Leaving Huaraz

Thursday 31st March 1988

Despite being out all night, I awoke at 08:00 hrs. and couldn’t get back to sleep. Eventually I got out of bed and set out to do the few tasks that were nagging at the back of my mind. I only had 20 Intis so my first priority was to change some money.

I changed $20 US dollars at 100 I/- per dollar at a Tour Office and went back to the hotel. I knew that they had a booking for my room that day but was relieved to find that I could still stay there until the official checkout time a noon.

At 10:00 hrs. I went down to the Landauro Restaurant on the corner of the Plaza de Armas for my rendezvous with the folk from Lima. I didn’t want to walk up to the cross, but I thought it was polite to turn up and tell them. I had a good cheese omelette and, as they had not shown up by 10:30 hrs. I returned to the hotel.

I lazed about for a bit and then packed my kit, glad to find that my towel had dried out from yesterday. I put my kit in the hotel store and paid my bill, which was 800 Intis for four nights. I then walked into town to find Piers and James and bumped into them almost immediately on the main street.

We browsed around the craft stalls after they had left their tiny packs at Edwards Inn. I met the girl from the trio who had invited me back for drinks last night. She said that the lads were still fast asleep. We then met a Peruvian girl called Claudia who sold jewellery, who James knew from a previous bus trip. She joined us for a very average meal in a Chifa Chinese restaurant.

The rest of the afternoon passed really slowly as we killed time with increasing boredom while waiting for the 22:00 hrs. coach to Lima. The tickets had cost us 282 Intis each. We walked up and down the main street and had cokes in several cafés, including one long stay in the Landauro Restaurante listening to “supermarket background music” (muzak).

On another walk to see if the Pacccha’k Pub was open (it wasn’t), we saw flashes of lightening and heard the first rumbles of thunder. Luckily, we reached the covered walkway where the pavement jewellery vendors sat (including Claudia) before the storm started.

At first there were a few sizable hailstones, about the size of garden peas, which rebounded from the road before the heavens really opened. A crowd of people on each side of the road stood under arches watching the torrential rain and the torrential rivers which formed in the gutters.

Overflow pipes from the flat roofs cascaded streams of water over the passing cars and children dared one another to dash across the road in the downpour. It was an absorbing spectacle for all, watching the savagery of the storm from snugly under shelter.

As the storm abated, we went for a coffee and a hamburger in a posh cafeteria under Mamma Mia’s Pizza place. At 18:00 hrs. the rain stopped, and we adopted James’s suggestion to pick up our bags and sit in a bar where we could read or write for a few hours.

There was a strange, beautiful light as the setting sun interacted with the scudding clouds and the rain-washed sky. We collected our bags and found several hopeful travellers camped in the hotel lobby. Every room in town seemed to be booked for Easter, and the prices doubled!

We settled in Parrilladas Frankos Grill and were disappointed to find that it was illegal in Peru to sell alcohol on the Holy Days of Semana Santa, probably to prevent the festivities getting out of hand in a riotous drunken debauch.

We read and chatted and kept a vigil over our baggage. I had trout and chips while the boys stuck to freshly squeezed orange juice for sustenance. For a bit of variety, we moved to another café which was opposite the Bus Office at 21:00 hrs.

Here we drank Coca Cola until the dusty Volvo coach pulled up at 22:00 hrs. Relieved that our wait was finally over, we boarded the bus and pissed around for a bit because, although there were more than enough seats to go round, many people had been allocated the same seat numbers.

We rumbled off into the night, almost on time, joining a convoy of buses from the myriad bus companies, all destined for Lima via Supe. Supe, or Pativilca in Barranca (Lima region) is a city located in Peru about 106 miles (or 171 kilometres) north-west of Lima.

I slumped sideways across the empty seat beside me and dozed on and off. We drove through great scenery illuminated by a full moon, weaving along many hair-pinned roads. We sucked boiled sweets to alleviate the effects of descent and felt our ears popping.

White Water Rafting

Above: Huaráz Laundry.

Wednesday 30th March 1988

I met Graham at breakfast, and he told me that we could get on a one-hour white-water rafting trip with a group of Australians and English for 700 Intis. We opted in and a heavy-duty red estate vehicle picked us up from the hotel, but most of the group had gone out for breakfast and we had to wait.

This gave me the opportunity to visit Piers and James at their hotel. They were still in bed and looking the worst for wear after a night on the tiles. I gave them the money to get me a bus ticket to Lima and arranged to meet them later.

While I was waiting to go on this raft trip a German girl asked me if I wanted to go on a 5-day trek with her. Sadly, I never saw her again.

We then joined the party of three Australian blokes and two English girls for the Montrek Boat Trip. We were driven a short way out of town where we climbed down to the riverbank by a bridge. The tour operators inflated the boat, and we got our brief on safety and what to do when we were on the river.

They ran through the orders that they would give us, the paddlers, and told us what to do if you fell overboard. The river looked very violent and turbulent and after our talk on fending off rocks with our feet when hurtling along in the current after falling overboard, and the possibility of the boat capsizing, we were all apprehensively wondering what we had let ourselves in for.

We donned our life jackets and, after a brief paddling practice in the shallows, we set off into the torrent. We bounced through the first set of rapids with the boat rotating and water splashing everywhere. It was relatively easy to stay in the raft and after a couple more turbulent passages we were confident, working well as a team, and hoping for rougher, more challenging parts ahead.

Our boatman yelled simple orders: “Forward”, “Backwards”, “Stop”, and “Left” and “Right”, in which case the paddlers on that side rowed backwards whilst the other side continued forwards in order to turn left or right.

A lot of the art was to get in the right place on the river before the tumultuous current and the standing waves whisked you through the narrower, shallower parts of the stream. There were a lot of rocks and boulders which pummelled the single thin skin of rubber which formed the bottom of our vessel.

The scenery was spectacular with high green hills and flowery meadows leading up to the snowy heights of the big mountains. Locals tended livestock and a group of kids fishing held up a large trout for our approval as we hurtled past.

We stopped to bale out water once and we ran aground once, but the trip was safe and enjoyable. The random rotation of the oval inflatable boat made it easy for us to take in the panoramic Alpine-like scenery.

After an hour we came to the Huaráz Airstrip where our brief, exciting trip terminated. I believe we had been on the Rio Santo. We clambered up a shore populated by tiny frogs, soaked to the skin and chatting excitedly. It was hot and sunny, so we began to dry out quickly as we sat on the upturned boat drinking Pepsi Cola.

Back in the vehicle we asked the Montrek team to drop us off at the Chancos Hot Springs and Sauna. This they willingly did, despite it being a bit out of their way. At Chancos we found a scruffy, primitive village in a narrow river valley, three kilometres along a dirt road from the main road.

We had to pay 8 Intis for the van to be allowed up the “private” rocky track. One of the tour organisers asked the woman at the Control Point when they would use the money to improve the road. The Indian woman just smiled, and we all laughed.

There was a substantial queue for the bathing pools and natural saunas, which were in fenced-off caves, so we decided to give it a miss. We sat in the sun while Graham had a dodgy meal of identifiable meat and potato served by a young girl from a plastic bucket.

We bought Pepsi from a dark dirty crude restaurant where a lot of workers in yellow hard hats were having lunch. After about forty minutes the well-worn local bus bounced up the road and turned round at the end.

We jumped aboard into the tatty interior and bagged our seats. On the way back to Huaráz a passenger list was passed around for us to fill in with details of our passports, age and occupation. The fare was 30 Intis back to town.

Back at the hotel Graham moved his bags into my room and we sat on the beds talking for a couple of hours about mortgages, finance, running vehicles, girlfriends and travel stories. At 18:30 hrs. we went out into the dark town to get something to eat.

We took the Menú and drank beer, discussing the London Council and Gas Board Workers in England. At 20:00 hrs. we were joined by Piers and James who had been stocking up on local jewellery. Graham left to catch his bus back to Lima and I went with “The Steptoes” to a couple of cafés for beer before ending up in Tambo’s Folk Disco. I can only imagine that the nickname “The Steptoes” came from their scruffy appearance and their grimy and grasping ways. Steptoe and Son is a British sitcom written by Ray Galton and Alan Simpson about a father-and-son rag-and-bone business in Oil Drum Lane, a fictional street in Shepherd's Bush, London.

They explained that they made their underwear last 4 days before washing by wearing underpants normally, then next day back to front, next day inside out, next day inside out and back to front.

Today there was no escaping the 100 I/- entry fee for Tambo’s, but this included a glass of draft Chopp beer. A folklorica group were playing typically South American local music which was appropriate and very good. The crowd danced enthusiastically.

Later on the band gave way to a disco and soon all three of us were well in with the local girls. James went out for a walk with a striking Oriental-looking girl with pink lipstick. Piers sat surrounded by a group of interested girls, frantically thumbing through his Spanish phrase book.

I ended up dancing with a girl from the Tourist Office in Lima who could speak good English but had trouble understanding my London accent. At about 02:30 hrs. she left with her friends, giving me a farewell kiss and telling me to look her up in Lima in a few days’ time, after the Easter holidays.

I sat down next to Piers and got talking to a friendly couple who invited me back to their place for a drink. Piers was still hopefully plugging away with his entourage, so I left with the couple and another bloke for a shant (alcoholic drink). This was against all traveller safety advice, going off with strangers to the dark side of town!

Enroute, we stopped for hot caliche which consisted of lemon juice, alcohol and a mystery ingredient (probably river water)! Eventually we ended up in the far corner of town amongst crude square single storey houses (blockhouses?) and muddy, pebble-strewn tracks.

They had no beer, and it was now nearly 04:00 hrs. so we began a tour of the local unmarked shops banging on the doors and asking to buy beer. After a few sleepy replies of “no hay cerveza” and a few “bugger off it’s four in the mornings” we gave up and decided to call it a night.

The lads pointed out the full moon and the Southern Cross constellation in the clear night sky. They invited me to stay in their hut, but I politely declined, and they walked me back to the centre of town. Here we had a final caliche each, served by a bored cold-looking Indian woman, before saying goodnight and arranging to meet next day for a walk to the Mirador Cross above the town.

I walked back to the Edwards Inn as the first early rising locals were getting up, bundled in warm clothing, to start their daily business.

Convento San Francisco de Lima

Sunday 3rd April 1988

I went out for a meagre breakfast off coffee and a cheese roll with Nick and Ian(?) at the Cordano Café. We then had a look at the delightful old Railway Station behind the Presidential Palace, from which trains run to Huancayo.

We crossed the bridge over the fast-flowing brown River Rimac towards a part of the city which looked Arabic with it’s domes. It was pretty run down. Buses churned out black exhaust fumes so in order to avoid choking we walked back around the heavily guarded Presidential Palace to the Post Office and it’s surrounding market.

We had a quick browse of the market stalls and then went to see the Antigo Local de la Inquisitión, but it was closed. In colonial days, Lima was the capital of South America and the seat of Spain’s control over the territories. The museum is located in the building that was used as a headquarters for Inquisition officials from 1570 to 1820. In the Inquistion torture was common. It was here that local people suspected of heresy, blasphemy or witchcraft were detained, interrogated, and sentenced to public burning and execution.

We went to a café for an ice cream and a beer before returning to the hotel to look through some of our guidebooks. At 15:00 hrs. I went out for a snack but found that it was the wrong time of the day to eat. The few cafés that were open were only serving drinks.

I visited the Convento San Francisco de Lima, which was opposite our hotel and after being evicted from an English-speaking private guided tour group, I joined the “peasants” Spanish tour group. We saw the usual array of cloisters, chapels and religious relics, many in silver.

There was a wealth of paintings and sculptures of saints and monks looking pleadingly up to heaven and various arts depicting religious men, including Jesus Christ himself in various states of torture and torment.

We finally descended into the musty catacombs where the bones of 2,500 people are neatly arranged in compartments like a bone wholesalers’ stock of spare parts for skeletons. One circular chamber had concentric circles of skulls between neat “spokes” of arm and leg bones.

Other, less tidy compartments held a dusty heap of miscellaneous bony parts and fragments of skull and pelvises. I couldn’t understand most of the guides spiel, so I didn’t know the story of these long-departed residents.

Now, thanks to Google I learn beneath the church at the Franciscan Monastery in Lima, Peru, there is an ossuary where the skulls and bones of an estimated 70,000 people are decoratively arranged.

Long forgotten, the catacombs were rediscovered in 1943 and are believed to be connected via subterranean passageways to the cathedral and other local churches. Both creepy and beautiful, they feature small grates scattered along the upper floor of the cathedral through which, while you are touring, you may look down at any given moment to see the artistically arranged dead illuminated.

Also, centuries-old catacombs decorated with human bones pepper the crypts at this Franciscan monastery dating to 1774. Decked out in impressive Spanish Baroque architecture, the canary-yellow church and monastery also house a remarkable library with some 25,000 antique texts (some predating the Spanish Conquest) and are flush with romantic courtyards and cloisters. Don't forget to look up: A magnificent Moorish-style cupola, carved of Nicaraguan cedar in 1625, oversees the main staircase.

I returned to my room and spent a while studying the South American Handbook 1988 and composing a letter to Glenn Fenton including cut-outs from the local paper. I composed a To Do List for tomorrow.

At 19:00 hrs. I joined Ian and Nick for dinner. We went to Jerry’s for the usual massive meal. At 21:00 hrs. Ian went back to bed and Nick and I went for a couple of beers in the Macchu Picchu. We talked mainly about the independent music scene in Britain while a lone serenader went from table to table with his guitar.

At 22:30 hrs. we called it a night and before turning in I got some recent magazines from Nick, including Time Out, New Musical Express (NME) and Private Eye. They intended to take the early bus to Pisco tomorrow.

Lake Churup

Tuesday 29th March 1988

I went down to have breakfast at 08:00 hrs. and got talking to Graham, a nice chap from Jersey in the Channel Islands, who was out in Peru for a six-week holiday. He only had a couple of days left to go. He suggested a walk up to Lake Churup and I agreed to accompany him.

Apparently, Lake Churup may be one of the most impressive day hikes in Huaráz! After teetering along rocks, free climbing, and grabbing onto ropes when provided, this trail travels from 3,850 metres above sea level to 4,450 metres. Once you reach the pinnacle of this expedition, a stark blue laguna, nestled in a batholith, will enchant you.

We were then joined by George, a Dubliner from Ireland, who was currently living in Sydney, Australia. We walked out of town picking up a few sweets and chocolates along the way. The track headed north alongside the Quilcay River which was packed with Indians washing colourful clothes while others were bathing in the turbulent, rocky stream.

We talked as we walked, all three of us glad of some intellectual conversation instead of the usual one-up-man-ship travelling itinerary comparisons. We stopped a couple of times for long periods of chat about business, travel rip-offs, skiing, cars, HIV/AIDS (a new threat at this time) and other topics. George had his camera snatched in Cuzco.

We walked to a scenic valley where teams of campesinos (a Latin American Indian farmer or farm labourer) were hacking out new terraces for crops, following the contours of the steep valley sides. A few clusters of crude huts with conical thatched roofs were dotted about.

The last stretch to the lake involved a severe uphill scramble for a couple of hours so we decided to give it a miss and amble back. It was hot and sunny as we walked and chatted amongst the nice scenery and small villages cluttered with pigs, cattle and dogs.

The children would run out shouting “gringo”, and “deme plata” (give me money) or “regala me” (give me a present). Most of the kids were identically dressed, but on a smaller scale, to their parents and elders. Many of the locals lugged huge packages on their backs.

The walk back took us much longer than we expected, and we were surprised to see how much ground we had covered on the way out. I was quite weary by the time we got back to the Edwards Inn. After a hot shower I felt a lot better.

We sat and talked to George in his four-bed communal room while he packed in readiness for catching the 20:30 hrs. bus to Trujillo. At 20:00 hrs. Graham and I bid him farewell and went out for a meal in “Mi Casa” on Luzuriaga. We took the set Menú for 50 Intis and got stuck into the beers.

Again, I took a beer bottle label for my logbook. Cerveceria Backus Y Johnston produced Cerveza Tropicalizada Cristal, La Campeona de la Calidad (The Champion of Quality), in Almeda de los Descalzos in Lima.

At about 22:00 hrs. Piers and James appeared and joined us for a few beers. Some kids came in and handed us leaflets advertising the Pacccha’k Pub and assured us that it was open. When the café seemed to be closing up, we paid up and went to investigate the pub. It was shut as usual!

On the way back we made a brief, unsuccessful attempt to gate-crash a party. We picked up a group of four local youths, who were also uninvited and unwelcome guests, who were sharing rum from a two-litre plastic Coca Cola bottle.

They took us to El Tambo Folk Disco and persuaded the bouncer to let us in without paying the 100 Inti entrance fee. It was a pleasant disco in a nice rustic-style setting. There were lots of beautiful Peruvian girls dancing, but I was too tired and a bit drunk to be bothered to join James and Piers in trying to pull them.

By 02:00 hrs. Graham and I had had enough and went back to the Edwards Inn for some welcome kip (sleep).

Mirador Rataquena

Monday 28th March 1988

I was up at 08:00 hrs. for an overdue lukewarm shower. After breakfast I set off on a circuit of about seven kilometres which followed the line of a horseshoe of cliffs to the south of Huaráz. I walked up through the dust and pebble roads on the outskirts of town hoping that the people and dogs were friendly. They were.

My intention was to hike to Mirador Rataquena, the hill above town with the cross on top. I was looking for the cemetery from which the road/path/track wove up to the cross which overlooked the town. I could see the track above me and decided to cut up the hillside on some tiny trails which would intercept it.

I gained height, passing through some small farm holdings and got glimpses of the snow-capped mountains in the north and east through the thick white cloud. Once on the winding track the going got easier and I soon got to the big stone cross. There was a big derelict concrete building with great views over the valley. It was probably once a restaurant in a magnificent setting, but now it was just a deserted shell covered in graffiti.

I sat at the base of the cross and four holidaymakers from Lima appeared and took photographs of each other with a backdrop of Huaráz at the bottom of the valley behind them. From here the track wound further upwards and I was alone apart from the odd child perched on a rock minding a few goats, and the occasional woman in her black, flat-topped hat tending a small area of crops.

The snowy mountains of the Cordillera Blanca were occasionally revealed amongst the clouds above the green lower slopes. The Cordillera Blanca, in the heart of the tropical Andes is Peru's showpiece, a wonderland of ice-encrusted peaks glistening against the bright blue sky. This iced-draped world rivals the Himalayas in alpine grandeur.

Protected by the Huascarán National Park, this mountain range encompasses many of the highest peaks of the Andes; scarcely a corner of the park lacks a dramatic view of towering peaks, precipitous gorges, hundreds of colourful lakes, and abundant wildlife.

The Cordillera Blanca runs parallel to the Cordillera Negra, forming the impressive Callejón de Huaylas Valley. Here, the Andean mountains have nurtured 12,000 years of cultural development from Guitarrero Cave to the highly developed Chavín de Huántar Culture. Chavín's monumental granite truncated pyramids, complex bas-relief carved sculptures and very sophisticated astronomical and religious system influenced all posterior cultures up to the Inca civilization.

The rural descendants of this people have remained virtually untouched, and numerous archaeological remains will give the traveller an opportunity to gain insight into the cultural achievement of a glorious past. Ceremonial remains, and even mummies found in the top of snow-capped peaks, recognizes Peruvians as the oldest climbers recorded in the history of mountaineering.

The track turned south and skirted an almost vertical cliff wall of red-brown mud and pebbles which formed a huge horseshoe overlooking Huaráz. It started to rain, and I sat in a cleft at the top of the cliffs while it blew over. Children shouted in the ravine below and cracked whips which echoed around the cliffs like pistol shots.

I hoped that there wouldn’t be another earthquake like there was in 1970. The rocks didn’t look that stable and there was nowhere to run to from this narrow ridge. The 1970 Ancash earthquake occurred on the 31st May off the coast of Peru in the Pacific Ocean at 15:23:29 local time. Combined with a resultant landslide, it is the most catastrophic natural disaster in the history of Peru. Due to the large amounts of snow and ice included in the landslide that caused an estimate of 66,794 to 70,000 casualties, it is also considered to be the world's deadliest avalanche.

The trail eventually curved back down into the town. I walked past several more tenders of sheep, goats, pigs and cows, plus quite a few people of both sexes working in the fields. The gravelly path, which went steeply down, was treacherous in my almost tread-less training shoes, but I eventually reached the river where colourfully dressed Indians in black hats were beating their washing with clubs.

I passed the big walled cemetery and walked into town. Kids played all around, many with kites, who shouted “hello mister”, “gringo”, or simply ran indoors to hide. Many of the poorer houses were daubed with hammer and sickles and scruffy, poorly spelled Communist Party graffiti.

I was gasping for a drink as I had been walking from 09:45 hrs. to 14:00 hrs. almost non-stop, so I went for a Coca Cola in a café which was full of beer drinkers whiling away the siesta period. I got a Menú for 40 Intis in the town centre and returned to my room where I crashed out for a couple of hours.

Later, at 16:00 hrs. I got some shopping, including a small bottle of Pisco for later. I was still tired. This was probably due to the altitude as the path took me up to 3,500 metres above sea level. At the Edwards Inn I asked if they had any Coca Cola. They didn’t but the receptionist sent a kid out to buy one for me, in the pissing rain.

As soon as I started my Peruvian drinking experience other guests popped into the Common Room asking if they could get Coca Cola. You can also get Inca Kola (yellow cream soda) and Kola Ingleses (Tizer) in Peru. Tizer is a red-coloured, citrus-flavoured soft drink bottled in Cumbernauld and sold in the United Kingdom. The name originally comes from the phrase "Tizer the Appetizer". It was launched in 1924 by Fred and Tom Pickup of Pudsey when it was known as "Pickup's Appetizer", and is the offspring of Vimto and Irn-Bru.

I retired to my room until the rain stopped. The radio played “Electricity” and “Enola Gay” by Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark (OMD). Great stuff. It was dark when I went back out at 19:00 hrs. I walked down to the main road and got talking to two young boys, one of whom had a brother who was a student in Croydon.

They took me to two recommended restaurants. One was a pizza place and opposite, a chicken place just south of the Plaza de Armas. Before eating I walked the length of Luzuriaga where the local Indians sold knitwear and bread. There were very few other gringos about, so I returned alone to the upstairs chicken restaurant opposite Mamma Mia’s Pizzeria.

This seemed a pleasant place popular with locals for an evening out. I ordered a beer and waited ages for my Pollo Dorado (golden chicken). When it arrived, it was cooked to a crisp on the outside and raw, dripping blood on the inside. I persuaded the waiter to bung it back into the deep fat fryer.

I went on to check out the Pacccak Pub again, but it was closed as usual. I returned to my room, passing the line of blue wooden box-like trollies which vended a mysterious hot drink in a variety of colours and flavours. It may have been Peruvian emoliente tea, a special powerful beverage prepared with different herbs.

Back in my room I read my book, listened to the radio and polished off my quarter bottle of Pisco with coke. I removed the label from the bottle and stuck it in my log book. It revealed it to be Pisco Puro Superior de los Reyes, 42% abv. Elaborado por Bedega “Santa Rosa” S.C.R.L. para ROCSA.

Huaráz

Sunday 27th March 1988

I was cold and dying for a piss by the time that we passed through the Lake District-like scenery and into Huaráz. A group of tricycle taxis and a young tour tout met the bus. The youngster handed me an “Ice Tours” circular, and as there were no other prospective customers, led me to the Edward Inn.

Here I got a great clean room with a toilet and a shower for 200 Intis. There was a balcony with a good view out over the local pastureland and the surrounding hills. I had breakfast and went down to the Post Office to get some postcards.

There was a market run by colourfully dressed Indians selling meat, greengroceries and plasticware. In town there was a procession for Easter (Good Friday was on April Fool’s Day 01/04/1988 and Easter Sunday was on the third of April 1988). A band and a crowd of people armed with palm fronds surrounded a plastic effigy of Jesus and a grey donkey. Soldiers in flak jackets carelessly carrying their weapons were there to maintain order.

Above: View from the Edwards Inn in Huaráz.

I retired out of the sun into my hotel room to do some writing. At 16:00 hrs. I went out for a walk around the town to try and familiarise myself with the layout. I was hungry but no decent places seemed to be open. Only the local Indians were out on the streets, with their pleasant faces, black hats and colourful shawls.

Along the main drag there were a lot of pavement knitwear stalls as well as stalls selling bread and cheese. There also seemed to be a huge range of newspapers on sale, many with The Sun / Sunday Sport style “Girlie Sex Romp” layout.

I returned to my room to finish writing my postcards as the sun turned the clouds red as it set behind the hills. For my evening meal I decided to give the guinea pig a go. I went to the “Oh Que Rico” Restaurante which was set back from the main road at the end of a short alley.

Here I ordered Picante de Cuy and received a tiny side of rodent served with a mass of rice and potato. Two scruffy looking local youths came in and bought a litre of Pisco and a litre of Coca Cola which they mixed together in another empty bottle to produce two litres of Pisco and Coke to take away.

Pisco is a liquor with an alcohol percentage between 38% and 48%. It is very similar to brandy and is produced in both Peru and Chile. This incredible drink is the national drink of Peru and the pride of all the inhabitants of the Andean country. Pisco is part of the national spirit of Peru.

The drink is made in such a way that the fermenting wine distillation comes from the fresh must of about eight varieties of grapes. All in order to produce a kind of transparent and clear brandy. Besides, Peruvian pisco stands out for its traditional and artisanal preparation methods, so it tends to be a bit more expensive than the Chilean Pisco.

I walked north over the bridge and onto Avenida Centenario to investigate two night spots recommended by the South American Handbook 1988. The Paccchack Pub was dead. Maybe it was too early, and Freddie’s Tavern was not at the given address.

I browsed through the craft stalls on my way back to the Edwards Inn. I read my book for a bit and then took one last walk into town to confirm that everything was indeed dead. I went back to bed at 22:00 hrs., falling immediately into a much-needed sleep.

Killing Time

Saturday 26th March 1988

I had the “American Breakfast” at the Hotel Bracamonte and finished weaving the black and red pulsera which I started yesterday. Today was one of those days where I had little to do but wait around killing time.

I had my bus ticket for 20:30 hrs. tonight and my room had to be vacated at 13:00 hrs. I swam in the hotel swimming pool and sat reading in the sun for the rest of the morning. When 13:00 hrs. finally arrived, I went for a walk into town, leaving my baggage in storage at the hotel. The manageress warned me that now, as a non-resident I would have to pay 50 Intis to use the swimming pool.

I bought some stale monkey nuts and ate them in the shade along the seafront. I then went for a beer in the shady upstairs bar of the Estrella Marina. It was open to a nice view of the bay but this also meant that it was at the mercy of the stiff breeze which kept the shell mobiles spinning and clattering, and even brought one crashing down on to the floor.

I ate in the Pisagua after a long wait while they did a good job of cooking the fish in a spicy yellow sauce. I returned to the hotel and sat at a table killing time and getting progressively more bored, defacing the Trujillo Tourist Brochure. This tedium eventually drove me to take another walk into town.

I walked out along the pier for the first time. A lot of locals were fishing with hand lines and fishermen on their distinctive straw canoe boats checked their nets which were secured to the pier. I then walked to the dusty northern extremity of the town and back to the hotel to sit in a deck chair on the high sun deck and further doodle on the tourist leaflet.

The Monty Python phrase “Suddenly nothing happened”! came to mind. I was sobbing with boredom. At 17:00 hrs. I went to the hotel bar and ordered a cheese sandwich, a huge slice of apple pie and a coffee.

Two new arrivals called me over. I thought they looked like Germans, but they turned out to be two English lads, Piers and James. We had a good chat and they showed me their colourful joint diary. Both of them were taking a year off (gap year) before starting university. They told me that tonight there was a party on at the Colonial Hotel. Typical! I had to leave for Huaráz.

At 19:30 hrs. I had to tear myself away. A music cassette was now playing in the bar, which was providing good music from The Pogues, The New York Dolls, Lou Reed, etc., but I had a bus to catch. I left and caught a bus almost immediately. Luckily the bus strike was over, but unfortunately it broke down on the outskirts of Trujillo.

I transferred to another bus and got off too early by mistake, meaning that I had to hurry across town, through the window-shopping Saturday night crowd, to the Chinchay Suyo Bus Yard. I boarded the bus at 20:28 hrs. and we left five minutes later.

It was a big, comfortable Volvo coach which roared along the coast road through Chimbote to Puerto Casma and then went up into the mountains. I dozed comfortably in my reclining chair.

A Peruvian sitting next to me on the bus told me that the people of Bolivia were monkeys so I should take plenty of bananas when I go there!

Bracamonte Hotel

Above: Taxi in Trujillo.

Friday 25th March 1988

I got up at 08:00 hrs and packed my gear up. I left a note at reception for Jackie Smith and then moved down the road to the Bracamonte Hotel. Here I paid 300 Intis for “Room 16” which was a campervan trailer. I threw my stuff in and had breakfast at the hotel cafeteria.

Above: The Hotel Bracamonte in Huanchaco in Peru.

I then quickly penned a letter to my friend Austen Simmons back in London and set off for Trujillo. I had a fair wait because the buses were still on strike and there were only two Government-run buses plying the route from Huanchaco to town.

In Trujillo I posted the letter to Austen and went to the “Ticket Office” of Chinchay-Suyo Bus Company at 720 Bolivar. Here tickets were sold from a discrete unmarked window in a yard. I handed over 388 Intis for a ticket for tomorrows 20:30 hrs. bus to Huaráz, in the mountains.

Huaráz (from Quechua: Waraq or Waras, "dawn"), founded as San Sebastián de Huaráz, is a city in Peru. It is the capital of the Ancash Region (State of Ancash) and the seat of government of Huaráz Province. The urban area's population is distributed over the districts of Huaráz and Independencia.

The city is located in the middle of the Callejon de Huaylas valley and on the right side of the Santa River. The city has an elevation of approximately 3050 metres above sea level. The built-up area makes it the second largest city in the central Peruvian Andes after the city of Huancayo. It is the 22nd largest city in Peru. Huaráz is the seat of the province's Roman Catholic Bishop and the site of the cathedral. Huaráz is the main financial and trade centre of the Callejón de Huaylas and the main tourist destination of Ancash region.

The city was founded before the Inca Empire when humans settled around the valley of the Santa River and Qillqay. Its Spanish occupation occurred in 1574 as a Spanish-indigenous reducción. During the wars for the independence of Peru, the whole city supported the Liberating Army with food and guns, earning the city the title of "Noble and Generous City" granted by Simón Bolívar. In 1970, 95% of the city was destroyed by an earthquake that damaged much of Ancash Region. 25,000 people died. The city received much foreign assistance from many countries. For this reason, the city was named a capital of International Friendship.

The name of the city comes from the Quechua word "Waraq", which means "sunrise". The pre-Hispanic inhabitants of the area had a god called "Waraq quyllur", which means "morning star" or the planet Venus, because it is the star that is seen at sunrise.

I then went to locate the actual place where the buses departed from, a yard at 337 González Prada. This was on the other side of an uninspiring street market. On the way back I nearly bought some monkey nuts, but a young lad warned me that they were “muy caro” (very expensive), much to the disgust of the seedy looking stall owner.

I had the set menu in the Hotel Colonial, on the plaza, with it’s magazine picture collage on the walls (reminiscent of our kitchen at home, created by my mother with her favourite pictures from magazines).

Lunch eaten; I joined the huge queue for a bus back to Huanchaco. It wasn’t as bad as it looked because they managed to cram so many people on each bus. I actually got a seat on the second bus, so I was glad that I didn’t give into the temptation to take a taxi. The bus was only 4 Intis.

In town I also bought some more coloured embroidery thread so that I could make some more pulseras to alleviate moments of boredom. I retired to my little caravanette to write up my diary. A while later I went back up to the church with my camera.

There were several people in the graveyard and quite a few people in their Sunday best clothing scaling the pebbled track up to the church. I stood around for a bit and decided against taking any photographs for fear of upsetting anybody.

I went back to the hotel, pissed about for a bit, and then went out for a Cerviche Mixto in the El Tramboyo Restaurante. The family who ran the place were noisily having dinner by the television set. The kids were all shouting and trying to slap one another. I returned to the peace of the deserted Bracamonte Restaurante for a delicious slice of apple pie and a few bottles of Trujillo Pilsen.

Guy came along from the Hostel Huanchaco with a couple of Australians, and we drank beer and talked until 22:00 hrs. when they departed and I staggered off to bed.

Chan Chan

Thursday 24th March 1988

I went to “El Poseidon” for breakfast as usual, but they had no eggs or milk. I had a cup of tea and a couple of cheese rolls and then went to call for Nick and Georgina. We had breakfast in their hotel bar and then set off for the Chan Chan ruins.

The ruins of Chan Chan, which cover nearly 14 square miles (36 square km), are in fairly good condition because the area is usually rainless. The building material used was adobe brick, and the buildings were finished with mud frequently adorned with patterned relief arabesques.

Chan Chan, the capital of the Chimu kingdom, is composed of ten walled citadels, the streets and narrow passageways of which give way to broad plazas, terraces and truncated pyramids, evidence of the high degree of urban planning engaged in by the Chimu.

An English bloke called Guy, who had just arrived, told us that there a bus strike on. Apparently, the Government had been keeping the bus fares so low that the bus crews could no longer afford to do proper maintenance, a decent living, or new vehicles in the privately, individually-owned fleet.

The road had been obstructed with rocks, broken glass and fires to further disrupt transport. Taxis were discreetly plying their trade, having removed all of their taxi plates and signs. We got a lift immediately from a Spanish ex-patriot to the entrance to Chan Chan and while walking along the dusty track to the entrance we were picked up by a tourist tour bus.

At the entry kiosk we paid our 50 Intis and picked up Oscar, our guide for 200 Intis. The ruins cover a wide area but one unit in reasonable repair was selected for excavation and renovation. This unit was one of nine which included a main square cum meeting place, religious buildings, storage areas, housing and a reservoir for water. The adobe bricks were visible in many places, made of mud and strengthened with cactus juice in this case.

There were some interesting fish and bird carvings and some solid lattice work. The sun blazed down and my face and neck soon went red. After the tour we were introduced to some more Tourist Police who took us to a “gallery” in a private house where you could buy prints of Pre-Columbian art. From 13,000 BC to 1500 AD art in America existed long before the arrival of Columbus and was as, or more in some cases, sophisticated as the art of the known world.

We flagged down a clandestine taxi which took us back to Huanchaco. On the way we had a small argument at a checkpoint manned by two old boys and a couple of kids. Our driver refused to pay the ten Intis that they wanted and skirted the barrier.

We then had a good, peppery hot fish meal in the Pisagua Restaurante. Georgina abstained as she was suffering from the dreaded “Inca 2-Step” (diarrhoea). At 15:00 hrs. Nick and Georgina departed for the airport and their flight to Lima.

I went back to my room to escape from the merciless sun and catch up with writing my diary while listening to the radio. At 16:30 hrs. I decided to go and visit the solid red church that stood on the cliff overlooking the town and the graveyard that Nick and Georgie had primed me about.

I followed a road which wound it’s way through the impoverished outskirts of the town. Resting builders and inhabitants of the crude brick buildings waved and called greetings. On reaching the church I first scaled the dark, narrow spiral staircase which went up to the bell tower.

There were views over the Israeli-looking town and the largely desolate desert wastes beyond. The three rusty bells looked long disused. The church was in a poor state and undergoing major renovations.

I then went into the bleak, wind-blown walled cemetery. There was a disorderly scattering of wooden crosses and new, relatively expensive looking tombs. On one side there were catacombs or a clay edifice with row upon row of arched openings. These had obviously been breached and looted.

A headless mummified corpse hung half out of one and another had a skull and a scalp of human hair on a pile of splintered old dry wood and rubble. The wind blew dried paper flowers and bits of tomb decoration around in the sandy graveyard.

It was a sad, devastated, desolate place. I was morbidly fascinated but pleased to leave this place. I stood up a broken wooden cross, restoring it back on it’s cairn of rocks on the way out. Only the very newest graves showed any signs of care or maintenance.

I walked back down to the beach and watched the surfers against the orange backdrop of the setting sun. I ate cerviche in El Peñón Restaurante and changed some more money in the Hotel Bracamonte before retiring to my room with a packet of cheese snacks.

I applied some cream to my sunburned and battered face and relaxed reading “A Song in the Morning” by Gerald Seymour.

“A Song in the Morning” was first published on 1st January 1987 and relates the following tale. Jack is a young Englishman who travels to South Africa to find out why the father he hardly knew is on death row. It turns out he was a British agent who was imprisoned in Albania for twenty years. He was then assigned to observe the activities of the ANC in South Africa and instead got involved with a bombing.

A string of Madonna songs were featured on the radio. Yesterday it had been George Micheal in the spotlight. I soon lapsed into much needed sleep.

Huacas Sol y la Luna

Wednesday 23rd March 1988

It felt as if I’d had a really long lay in, but it was only 08:00 hrs. when I got up and walked down to the “El Poseidon” for breakfast. A couple came in to buy some bananas and we got talking. Nick was from Dublin in Ireland and his wife, Georgina, was Canadian. They invited me to join them on a visit to the Huacas Sol y la Luna, the pyramids of the sun and the moon.

The Huacas del Sol y de la Luna are an archaeological complex located on the north coast of Peru, considered a Moche sanctuary. The Moche or Mochica culture is an archaeological culture of Ancient Peru that developed between the second and seventh centuries in the valley of the Moche River (current province of Trujillo, in the department of La Libertad).

It consists of a set of monuments located about five kilometers south of the city of Trujillo, in the district of Moche. This archaeological site physically represented the capital of the Mochica culture from the first century A.C. to the ninth century A.C.

There are several theories, but the most convincing are those that say that one building was for politics (Huaca del Sol) and the other for religion (Huaca de la Luna); at the foot of these enclosures, one of approximately five floors and the other of ten, is a city of the middle or upper class.

I grabbed my camera from my room, and we got the yellow Trujillo bus. This broke down enroute and we had to transfer to another bus for the last bit. We waited for a collectivo (minibus) on the corner of Suarez and Avenida Los Incas.

The buses were all packed full and most of the locals were packing into the dilapidated taxis. Some Dutch people that Nick knew turned up and together, the seven of us plus a Peruvian boy that the Dutch had “adopted” piled into a taxi.

We drove out of town and bumped cautiously along the dirt road which led through simple houses and small holdings to the pyramids. Two huge but dilapidated mounds stood on the edge of the desert overshadowed by a pointed mountain (which was probably the inspiration for the pyramids).

Above: Nick from Dublin and I at the pyramids of the Sun and the Moon.

The adobe brickwork was clearly visible in excavations on the side. An "adobe" or "adobe brick" is a dried-mud brick made of earth, water and usually some kind of organic binding material like straw or grass.

The word "adobe" comes from Egyptian, which was adopted into Arabic, then into Spanish, and now enjoys common usage in English. Adobe is one of the world's oldest and most effective building materials because of its ability to flex under changing temperatures, and to keep interior environments cool in hot climates.

We trudged across the sand and clambered up the Pyramid of the Moon, which was riddled with tunnels. We crawled into one hole with Georgina leading with a torch.

It went in a long way with several chambers, each the size of a standard garden shed. A number of tunnels led off from the main one, but none appeared interesting enough to warrant crawling along them to investigate.

We got back out into the harsh sunlight and followed the track which led up to the top. It was a tranquil setting with a marked divide where the green irrigated land finished, and the sandy desert started.

We started walking back towards the amorphous mass of the sun volcano when a whistle summoned us to the Tourist Police Hut for the official spiel. Apparently, the site was once a rubbish dump until researchers from Harvard University cleared it with a bulldozer, wreaking havoc on the buried ceramics and pottery.

All of the adobe bricks bore the characteristic mark or sign of the group or gang which had manufactured and laid them. We walked back to the road and got Coca Cola in a small farm where two proudly puffed-up male turkeys were trying to impress the bored looking females. The ugly males made a wide range of obscure noises intended to woo.

The Tourist Police were packing up for the day at 13:00 hrs. and they joined us in the battered Volkswagen collectivo van back to Trujillo. We shook hands with the friendly Tourist Police and Nick handed out sweets.

Back in Trujillo, munching coconut we walked to the main plaza and went into a shady café on the corner for the set menu. This was a tasty bargain for 35 Intis and consisted of soup, chicken and rice with a cup of tea. The town seemed quite dead, so we got the bus back to Huanchaco.

I went up to Nick and Georgie’s room in the Hostal Huanchaco, which seemed to be a nice place to stay, and I left my camera and valuables there as our next project was surfing. We hired a surfboard each for 100 Intis an hour and headed down to the beach looking very professional!

The next 45 minutes was an experience and downright bloody dangerous! Swimming out against the oncoming barrage of huge breakers was practically impossible. Twice the board, held like a shield in front of me, was ripped from my slippery grasp and bashed against my nose. Numerous times it was torn away from me to bounce harmlessly in the spume on the rubber leg cord/leash.

A minefield of sharp rocks on the seabed added to the hazards that we faced. We both failed to get a decent body surf, let along stand up. In all it was a frightening battle with the ocean which left me with a battered nose and a bleeding toe. I was quite glad to hand the surfboard back into the shop.

Nick was still raring to go, and he went on to play football in a small, friendly 6-a-side tournament. Georgina and I looked on with boredom, thankful when it got too dark and cold to play on. I went back to collect my valuables and beat Nick in two games of Pool in the basement room of the Huanchaco Hostel while a Simon and Garfunkel music tape blared from the bar.

At 19:30 hrs. I nipped back to my room for some first aid and a quick shower before rejoining Nick and Georgina for supper. We went to Violetta’s, a private house which served cheap meals. We had fish and salad and relaxed in the armchairs drinking tea while a local musician played 12-string guitar and a Gringa (female traveller) failed dismally to accompany him on the pan pipes.

Finally, we went to investigate the Bracamonte Hotel. We found it to be a modern chalet complex with a swimming pool and a lively bar and restaurante. We sat outside and drank Pisco Sours while a German motorcyclist moaned about South America and the hostel pets, a cat and a monkey, who played together on Georgie’s lap.

A pisco sour is an alcoholic cocktail of Peruvian origin that is typical of the cuisines from Peru and Chile. The drink's name comes from pisco, which is its base liquor, and the cocktail term sour, in reference to sour citrus juice and sweetener components.

The Peruvian pisco sour uses Peruvian pisco as the base liquor and adds freshly squeezed lime juice, simple syrup, ice, egg white, and Angostura bitters. The Chilean version is similar, but uses Chilean pisco and Pica lime, and excludes the bitters and egg white. Other variants of the cocktail include those created with fruits like pineapple or plants such as coca leaves.

Although the preparation of pisco-based mixed beverages possibly dates back to the 1700s, historians and drink experts agree that the cocktail as it is known today was invented in the early 1920s in Lima, the capital of Peru, by the American bartender Victor Vaughen Morris.

We walked back to our respective hotels at 23:00 hrs., exhausted after a very active and varied day.

Huanchaco

Tuesday 22nd March 1988

I had breakfast in “El Poseidon” near the pier and then jumped onto a bus to Trujillo. This goes into the town and circuits the Avenida España ring road. I got off and walked down to the main plaza and found the Tourist Office on one side of the square at Pizarro 402. Here I got a free map of the city.

I walked down to the Post Office and bought some postcards (12 Inti) and stamps (18 Inti each), requiring five postage stamps for each postcard. After a bit of a search, I found a pleasant café which had sufficient light by which to write.

I sat in this well-decorated cake shop drinking Coca Cola and scribbling out postcards for an hour or so. On my way back I met a German girl that I had seen in Baños. She was looking for a bank which would change travellers cheques for $U.S. dollars, which turned out to be a fools errand. Everyone who had American dollars in Peru was hanging on to them.

I posted my cards and went to a small European-style café called “El Colonial” at the corner of the main plaza for lunch. I got the set meal (Menú) for 40 Intis. This consisted of chicken and sweetcorn soup followed by fish, mushy peas, onions and rice. Great stuff. I got lemon juice and a beer to accompany the food.

After lunch I continued my walkabout around the town, but most of the shops were shut and there was little of interest to see. There were some great old cars on the road, many in a condition that would merit the scrap heap in Britain.

At 15:00 hrs. I called it a day and walked passed the sports stadium to the spot on the road to Huanchaco from where you could hail a bus. Local athlete Estuardo Meléndez Macchiavello was the first to ask for the construction of a stadium in Trujillo to President Manuel Prado y Ugarteche. The construction of the stadium took two years between 13 May 1944 and July 1946 which was at first known as Estadio Modelo de Trujillo. It was inaugurated under the presidency of José Luis Bustamante y Rivero.

The inauguration ceremony happened on 12 October 1946 in presence of then Vice-president José Gálvez Barrenechea, Zoila María de la Victoria, and the mother of political leader Victor Raul Haya de la Torre, Rosa Francisca de Paula de la Torre. The first football match played at the stadium was between Deportivo Trujillo and Sport Tigre.

The original capacity of 5,000 was increased in 1984 to 14,000 when the north stand was built. This was so that Sporting Cristal could use the stadium during the 1984 Copa Libertadores. It wasn’t until 1993 that artificial lighting was added to the stadium which allowed for matches to be played after dark.

I got on a bus for 4 Intis to Huanchaco. A young girl in a white dress got up to offer me her seat. A pleasant surprise but I asked her to sit back down. Trujillo is a pretty non-descript town, but I had done my tourist/traveller duty.

Back at the “Sol y Mar” I finished reading “The Clowns of God” lying on a sun lounger out on the mezzanine patio. There were a few spots of rain, but the temperature was pleasant despite the grey sky and limited visibility.

In the evening I walked into the village which had that sad, desolate atmosphere of a holiday resort out of season. I at alone in the “El Poseidon” café and bought a big bag of Mar Puffs to eat on the way back.

In the hotel I watched another silly Benny Hill-style comedy on the flickering black and white television before going to sleep.

Trujillo

Monday 21st March 1988

The road was good, apart from the odd stretches that had been washed away by floods, and we made good time. It was just getting light when we stopped in Trujillo at 07:00 hrs. It didn’t look like a particularly enchanting city so I continued on by getting a bus to Huanchaco from just down the road.

Huanchaco is a popular vacation beach city in province of Trujillo, Peru. Huanchaco is known for its surf breaks, its caballitos de totora and its ceviche, and is near the ancient ruins of Chan Chan. Huanchaco was approved as a World Surfing Reserve by the organization “Save The Waves Coalition” in 2012. This historic town is part of the tourist circuit called the "Moche Route" or "Ruta Moche".

Huanchaco's original population were indigenous fishermen, who worshipped the moon and a golden fish called Huaca Taska. Some accounts suggest the name "Huanchaco" originate from "Gua-Kocha, a Quechua word meaning "beautiful lake".

The bus which went down to this fishing village cum tourist resort was labelled “B”. Buses “A” and “C” had different destinations despite having Huanchaco painted on the side. I was now busting for a crap. I bundled onto the crowded bus with my luggage and paid 3 Intis for the short ride into the village.

I checked into the Hostel Sol y Mar, Jirón Ficus 570, for a room with a matrimonial bed, toilet and shower for 300 Intis. Desperate for the toilet I was in no position to argue or find anywhere cheaper. I threw my bags into the room and dived into the bog for some blessed relief. Just in time! I then crashed out on the bed for four hours, until midday.

I then went out for a look around and a bite to eat. There was a thin strip of sandy beach on the other side of the road and a grey turbulent sea (the Pacific Ocean), which was visible for about 100 metres before it disappeared into a grey mist.

There were lots of glamourous Peruvian holidaymakers on the beach sporting the latest fashion beachwear. I walked down to the pier. The pier in Huanchaco was constructed in around 1891 and is the heart and soul of the town, where locals and tourists alike throw in lines and hope to get the biggest and tastiest catch.

Huanchaco fishermen still use caballitos, boats made from the totora reeds that grow in the marshy area at the north end of the town. They go out when the fish are biting and surf back a few hours later with their catch, selling it immediately on the beach and then stacking their caballitos along the beachfront to dry.

The iconic and unique rush canoe/surfboard/one man fishing boats were stored up on end in racks with their curved points pointing up into the sky. Think of a canoe crossed between a surfboard made from reeds. They are completely unique to this area and come with their own ancient myths and special traditions.

I had ceviche in a restaurant on the front, washed down with Trujillo Pilsen (brewed by Sociedad Cervecera de Trujillo SA). The brewery in Trujillo began operations in 1918. Pilsen Trujillo was launched on the market in November 1920 in Trujillo under the name of "Cerveza Libertad", by the Cervecería de Trujillo society. The first beer produced by the company was named Libertad in honour of the name of the La Libertad Region, where Trujillo is located.

As an added bonus I found a fly pickled with the fish in the citrus juices. The concept of ceviche is so old there are no recipes for its earliest incarnations, which were probably made in or near Huanchaco. There’s good evidence to suggest that 3,000 years ago, fishermen ate their catch straight from the sea, says Maricel Presilla, author of Gran Cocina Latina: The Food of Latin America.

Today’s best-known ceviches are served dressed in a base of lime juice, salt, chilli and onion, with the citrus, in particular, getting to work on the proteins in the fish. As the proteins coagulate, the fish appears to cook, becoming firmer and opaque as the lime mingles with the other ingredients to create a fiery liquor known as leche de tigre (‘tiger’s milk’).

I bought some bananas on the way back and tested the sea temperature. It was freezing cold as expected, but it seemed strange when the weather on land was so hot. I returned to the luxurious “Sol y Mar” (Sun and Sea) Complex. I read my “Clowns of God” book for a while and then went out for a better look at the town.

Huanchaco has the appearance of an Arabic town, built on a narrow sandy plain between the sea and some sandstone cliffs. Built in 1540, the Santuario de la Virgen del Socorro is a white church on the red stone bluff overlooking and dominating the town and is reputedly the second oldest in Peru.

I found a token plaza and a couple of sports grounds, one with a squash wall, amongst the low square, single-storey houses. A few had half an upper storey built of red bricks, left irregular at the top with protruding metal reinforcing rods poking up to the sky, as if the bricks had run out or the builders had buggered off halfway through the job.

I had a Coca Cola and sat of the front watching the sun go down. I ran back to my room for my camera and had a worrying moment when the receptionist couldn’t find my key, making me suspect that someone was rifling through my room with it, but it turned out that she was just looking for the wrong number.

I went back by the pier and took a few photographs while the fishermen came in with their catch. The sunset was unspectacular. After another session of reading and writing in my room I was ready for an evening meal and a shant (alcoholic drinking session).

I walked into the town and was dismayed to find that all the cafés and restaurants were closed, and this was at 19:30 hrs. On the way back I found one, “El Tramboyo”, that was still open for business. The family that ran the place were clustered around the television which had a predictable Benny Hill-style comedy program showing.

I had a nice bit of fried fish with fried yuka and a bottle of Cristal cerveza. Yuca is the root of the Cassava plant. It was one of the first domesticated crops in America and the first evidence of cassava cultivation dates back 4,000 years in Peru. Yuca is a tuber that is grown mainly in tropical countries of America, Asia, and America and that comes from the family called Euphorbiaceae.

Everything was dead in the town when I walked back to the “Sol y Mar” at 21:00 hrs. so I went straight to bed for some much-needed sleep.

Inca Kola

Sunday 20th March 1988

I awoke at 07:30 hrs. but lay in bed reading until 09:00 hrs. Then I went out into a blazing hot morning to get breakfast. I chose Ego’s Restaurant on the Plaza de Armas, with outside tables under the arches which opened out onto the square.

The Military Police in their white helmets staked out the Plaza while I demolished two greasy fried eggs and some milky Columbian coffee. This was in preparation for a big army parade which would culminate in the raising of the Peruvian flag in the centre of the square.

A big crowd gathered on the steps of the big church to watch the parade. A street market was being set up along the main drag selling the usual array of cheap, and mainly nasty, clothes. It was really hot already, so I went back to my room to change into my shorts and sit under the ceiling fan.

Later I decided to see if the Post Office was open. Surprisingly it was so I went to look for a shop selling postcards. All the shops were open except the Liberias, which the townsfolk assured me were the only vendors of postcards. Even the posh tourist hotel on the square didn’t have any.

At the hotel I met Simon, an Englishman who I had directed to the Hostal Florián yesterday, coming out. We went for a Coca Cola in a café around the corner. He had come up from Argentina by motorbike and was continuing north. Unfortunately, his bike had broken down in Lima so he had arranged to have it transported by truck to Tumbes and had taken the 26-hour TEPSA bus from Lima, arriving here yesterday at 17:00 hrs.

We went for a walk along the main drag and through the narrow laned, low roofed market with the usual food and clothing for sale. We finished up at a café on the Plaza de Armas (the same one that I had had breakfast in) drinking Coca Cola, then beer and chatting.

At 12:30 hrs. I packed my bags and moved them into Simon’s room as check-out time was 13:00 hrs. This aroused the suspicion of the receptionist who thought we were trying to sneak two of us into a single room.

We then went out to the garage that Simon had given as the destination for his motorcycle. It had not arrived yet so we popped into a clean open-fronted café with an efficient collection of fans whirring away. Here we drank Inca Kola, a yellow fizzy pop which tasted of cream soda.

Inca Kola (also known as "the Golden Kola" in international advertising) is a soft drink that was created in Peru in 1935 by British immigrant Joseph Robinson Lindley. The soda has a sweet, fruity flavour that somewhat resembles its main ingredient, lemon verbena (verbena de Indias, hierbaluisa or cedrón in Spanish). Aloysia citrodora, lemon verbena, is a species of flowering plant in the verbena family Verbenaceae, native to South America.

Americans compare its flavour to bubblegum or cream soda. Sometimes categorized as a champagne cola, it has been described as "an acquired taste" whose "intense colour alone is enough to drive away the uninitiated."

The Coca-Cola Company owns the Inca Kola trademark everywhere but in Peru. In Peru, the Inca Kola trademark is owned by Corporación Inca Kola Perú S.A., which since 1999 is a joint venture between The Coca-Cola Company and the Lindley family, former sole owners of Corporación Inca Kola Perú S.A. and Corporación Lindley S.A.

Inca Kola is a source of national pride and patriotism in Peru, a national icon. Inca Kola is available in parts of South America, North America and Europe, and while it has not enjoyed major success outside Peru, it can be found in Latin American specialty shops worldwide. Inca Kola is sold in bottles and cans and has an Inca motif.

We then went back to Simon’s room, and I underlined recommended places for him to stay in Ecuador in his South American Handbook 1987, which cost him $40 U.S. dollars in South America. At 16:00 hrs. I went across the road to wait outside the El Dorado Bus Office.

An efficient comfortable Scania coach pulled up. A Peruvian couple bargained for a “good” rate of exchange for U.S. dollars on my behalf with an unseen woman at a window above us. I checked my rucksack into the side boot and jumped aboard the red bus which set off at about 17:00 hrs.

The bus crossed the bridge out of town, and we roared along a decent coastal road. The Pacific Ocean was just on our right and to the left were desiccated sandy hills and cracked dry earth.

At dusk we stopped at a Customs check point. A line of stalls waited for their captive customers. We had to wait while the bus was searched by two tubby Customs men in black T-shirts. The other passengers reported to a hut for a bag search, but I was waved away.

There was a magnificent sunset over the sea as I waited by the coach. Back on the road the soldier sitting next to me gave me some biscuits and fried banana chips, and the couple across the aisle gave us fizzy orange drink. This I consumed with gusto, breaking the golden rule for travellers, “never accept food or drink from strangers, it may be drugged”. Luckily, they were just being friendly and it was O.K.

I dozed off with my seat reclined as we cruised into the night, awaking for a Coca Cola at a roadside café stop at 22:00 hrs.

Tumbes

Saturday 19th March 1988

I was awoken at 05:40 hrs. by the sound of Rupert and Helen clumping down the wooden stairs to the shower. My new German alarm clock went off at 05:50 hrs. while I was packing up my stuff. Rupert and Helen were catching the 07:00 hrs. bus to Loja so we got the local bus to the Terminal Terrestre together.

We had coffee together before we split. I jumped aboard the Machala minibus which left promptly at 07:00 hrs. We picked up more passengers on the way out of town. At an alternative bus depot on the outskirts of town Indians lined up for a tatty but colourful bus in a waterlogged yard while others passed their uniform sacks of belongings up to the conductor on the roof of the bus.

The driver had a “tasteful” gear stick knob which was a gold crucifix set in amber (orange plastic). At each of the multitude of police checkpoints the driver handed over his paperwork with a 20 Sucre banknote tucked discretely underneath.

The road followed a valley with scenery that wouldn’t seem out of place in the English Lake District. A local Indian led a pig on a rope lead along the side of the road. Soon we came to the extensive banana plantations on which Machala based it’s trade.

I had to get off the bus for a passport check and had to smile conspiratorially as the soldiers manning the checkpoint mimed what they would like to do with the voluptuous Peruvian girl in front of me!

At last, we pulled into the hot, dusty non-descript town of Machala. I transferred straight away to a bus destined for Huaquillas on the border with Peru. It cost 120 Sucres but the conductor let me off 10 Sucres as I only had 110 Sucres left.

Huaquillas is on the border of Ecuador and Peru near the coast. It's separated by a dirty river from its Peruvian counterpart Aguas Verdes. It's dirty, noisy and busy. Most travellers only come here because they have to.

I dozed for most of the journey passed the dull, flat, grass terrain, stopping for another passport check along the way. We arrived at the border between Ecuador and Peru at 13:00 hrs. Huaquillas was bustling with Ecuadorian shoppers and money changers. Urchins offered to carry our bags and fought each other for the custom.

We waited for the Customs Post to open at 14:00 hrs. and I chatted to a pleasant French couple. When it opened, we were quickly stamped out of Ecuador, and we walked across the bridge into Peru. The route was lined with market stalls selling consumer goods and there was a general holiday market atmosphere.

Peruvian Intis were the currency of Peru between 1985 and 1991. The Inti was named after the Incan sun god and was introduced in 1985, replacing the Sol (sun) at a rate of 1000 soles to 1 inti. The Sol had lost a lot of value because of high inflation in Peru.

I changed $5 U.S. dollars into Peruvian Intis with one of the moneychangers as I was too suspicious of these characters to change up any more. There were 1,000 Soles to 1 Inti and there were 105 Intis to $1 U.S. dollar.

At the other side there was a cursory passport check and we paid 10 Intis at the Peruvian Customs Buildings. The South American Handbook 1988 advised crossing this border just after lunch when the officials were drowsy and unlikely to take much notice. This proved to be an understatement. The passport official was slumped over his counter snoring.

We had to wake him up and he quickly filled in our details in a ledger so that he could return to his kip (sleep). The Immigration Officials couldn’t even be bothered to talk to us. They gave us a Tourist Card to fill in and stamped a 90-day visa in our passports, hardly bothering to look up. Custom Officials were not in evidence.

We boarded another bus to Tumbes for 15 Intis with everybody regarding each other suspiciously. Several of the men had exceptionally long fingernails on their left thumbs. Historically, having at least one long nail is associated with being upper class - an indicator of wealth and elegance for a man. No one molested us and we disembarked safely in Tumbes.

The Protocol of Rio de Janeiro signed in 1942 with Ecuador legally confirmed Peru's previously de facto rights over Tumbes after a victorious war.

Located near the border with Ecuador, Tumbes is a city in northwestern Peru, on the banks of the Tumbes River. It is the capital of the Tumbes Region, as well as of Tumbes Province and Tumbes District. It is located on the Gulf of Guayaquil along with Zorritos. Tumbes has its origins back in pre-Inca times when it was inhabited by a cultural group of natives called Tumpis.

The French couple went off to get a ticket for the 22-hour coach to Lima and after a short search for a hotel room I booked into the Hostal Florián opposite the El Dorado Bus Company Office. From the street it looked like it was a hotel under construction, but above the building site I got a clean, comfortable room with a toilet and a shower for 325 Intis.

I then had to go out and change up some more money. I bumped into a fellow offering cambio (“change money”) almost straight away, changing $40 U.S. dollars at 105 Intis per dollar. I then walked around the two main plazas, one with a good statue and the attractively painted church, the Church of San Nicolás de Tolentino.

People with donkeys were coming across the bridge over the river from the seemingly grassy wasteland of the far bank. A lot of young soldiers strolled around. A pleasant, modern pedestrian precinct led from the Plaza de Armas to the river.

I met the French couple at the TEPSA Bus Terminal and chatted to them until their bus left at 18:00 hrs. It cost them 908 Intis for the ticket to Lima. I bought a ticket for 490 Intis for tomorrows bus to Trujillo.

Trujillo (Quechua: Truhillu) is a city in coastal north-western Peru and the capital of the Department of La Libertad. It is the third most populous city and centre of the third most populous metropolitan area of Peru. It is located on the banks of the Moche River, near its mouth at the Pacific Ocean, in the Moche Valley. This was a site of the great prehistoric Moche and Chimu cultures before the Inca conquest and subsequent expansion.

I went back to my room to write up my travel diary and listen to the radio. There were a couple of good Peruvian radio stations playing Western rock music, with less American crap than Ecuadorian radio stations and a few more European songs. A few mosquitos pecked at my ankles. It is quite warm here.

By 19:30 hrs. I was more than ready to eat. A lot of Peruvians were out on the streets for a Saturday night out on the town. I walked down to the Plaza de Armas and went into Curich’s on the corner. Here I had my first Peruvian beer, a big bottle of Cristal, to accompany my meal of fish and chips. The bill came to just over a $U.S. dollar.

Cristal is an American-Style Lager brewed in Peru since 1921. It is Peru’s number one selling beer in Peru and the number one U.S. import from South America for the last 8 years. With a very light yellow colour and white head, Cristal has notes of apples, lemons, and a sweeter malt. Cristal is the pride of Peru.

The pedestrian precinct was packed with loiterers and a big crowd was gathered around a couple of street performers who were prancing around. I was still hungry so bought chicken and chips from a roadside stall and soon had a group of dogs around me waiting for scraps. I rounded my meal off with a bottle of Coca Cola and went back to the hotel for a shower. There was no need for hot water tonight. I went to sleep almost immediately.

Parque de la Madre

Friday 18th March 1988

I had a moderate lie-in until 09:00 hrs. when I joined Jackie for breakfast at another branch of “Mi Pan”. Although the breakfast was identical there was a greater range of cakes for afters. Jackie then set off for the Post Office and I headed for the Bus Terminal on Avenida España.

Again, it was a new modern efficient building with a range of well organised company offices. I bought a 400 Sucre one-way ticket to Machala for tomorrow at 07:00 hrs. Machala is a city in south-west Ecuador. It is the capital of the El Oro Province and is located near the Gulf of Guayaquil on fertile lowlands. Machala is the eighth-biggest city in the country, and the second-most important port. It has been referred to as the Banana Capital of the World.

On the way back I bought an old-style plastic safety razor which took razor blades rather than head units. In the 1700s, a French cutler by the name of Jean-Jacques Perret added a protective guard to a regular straight razor, which became one of the first safety razors. In the 1900s, King Camp Gillette invented the double-edge safety razor, which used a disposable razor with two sharpened edges.

Back at the hotel I did some laundry and hung it in my dingy room to dry, not trusting to put it on the lines in the communal area, where myriad people came and went unhindered during the day. I then scraped off my stubble, finding that the old-style single blade razor got clogged up just as quickly as new twin-blade affairs.

At dinner time I went with Jackie to the Parque de la Madre across the river. We bought granola and yoghurt for our lunch and ate it sitting on the grass. A group of youths in school uniform clustered around a bench singing. Other small children returning to school peeped shyly at us.

Behind us some men set up a rope between two posts and began to play volleyball for 20 Sucre stakes. I washed my bowl in the river where the usual washday activities were underway on the banks. I bought a grain sack and some shoelaces to rig up protection for my rucksack from the dreaded bag slashers.

The shops were closed for lunch and a Sunday afternoon feeling descended on the town. At 14:00 hrs. the temperature dropped and the sky began to cloud over. I retreated to my hotel room and put the radio on.

At 15:30 hrs. we went out to the Casa de Cambio to get some $U.S. cash dollars for Peru. There was 1 Sucre commission per $U.S. dollar. The lady cashier broke down in uncontrollable giggles after a short exchange with Jackie and she cracked and changed his $50 U.S. dollar travellers cheque despite saying that there was a $50 U.S. dollar minimum limit.

We browsed in a music shop and returned to the prison-like galleries of El Inca Residential. I finished off plaiting my pulsera, which was coincidentally in the Ecuadorian flag colours and had a really welcome hot shower.

At 19:30 hrs. Rupert and Helen joined Jackie and I for an evening meal. For a change we went to Balcon Quiteño No.1, which was a bigger establishment a few doors along from Balcon Quiteño No.2. We soon polished off Rupert’s half bottle of dark rum with Coca Cola and quickly wolfed down a meal in order to get to the cinema in time for the start of the film showing at 21:00 hrs.

We dashed down Mariscal Lamar to the flicks in between Tomás Ordóñez y Manuel Vega. We paid our 95 Sucres at the wee window and dashed in to see some very amateur adverts and some unintentionally hilarious trailers for Mexican films which were mostly of a religious nature.

At last the film started but it was not “Children of a Lesser God” as we were expecting, but an average B-movie called “Fire with Fire”, and improbable romance between a teenage convict and a girl from a convent school. In this 1986 film a young woman from a Catholic school and a young man from a nearby prison camp fall in love and must run away together to escape the law, the church and their parents.

At 23:00 hrs. “Children of a Lesser God” came on. This was a great film, starring William Hurt, about romance between the janitor, a troubled deaf woman (speechless by choice) and her Speech Tutor at a School for the Deaf. It was a real treat.

We walked back through the cold streets where only the drunks were out, and kids chasing each other and attacking each other with leather belts. At the El Inca Residential Jackie took great delight in waking up the kid who usually demanded our money to open the front gates of the hotel.

Mi Pan

Thursday 17th March 1988

We were up early for breakfast in “Mi Pan” at 07:30 hrs. and then we went down to investigate the market at Guapondelig y Presidente Cordova. We were disappointed to find a huge concrete hall with only foodstuff and the odd wicker basket on sale.

Geared more for a local clientele, Cuenca’s largest market is held in the Plaza Rotary a few blocks from the beautiful Parque Calderon in the city’s historic centre, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Visitors who travel to Ecuador here will find the most vendors of regional clothing and crafts on Thursday. However, we found that the market at Plaza Rotary was a similar let-down with mainly food plus plastic and nylon goods.

We were expecting to see evidence that Cuenca was a major export centre for Panama hats. It is also known for its ikat cloth, similar to tie-dying and batik in which fibres are bundled and dyed before weaving, a popular technique for making shawls and blankets in the Andes. Cuenca is also a place to purchase large straw baskets.

There were a few blankets and carpets on show at the square on General Torres y Jaramillo, but nothing to get excited about. Another two-storey market nearby was busy with a colourful array of edible produce. Upstairs there were cheap eating stalls selling fried potatoes (tatties) and vegetable broth.

A major exporter of blossoms, Cuenca is called the city of flowers, although we didn’t see much evidence of this. So, after a lot of walking about, we failed to find a market dealing in artisan arts, crafts, local traditional clothing or jewellery. We concluded that we should have stayed in bed as the legendary Cuenca market is not what it’s cracked up to be (or wasn’t at this time in history).

Jackie easily got a visa extension at the Migration Office on the corner of the main square, and I returned to my cell in the El Inca Residential Hotel to listen to the radio. Jackie went out to road test his new tyres at 11:30 hrs.

I spent several hours mentally wrestling with the South American Handbook 1988 and a notebook, trying to fit together a loose travel plan for my trip ahead. How far south could I afford to go? It was a big jigsaw puzzle of information, looking up how you could get from A to B and then seeing if it was possible to get from B to C. If it was not possible, then it was back to A to start again.

By 17:00 hrs. the rain had stopped (it had rained from 15:00 hrs. to 17:00 hrs. as usual) and my head was reeling with the logistics of distances and costs. I went out on a shopping sortie, looking for an alarm clock. Jackie found me in an open-fronted shop looking at a huge Chinese-made clock with a bell like a fire alarm on it.

We moved on to another store and after weeding out all the faulty clocks, I found a smallish German (GDR) one for 1,360 Sucres. These days travellers just use their smartphones.

At 18:00 hrs. we went to meet some friends of Jackie at the Hotel Milan. The English couple Rupert and Helen were with us and we joined an American couple and another English couple for our evening meal.

We all went to our “local” which was Balcon Quiteño No.2 at Sangurima 6-49 y Hermano Miguel. Here the food was good and served in massive portions as usual. We then went on to a cake shop for afters, leaving the American and English couples who were going to catch the 22:00 hrs. bus to the Peruvian Border.

We chatted and had a few buns before returning to our hotel at 21:00 hrs. The town was dead, and the hotel toilets were reeking. I was delighted to find that my new clock was keeping good time. The radio was turning out some reasonable music as I relaxed in my room before going to sleep.