We did leave Swiss Wassi campground at 9:23 am on Tuesday. We got on the road at last.
There was some laughter at the campground after we paid our bill, $115 for six days including a few beers and ice creams, and the sweepstake was whether or not we’d be back soon. We were pretty sure we had everything in order to pass the checkpoint an hour south on the highway.
No photos of the checkpoint again especially as our interrogator was a severe young man. Naturally there was no mention of Rusty or his much worked-for papers but the Cudtoms agent went over our temporary import permit, matched it to our Florida registration and my passport. We both own GANNET2 on the papers so he looked at Layne and asked if she was Patricia. After all that he went and studied our front (fake) license plate and once again we were glad to added it before we left. Florida only has a rear plate but officials always invariably look for the front tag.
Other overlanders told us the coast road is relatively smooth and utterly boring. It didn’t start out smooth with plenty of sudden and unannounced potholes and rough patches. I noticed the murals they paint on the back of their trucks. Jesus is a popular subject with a medieval Italian renaissance look:
Or Saint Francis of Assisi the most famous Umbrian in the world.
I don’t know how many times I could drive this before boredom would set in but driving it once is just fine.
I like seeing new places and checking villages as we roll through.
The crappy bits of pavement are easily identified by streaks of white sand:
This is a poor country and the desert rolls right down to the edge of the populated areas. There’s no agriculture, no greenery, lots of dust and no opportunity that I could see.
Can you see the speed bump in front of the gas station?
I could, even though it is technically invisible. Spend all day dodging moto taxis, potholes, and speed bumps and see how tired you get. I was worn out by the time we parked for the night.
A reminder that this is desert country with lots of water trucks everywhere.
The sign reads “Don’t leave rocks on the highway.” Which I know sounds weird but when locals break down in Latin America they put branches or stones on the road to warn the boy racers coming up around the corner that there’s an obstacle ahead. And then presumably when they are repaired they forget and leave them there.
Above you can see patches of sand on the highway. Below you can see what they look like up close. No wonder I drive on edge all the time. Bounce bounce bounce…
This is oil country and we were driving alongside a pipeline most of the day, not a huge Alaska sized pipe and a strong presence in the desert.
It was labeled Petroperú but I don’t know if it is gas or oil.
But locals are still scraping by as usual. The poverty here is not great to witness.
I expect you to be shuddering as soon as you spot the sand on the road. From 35 mph we try to get down to ten before we hit the bouncy bits. GANNET2 had to get us to Ushuaia probably 5,000 miles away from here.
Eventually the road surface did get better and on the straight sections I felt safe rolling at 50mph. I like that kind of driving, a half meditation. But to get there one has to go there by going through more complicated sections.
Imagine coming across a 30mph moto taxi out here plumb in the middle of absolutely nowhere.
Which was a great spot for us to stop and have egg salad wraps for lunch. That’s part of the pleasure of traveling in our home. For thirty minutes we can shut out the world in which we find ourselves and just be “at home.” That helps to reset you and charge you up to cope with some more tough driving.
Most road signs are the modern euro-style round signs with a red rim but some of the speed limit signs look American in style. 80km/h is 50mph and we can do that here.
“Dangerous curves; drive carefully.”
We passed an air base without spotting any checks or control points. That was a relief. We did go through another police checkpoint and got our papers reviewed again. It seemed unnecessary but there was no drama. “We’ll never get there at this rate if they keep stopping us,” Layne grumbled as we drove away. On most of our jour day thus far we just gave waved through; not in Peru.
I look at these homes and wonder what possible future their children have.
Water deliveries.
A mechanic’s shop:
Truck stop and tire repair:
No points for spotting this speed bump:
Travelers warned us Peru is filthy and they aren’t wrong.
Expecting proper trash disposal around here is I suppose expecting too much but these are people living here and they deserve better. An education for a start as it shouldn’t be okay to live in a trash heap.
It’s not like watching a sailboat sail itself but it is meditative out here and you get time to think and grumble.
Breakfast, lunch and drinks (including beer) are for sale. The red sign advises some unspecified danger ahead. Just another day on the road in Peru then.
Sugar cane:
Rice paddies surprised me outside the town of Sullanta (“Su-ee-ant-ah”):
We have discovered that Walmart has bought a supermarket chain in Peru and Chile and it’s called Tottusand they are painted green. Layne's first encounter was not great but this is a store serving an impoverished town. I stayed with GANNET2 making sure no one messed with us. The vibe here was not good.
Rusty took a short walk but it wasn’t much of a place for a sensitive nose like mine as it smelled like a toilet.
It was a bus stop outside.
Our route to a campground Porta Verde, just outside the town of Piura.
Suddenly, for eleven dollars, we had a place to stay with hot showers, a swimming pool, lots of grass and shade, and a restaurant.
What a middle class oasis.
Dinner was fried fish and ceviche which we got just before they closed the restaurant for the night.
