Swiss Goodbye In Arequipa

When overlanding you cross paths in campgrounds, which can be good as you spend a lot of time on your own on the road. Not that I’m complaining but I am married and women like company. I enjoyed Armin’s company and he showed me some upgrades he’d done to his home and that we want to have done to our van when we get to the shop in Uruguay. So we had some electrical boy talk. 

We met Liz and Armin here in Arequipa, from German speaking Switzerland in a Toyota four wheel drive camper. They had a couple of problems, the rear differential had a crack and the box on the back was coming unscrewed from the frame. I know we have no transmission right now but everyone has problems sooner or later. It’s life on the road…

If you look closely above you’ll see Armin chatting with a German traveler and next to his leg is a gray box. I was sitting reading and I looked up and I realized how different we are in some ways. When I empty our toilet tank I try to do it unobtrusively when other campers aren’t around, perhaps early when Rusty wakes me up or when everyone is in town. Europeans just haul their crap right through the campground. I’m going to have to harden up. 

They are travelers and they told me a story about driving through Cameroon when they were overlanding Africa a few years ago in a different Toyota pickup, a Hilux with a camper shell. They were driving from Cameroon to the border with the Congo and it was not a good road, it was dirt turned to mud and there wasn’t a lot of traffic except for military vehicles patrolling the border and resupplying frontier posts every month. This story is another reason I don’t want four wheel drive by the way, as I’d get into just as much trouble as they did. I was in Cameroon on a motorcycle (a Yamaha SR500 if you care) in 1979 and I put the bike on a train to avoid the washed out highway. They drove. 

They came to a puddle in the road in the jungle and they figured they could cope but as it happened the puddle got very deep suddenly and drowned their pickup with water coming over the windowsill. Very long story short the Toyota was stuck in that puddle for three weeks until a military truck pulled them out. It took two more months to import a new engine and transmission from Germany and dry out their home to get back on the road. “It was a difficult time,” Armin said in a mastery of understatement. 

You can see in the photo above their new(er) Toyota has a big black air pipe sticking up from the engine, known as a snorkel. Telling the story Liz laughed and said “everything would have been okay if we’d had a snorkel” thus preventing water getting into the engine. We have adopted the phrase “if only we had a snorkel” when something goes wrong. 

I guess the point is there’s always someone worse off than you and perhaps their story explains why breaking a gearbox isn’t necessarily the worst thing in the world. And no, we have no plans to overland Africa. Don’t be caught without a snorkel. 

Arequipa On Foot

A few photos from this lovely southern Peruvian town. 

The campground at LasMercedes last week. 

Gearbox Repair Arequipa

I figured we’d get out of this mess in Arequipa somehow. I took a walk to the Ram dealer a few blocks away and they said their workshop was across town so I called an Uber.

The driver and I got chatting and he was very dubious about the dealer’s commitment to our repair. It turns out his uncle is a mechanic. What luck. He called his uncle after we arrived at the dealer’s mechanic shop and we sat in the car and talked to the uncle before I went in. It turns out I never went to the dealer after I talked to Hugo’s uncle the mechanic.  He said there’s one automatic gearbox guy in Arequipa and to go see him.  So we did.

I thanked the driver, Hugo, for his good advice and walked into the shop. Renzo the owner listened to my tale of woe and said no problem, bring it by tomorrow morning. See you then.  Jaime the truck driver was on the job at eight the next morning: 

Renzo called and asked if we were on the way. Everyone was working to schedule around here; I was shocked and delighted. 

We offloaded outside the shop, paid Jaime $55 and I drove GANNET2 into the shop. The engine started and ran completely as normal, I’d even idled the engine for twenty minutes the night before. I could even get it in gear, forwards and in reverse but it clunked badly, though it was enough to maneuver the 9,000 pound van. 

Once in position the heart surgery began and they dropped the transmission. Imagine walking into a shop on Tuesday in the US and work starting on Wednesday. Just like that. 

It’s exhausting watching your home coming apart but Renzo, who looks like he may be in his early 30s is helped by Fran his 22 year old apprentice and they got on with it. 

Rusty was perfect of course, curled up in the gravel watching the process, getting covered in dust and coming by from time to time. 

They moved the Ford Explorer gearbox they were rebuilding and got to work disassembling mine. He wanted me there watching, no talk of insurance or safety rules or anything. The pink frothy fluid was from the Ford which got water in the transmission. 

It really was like open heart surgery watching it come apart. The burnt out torque converter is on the ground.  

Fran, 22, he’s shy but speaks some English.  

Renzo “I can fix this. It will probably take more than a week.”

Breakfast vendor across the street. Layne got spinach sandwiches and they were really good. 

Let’s cut the day long process short. Darkness fell and we weren’t finished. I had already mentioned to Renzo we could spend the night aboard  and so we did. They went home and we sat in our rather not level home where we had dinner and went to sleep. In the morning Rusty was annoyed I couldn’t let him out for a walk as the gate was locked but soon enough the workers arrived…and by midday, presto the transmission was totally disassembled (“desarmado” I learned a new word) on the table.

I told Renzo I wanted it as new as possible for our journey so he started looking at the parts. I was freaking a bit wondering if he could find them. He turned to me and put his hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eye and said he’d rebuilt transmissions in Ram super duty trucks, 2500’s and 3500’s, Ford trucks, 250’s and 350’s and 450’s and Mustangs and Dodge Challengers and the list was so long I finally shut up and he smiled and said no problem, this will get done. Probably not in one week but before your wife gets back from America. Okay then I said I’ll call the tow truck. We pushed GANNET2 into the street slightly down hill and I tried not to worry how we’d push her back into the shop for the rebuilt  transmission. 

Rusty lost his gravel time and again did not like bouncing on the tow truck but he liked being back in the campground. 

So here we are, plugged in to electricity, next to the bathrooms with hot showers on tap and trash cans nearby and everything we need, except we can’t drive our home. That would be awkward except we don’t actually need to move.

The supermarket is two blocks away and the center of the city is fifteen minutes away on foot with laundry services, restaurants and banks. I sound like a travel agent. Except I have no transmission. So here we stay. Layne leaves tomorrow and comes back at the end of the month. Rusty and I stay and talk to passing travelers. I’ve given Renzo some money so parts are on the way. We wait and see. Fingers crossed. 

Breakdown

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.