I get the feeling La Rinconada was perhaps a drive too high. Layne spent the way up and the way down not being able to sleep. One of the side effects of altitude is to make sleep difficult and she suffered from this problem every night we were above 12,000 feet. I might have a bad night but the next I would be out be like a light.
So after we saw the desolate highest town we made tractor get down to a breathable level from 16,000 feet. We turned left and went east after leaving La Rinconada and by turning east and here we were suddenly and completely absorbed by pastoral Peru, not a slag heap in sight.
I can’t imagine living up here almost three times the altitude of Denver but I will say Highway 110 is a decent road, properly paved and if it is a bit narrow there is not that much traffic to force you to the curb.
When the Spanish first encountered alpaca five hundred years ago they called them “sheep” and you can see why especially from distance.
Anywhere you see white capped mountains in the distance is Bolivia, the land we cannot visit and which I am quite happy to skip such is the Soviet style chaos there.
La Rinconada is a half hour away but you wouldn’t know it here.
Highway 110 is nicely built with a firm base raised on a levee. The problem is there’s nowhere to get off the travel lane except in or around the villages. Then we cane across a wild and lonely intersection.
Rusty was ready to stretch his legs. Neither cold nor altitude affect him, except to give him energy.
We cage from over there so I was not kidding when I said it was lonely.
These stark rolling landscapes appeal to me and I’m not sure why. I was appalled by Patagonia at first but I am looking forward to revisiting those southern plains next year. But here we were and I was reminded I like these wildernesses. This isn’t a national park or a preserve. It may be a ranch but it doesn’t feel like it.
And the cops stopped by of course and they were lovely. Of course they were worried for us and urged us to be careful. She loved our home on wheels and couldn’t get enough of Layne’s tour.
I can’t make up my mind if there are so many cops around here because they worry about the desperate mining town up the hill of if they are just not that busy around here. It was nice seeing them though.
Slowly, slowly we lost altitude but not enough to taste the oxygen.
It really was wild up there.
And then you’d spot an isolated farmhouse amid miles of painstakingly built dry stone walls.
And now adobe.
School kids in uniform.
Potato pickers.
Speed bumps. I hate them. Slow down, crawl, speed up. The locals just bounce over them.
All this land and such narrow streets.
Deserted villages.
A straight road and some agriculture.
These lonely lives go on long after the gringos have driven through.
Finally we got down to watery level on the edge of Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world around 12,000 feet still not low enough for Layne to sleep. But it would do for the next night.
