It is grossly unfair to blame Rusty for Wednesday’s fiasco on the road. He did his usual of being obedient and jumping aboard GANNET2 when asked and sitting perkily upfront as we drove. But for want of a shoe the kingdom was lost as the saying goes. And through no fault of his own Rusty did not have his shoe and our exploration of Peru cane to a grinding halt.
We had a swim in the Pacific Ocean before breakfast, showered, said our good byes to our fellow travelers at Swiss Wassi and around 10:30 we were on the PanAmerican heading south. Usually we want to be on the road early to arrive at our destination well before dark but Layne had a lunch planned in the tourist town of Máncora, an hour south on Highway One.
Our bill for a week at the campground including beers and snacks and a swim in the pool one day, amounted to around $163, and in a country with regular gas near $5 a gallon sitting still is a way to save money. We were both ready to move after two weeks of enjoying the ocean.
An hour south of the campground, along a road with stretches of decent pavement and stretches of potholed hell we came across a checkpoint. It’s just a matter of showing the vehicle permit, if that, and driving on. Not today, Satan. The customs officer asked for vehicle papers and Rusty’s papers which we didn’t have. We were almost to Máncora an hour south of our starting point.
I took no pictures of the checkpoint but everyone was friendly and polite and luckily we speak Spanish so we had a discussion and I showed him our exit papers from Ecuador for Rusty so he knew we had simply screwed up. He suggested we carry on and tell the next checkpoint we entered Peru at night when the Agriculture office (SENASA) was closed.
We pondered our options and decided to drive back three hours to the border. We could have continued but Layne and I are rule followers and we feel more comfortable having our papers in order. Why we didn’t push our way into the Agricultire office at the border and demand his papers I don’t know. Like I say it’s all Rusty’s fault. And travelers who don’t have dogs nod sadly and say: See? Traveling with dogs is a complication. Of course it is, and there are more to come but he’s ours and we couldn’t dump him. And as you may have noticed he brings much joy with him, obviously.
This below is not the checkpoint, just an abandoned toll booth along the highway:
It was our fault of course. In classic style we failed to chart our own course and listened to other travelers who said blithely: “In Peru they don’t care about your pet,” but apparently they do. More than any other coubtry we’ve visited. And Rusty is impossible to hide as we drive along his head above the dashboard.
We could have pressed on and hoped for the best but we’d have been worrying all the way and not having the correct papers leaves you vulnerable to bullying and bribery.
So we did the sensible thing for our peace of mind and drove three hours back to the border which was its own three ringed circus.
I took no pictures of the border either but we snuck in the back entrance to the complex of buildings and I explained to the security guard we needed to see the agriculture guy.
We filled out a form and deposited $26 at the bank and we got our crusty papers in thirty minutes with the $80 exit form we got from the vet in Cuenca Ecuador which we should have used when we first arrived. All done. Silly us.
Then I walked over to customs to explain our situation before we got in line to drive back into Peru again. He was pretty Leary when he realized we entered July 11th and had come back. But I pleaded our case that we never crossed into Ecuador and he spoke to his boss and all was good. Like I said, luckily we do speak Spanish, however mangled.
It was now 4:30 and we had a 90 minute drive back through ghastly Tumbes to the campground.
We stopped to do some quick shopping at the supermarket in Tumbes, our third visit, and pressed on. Layne had sent a WhatsApp to Frank the campground manager and ordered grilled chicken for dinner for us. We were drooping.
We had stopped for lunch in our way up the coast and for four bucks each we got a bowl of delicious lemon rice soup and then meat with sauce and vegetables that was quite delicious and unlike anything we got in Ecuador or Colombia where vegetables and sauce are quite unknown.
And thus we drove up and down the coast road getting the job done. Webb Chiles wrote he’d rather be in a storm at sea (Force 12 he said, utterly petrifying for nostalgics) than deal with this stuff and he’s not wrong. But here we are.
And back at Swiss Wassi we are; Rusty was squeaking to be let out when he saw where we were.
No matter how blue we felt it’s a nice place to be.
