Descent To The Jungle

 We have been traveling through remote areas of eastern Peru and setting up Starlink has been too much trouble honestly after a days driving in high insect jungle camps…oh yes we’re back in high humidity and lots of no see’ums. But let’s go back to Monday morning when we said goodbye to Josue and his lovely hostel in the valley at 12,000 feet, cool crisp and sunny.

Our goal a modest 83 miles away was Kuporo Lodge which promised a lovely refuge at 2500 feet altitude in the jungle. No more waking up to cold mornings. The only problem we faced was a pass at 15,400 feet before we got there. 

I was I will admit a bit apprehensive about the drive, even higher than yesterday’s 13,750 foot pass with lots more hairpins.

Early on it was obvious the mountain road takes its toll. 

The big disappointment was the paucity of interesting roadside food stands. Layne looked at me like I was ill when I sprang a buck fifty for a jello pudding cup. Hey, I grew up in an English boarding school and my taste buds got warped (as well as my sense of humor). 

It was a long slow drive up but the road remained perfectly paved as we drove between 15 and 30 mph.

We saw at least half a dozen trucks struggling with roadside repairs and a tow truck hooking up a tour bus.

In fact when we stopped to cool our brakes a tow truck stopped by to see if we were okay. I liked that giving us a sense we weren’t far from help. 

Notice also how vegetation is making a come back, and we were glad to see it as we descended toward the Amazon Basin. We are a little tired of the desert. 

Lunch was taken in a small roadside diner for three dollars each for soup and main. I had chicken while Layne had a pork chop. 

The television was showing the news  with a report of a clash between Peru and Colombia. The two countries are arguing over Santa Rosa Island with 3,000 inhabitants in the Amazon River. So far no shooting but stupidity is endemic all over the world.

Bolivia had inconclusive ejections but the socialist left which been running the country has collapsed and won’t be in the October runoff. I only care as next year we want to have another go at visiting and a centrist government may be more US friendly. And maybe the people of Bolivia will have a chance at some economic improvement and they need it as the pace is a corrupt basket case.

The road had a whole load of wash outs with landslides which held us up over and over again but only for ten minutes or so as the traffic on the InterOceanic highway was surprisingly light. 

The weird thing is you will always see a sign at an each roadblock announcing its illegal to sound your horn. But guess what? When they get impatient, Peruvian drivers stomp on their horns and they get impatient 15 seconds after the flagged stops them.

I asked the flagged lady how she coped without a toilet and she said they…send her relief in the form of a shift change. “Prohibido Tocar Claxon” means don’t sound your horn. I told her how funny I thought it was that they thought she could do anything about it. 

It was early afternoon but we had decided to stop early after only 83 miles. It was tiring driving but there was another issue ahead. 

If I say the road ahead is dangerous I trust you will appreciate that I am not in the habit of overstating the case but the road to Puerto Maldonado runs through an area notorious for banditry and violence  other overlanders have reported seeing signs saying foreigners go home. Our plan was to stop for the night before that section of road and then get through it early in the day next day. We found a place that sounded great just off the highway.

When we arrived the owner Claus originally from Czechoslovakia thirty five years ago showed us a gravel lot with no amenities on it. Apparently nowadays the showers and WiFi are for the rental cabins up the hill. But that was okay, for $8:50 we had a safe place to spend the night out of sight of the illegal miners and loggers in the world outside. 

Luckily we are self contained and it was no problem not having facilities but I got a horrible reminder we were out of the desert. I spoke with Claus and paid and got back aboard GANNET2 and my legs were on fire absolutely agonizing. After that we napped, ran the rooftop a/c, read our books, watched some TV, let Rusty out as he is immune to biting insects and eventually all three of us went to sleep. It wasn’t actually too hot, around 70 degrees and we got some heavy rain overnight. We were sung and breathing comfortably at 2500 feet. Tomorrow: the danger  zone at the mining township of Mazuko.

Eastern Peru

 We drove yesterday from Pisac to Ocotongo and took four hours to drive 70 miles. Pathetic, right? 

That’s why it was an all day affair crawling up to 13,750 feet and back down to 11,900 on the other side where we camped. Along the way we stopped a few times for photos, to walk and water Rusty, and to cool the van down. Downhill in some ways was worse as I had to hold back 9400 pounds of GANNET2 in first and second gears to try to prevent overheating brakes. It was a slow grind despite the absolutely perfect road surface and very little traffic. 

Most of these photos are from Layne as you might imagine my concentration was focused on the van and the road. You know how the Bible speaks of separating the wheat from the chaff? This is the Andean version of that ancient art: 

Hollywood is everywhere: 

Stark beauty under cloudy skies. 13,000 feet of altitude breaks no records for us but the road was incredibly technical getting up there. It just went on and on and on winding back and forth and we rarely saw 30 mph. 

There was a Mirador ( scenic overlook) on the way down which turned out to be a Llama Park.  All too often South Americans build something and do a nice job and then forget to maintain it ( or pocket the money set aside for upkeep).

When Rusty first set eyes in llamas (yam-ahs) in Southern Colombia he went nuts growling and lunging at these weird apparitions. Layne put him in a leash as a precaution and I held him to prevent him lunging. 

They hung around for a while staring at each other then they wandered off and Heat there and stared. Rusty has grown so much more self confident in this journey. He meets street dogs and he owns them. In Mexico in 2023 they routinely terrified him. 

In Tierra Del Fuego in Chile he spotted a guanaco near our wild camp and he took off blinding like a puppy across the grass. The guanaco bounded ahead and played with him leading him far out of sight across the low rolling hills. He came back ten minutes later panting madly still none the wiser about these bizarre otherworldly creatures. 

In Argentina a Patagonian Rhea (or ñandu, a type of ostrich, walked past the van. The only ostrich he had seen was at Robert Is Here in Florida City where we stopped for smoothies and that freaked him out. In Patagonia he was  just curious. Florida City:

Patagonia, Argentina: 

My little boy is become an explorer. 

I cannot imagine car loads of English speakers show up here but there’s your narrative. They all also noted a German researcher has studied llamas and thinks they make excellent therapy animals  for humans with emotional issues as they are intelligent and empathetic ( the llamas not the humans).

I’d love to see one of these delicately stepping down the corridors of a hospital…not in my lifetime I doubt. 

Onwards to our selected iOverlander listed campsite at a hostal located in a valley between the two mountain peaks we have to cross to get to Brazil;  one is done  the higher one is to come.

School was out. 

This Quechua woman is cooking in a traditional oven, below, made by piling up rocks and dirt into a long low pizza oven type of thing.  They fill it with the yellow straw like grass you see everywhere and pile twigs on top to make forcing this arid region. Slow food par excellence. 

We passed one woman offering some food from one of these but she was on a straight section of road (there was one!) but I couldn’t turn around as the road is lined with deep cement ditches. If we see one today, what we hope is our last day in the mountains I will stop anywhere to get a taste. Very annoying as they rarely advertise ahead on the road that they have food for sale roadside.

Life in the mountains. Huayucos is what they call them in this region. I first came across the term in Mario Vargas Llosa’s novel Death In The Andes recommended by a reader and a powerful story it is too, not for the faint of heart.

And here it is in real life: 

There is so little traffic we got waved on through immediately. 

We easily found the Phallcha Hostal (which means gentian, a red flowering plant in Quechua) with an easy entrance off the highway and a large parking area, annd anrrived ant  around two in the afternoon and I was quite ready to stop. We all basically passed out for a couple of hours and when I woke up I finished Death in the Andes, the story of a small village with a ghastly secret tucked away in a mining area of the Andes in Peru. The action takes place during the Shining Path years of political murder and Vargas Llosa’s story is violent and beautifully done. I knew a reporter from Florida who was murdered by Sendero  Luminoso so I found the narrative  quite intimate and informative on several levels. 

Happier thoughts: cook’s night off and she deserved it after a day of dry hacking coughing at altitude and photography and cold gray skies. 

Alcohol is not for me at this altitude. We enjoyed hot water and coca tea with dinner. I slept like a log, Layne less so. 

There were half a dozen Spaniards led by a large man with a beard ( my brother he said - but he’s more handsome his loyal wife said) and they had just come in an expedition truck and a van like ours from Manaus in Brazil so they had lots of tips.

I would love to travel with them as they are hilarious and full of life.

They told us the roads in northern Brazil are terrible, full of potholes and BR319 through the jungle is boring as it’s lined only with trees and it’s dusty and filled with trucks and motorcycles. Sounds divine and only 500 miles long…Then a young lady took off her shoe: 

It’s made from rubber tapped from trees and processed at a rubber plantation. Just across the border in Brazil. It’s organic and modern and they export all over Europe and we are going to stop by to see rubber tapping in the manner I have only ever read about. I hope they have shoes in my size as these are better than Crocs: blasphemy. 

We left them to dinner and went to bed on a night that promised freezing temperatures. Tomorrow you may read about us in the tropics I hope.