore. Asia is virtually untouched for me, and riding a Royal Enfield back to London from India certainly appeals. But the world´s oceans also offer much in the way of adventure too. So maybe the next trip will be by boat. If that´s the case, then hopefully a trusty old sea dog will join me. "What do you think of that Boddingtons?"

"I think you should stop your musings Englishman, and throw me that stick."

Ecuador - Land of Diversity

Ecuador is a small country by Latin America standards (even though it´s bigger than the UK). But despite its size, it´s a country packed full of life and variety. In few places is it possible to go from the beach to the mountains and to the jungle in one day - in Ecuador you can.

Along with the varied scenery comes a rich variety of wildlife. Condors circle overhead, iguanas blink at you from the undergrowth and all manner of llamas stare blankly at you while chewing the cud. The country is also culturally rich and is home to a diverse mix of people. In the central highlands you can find some of the friendliest townships on the continent, while the borders are little more than hives of scum and villainy.

Welcome to Ecuador
My entrance to Ecuador therefore, was not a welcome one. Following a 21 hour bus ride from Lima I arrived bleary eyed in the dusty town of Tumbes, northern Peru. To get to Ecuador, I needed to travel 30km further north to the border at Aguas Verdes then catch another bus for 15 hours to get to Quito, the capital.

After stepping off the bus in Tumbes I was immediately accosted by a group of ten or more taxi drivers each promising to take me to the border. I was suspicious of the overly friendly characters. Their forced discussions of English football, their obviously faked IDs, and the fact that some of them had managed to get my passport details from the bus company were all warning signs. I´m not one to be riled, so I grabbed my bag off them, and marched off in search of another way to the border.

After walking several blocks into town, periodically stopping at various shops to see if there was a bus to the border, I quickly realised that a taxi was the only way forward. Bugger - I hate taxis. They´re over-priced, unsafe and are rarely used by locals, meaning they´re a prime place to scam tourists.

Looking around, I spotted a slightly better option - a solitary moto-taxi who promised to drive me to the border for one Peruvian sole (the equivalent of 25p). Moto-taxis aren´t fast but they are used by locals and I couldn´t complain about the rate. So I hopped in and proceeded to be driven around the backstreets of town, clearly not making any progress to the border.

After five minutes, I told the troublesome driver to pull over. When he did, I was only half surprised to see some of the suspicious chauffeurs from the bus terminal waiting for me. This didn´t look good. But with the whole town seemingly in on the act I grudgingly agreed to get in one of the battered looking cabs.

Before setting off I agreed a fare of 65 soles with the head honcho. That price (which accorded reasonably well with the figures in my guidebook) included driving me to the border, helping me with the (very simple) border formalities, and purchasing my bus ticket to Quito.

Initially things seemed to be going to plan. We got to the border in good (some would say dangerously quick) time, and the Peruvian customs formalities were soon out of the way. But as we entered Aguas Verdes things started getting shady. There were now three dodgy characters in the car with me - the driver, the chap who helped with customs, and the head honcho who seemed to be organising everything else. After spending a few minutes bumping over the uneven streets on the way to the frontier, we turned off into a secluded parking lot. Not good. Three reasonably big chaps in a confined space versus me with my luggage. I briefly considered making a dash for it, but with my bag I realised it was probably a fruitless endeavour. Besides, so far at least the hustlers had held up their end of the bargain.

But then the scam got going. In Spanish and pigeon English, the head honcho explained that the fare needed to be paid now and in dollars, not Peruvian soles (Ecuador uses dollars). And he wanted 35 dollars for the service. Typically you get one dollar for every three Peruvian soles, but this guy was trying to get a dollar for less than two. Being an economist, I explained to him in my best Spanish (which is more a mix of English and bad Italian) that the exchange rate he was offering was laughable. No one was laughing though, least of all me.

With the rate seemingly non-negotiable I tried a different tack - explaining that paying for the service when it was only half complete (and in the middle of a secluded parking lot) was not good from my point of view. Their counter argument was that they had to be paid here, so that they could distribute funds to everyone - including another chap and a kid who had just showed up to complete the Ecuadorian side of the deal. With five of them now, I thought better of arguing and handed over the cash on condition that they give me their word everything was legit. Smiling and looking me dead in the eye, the head honcho assured me everything was above board. The lying bugger.

As soon as I handed over the money the Peruvian side of the operation quickly dispersed leaving me with the Ecuadorian chap and the kid who was there to cart my luggage. I was bitter that I´d handed over the inflated sum (about twenty dollars over the going rate), but it was probably worth it just to get out of that parking lot. As I followed the Ecuadorians through town, the kid with my bag started lagging behind. Loathed to leave my luggage I slowed my pace and asked where the older chap was going in such a hurry. The kid assured me that he was just heading off to Ecuadorian customs and the bus terminal to finish off the deal. But in reality he was actually just making himself scarce. That left me with the kid.

Now in Ecuador, we soon arrived at the bus station where I waited for a few minutes for the older chap to return. When he didn´t I asked the kid where everyone had gone and, more importantly, who was going to pay for my bus ticket. The kid just shrugged, feigning ignorance. I was getting irritated now, so I decided to make a scene. With nothing but time on my hands, I sat myself down on the kid´s luggage cart and refused to budge until he paid for my bus ticket and went and got his accomplices. Within minutes a crowd had built up with two clear sides - the majority were locals who were almost as appalled with the scam as me, while the rest was made up of dodgy street vendors who had sided with the kid. Some of the vendors attempted to get me off the cart by force, but when that didn´t work we ended up in a bit of stand off (or sit off in my case).

After a brief wait, all the attention started getting to the kid and he paid for my bus ticket using some of the dollars I had handed over earlier. But he was adamant that he wasn´t going to get his accomplices. I can understand why - if he did, he´d surely get in trouble with them. But I didn´t want to let the kid off too easily either - he was obviously being trained to scam tourists in exactly the same way as his older pals and he needed to be taught a lesson. So I continued sitting on his cart for another half an hour until a policeman eventually showed up. I explained to the copper the situation, the scam, and about the criminali (I´m not sure if that´s the Spanish word for criminals it´s just the one I made up). The copper, who was clearly on the take, made a half arsed attempt to look apologetic, but did little else. Enough was enough. I´d got the crowd on my side, they knew the scam now and so I let the kid have his cart back, and got on my bus.

Welcome to Ecuador indeed. This wouldn´t have happenned with my bike.

The other side of the coin
Fortunately though, other than the unpleasantness at the border, the slow buses, and the occassional bit of rain, my time in Ecuador was generally a pleasant one. I was only in the country for a few days, but in the short while I was there I got to experience some of the richness it has to offer.

My first point of call was the equator - namesake of the country. The famous line was marked by a touristy monument (as is customary). But it was worth the visit. This was as far north as I´d get on this trip. Having travelled all the way up from Ushuaia (54 degrees south) it was a satisfying feeling to reach the Midad del Mundo (Middle of the World).



Next, following advice from one of my friends at work (cheers TomO), I went on a couple of mountain biking tours. The first to visit the Cotopaxi Volcano - an active volcano which has wiped out the small town of Latacunga twice already. There was no lava flowing the day I visited (nor for the previous 106 years according to historical records), but riding a bike down the steep windswept slopes was a memorable experience.



I stayed over in one of the friendly hilltop communities that night and was treated to some traditional Ecuadorian hospitality along with delicious local delicacies including fried bananas, tree tomatoes and popcorn soup. My stay was made all the more welcoming by the local dog - Rambo - who woke up early in the morning to show me round the breathtaking crater lake of Quilatoa.





Sadly Rambo didn´t fancy joining me for the scenic bike ride around the Quilatoa loop, but doubtless he would have if I´d had the Phoenix with me. Fortunately though, a friendly group of tourists and our excellent guide Fernando provided ample company instead.




Then, to round off my time in Ecuador I joined a rafting group along the Rio Blanco - The White River. The river appeared more of a coffee colour when I was there, but there was certainly a lot of white water rapids to enjoy as well. And after a full day that saw us travel 47km downstream and flip the rafts a few times, I was sunburnt to a crisp but happy.



If variety is the spice of life, then Ecuador is one of the most flavoursome countries Ive visited.

The Inca Trail

Since leaving the harsh roads of southern Bolivia behind, I´ve been on the trail of South America´s most famous historical dynasty - the Incas. The trail is well worn and firmly on the beaten track. But that just means most of the enticing ruins are connected by smooth tarmac roads instead of bone rattling washboard (a welcome change if you ask me).

Picking up the trail
It´s impossible to travel through South America without encountering the legacy of the Inca Empire. At its peak, some six or seven centuries ago, the Empire stretched from northern Argentina to the Equator. Modern day Peru was at its heart, but according to some myths, the Inca dynasty actually began in Bolivia on the Isla del Sol - just off the eastern shore of Lake Titicaca. And that´s where I first picked up the Inca trail.

In constrast to southern Bolivia where paved roads are still something of a futurisitc phenomenon, the Isla del Sol and the area surrounding Lake Titicaca are reached by some of the smoothest and most picturesque roads on the continent.




Nestled on the shore of the Lake is the small town of Copacabana which, unlike the famous beach in Brazil or nightclub in Florida, doesn´t have any showgirls named Lola (or any showgirls at all come to think of it). But even without the showgirls it´s still a lively little burg and is the main jumping off point for boat trips into the lake.



On the day I visited the island, the Inca Sun God (Inti) was obviously feeling jolly good about himself as it was a glorious sunny day. Needless to say, after visiting the sacred rock, a few ruins, and hiking five miles along the spine of the island, Inti had made his mark on me too, turning my pasty skin to a lobster pink - dashing.




Back on the road and covered in aloe vera, I circled the southern shore of the Lake, crossed into Peru, and turned inland toward the hub of the Inca Empire - Cusco.


Cusco is a busy, vibrant city with Inca ruins quite literally all over the place. The ruins are so abundant that many of the hotels boast of having "Inca walls" in their paraphenalia.

But perhaps the best sight in Cusco, as hotly tipped by Jerry - the Indiana Jones of our riding group - is the Sun Temple. The key thing about this temple is not the immaculate stonework that has withstood earthquakes and several hundred years of abuse. The most interesting thing about the temple is it is buried beneath a church. The Spanish Conquistadors were so keen to convert the natives to Christianity they decided to build their own place of worship right on top of the Inca temple - stick that in your Inca pipe and smoke it.




But obviously the top Inca sight on most people´s lists is the world-renowned mountain-top citadel of Machu Picchu.

Normally, the high altitude ruins are reached via an expensive tourist train or via the popular hiking trail. But mudslides earlier in the year washed away the tracks and made the trail all but impassable. After hasty repairs, both routes re-opened on April 1st, but with a backlog of tourists to get through, both the train and the trail were fully booked by the time I showed up. Fortunately though, I managed to find a lesser-known ´back way´ into Machu Picchu which even involved a bit of biking.

The back way into Machu Picchu
Instead of taking the train west from Cusco toward Machu Picchu, I headed north via a glorious paved road into an adjacent valley. The road wound its way up into the mountains via a series of hairpins, each guarded by a solitary wild dog. How those pooches got up there and what they were doing I honestly don´t know, but there were so many lonely pups that I half expected to see a satisfied looking Boddingtons surrounded by his bitches at the top. No such luck.

After riding past the dogs and through the clouds I began my descent into the valley below. Clearly the mudslides that wiped out the routes to Machu Picchu were not a one off - I frequently came across landslides, boulders and waterfalls flowing across the road.


But the going was good for the first 60 miles. After that, the smooth pavement gave way to a rough corrugated road which came complete with slow, dust spewing trucks. But that degradation was only Stage 2 of the ride. Stage 3 - some 20 miles further on - saw the wide corrugated road turn into a narrow muddy track that wound its way steeply up into the mountains. This was Jerry country all right - on the trail of some lost civilisation riding in the mud - he would have been in Hog´s Heaven. As for me, I squirmed my way through, narrowly avoiding being washed down the mountain in a deceptively deep waterfall crossing.


The tricky terrain was more than worth it though just to ride through the lush mountain scenery. And by dusk I´d reached Santa Theresa - as far as my bike could take me.




It was a satisfying day and I was pleased that I´d gotten off the beaten track and travelled a fairly unique route. At least I thought it was unique. But my dreams of originality were quoshed on finding a tourist hotel in Santa Theresa. There, I was not only greeted by a friendly German chap (Michael) who had ridden the exact same path two days before, but also a big group of hikers who were doing a similar thing on foot. Ah well, the company was good at any rate.

Up at dawn the next day I found out why I couldn´t ride my bike all the way to Machu Picchu - there was no bridge across the Villabamba River. Instead, the only way across was via a high wire cable and small metal basket. The locals seemed to trust the precarious looking contraption, and so with Alex the farmer in front of me, I hopped in the basket and got pulled across. Marvellous.





On the other side, Alex and I began the long hike to Machu Picchu. Ten miles of trudging over streams and along the railway tracks. Beautifully picturesque but tiring - I found it hard to believe that Alex made the journey everyday.



By nine o´clock we had reached Aguas Calientes - tourist base for Machu Picchu. There I bid farewell to Alex who wandered off for several hours of hard labour in the fields, while I got carted up to the famous ruins with a bus load of other tourists.

The views from the top were unforgettable. Granite spires towering up towards the clouds like skyscrapers, covered in thick jungle, with the churning torrent of the river below. And in the midst of all the natural beauty, high up in the trees, were the ruins. Extensive, ornate and amazingly intact thanks to the archaic but effective earthquake proof-niches built into the walls. Sun temples, agricultural terraces, barns, homes and more. Justifiably a city. A city in the clouds. A city with a view. Those clever Incas.






End of the Trail
With the majestic mountain ruins behind me, there was still one more Inca sight on my list of things to see - the mysterious Nazca lines of the coast. Reached by one of Peru´s great roads, I expected the going to be easy and scenic. Scenic it was, easy it was not. At 4000m above sea level, I was anticipating the final high altitude pass of the trip to be a bit chilly. Instead I was battered with freezing rain, marble sized hailstones and snow. Snow in Peru - would you believe it! I thought the Salar de Uyuni would be the closest I´d get to riding my bike in the white stuff - how wrong I was.



I shuddered my way down the mountain, descending into the merciful warmth of the desert. There, etched into the coastal plains, were the Nazca lines - giant complex murals like ancient crop circles in the rock. One in the shape of a monkey, another a frog, a shepherd, a tree, a llama. Some people have devoted their lives to discovering the meaning of these lines but their origin is still disputed. Probably the most accepted theory is they represent some sort of vast astronomical Inca calendar. Interestingly, the Incas didn´t use the stars to form their astronomical constellations but used the darker bits or "black clouds" of the Milky Way.



The shapes of the lines and the shapes of their black cloud constellations certainly seems to match up. So maybe the theory does hold water. But it seems a bit of an unnecessary effort to build such a large calendar in the desert. Who would read it? Personally, based on my own five minutes of study, I think the vast shapes represent ornate racing tracks for Guinea Pigs - the Inca equivalent of scaletrix. Only time will tell who is right.

End of the Road
And so, with my own Inca trail complete I´ve now turned my attention to the final country of my trip - Ecuador. To get there I´ve been motoring north on the dull Pan-American Highway. Having gotten as far as Lima, I was expecting to have to ride another 2000km to the equator. But, as is becoming customary in the final stages of these big trips, my bike has run into problems. A slow, but serious oil leak has the Phoenix held up in Peru for a few days. And so, with time running out, I´ve decided to leave her to recuperate for a few days and push on via other means. Ecuador will have to be done on foot.

No matter - I hear it has some of the best trekking in the world.


Here´s to a swift recovery for the Phoenix.