After the recent unemployment scares in the N/E Loony has sent me a missive. I thought it was going to be a dismissive, but I will try and get the formatting right!

Some of the sentences end abruptly, I think it is a case of the gallops from either Loony or Breda, but it is how I received it!!

And so we crossed the border to Peru in the wee hours of the morning. The bus conveniently stopped by the Ecuadorian immigration office and all us gringos piled in to have our passports stamped by the sleepy and uninterested official. We were then pointed in the direction of the Peruvian immigration office, all of 20 metres away and greeted by an even sleepier official, who having shaken himself awake, stamped our passports and sent us on our way. It was only us gringos who were required to present ourselves for inspection and it is hard to believe that it is not many years ago that the Peruvians and Ecuadorians did battle over this very same border...........

Some hours later, a change of buses and we were on the road to Chiclayo - our first stop in North Peru. Only now, through bleary eyes did we get our first glimpses of the Peruvian landscape. Gone were the green mountains and valleys we had come to love (and take for granted) and in its place was a somewhat barren but interesting landscape - desert interspersed with numerous rocky mountains and lush irrigated green lands. In its own way beautiful though at most times desolate and uninhabited except for a few shanty like towns in the desert.

The houses we saw en route were mostly single storey shacks or unfinished two storey shacks - Peru has been described by some as the land of unfinished buildings and now we knew why! It would have to be said that the majority of our fellow travellers had nothing positivie to say about Northern Peru and advised us to keep on going to Lima. Well, they hadn't reckoned on the plethora of ruins that Seymour had his sights set on .....

And so to Chiclayo (population of 280,000) which was to be our first experience of Peru and its colourful people. First impressions were of noise and crowds- lots of blaring horns as taxis plied their trade; and although it was a Sunday (supposedly a day of rest) the place was teeming with people which was a bit of a shock after the relative quiteness of Ecuador.

Seymour left me on 'bag watch' in a dodgy cafe whilst he went about finding a money changer - they ply their trade on street corners and at least some of them use dodgy calculators and even dodgier rates - but Seymour was up to the challenge and returned with sufficient 'new sol' to buy breakfast and a bed for the night. Saving the ruins for the following day we set out to explore the town and its markets - in particular the witchdoctor market - renowned in S America for its range of alternative medicines. This was located amidst a bustling, colourful bazaar and was easily found by just following our noses. Aside from the smells, the medicines on offer looked vile - a variety of claws, pelts, hoofs, mumified animals hung from the stalls and an exotic looking assortment of bottled and packaged vegetation abounded. I tried to persuade Seymour to partake of a brew for his aching back (injured a few days previous whilst doing his preventitive exercises!) but he nobly declined on the grounds that we had already overspent our budget for the day and so he lives to tell the tale......

That night I was to have my worst culinary experience to date...... on asking the very friendly waiter what a certain chicken dish was he pounded on his chest to which Seymour promptly translated 'breast' - which I then happily ordered. Imagine my face when our meals were served and there sliding around on my plate was this grey mass of splayed chicken hearts! Yuck - Seymour offered to taste them and initally deemed them 'tasty but tough' but upon pressing rated them only marginally better than the cold pigs ears he`d once had the foolhardiness to try in a Spanish restaurant in Sydney.... anyway the chips weren't so bad and the old man begging outside the restaurant seemed mighty chuffed with his unexpected takeaway dinner!

Next day we set off on our expedition to the ruins of Tucumbe, 35 kms north of Chiclayo. We caught a local minibus, always an experience - hundreds cram into these tiny buses which I'm sure would get them in to the Guinness Book of Records if anyone bothered to count (which obviously I can't!). The service (except for the crowding) is great - the buses leave every couple of minutes or as soon as full and the money takers are invariably adept at deciphering our garbled Spanish and letting us out at the right stop. And they only occasionally try to charge double or triple....... but usually with a smile on their rascally faces. After being dropped off at the nearest town we set off on foot over a hard packed mud road to the ruins which could clearly be seen in the distance. The walk only a km away was through beautiful green sunny countryside with the adobe pyramids (Tucumbe ruins) looming all around us. As always there were the ever present dogs but for some strange reason they were a lot less agressive than those in Ecuador - the stick which Seymour has taken to carrying everywhere with him since procuring it in Ecuador was more a deterrent to any over friendly locals than to the dogs. The site itself, looked like a mound of mud from a distance and no surprises also looked like a mound of mud up close. However, supposedly this was the home of the Lambeyeque people around 1000 years ago but not much else is known - so don't feel bad if you have never heard of them or the place! There are supposedly 26 pyramids in total, one of these being the largest adobe structure i

Here we saw our first hairless peruvian dog - imagine a dog that has been skinned and you get the idea....... not pretty but definitely different.

That afternoon it was time to catch another bus on our southbound journey to Trujillo, some 3 hours away and with a population of 855,000. An uneventful journey, we arrived in a noisy and bustling city just after dark and for the first time on our trip were ambushed by taxi drivers on arrival at the bus depot - having fought these off (Seymour was wielding his stout stick with menace) - we went in search of accommodation. I was once again in charge of bags whilst Seymour went to haggle with the local hostal owners. As we spend more time in S America our natural unwillingness to bargain is quickly disappearing as is any embarrassment at inspecting rooms and claims to hot water etc. In this case, Seymour's bargaining powers were so finely tuned that he got asked jokingly by the worn down manager if he was in fact an Israeli, a compliment indeed as they are widely renowned in S America as the best bargainers. Having dropped the bags of

Next day it was once again a short jouney outside town to the next set of ruins - on the way to the minibus we passed a local market which was positively throbbing with life - and the smell of fish was overpowering. Shoeshine booths were everywhere as are the mobile shoeshine boys - some as young as 6 or 7. But back to the ruins, these were the Chan Chan ruins dating from around 1300 AD and purported to be the home of the Chimu & Huari people - here we had the world's largest adobe city (as opposed to structure) - yes more mud to get excited about! These differed from the last in that there were actual compounds with high walls some of which are covered in spectacular friezes though it was hard to differenciate between what were originals and what had been touched up. The Chan Chan site supposedly enclosed an area of 28 sq kms which included palaces, temples, gardens, houses etc etc. What little we saw was amazing and left us both wanting to know more about

Next stop was Casma via Chimbote which is only memorable due to the disgusting smell of fish from the fish meal factories which permeate the town - we couldn't get out of there fast enough. To this end, we originally found a local bus which was going to Casma and we dutifully sat in it - now it would have to be said that this was the sorriest looking bus I have ever seen - ramshackle would be too grand a word for it and even the locals sitting in it looked like they were all well over a thousand years old. Well, after enjoying their wonderful company for some time we found our tongues and asked the driver when he was intending to leave - if ever. As this was not for over another hour Seymour took a walk to see if he could find alternative transport and a few minutes later rocked up in this battered but wonderful old american car - for all the world like a thunderbird with red leather seats and and a real long bonnet - we crammed in to the back seat along with the old d

My turn to find us accommodation (I usually do the daytime searches....) which I managed without much ado and once we had dropped our bags off it was time to find our next set of ruins. This time our mode of transport was a motortaxi or tuk tuk (as called in Asia) - which is a 3 wheeled motorbike (usually 75cc) with a seat attached behind and with curtains which can be drawn or left open! It was quite a funny way of getting about but great for viewing the surrounding countryside and Seymour, imagining he was in a Royal Carriage amused the locals working in the fields with his idea of the 'royal wave'. Our destination, the Sechin temple, was the oldest ruin we had seen so far, 1500 BC , we had the place to ourselves and stood in awe of the carved stone monoliths which belonged indeed to another time. Again, due to lack of funds not much has been done to the site but even in its barely restored state was still very imposing and memorable.

By now I had earned time off for good behaviour and it was time to move on to a ruin free city for a bit of a rest - after all the past few days had been hectic by our standards and we needed some sunshine as the Garua (winter mist) had settled over the coast and the sun was seldom to be seen.

So, to our next stop, Huaraz (altitude of 3091 m) only 200kms away but on the other side of the mountains and due to the condition of the dirt tracks only the smaller buses could make the journey which meant a very squashed journey for Seymour's knees! We went over and around the mountains and although the driver constantly stopped to check under the bonnet we still got there within schedule - a mere 7 hours later. The scenery was varied and great, with lots of greens and browns and the ever present colourful indians going about their daily work in the fields.

Huaraz itself has got the most spectacular setting, nestled between the Cordillera Blanca (with snow) and Cordillera Negra (without snow) mountains. The town has a population of 80,000 and was almost completely destroyed in the earthquake of 1970 when over 70,000 people in South Peru died. The area boasts some 23 snow capped peaks, glaciers and turquoise lakes.

We stayed at a hostal owned by a somewhat ecentric English guy and his Peruvian wife. Jo, the mad one, had a wonderful English lawn and rose garden and the locals loved to play volleyball on the grass which was a bit of a novelty for them........ he also had a wonderful rooftop with hammock from which there was an uninterrupted view of the surrounding mountains.

After a few days of exploring this very busy and noisy town (a headache inducing blaring of horns) we decided to head for the hills for some peace and quiet. Our destination was Lake Churup - a glacier lake set at 4465 metres, which would be the highest we had climbed yet. After taking a local minibus over a very bumpy dirt track to Llupa, it was then a one hour uphill 'warm-up' hike to Pitec which was the official start of this climb. The countryside we walked through was breathtaking, brown rolling hills on either side of us interpersed with yellow corn fields. And all the time we walked towards the snowcapped Cordellera Blanca - unforgettable beauty - had Julie Andrews been there she would definitely have been singing '-the hills are alive......' Instead I had to listen to Seymour's rendition ..... Along the way we passed many brightly dressed women (usually with babies strapped to We then slowly gasped our way upwards for 2 hours towards the snowcapped mountain ever ahead of us. The last bit of the hike was a killer as it consisted of some rather scary vertical rock climbing. Fortunately we had met up with some 'professional' Spanish climbers (one of whom originally hailed from Newcastle) and they were only too happy to share their expertise and so we collapsed in a safe but weary heap at the glacial lake which was set at the base of our snowcapped peak. Whilst we recovered enough to admire the beauty around us we were entertained by three local priests who sang hymms and played the recorder - our gasps and gulps for air may indeed have prompted them........... They, on the other hand had all the appearance of having just stepped out for for a Sunday afternoon stroll.

After a day of recovery we set out for another trek, this time only an hour of uphill walking required (through the same breathtaking scenery) to take us to the start of the Quilcayhuanca Pass. Just before the entrance to the canyon there were a number of small villages made up of low stone houses with thatched roofs, no chimneys - the smoke escapes through the thatch or door - no windows either so it must get very smoky inside. They appeared as if from another age (stone), as did the one local we saw emerging from his house. We then had a fabulous 2 hour stroll through green mossy pastures, inhabited with horses, mules, cows, sheep and birds. Except for the animals and a few local shepherds we had the place to ourselves. Surrounded by high canyon walls of grey stone on one side and a rocky cliff face sparsly vegetated on the other, a stream running through the middle of the valley colouring the rocks red as it flowed, snow capped mountains ahead we felt like we had found paradise. We lunched in this picturesque canyon with the sun shining on us, birds singing and in the not too far distance the snowcapped mountains beckoned. Hark, is that Julie Andrews I hear again???? To top off this magical day we had an exhilarating 2 hour open air truck journey back to Huaraz. Again, through the most amazing colourful scenery with deep blue skies overhead and the ocassional smell of eucalyptus, surprisingly imported from Oz - we were dusty but in heaven.

Our last hike in this area was one of Jo's (hostal owner) recommendations - we set off looking for the mountain that resembled a 'buffalo drinking water' - which was always going to be a problem to find as neither of us could conjure up what this should look like - however with the help of some very friendly locals found the right path and made it to within 600 metres of the top - having lunched in fine surroundings we were debating whether to go on or not when out of nowhere people began to drop by for a chat (well two to be exact) so we happily decided to leave the mountain to them as we had the promise of a hot shower to look forward to back at Jo's. Now, as anyone who has travelled in S America will agree hot showers are a luxury and the real mccoy is at times hard to come by. So, when on the previous night there was a lack of beds at the inn we agreed to be downgraded to sleeping in the doorless tent in the garden and in return for our terrible discomfort (!) Jo

The delights of Lima to follow.........

-- Anonymous, September 07, 2001

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AwefullylongPostingthisisn'tit!

-- Anonymous, September 07, 2001