Current Location: Copacabana, Bolivia
Distance Cycled to Date: 15,694 km
Number of different hotels stayed in in Peru: 33
Average cost of hotel room in Peru: C$4.41 pp
Distance cycled in Peru: 3,115 km
Days spent in Peru: 95 (We took a lot of days off...)
Fine for overstaying our visa in Peru: $30
After more than 3 months, we finally left Peru yesterday. It was both sad, and exciting, as we left a country that continually tried us, but we loved nonetheless. Peru was a country full of warm, welcoming people, who with every village we would pass through or farm we would pass by would call out and wave, giving us smiles and more attention than we've ever received. Children would run along beside us, (and sometimes old men as well), calling out greetings and encouragement. The scenery was everchanging and always fascinating, from the flat, empty deserts of the north, to mountains that dwarf any we've cycled in yet. With every corner the scenery would change, from the freezing cold mountain passes to the hot, dry valleys lined with cacti. We climbed and climbed, we experienced far worse roads that we knew existed, and in the end, we loved every day of it.
As we pass from Peru to Bolivia, we go from one country steeped in poverty to another. One thing we won't be able to forget is how face-to-face with poverty we come, every day. Every day we cycle wearing two pairs of gloves, and various layers made by top of the line western brands, all designed to keep us warm and active. And we wear these layers as we pass children wearing nothing more than hand-me-down sweaters, their feet hardly covered by homemade sandals, made from recycled tires, and hands that already are scarred with frostbite. We manage to start cycling every morning after letting our tent defrost, or wait for the sun to start shining before leaving our hotel - and every morning the fields are full of Peruvians, leading their oxen by hand to till their tiny plot of land, or cutting their wheat by hand, carrying it on their backs.
We've biked nearly 16,000 km, and some days we question what it is that keeps us going. But cycling through the areas we are, we can see just how easy our life is compared with so many others. We ride a bike for fun, and at the end of this adventure, we'll be returning to our warm houses in Canada, a wardrobe full of clothes we'll never need to wear, and almost anything we could ask for. We ride our bikes, while these people work from sunrise to sunset, returning to their mud-brick huts at the end of the every day.
And yet, here in Peru we've seen more smiling faces than anywhere. Old men and women, their backs permanently stooped from carrying so much weight on it every day of their lives always come and shake our hands, and welcome us to their villages. We are met with dignity, and self-respect everywhere we go. As we've moved further south, the fundraising that we've taken on with this ride is something that we think about daily. It's nearly impossible not to connect the mountainous farming region in the Dominican Republic and the mountainous farming regions that we continually pass through. And to know that we have the ability to make a difference in these peoples lives, in people living in these circumstances is something that is both intimidating, and exciting.
We're very happy to report that ride for HOPE has now raised $23,300 for the project of rebuilding irrigation systems and community greenhouses in the Dominican Republic. We are nearly halfway towards our goal of $50,000, and that is something to be excited about! Thank you - it's your support, and your dollars, that are going towards making a real and tangible difference in peoples lives. Thank you to everybody to has already donated - and we know there are a lot of you. If you haven't - when will be a better time than now? Visit our project page on our website to find out more information, and the donate page to learn how you can make a difference right now. And for all of you who are out there telling your friends, your co-workers and your family - keep it up. Your support likely means more than you'll ever know.
For us, tomorrow we'll begin our adventure in Bolivia, heading first to La Paz, and then further south. We really don't know what to expect, as this is the country that we know the least about. Every map we look at is different, towns have ceased to exist, and the roads are supposed to be the worst on the continent. And so, naturally we're quite excited about what's around the corner.
You've raised $23,300! Almost half way there! Keep it up! We'll keep on cycling, and let you know how Bolivia looks as soon as we can.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Peruvian Political Problems Part II; and, our Triumphant Entry into Cuzco
Current Location: Cuzco, Peru
Distance Cycled to Date: 15,152km
Number of Days since we left home: 319
We spent the night in a hotel in Andahuaylas, the four of us re-united, but all uncertain how and if we would be able to leave the city the next day due to the strikes and roadblocks. We had 6 days until we needed to be in Cuzco, and we knew it would be at least 5 full cycling days, and we hoped to still be able to take a rest day in Abancay, since Jeff and I had biked 6 straight days over 4 different 4000 metre passes. We didn't have much choice other than to keep cycling, as a bicycle seemed to be the best bet at getting through the roadblocks. And so we packed our bags, and started out, searching for the gravel road that would lead us to Abancay, and the paved highway to Cuzco.
We slowly started the nearly 2000 metre climb out of Andahuaylas, passing numerous small villages and people working their tiny plots of land that seem to surround the road as it heads up to dizzying heights. Like the days coming into Andahuaylas, leaving town we were bombarded with warnings of the roadblocks. We couldn't pass, we were told, time and time again. But we had to just keep biking, and so we always responded with smiles and waves, and hoped that our charm could get us through any difficult situations. We thought we might have some trouble when a motorcycle passed us, and then 10 minutes later came back from the opposite direction, and stopped to tell us that we couldn't pass ahead. If even a motorcycle couldn't get through, we might have some trouble. As we kept going and came around a corner, we saw another truckload of people, with men stretched out across the road, blocking the entire thing. I didn't know what to say, or what to expect as we rode up to them - but as it turned out, we were greeted again with our usual 'gringo', and they parted to let us through. Phew.
As we kept biking, truckloads and truckloads of men and women with Peruvian flags would come down the road, heading the opposite direction as us, and everytime somebody from the truck would call out in Spanish that we couldn't pass, then somebody that they will kill us ahead, and then finally in English somebody would call out "Hello! My name is!". They never would finish the sentence with their name - just 'my name is!'. It seems the English program in rural Peru still has a few steps to go. But anyway - the combination of death threats and friendly smiles was confusing for us, and we weren't exactly sure what we should be feeling... but we just kept going.
Even though Sarah had had a few days off to try to recover from some sort of stomach bug, it hadn't quite been enough, as she wasn't feeling very well from the start of the day. It continued to get worse, and even though she tried to just keep going at a very slow pace, it was clear that she was suffering. And so, after only 30 km, we called it a day when we found an amazing campsite with views of jagged peaks and fertile valleys in nearly all directions. We were close to the top of the pass, but still had close to 120 km to do the next day to get to Abancay, 100 of which was on gravel - and included a whole lot of trip climb, and of course the possibility that we wouldn't make it through the next set of roadblocks. However, everybody was up for the challange, and so after a nice long sleep from sunset to sunrise, we got up and packed quickly, not even waiting for the frost to melt off our tents, and set off to see how close we could get to reaching our goal.
The scenery continued to impress us, and even though we were biking at high altitude, up a mountain on a poor road, it was still a great time. Sarah was feeling better, and we were making good time. We reached the top of the pass and started the descent without a single death threat. It was looking like a good day. But then, after just a little bit of bone-rattling downhill, we came up to a long line of vehicles. We passed them all, and saw a group of people sitting around on top of boulders scattered all over the road. Traffic from both sides was completely backed up, but we were able to walk our bikes through the maze, and made it through without anybody minding. In fact, they all just laughed at us. So we kept going, and just an hour or two later came to our next sizeable blockage, which was still under construction. About 15 men with shovels and pickaxes were in the process of building a wall of dirt and rocks about 5 feet high, completely blocking the road, with a rock wall on one side of the road, and a sheer cliff on the other. We slowed down, and they all stared at us. Then somebody made some kind of joke, they all started laughing, and then one or two men with shovels helped to clear a little path over the wall that we could push our bikes up. We were all smiles, and so were they - and we made it through the entire 'paro' stretch without any incident whatsoever. In fact, everybody that we met continued to be just as friendly as everybody else that we've met in Peru.
We finally got off the gravel and joined the pavement 18 km outside of Abancay, and were relieved to know this would be the last gravel we would ride on in Peru. Finally. But - this didn't mean that the day would end easily, because we still had 18 km of uphill, and the sun was nearly setting already. But we really wanted to make it to Abancay that day, and so we pushed, and pushed. Laura and Sarah were both dead tired (and even Jeff and I were ready for the day to end), but we just kept going, up the paved highway, as the sun dipped lower and lower, and then disappeared. On we went in the dark, for the first time ever on this trip. We reached the outskirts of the city, but when you're biking in the dark after a 120 km day, it seems to take forever to reach the centre of a city we realized. We finally made it, and checked into the first hotel that we looked at. It was time for pizza, and then a very long, very solid sleep.
We took a rest day the next day in Abancay, and didn't leave our hotel room until we went out for supper. Then we came back and went to bed again. It was a pretty solid rest day. And then, we had 3 days left to get to Cuzco. We had just two more 4000 metre passes, but on pavement - easy peasy, of course. We cycled every day just as we planned, first to Curahuasi, then Limatambo. It was a strange feeling, the closer and closer we got to Cuzco. It was a city we had dreamed of visiting long before we left Canada - the Inca capital, the gateway to Machu Picchu, and a milestone at over 15,000 km. And now to add to it, our family was coming to meet us there - but, Laura and Sarah would be going back home. It was a mixture of emotion, both excitement and sadness, but we did our best to enjoy every minute of the ride until we arrived. It was still beautiful scenery, and the four of us continued to grow closer and closer. June 25th, we rode into Cuzco, right on schedule. It was a triumphant entry. It felt pretty darn good.
We took the next day to relax and celebrate. Jeff and I had ridden over 15,000 km from Canada, and Laura and Sarah had ridden over 1000 km of the toughest section. It was more than impressive - from leaving Huaraz on homemade equipment and never ridden any sort of distance on a bicycle, they were stellar, right from the start. They biked 7 different 4000 metre passes on terrible gravel, found 13 different chicken feet in their soups, and did it all without any complaints. We loved every minute of biking with them, and every mintue we weren't biking as well. We didn't really anticipate how much biking with them would change our trip - but we know now how difficult it will be to go back to biking without them. We consider ourselves lucky to have had them along for this trip.
When our family arrived, our vacation began. We left our bikes with the manager of the cheap hotel we had been staying in, and moved into a very nice hotel. We had 3 weeks of spending time with our family, and seeing a few sights we had missed while biking. We took buses, and felt pretty car-sick every time. (We're just not used to travelling that fast anymore. It's crazy how fast vehicles move!). We got to see the Nazca Lines, the Colca Canyon, go sand-boarding on giant dunes in Huacachina, and eat a lot of very, very good meals. It was great to see our parents and sister again after so long, and it was great to have our Aunt Louise along to show off Peru. Yesterday they all left, back to Canada, and we find ourselves all alone again, after so long. It's a strange feeling right now, but we're anxious to get back on our bicycles and start getting some more miles under us. Spending all our time with Laura and Sarah, and now our family, has given us new motivation to keep going hard and reach the end of Argentina.
So tomorrow we'll get back on the bikes, and make our way to Lake Titicaca, and the Bolivian border. Starting tomorrow we've officially overstayed our visa for Peru, so hopefully we can exit the country without any problems. One more week, and we should be in Bolivia. We're excited.
Distance Cycled to Date: 15,152km
Number of Days since we left home: 319
We spent the night in a hotel in Andahuaylas, the four of us re-united, but all uncertain how and if we would be able to leave the city the next day due to the strikes and roadblocks. We had 6 days until we needed to be in Cuzco, and we knew it would be at least 5 full cycling days, and we hoped to still be able to take a rest day in Abancay, since Jeff and I had biked 6 straight days over 4 different 4000 metre passes. We didn't have much choice other than to keep cycling, as a bicycle seemed to be the best bet at getting through the roadblocks. And so we packed our bags, and started out, searching for the gravel road that would lead us to Abancay, and the paved highway to Cuzco.
We slowly started the nearly 2000 metre climb out of Andahuaylas, passing numerous small villages and people working their tiny plots of land that seem to surround the road as it heads up to dizzying heights. Like the days coming into Andahuaylas, leaving town we were bombarded with warnings of the roadblocks. We couldn't pass, we were told, time and time again. But we had to just keep biking, and so we always responded with smiles and waves, and hoped that our charm could get us through any difficult situations. We thought we might have some trouble when a motorcycle passed us, and then 10 minutes later came back from the opposite direction, and stopped to tell us that we couldn't pass ahead. If even a motorcycle couldn't get through, we might have some trouble. As we kept going and came around a corner, we saw another truckload of people, with men stretched out across the road, blocking the entire thing. I didn't know what to say, or what to expect as we rode up to them - but as it turned out, we were greeted again with our usual 'gringo', and they parted to let us through. Phew.
As we kept biking, truckloads and truckloads of men and women with Peruvian flags would come down the road, heading the opposite direction as us, and everytime somebody from the truck would call out in Spanish that we couldn't pass, then somebody that they will kill us ahead, and then finally in English somebody would call out "Hello! My name is!". They never would finish the sentence with their name - just 'my name is!'. It seems the English program in rural Peru still has a few steps to go. But anyway - the combination of death threats and friendly smiles was confusing for us, and we weren't exactly sure what we should be feeling... but we just kept going.
Even though Sarah had had a few days off to try to recover from some sort of stomach bug, it hadn't quite been enough, as she wasn't feeling very well from the start of the day. It continued to get worse, and even though she tried to just keep going at a very slow pace, it was clear that she was suffering. And so, after only 30 km, we called it a day when we found an amazing campsite with views of jagged peaks and fertile valleys in nearly all directions. We were close to the top of the pass, but still had close to 120 km to do the next day to get to Abancay, 100 of which was on gravel - and included a whole lot of trip climb, and of course the possibility that we wouldn't make it through the next set of roadblocks. However, everybody was up for the challange, and so after a nice long sleep from sunset to sunrise, we got up and packed quickly, not even waiting for the frost to melt off our tents, and set off to see how close we could get to reaching our goal.
The scenery continued to impress us, and even though we were biking at high altitude, up a mountain on a poor road, it was still a great time. Sarah was feeling better, and we were making good time. We reached the top of the pass and started the descent without a single death threat. It was looking like a good day. But then, after just a little bit of bone-rattling downhill, we came up to a long line of vehicles. We passed them all, and saw a group of people sitting around on top of boulders scattered all over the road. Traffic from both sides was completely backed up, but we were able to walk our bikes through the maze, and made it through without anybody minding. In fact, they all just laughed at us. So we kept going, and just an hour or two later came to our next sizeable blockage, which was still under construction. About 15 men with shovels and pickaxes were in the process of building a wall of dirt and rocks about 5 feet high, completely blocking the road, with a rock wall on one side of the road, and a sheer cliff on the other. We slowed down, and they all stared at us. Then somebody made some kind of joke, they all started laughing, and then one or two men with shovels helped to clear a little path over the wall that we could push our bikes up. We were all smiles, and so were they - and we made it through the entire 'paro' stretch without any incident whatsoever. In fact, everybody that we met continued to be just as friendly as everybody else that we've met in Peru.
We finally got off the gravel and joined the pavement 18 km outside of Abancay, and were relieved to know this would be the last gravel we would ride on in Peru. Finally. But - this didn't mean that the day would end easily, because we still had 18 km of uphill, and the sun was nearly setting already. But we really wanted to make it to Abancay that day, and so we pushed, and pushed. Laura and Sarah were both dead tired (and even Jeff and I were ready for the day to end), but we just kept going, up the paved highway, as the sun dipped lower and lower, and then disappeared. On we went in the dark, for the first time ever on this trip. We reached the outskirts of the city, but when you're biking in the dark after a 120 km day, it seems to take forever to reach the centre of a city we realized. We finally made it, and checked into the first hotel that we looked at. It was time for pizza, and then a very long, very solid sleep.
We took a rest day the next day in Abancay, and didn't leave our hotel room until we went out for supper. Then we came back and went to bed again. It was a pretty solid rest day. And then, we had 3 days left to get to Cuzco. We had just two more 4000 metre passes, but on pavement - easy peasy, of course. We cycled every day just as we planned, first to Curahuasi, then Limatambo. It was a strange feeling, the closer and closer we got to Cuzco. It was a city we had dreamed of visiting long before we left Canada - the Inca capital, the gateway to Machu Picchu, and a milestone at over 15,000 km. And now to add to it, our family was coming to meet us there - but, Laura and Sarah would be going back home. It was a mixture of emotion, both excitement and sadness, but we did our best to enjoy every minute of the ride until we arrived. It was still beautiful scenery, and the four of us continued to grow closer and closer. June 25th, we rode into Cuzco, right on schedule. It was a triumphant entry. It felt pretty darn good.
We took the next day to relax and celebrate. Jeff and I had ridden over 15,000 km from Canada, and Laura and Sarah had ridden over 1000 km of the toughest section. It was more than impressive - from leaving Huaraz on homemade equipment and never ridden any sort of distance on a bicycle, they were stellar, right from the start. They biked 7 different 4000 metre passes on terrible gravel, found 13 different chicken feet in their soups, and did it all without any complaints. We loved every minute of biking with them, and every mintue we weren't biking as well. We didn't really anticipate how much biking with them would change our trip - but we know now how difficult it will be to go back to biking without them. We consider ourselves lucky to have had them along for this trip.
When our family arrived, our vacation began. We left our bikes with the manager of the cheap hotel we had been staying in, and moved into a very nice hotel. We had 3 weeks of spending time with our family, and seeing a few sights we had missed while biking. We took buses, and felt pretty car-sick every time. (We're just not used to travelling that fast anymore. It's crazy how fast vehicles move!). We got to see the Nazca Lines, the Colca Canyon, go sand-boarding on giant dunes in Huacachina, and eat a lot of very, very good meals. It was great to see our parents and sister again after so long, and it was great to have our Aunt Louise along to show off Peru. Yesterday they all left, back to Canada, and we find ourselves all alone again, after so long. It's a strange feeling right now, but we're anxious to get back on our bicycles and start getting some more miles under us. Spending all our time with Laura and Sarah, and now our family, has given us new motivation to keep going hard and reach the end of Argentina.
So tomorrow we'll get back on the bikes, and make our way to Lake Titicaca, and the Bolivian border. Starting tomorrow we've officially overstayed our visa for Peru, so hopefully we can exit the country without any problems. One more week, and we should be in Bolivia. We're excited.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Peruvian Political Problems Part I: Ayacucho to Andahuaylas
Current Location: Cuzco, Peru
Distance Cycled to Date: 15,152km
Number of Days in Peru to Date: 88
Number of Days Allowed on our Peruvian Tourist Visa: 90
Number of Pictures Taken in Peru to Date: 3807
It's been a month since we last posted a blog entry. Some people might attribute this to laziness on our part, and those people are pretty much dead-on. A whole lot has happened in the last month, though those with astute Peruvian geography will notice that we haven't actually made it too far since our last entry from Ayacucho. The reason for this is that we've spent the last 3 weeks spending time with our parents, younger sister, and our aunt who came from Canada to see us. So the laziness really could be explained by our desire to spend as much quality time with our family as we could. Or, you could just call us lazy, I suppose.
Since we actually do have some good stories from biking that we should have shared weeks and weeks ago, we're going to take you back in time to leaving Ayacucho, and pretend that this is a current entry. So - it's now the middle of June, Sarah and Laura are staying to rest in Ayacucho for 2 days before taking a bus to Andahuaylas to meet us - our last planned seperation, to give them a chance to recover from some stomach bugs and sore muscles. Meanwhile, Jeff and I hit the road, ready to tackle a few more 4000 metre passes, which being divided by 2000 metre river valleys would be one of the toughest sections yet.
Now we have to back the narrative up just a little bit again, and cover a little bit of background. Being touring cyclists we find ourselves fairly isolated from any sort of media, or world news. We are completely out of the loop. The best example of this is probably that we only found out a couple of weeks ago who won the Stanley Cup. That's right - two Canadian guys in their early 20s, and we didn't even know who made the playoffs in the NHL this year. We don't know anything going on in the world. We did find out, however, that there have been a few political problems in Peru going on while we've been cycling. It's fairly complex, and despite having been in Peru for 3 months now, we still don't really understand all of the issues at hand. But while we were in the Huancayo area, we heard that there were massive political protests happening in the Amazon, and in one confrontation 22 police officers were killed, and at least that many protestors as well. It was a pretty big deal here in Peru, and the kind of situation where nobody won. It seemed however to be confined to the jungle areas, far from us, and so we didn't worry about our own personal safety at all.
And so, having forgotten about any current political problems in Peru (and still no knowledge of Pittsburgh's victory back home) we set out climbing and climbing on the dusty, rough gravel road out of Ayacucho. We climbed and climbed, camped, and the next day climbed some more before descending into the village of Ocros which had a basic hostal to stay the night in. We took a look at the place, which consisted of a single room with 4 rickety beds. We'd gotten pretty used to this sort of rustic accomodation, and didn't think too much of the fact that there was no bathroom attached to the room. Often we've had to go downstairs or even to anouthouse to do our business, and thought that would be no different. But after asking for the bathroom and following the senora's directions, we found ourselves going down a trail towards the river. There was no buildling. We searched. We've come across the same thing at a few restaurants, where the bathroom was 'just across the highway, down into the ditch'. But this was the first time in a hotel where we were forced to fend for ourselves, right in the town.
It's hard to even keep straight the days, as every day was either a 2000 metre climb, or a 2000 metre descent, both of which were exhausting and difficult on the rough roads. But on the day before we were to reach Andahuaylas, a small SUV coming towards us stopped to talk to us. It was an Australian man who stopped to see how up to date we were on the current situation in the city we were heading to. Of course, our answer was not at all. It turned out that he had been stuck in the city for the past 5 days, which was under a 'paro', or stoppage. All highways in and out of the city had been blocked off, and all businesses in the city were to be on strike. It was in support of what had happened in the Amazon, as well as a few of their own issues. The Austalian had managed to escape he told us, in the middle of the night, despite having rocks and sticks thrown at his vehicle.
And so, it seemed our plan to meet Laura and Sarah in Andahuaylas might have a wrinkle in it. This was the first we had heard of the 'paro', but it was far from the last. Soon after, it seemed half of the people who we would pass would call out 'no, you can't pass! Everything is closed.', which worried us a little. The other half would smile and wave and call out 'gringo!', which comforted us again. Arriving in Uripa, the last town we were supposedly able to reach before the roadblocks would begin, we tried to find an internet cafe to email the girls, and hopefully hear something from them. After finding one internet cafe with no internet due to the situation in Andahuaylas, we finally found one with still-open broadband. We found a few emails from Laura and Sarah, first telling us the bus wasn't running, then that they could get as far as Uripa, and then finally that they found a company that was sending in a nightbus that would be able to make it all the way. And so, we went to bed wondering where it would be that we actually would find each other again. We looked at a map to find any alternate routes that would miss Andahuaylas, but every road through the area entered the city. The only possibility would be for them to take a bus all the way down to the coast, then change buses and go all the way back inland to Abancay, which would be a couple days of riding the bus. It seems whoever picked Andahuaylas as the city to shut down did some thinking beforehand. Well done.
Leaving Uripa, we were warned many times that the road was closed. And every time we would call out, 'si! gracis!' with a smile on our faces. We had just one more 4000 metre pass to summit before the downhill into our now-forbidden city. The frequency of the warnings picked up, as the traffic died down. In fact, traffic ceased to exist. We took it as a sign that maybe all these people were in fact right about the roadblocks, but we just kept biking, with no other real option. We finally reached the top of the pass after enjoying the slow biking and beautiful scenery without ever seeing a single vehicle. We ate a couple dry buns, (now a staple), and started the downhill, a little anxious and a bit nervous about what would come next. It wouldn't be very long at all before we'd fly around a corner and come across a rock field- small boulders and big rocks, scattered all over the road. We dodged them, kept going, and soon enough reached another one. And then a little bit further down was a tree, cut down across the road. Then more rocks, and more trees. After all our practice dodging sheep and cows moving down the road, we were very adept at weaving around the motionless rocks. A couple trees forced us to get off and carry our bikes (but after carrying our loaded bikes up countless hotel staircases, we've become pretty accustomed to this as well). We were a little nervous about the villagers around, that they might not like us foreigners ignoring their roadblocks - but nobody seemed to really mind - everybody would just tell us that the road is closed, and warn us that further ahead we couldn't pass. But it was always further ahead that the trouble would be, so we just kept pushing on. With every scattering of boulders and every tree across the road, we became less and less sure that we'd be greeted by Laura and Sarah when we reached the city.
Just a few kilometres before the city the warnings started to really increase, with one lady yelling intently for us to stop, and when I looked back at her, she slid her finger across her neck, warning us that we might be killed further ahead. And as we kept pedaling, with slightly more than a touch of concern, we came around a corner and saw a semi-truck with the back loaded up with young men, and Peruvian flags flying. We slowed down to be biking side by side, expecting at any minute a gun to be pulled on us - but instead, it was the typical 'gringo!' with grins on their faces. We finally exhaled after passing the group, and we entered the city limits of Andahuaylas just as the sun set. There was glass smashed all over the roads and rocks still everywhere, but the city seemed to be moving at a normal pace, and not a single person questioned us once we got there. We found an open internet cafe and checked to find out the status of the girls, expecting the worst. And there was an email from them - they had checked into a hotel, in Andahuaylas, just around the corner from us.
We're still not exactly sure how their bus reached the city except that it found a different, longer but more open route- but however they arrived, we were very, very relieved to see them. Now the problem just became leaving the next day, as we were (again) told that we couldn't get through the highway on the other side of the city. The word 'kill' was definitely used a few times, and we started to question if we could make it to Cuzco by our deadline, imposed by Laura and Sarah's flight home, and the arrival of our family.
Stay tuned to find out what happens next to the cycling quartet. Will we make it out of the city? Will we reach Cuzco in time for the girls to see Machu Picchu, and Jeff and I to meet our parents? Part II is coming soon...
Distance Cycled to Date: 15,152km
Number of Days in Peru to Date: 88
Number of Days Allowed on our Peruvian Tourist Visa: 90
Number of Pictures Taken in Peru to Date: 3807
It's been a month since we last posted a blog entry. Some people might attribute this to laziness on our part, and those people are pretty much dead-on. A whole lot has happened in the last month, though those with astute Peruvian geography will notice that we haven't actually made it too far since our last entry from Ayacucho. The reason for this is that we've spent the last 3 weeks spending time with our parents, younger sister, and our aunt who came from Canada to see us. So the laziness really could be explained by our desire to spend as much quality time with our family as we could. Or, you could just call us lazy, I suppose.
Since we actually do have some good stories from biking that we should have shared weeks and weeks ago, we're going to take you back in time to leaving Ayacucho, and pretend that this is a current entry. So - it's now the middle of June, Sarah and Laura are staying to rest in Ayacucho for 2 days before taking a bus to Andahuaylas to meet us - our last planned seperation, to give them a chance to recover from some stomach bugs and sore muscles. Meanwhile, Jeff and I hit the road, ready to tackle a few more 4000 metre passes, which being divided by 2000 metre river valleys would be one of the toughest sections yet.
Now we have to back the narrative up just a little bit again, and cover a little bit of background. Being touring cyclists we find ourselves fairly isolated from any sort of media, or world news. We are completely out of the loop. The best example of this is probably that we only found out a couple of weeks ago who won the Stanley Cup. That's right - two Canadian guys in their early 20s, and we didn't even know who made the playoffs in the NHL this year. We don't know anything going on in the world. We did find out, however, that there have been a few political problems in Peru going on while we've been cycling. It's fairly complex, and despite having been in Peru for 3 months now, we still don't really understand all of the issues at hand. But while we were in the Huancayo area, we heard that there were massive political protests happening in the Amazon, and in one confrontation 22 police officers were killed, and at least that many protestors as well. It was a pretty big deal here in Peru, and the kind of situation where nobody won. It seemed however to be confined to the jungle areas, far from us, and so we didn't worry about our own personal safety at all.
And so, having forgotten about any current political problems in Peru (and still no knowledge of Pittsburgh's victory back home) we set out climbing and climbing on the dusty, rough gravel road out of Ayacucho. We climbed and climbed, camped, and the next day climbed some more before descending into the village of Ocros which had a basic hostal to stay the night in. We took a look at the place, which consisted of a single room with 4 rickety beds. We'd gotten pretty used to this sort of rustic accomodation, and didn't think too much of the fact that there was no bathroom attached to the room. Often we've had to go downstairs or even to anouthouse to do our business, and thought that would be no different. But after asking for the bathroom and following the senora's directions, we found ourselves going down a trail towards the river. There was no buildling. We searched. We've come across the same thing at a few restaurants, where the bathroom was 'just across the highway, down into the ditch'. But this was the first time in a hotel where we were forced to fend for ourselves, right in the town.
It's hard to even keep straight the days, as every day was either a 2000 metre climb, or a 2000 metre descent, both of which were exhausting and difficult on the rough roads. But on the day before we were to reach Andahuaylas, a small SUV coming towards us stopped to talk to us. It was an Australian man who stopped to see how up to date we were on the current situation in the city we were heading to. Of course, our answer was not at all. It turned out that he had been stuck in the city for the past 5 days, which was under a 'paro', or stoppage. All highways in and out of the city had been blocked off, and all businesses in the city were to be on strike. It was in support of what had happened in the Amazon, as well as a few of their own issues. The Austalian had managed to escape he told us, in the middle of the night, despite having rocks and sticks thrown at his vehicle.
And so, it seemed our plan to meet Laura and Sarah in Andahuaylas might have a wrinkle in it. This was the first we had heard of the 'paro', but it was far from the last. Soon after, it seemed half of the people who we would pass would call out 'no, you can't pass! Everything is closed.', which worried us a little. The other half would smile and wave and call out 'gringo!', which comforted us again. Arriving in Uripa, the last town we were supposedly able to reach before the roadblocks would begin, we tried to find an internet cafe to email the girls, and hopefully hear something from them. After finding one internet cafe with no internet due to the situation in Andahuaylas, we finally found one with still-open broadband. We found a few emails from Laura and Sarah, first telling us the bus wasn't running, then that they could get as far as Uripa, and then finally that they found a company that was sending in a nightbus that would be able to make it all the way. And so, we went to bed wondering where it would be that we actually would find each other again. We looked at a map to find any alternate routes that would miss Andahuaylas, but every road through the area entered the city. The only possibility would be for them to take a bus all the way down to the coast, then change buses and go all the way back inland to Abancay, which would be a couple days of riding the bus. It seems whoever picked Andahuaylas as the city to shut down did some thinking beforehand. Well done.
Leaving Uripa, we were warned many times that the road was closed. And every time we would call out, 'si! gracis!' with a smile on our faces. We had just one more 4000 metre pass to summit before the downhill into our now-forbidden city. The frequency of the warnings picked up, as the traffic died down. In fact, traffic ceased to exist. We took it as a sign that maybe all these people were in fact right about the roadblocks, but we just kept biking, with no other real option. We finally reached the top of the pass after enjoying the slow biking and beautiful scenery without ever seeing a single vehicle. We ate a couple dry buns, (now a staple), and started the downhill, a little anxious and a bit nervous about what would come next. It wouldn't be very long at all before we'd fly around a corner and come across a rock field- small boulders and big rocks, scattered all over the road. We dodged them, kept going, and soon enough reached another one. And then a little bit further down was a tree, cut down across the road. Then more rocks, and more trees. After all our practice dodging sheep and cows moving down the road, we were very adept at weaving around the motionless rocks. A couple trees forced us to get off and carry our bikes (but after carrying our loaded bikes up countless hotel staircases, we've become pretty accustomed to this as well). We were a little nervous about the villagers around, that they might not like us foreigners ignoring their roadblocks - but nobody seemed to really mind - everybody would just tell us that the road is closed, and warn us that further ahead we couldn't pass. But it was always further ahead that the trouble would be, so we just kept pushing on. With every scattering of boulders and every tree across the road, we became less and less sure that we'd be greeted by Laura and Sarah when we reached the city.
Just a few kilometres before the city the warnings started to really increase, with one lady yelling intently for us to stop, and when I looked back at her, she slid her finger across her neck, warning us that we might be killed further ahead. And as we kept pedaling, with slightly more than a touch of concern, we came around a corner and saw a semi-truck with the back loaded up with young men, and Peruvian flags flying. We slowed down to be biking side by side, expecting at any minute a gun to be pulled on us - but instead, it was the typical 'gringo!' with grins on their faces. We finally exhaled after passing the group, and we entered the city limits of Andahuaylas just as the sun set. There was glass smashed all over the roads and rocks still everywhere, but the city seemed to be moving at a normal pace, and not a single person questioned us once we got there. We found an open internet cafe and checked to find out the status of the girls, expecting the worst. And there was an email from them - they had checked into a hotel, in Andahuaylas, just around the corner from us.
We're still not exactly sure how their bus reached the city except that it found a different, longer but more open route- but however they arrived, we were very, very relieved to see them. Now the problem just became leaving the next day, as we were (again) told that we couldn't get through the highway on the other side of the city. The word 'kill' was definitely used a few times, and we started to question if we could make it to Cuzco by our deadline, imposed by Laura and Sarah's flight home, and the arrival of our family.
Stay tuned to find out what happens next to the cycling quartet. Will we make it out of the city? Will we reach Cuzco in time for the girls to see Machu Picchu, and Jeff and I to meet our parents? Part II is coming soon...
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