Coming out of the desert mountains of southern Ecuador we eventually reached the coastal plain about fifty miles from the border with Peru, and once we were at sea level we found hot humid sea air and greenery which consisted mostly of banana plantations.
It’s worth noting the 35 year old President of Ecuador Daniel Noboa is the son of the country’s wealthiest man who made his fortune from…bananas. And if there are fortunes to be made here you wouldn’t know it from the dire poverty of the region.
We like stopping at roadside food stands but banana country was a bit below even our lax hygiene standards so when we saw a rather imposing structure advertising lunch we decided this was the place for an early noon time break. We were rewarded with a clean toilet complete with seat and paper and soap at the sink. De luxe living indeed.
I nearly trod on this lazy fellow minding his own business. I’m not sure if it is a poisonous bufo toad but I was taking no chances with Rusty. I’d like to think my dog is too smart to lick a toad for fun but I kept him well away and stayed close as he explored the garden.
I had my final favorite Ecuadorean mess for lunch which is called Tigrillo (“tea-gree-yo”), and consists of mashed green plantains mixed with cheese and meat. It has crunchy bits and mushy bits and I could eat far too much of it.
And that was basically that for Ecuador. We had an hour more to drive through dusty villages and banana plantations until we reached the border river, or more accurately dry watercourse that separates the two countries.
Most countries for some reason ignore their neighbors in their road signs and act as if they aren’t there. Think about driving the Mexico border in the US, you can be a mile from Mexico and see nothing until suddenly a sign says “Last Exit Before Mexico,” and around here they do the same. Except Ecuador which had lots of easy to follow signs to the border. That we missed one and I had to do a u-turn was all my fault for being distracted. The signs were constant and clear.
I had read that the border controls are a joint operation here and when you enter one or other country all the offices of both countries are in one place and it’s a brilliant idea. In practice… not so much as usual. Check out the map below that I’ve marked with my stubby finger in red. The border posts are on each side in each direction requiring just one stop theoretically. Let me try and explain what happened.
We drove confidently into Peru at about 1:30 pm aiming for the red dot marked above and turned into the border complex. We parked and walked into the building marked “Ecuador Immigration” and got stamped out of Ecuador. Perfect. Then we started the hunt for Ecuador Custims to stamp the van out of Ecuador. We needed that to make sure that if/when we return their computerized records show we did not overstay. If you think they don’t know you’d be surprised how they can keep track with modern computers.
CEBAF is the name of the checkpoint -Center for Binational Attention at the Frontier- but we could not find the Ecuadorian customs agent. To this day I’m not sure if he was at lunch, off duty or if the office is closed but there was only one thing for it: we had to return to Ecuador, the country we had just got stamped out of. So we got back aboard GANNET2 and drove back to Ecuador.
The offices of customs there were closed too, at the CEBAF to enter Ecuador. I started going a bit Italian waving my arms and asking where do I get stamped out. To my amazement a customs officer started speaking Italian to me. He’d lived in Italy five years and he took me under his wing and led me where I needed to go and found the officer with the stamp, shook my hand and wished me well and off we went. Slightly amazing and I felt as though I were channeling Giovanni who used to pull this kind of shit off all the time when we went riding together.
Now I had my stamp and a photo in in my phone to prove it so it was time to turn around and cross the Peace Bridge a second time back into Peru. “Welcome back,” the Peruvian border guard smiled and off we went to immigration and got stamped into Peru. Then I went to customs and got the paperwork done for GANNET2. That’s always a moment of discussion. I call my Promaster a RAM 3500 for officials hoping they have in their files a pick up by that designation. Promasters are never seen anywhere south of Mexico.
The next moment of drama was the drug sniffing dog of which I took no photos. Rusty was pissed to see a German Shepherd checking out his home and I had to hold him back as the customs people did their work. I wondered if the agriculture guys were going to ask for his papers (which we had bought in Cuenca for $80) but no one said a thing and my policy at borders is never to volunteer anything. We got back aboard, smiles all round and drive into Peru two hours after we first arrived. Easy peasy.
Tumbes is an historic town as this was where the illiterate adventurer Francisco Pizarro landed after sailing from Panama. He’d heard of a fabulous kingdom called Biru and he was determined to make his fortune there. He was older (in his 50s) and time was running out for him. Interestingly one of his sidekicks was Hernando de Soto who later worked his way up the west coast of Florida and after whom Fort de Soto park is named in St Petersburg. He is known as the conquistador of three Americas, Cuba Peru and Florida. And here he was in Tumbes in 1532 as Pizarro’s captain.
Modern day Tumbes is a wreck, nothing to write home about. Indeed the second time Pizarro sailed there following up his initial exploration with an invasion force the town was also wrecked by civil war. Pizarro knew he was into a good thing as the Inca line of succession was in chaos.
We snapped some van pictures as we drove through on the PanAmerican Highway, a road loaded with buzzing three wheelers and lots of speed bumps. What a pain. This is not a wealthy town.
The coast road was lined with the modern debris of assorted plastics tossed into the side of the road. Apparently further into Peru the mounds of garbage roadside become spectacular.
The fishing village of Zorritos was equally down at heel but we drive on through.
We did see an ATM for later use as the machine we found in Tumbes only gave us a hundred bucks in Soles (“so-lays”). The exchange rate is about four Soles to one US dollar. This picture got fuzzy but it still works to give an idea of Zorritos, walking home holding a fish by the gills.
There are these weird acts of public art rising up out of the dust and garbage and what she’s celebrating I’m not sure. 
Away from the urban speed bumps the highway was pretty good and we’re told the coast road continues like this to Chile. However we shall be torturing ourselves by going inland to see the sights.
Cajamarca, Nasca, Chan Chan, Torjillos, the Sacred Valley, Cusco and all that are on the list.
Poverty, stray dogs, etc make me squirm still but I am doing my best to harden up. I see youngsters by the side of the road and wonder what their future might be, and none of the answers in my head are good.
And then we save ourselves by diving into this Swiss owned and run piece of beach. Hot shower, electrical plug in, cold beer and a shady parking spot on the beach.
A relief.
All to ourselves.
And a Peruvian hairless fog that I find quite sweet but that freaks Rusty out. Dogs should have fur apparently and he feels hot and dry to the touch.
The vegetable man came Friday and promised to return today in his three wheeled delivery van.
And there’s cold Inca Kola in the fridge. Layne says it tastes like cream soda and I think she’s right.
And after a day of swimming there are sunsets.
We might be here a while.
