Riding in Tupiza

Arequipa and Volcan Misti

This blog post is really packed with high altitude adventures!  Some of my favourite ever riding in this one, read about: Leaving beloved Peru for Bolivia via the highest navigable lake in the world, at nearly 4000m Lake Titicaca, then the fantastic ride through jungly Yungas, Sorata and the narrow single lanes to Mapiri, Caranavi and then to Coroico and the start of the infamous Road of Death, where I even managed to find space to camp!  Into the governmental capital, La Paz and then a fantastic ride through Bolivia's exquisite altiplano region via the City of Rock, and high volcano region of Sajama at 6542m!  THENNNNN! the incredible salt flats in Uyuni, the biggest in the world, crossing its stark 120km from end to end....twice...and getting lost in the process!

Beautiful Peru continues to astound, hiking through the Huascaran range of Andes, exploring ice-caves, then a 5 day trek around Joe Simpson's Siula Grande (of Touching the Void movie fame), then onwards visiting German colonies in Prussia and heading down to sea level to cross the impeccable desert of Paracas (soon to be a stage in the Dakar Rally).  I was in search of Incan ruins then, near Machu Picchu....could I sacrifice $52?  To the worlds deepest canyons near beautiful Arequipa, the Valley of the Volcanoes before finally uncovering ancient petroglyphs buried in the sand at Toro Muerto.....

I lean in the doorway looking out on the plaza, whilst two guitarists dressed in square whites pluck away at a delicate saga, their voices wailing hauntingly beautiful. A woman approaches, walking in a waltz, smiling at me as she passes singing along. I smile back, a genuine smile, I'm really happy to be here and the music is mesmerising. I walk inside, the music echoing quietly down the painted yellow corridor, where stands Rodney packed and ready to go.

From Zumbahua, I was heading straight to the heart of Ecuador, 'El Corazon'.  The trail rising up away from town, a thin strip of sandy brown and the only disruption in the airy wide-open paramo; its smooth hills of pampa.  Lama and sheep graze on the wind-swept grasses, their thick fur and wool ruffling in the wind and above, on a windy hill an Indian woman does battle against the elements, clutching at her bright red poncho flapping violently in the wind, face and head covered with bright yellow cloth against the chill, reminding me of an Arabic camel herder atop a sand dune in flapping galabeya.  The clouds are below me now, but I pass downhill, a desolate road, beautiful in its wild solitude despite its proximity to the main road, then in to cloud, fog and so sadly the views are lost.

The vast swirl of purple grey marbles hangs desperately on but soon it will fall, soon it will hit earth with a deafening crack.  I watch it from the tent, battered and bruised deep purple as it starts to bleed down from large gashes forming 'cortinas', curtains of rain.  It really appears as if the sky is falling down, like the equalizer dots at the end of a song, called "Black clouds forming", seeming to just give up in the cooling evening air.  When the marble hits, it lands with a deafening crack, of giant boulders, accompanied by long pulses of lightning. For once, I stay dry, a comfortable spectator.  The stars come out then, a surprise, I can't remember when I last saw them.

Continued from Part 1....

Dinner bubbles away on the purring stove, I take my eye from the the lake being lit by distant flashes of lightening to look back behind the tent to the house.  In the glow of the interior I can see the two girls who allowed me to camp here, silouetted, watching with intrigue....or fear.  A plane flies overhead, heading north, I wonder if it contains Adam, I wonder how he is?  Does he wonder of me?  Does anyone?

Like a cordoned crowd, the jungle seems to hang over and stretch out across the muddy road as if it is tantalisingly off limits, waiting to snatch me up the moment I step from it.  Lost.  In its multitude of shadows and greens; light green, dark green, mysterious green, 'peligro' green....impenetrable green.  Though it's hard to tell which there is more of, green, or the dark, dark black which one feels certain you can see something amongst it.

Grasping a complete single orchid in his fist, the man in his home-made shirt points the way.  His shirt is square like a piece of pink paper and gives the impression that the man is only two-dimensional.  His other, claw like, hand points me deeper into the jungle.  I shake his claw, knotted and rough like knobbly tree branch and I wonder if soon he himself will turn into a tree to join the jungle.

As I go, circumnavigating the dark towering "selva", at every cleft the jungle bleeds water; cascading down out of the shadows 10, 20 or 50m, flowing across the road, over rocks, between giant boulders and chunks of what was once mountain.

*Be warned, there is just little bit of bad language in this one.*

Oli's first glimpse of the good ship Victoria

'Well, at least it has a crane,' says Olivier, sighing a slight amount of relief as we get our first glimpse of 'La Victoria,' the boat of largely rotten planks painted green and white that will take us one step closer to Colombia, as far as the town of Jaque.  Sat deep amidst the jungles of Darien, Jaque is still in Panama but close enough to smell the drug smuggling FARC of Colombia.

'I'll be happier when the bikes are on, we're on and we're on our way.'  I reply, anxiously viewing the huge mound of cargo still sitting on the dock waiting to be loaded.
'They can't be putting all that on,' says Oli, ever the optimist, 'it must be for another boat.' Though I can sense even Olivier's doubt.
'Maybe,' I say, calculating space, as a man adds steel rods to the mound and to my equation of; bricks, cement, fridges, washing machines, wood, galvanise, rice, beer, fizzy drinks, steel girders and the ubiquitous can't-go-anywhere-without-one....chicken...alive.

And let's not forget the two motorbikes.