This was going to be a post about Lake Titicaca, the lake I’ve wanted to see for 60 years but GANNET2 decided to puke the transmission instead, and that came after Layne spent yet another night throwing up from persistent altitude sickness. As you can see it’s been hectic in this laid back lifestyle and I just couldn’t keep this page up to date.
When I was eight years old, around 1966 I came across a book in the school library describing the crossing of the Pacific Ocean by some Scandinavians in a raft built of reeds from the shores of Lake Titicaca. I have wanted to see this place ever since.
The reeds are indeed still there. The lake is large and shared between Peru and Bolivia. After the War of the Pacific in 1879 when Bolivia lost its access to the sea their navy was headquartered here. Indeed Bolivia, a country without fuel still has a navy complete with fully paid admirals and stuff all on a lake. Doing valuable work no doubt.
The lake as you might imagine is badly polluted but it is also a huge tourist attraction and I was keen to see the famous floating island homes where people live floating on reeds on Titicaca, and we found to our amazement (just kidding) there are numerous tours from Puno the largest town on the lakeshore, to visit these places.
Puno does not have the best reputation for vehicle safety so we were looking for a campground to leave GANNET2 and Rusty (the non water dog) while we spent three hours touring the lake.
I rather fancied this spot, below, for an overnight camp but we pressed on to a proper campground. The lake at 12,000 feet is too high up to cure Layne’s altitude sickness so we needed to get on with it and then descend to oxygenated levels.
Roadside garbage is awful in Peru but lakeside garbage somehow strikes me as even more foul. For locals it’s normal.
Sorry about the fuzzy focus but this is the potato harvesting life illustrated as we flashed by:
Altiplano mototaxi:
A former lake trout (trucha) restaurant:
I walked the entrance to the campground driveway which the owner warned us is a four kilometer (two and a half mile) rocky track.
It’s a working farm owned by a man who speaks several languages, likes dogs and has several and gave us a field to park in. He might be Peruvian or Dutch we weren’t sure but his lovely wife is Australian. Our day had started at five and had gone to 16,000 feet.
We were exhausted and passed out after a very long day.
I woke up refreshed and ready to tour. Layne did not.
Rusty loved the thick grass. He wanted to stay out long after dark fell. He loved the place.
That’s the road to Puno, up on the hill, the city twenty minutes away, where we came down the dirt track:
Out there is the lake somewhere. It looked to me like there had been some shrinkage.
Reluctantly we decided to leave and head downhill to Arequipa at 7500 feet. We will have another crack at the lake next year without first going up to those damned 16,000 feet.
We went back through the gruesome traffic of Juliaca and Google maps found a shortcut that was just awful. Then there was a street festival in progress and we had to work our way round backstreets. This is a backstreet in Juliaca you may be surprised to learn:
And all the traffic. I was over it and wanted to get on the open road. Layne brilliantly found on Google Maps a water seller so we put 15 gallons of purified water in the tank for seven and a half dollars which seemed pricey but we like to put potable water in our tank even though we filter it before we drink it.
And so out on the open road. A check engine light came on which usually means the engine would like more oxygen in the air at altitude but we had been getting low transmission fluid pressure messages on and off for a while. The trouble was we had had no symptoms but the transmission had been on my mind for a while and I was considering having some kind of a check up before we took on Brazil but I was dithering. I dithered no more when the gearbox refused to shift and we were alone on the altiplano stuck in third gear with the engine revving wildly if I tried to speed up to force it to change up. Oops.
The engine started to overheat as we rolled into the main square of a tiny town called Mañazo in the middle of nowhere. Below you can see a police car as we were in front of the church across from city hall and the police station. And GANNET2’s hood is open. We were stuck. Scary huh?
Actually it was a turning point in our relationship with Peru and it ended up being a great day.
I knew the engine breakdown was serious and we needed serious help but I have to say I wasn’t that worried. I know high drama is an encouragement to sell your story but I’m just telling it as it happened and this is how it was, not embellished. I hate YouTube videos with headlines that go “IS THIS THE END VAN OF LIFE?” in an effort to gain viewers. This is decidedly not the end of our van life. No click bait here.
It started out as a pain in the ass though even as the day got better. The cops were great and gave me tow truck information from a company in Puno. We wanted a tow to Arequipa eight (realistic) hours away as we could see no RAM dealer in Juliaca which was weird for such a big city. Besides we knew we had secure campground in Arequipa, a city filled with mechanics and services.
Then this mysterious character showed up in medical scrubs. Doctor Blanco said he knew a tow truck and we measured the dimensions of GANNET2 which he passed down the phone. The tow truck driver sounded like a serious dude. This was promising. “He’ll be here at 2:30” the doctor said. “I’ll be back then to help you.” I knew everything was going to be okay.
From then on we enjoyed the town. Layne was busy photographing a kids parade to celebrate some school construction anniversary and the town was having a Tuesday holiday. Check it out:
The cost of the tow was to be 2,000 Soles or $550 and we needed to change money. We carry greenbacks in our onboard safe for emergencies and guess what? This was exactly that. We found the bank after some struggle as locals were terrible at directions and we got the tow fee ready but when we asked directions for lunch an old guy took us in hand and led us to his recommendation, the Copacabana.
The waitress was totally freaked by our arrival but we tried to reassure her we spoke Spanish but she still looked at us like so many Americans look at Mexico: with terror in her eyes. The main course was alpaca fried “saltado” in a vaguely Chinese sweet and sour sauce served with French fries and rice. All this and a juice each for $4:25. For both of us. We gave her a dollar tip and her eyes boggled. Alpaca tastes like beef though not as tender and is not at all gamey you’ll be happy to learn.
Peru has a long history of Chinese migration and “Chifa” is a Chinese inspired school of cookery that is very main stream here. It’s not Chinese like you know it, or god forbid like they know it in China, but like all good immigrant stories Chinese influence is often seen in Peruvian cuisine. That and the Inca passion for potatoes.
We wandered through town back to Rusty snoozing aboard our immobile mobile home full of lunch. There were too many street dogs for him to enjoy sitting out so he spent most of the afternoon on board napping on his bed.
Layne got some visitors who were curious about the other main event, the spaceship that landed in town during their school celebration. They got a tour of our home.
Then at 3:30 Jaime showed up. We fit perfectly on his truck and he fit perfectly in our life. He was the most cautious conscientious driver we could have asked for. What a piece of luck.
I started GANNET2 and the engine ran perfectly despite the over heating. I clunked the gearbox into gear and we found we had forward and reverse still, and no white smoke from the exhaust Layne said, after I asked her to check. The engine oil shows no sign of water intrusion so we may be okay after overheating. I was worried overheating might have wrecked the head gasket or the cylinder heads and if that has not happened I’d be very happy.
This is Peru so we got to ride to Arequipa in our home. The village turned out to banter with me and wave goodbye. I told them to take photographs or else if they went home and told their wives about the gringo van breaking down in town they’d accuse them of being drunk and they’d get slapped and sent to bed with no dinner for making up exciting stories.
We gave the mysterious Doctor Blanco some money and our heartfelt thanks. I think he knew what a good deed he had done that day.
And off we went. I will say Rusty hated the ride as he couldn’t figure out the motion while we were living normally in the van but we relaxed at home. For once I wasn’t driving.
Jaume proved to be very not Peruvian and drove cautiously out of the village inspiring confidence as he nudged his way over bumps and round potholes.
Imagine riding like us or like the women below us while in the US.
From our driver:
Layne edited her photos and watched the sunset in the passenger seat while I laid down next to Rusty on the bed and read with him. Later we had sandwiches and watched some tv show we had downloaded then I took a nap. I can sleep anywhere. We arrived back at the campground at eleven and very glad we were to be dropped off in a familiar place.
Up next: fixing a gearbox in Arequipa. We strike lucky again. I love Peru.
IS THIS THE END OF VAN LIFE?
Don’t be silly. It’s just another day on the road.
I broke my motorcycle in Kano Nigeria in 1979 and got dengue fever in Cameroon. I lived. I’m sure these drama queens will too. She’s actually got a dicky heart so staying calm would be better. Check them and their click bait out for the anti-Conchscooter travel style.
