We left the west coast of Peru and headed inland. Our eventual destination was to be Ollantaytambo, an old Inca town, in the Sacred Valley. First we had to cross some desert, see some lines in the sand and scale the Andes.

Our first stop was a place everyone has heard of – Nazca. In the desert landsacape, about 2,000 years ago, the Nazca culture etched lines into the earth’s surface on the arid ‘red plain’. They extend over 190 square miles.

In total, there’s over 800 straight lines, 300 geometric figures and 70 plant and animal designs. Some of the straight lines run up to 30 miles.

The lines are created by removing the top 12 inches of red oxidised rocks on the surface to reveal a light coloured contrasting sand underneath. The lines have persisted because there’s so little rain and erosion.

There have been many theories as to why the Nazca lines were created, ranging from astronomy to the popular 60’s ideas of ancient astronauts and aliens. However, current theory is the lines are related to rituals related to water and fertility.

Nazca region receives so little rain a year and water was clearly an important factor. The straight lines are not used to actually find water but rather used in connection with the places rituals were performed to pay a debt to the gods and plead for water.

Here’s a tree, a jumping toad and a bit of a lizard (the road cuts through its poor big body). All three are related to water and fertility in the Andean world.

Now a view across the desert landscape.

Finally, a view down the road through the valley. This is typical of the landscape we have been travelling through in the last few days.

To get these photos we had to climb an observation tower. No easy feat in full motorcycle clothing. Susan was lucky – she had some nice Galahad to carry her jacket for her.

When we arrived at our hotel we had the offer to go up in a small plane and see more lines in the sand. But after a very hot dusty day being jiggled about on a motorcycle, one of us climbing a blinking high tower in the basking sun lugging two heavy heavy motorcycle jackets, what do you think we chose to do?

Of course, we spent the latter part of the afternoon with our good old friend Mr Beer. It was awesome!

We left the Mood Hotel in Chuclayo and headed south to Trujillo where we stayed at the marvellously hospitable Hostal Donde Alberto. Essentially a bed and breakfast type accommodation without the breakfast. The host was lovely we spent many a fraught ten minutes discussing our journey with ‘Donde Alberto’. It’s so difficult when nobody knows what each other is saying. What was even more disconcerting is that Susan (our appointed linguist) started throwing in random French phrases! Yup she’s becoming just like me! What a thought!!!

In my book, Trujillo is known for the best Pisco Sour (to date) in South America, it’s yellow cathedral and the best Lomo Saltado (to date) in South America. The Pisco and the Lomo Saltado are synonymous with South America so that’s quite a record to have ‘in my opinion’ but there’s a long way to go yet.

From Trujillo we had a detour route option to head into the Andes on the way to Lima. By now we had experienced the Pan American Highway in northern Peru (off and on dual carriageway) and the capability to make good quick progress. Susan said ‘no thanks’ to the Andes detour and so ‘Pan American Susan’ set the direction of travel – due south as fast as the policia and the steel horse would allow.

Now the Pan American Highway is a network of roads that runs through 14 countries, from North to South America. It’s about 30,000 km long (19,000 miles) and is said to be the longest road in the world. That’s easy to say, however, it’s not a single road and it’s not continuous. You see it stops and starts either side of the 90km Darien Gap between Panama and Columbia (the Darien Gap is unnavigable and is a natural barrier between North and South America).

Our next stop was Neuve Chimbote. We were going to stay in plain old Chimbote but ‘Donde Alberto’ said we would get shot. Being honest I’m not sure he did actually say that – remember we couldn’t understand each other! But he held up his hand in the sign of a gun, mentioned Venezuelans and that was enough for me. I’m sorry to fall into accepting a Peruvian stereotype for Venezuelans, poor unfortunate refugees that they are. But Donde Alberto’s advice was good enough for me. So we were not going to stay in Chimbote even though it is the largest fishing port in the world (now there’s an interesting fact for you.).

Neuve Chimbote and our hotel were okay. We ate in the hotel restaurant which looked like the staff canteen with huge televisions. We were the only guests and the manger put on the local news on all four TVs at nearly full volume. It was a lovely setting for dinner for two.

The news was all about murders and shootings. Of course we couldn’t understand the commentary but a video of bullet holes is easily translatable. It certainly appeared that ‘Donde Alberto’ was right.

He was such a nice ‘Donde Alberto’ that he kept in touch with us for several days by WhatsApp to make sure we hadn’t fallen into the clutches of the Venezuelan’s, poor unfortunate refugees that they are.

The following day it was the Pan American Highway again and after 260 hard miles through a hard dusty desert landscape we reached Lima.

It was a very difficult day but we checked into a very nice hotel and went for a beer for the ‘driver’. Yup that’s me! It appears many people think you ‘drive’ a motorcycle and who am I to correct them? I have enough trouble with ‘Pan American Susan’ calling her helmet a ‘hat’ and her foot pegs are ‘pedals’. ‘Where’s my hat’ she will say – it’s not easy being the ‘driver’ of a motorcycle looking for a ‘hat’!

So the ‘driver’ was rewarded that day with an ale described as ‘Scottish style – it was as close to Scottish ale as a ‘helmet’ is to a ‘hat’ but it was tasty and so I’m not complaining.

The following day it was another walking tour in a city with a very European look. Lima is our third capital on this trip and the best so far.

And now some more food. I’ve got to post some food stuff because we’ve eaten a lot of rubbish so far – burgers and pizza have been preferable to some of the food on offer. This time it was black tagliatelle with seafood and the second dish is cerviche. Both absolutely marvellous.

I’ve got to show show a photo of a pre Inca adobe pyramid (Huaca Pucllana) in Lima even though if not much to look at. It beats Machu Picchu by about a 1,000 years so it’s worth a photo or two. The second photo is three burials – yes they buried the parents with a baby as the baby knew the way to the afterlife. The things people did!

Finally, here’s something you can’t do. Join the Peruvian army and take part in the changing of the guard. Oh you could try and change your nationality and get around the age barrier but there’s no way you’re marching like this!

After Lima, our last stop on the Peruvian coast was at Paracas where we stayed in a lovely boutique hotel. It was there I was ‘assaulted’ by a plate of food.

To explain, hidden under that pile of salt in the middle was a firework and when the waitress placed it in front of me it popped and crackled and shot lumps of salt into the air! I could pretend I laughed with everyone else but after a lump of salt hit me in the eye and others nipped my arms and head I felt I was in a war zone.

Susan gave me a reproachful look when I shouted, swore and waved my arms in the air like a big baby. Oh how everyone continued to laugh at ‘big baby’. ‘It’s just the fireworks’ the hotel owner explained. Jeezo, I was scared to order even a beer after that – I imagined I could hear the staff in the kitchen giggling and planning their next wave of attack. So I retired to my room where I had a can of beer that behaved and didn’t assault me.

That night we relaxed in the sunset. Tomorrow we had to leave the Pan American Highway and head inland. ‘Pan American Susan’ wasn’t enamoured about the journey ahead. She must have had some kind of premonition – remember that Chumbawamba song?

Yes border problems again!

Our journey this day was from Cuenca to Huaquillas on the border with Peru. The road to Huaquillas was fraught as it gripped the steep mountainsides and, although largely paved, it frequently changed to dirt where landslides had washed it away. Even as we travelled, rocks came tumbling down. Susan held tight each time I gave her a millisecond warning as we careered over dirt and hit pothole after pothole.

On one section of paved road we both gasped in shock (well Susan gasped, I was more like ‘fu*k me!!’) when we just missed a pothole that had no bottom. It was an eerie deep black hole with a crust of tarmac and everything underneath had been washed away. It was a frightening sight.

Thankfully, there was no rain for the road would easily have been impassible. As it was Susan got her first taste of high wind on the bike as we travelled through steep canyons. It was a good experience for what will, no doubt, come later in the trip in Patagonia.

Huaquillas is a border town that you wouldn’t want to visit. The hotel was bareable but the staff were lovely. Outside it was like a living dead wild west. That night it was takeaway pizza and beer in the hotel room and we went to sleep with a chair propped against the door. For extra deterrence I hung my bike socks on the chair. It would be difficult to get past them without choking and retching, giving me a few extra seconds to react to the intruder. I’m an ideas factory!

The following morning, we skipped breakfast and rode to the border about 06:30hrs. Bike through Ecuador customs, 20 minutes. Susan and I through both Ecuador and Peru immigration in 10 minutes (same building how convenient). Then bike temporary import permit (TIP) into Peru, 30 minutes. Then buy compulsory motorcycle insurance for Peru, 20 minutes.

Then we were in Peru and on the road to Mancora with only two hours travelling to reach our destination. We were as happy as two llamas.

Ten miles outside Mancora we got pulled over at a Peru Customs post. I think it’s a secondary check because the main border wasn’t that secure. Anyway, no problem, we had all our paperwork in order. Or so we thought!

An hour later we were still sitting by the side of the road. ‘Nice Young Customs Man’ at this stop check discovered that ‘Dopey Customs Man’ at the main border had wrongly completed the forms. My bike registration was listed as STSS … instead of ST22. Effectively our temporary import permit (TIP) was invalid.

Oh yes I know what you’re thinking and you’re absolutely right!! Why on earth did Susan not check the TIP before we left the border? Well hindsight is a great thing so I’m not going to blame her – sometimes we just have to work with the limitations of the team we have. So let’s move on and not cast blame! I mean, it’s completely irrelevant my signature was on the form!

Regardless, ‘Nice Young Customs Man’ eventually sorted it. We now have a second customs stamp that will, hopefully, allow us out the country. Time will tell.

We eventually got to our hotel on the beach and Susan went paddling whilst I relaxed with my good friend Mr Beer.

The following day we were up before sunrise because Susan wanted to go on a boat trip to look for humpback whales. As I’m a supportive partner I went along to accompany her.

A 15 mile taxi ride in the dark later and, as the sun rose, we were bouncing across the Pacific Ocean on a speedboat looking for big black mammals.

Actually, the tour company, Pacifico Adventures, was excellent and big black mammals were everywhere. That said, do you know how difficult it is to get a few pics on a bobbing boat? Yes I should have brought a camera with a zoom lens but when your travelling light on a motorcycle and your clothing includes only two pairs of pants then camera equipment is completely out the question.

So here’s mom and junior.

And here’s junior having some fun.

So what did we learn about big black mammals. Lots and lots but I know your attention span isn’t great so I will keep this short.

Well, we all know mammals evolved from fish. Then some mammals adapted to the sea and that includes big black mammals, naturally. They reckon the indohyus, about the size of a cat, is the long time ancestor of the big black mammal mom we saw. And did you know, big black mammals actually still have some fur/hair. It’s unbelievable what evolution can achieve so there’s hope for your future generations yet!

It was a thoroughly enjoyable boat trip and we returned to the beach hotel before lunch. Did we relax? Nope. We spent two hours at the local insurance office trying to sort out a little problem.

We discovered that because the customs temporary import permit (TIP) had the wrong registration number then the temporary insurance also had the wrong details – the insurance lady had taken the incorrect registration number from the TIP rather than the correct bike registration document.

Unfortunately, the Mancora insurance office couldn’t sort it as we were gringos. We either had to return to the border (two hours in the wrong direction) or try the head office in Piura. We were advised to leave the motorcycle in Mancora and travel by bus to Piura. Coincidentally, Piura was on the road to our next destination at Chiclayo.

Now the policia in Peru have road check points absolutely everywhere. To date, in South America, we’ve been stopped six times and I would say in Peru they’ve been the least friendly. It’s very risky travelling without the right paperwork.

So the following day the helpful staff at the insurance head office in Piura sorted our insurance in minutes. How did we get there? We got the bus of course! You wouldn’t catch me making a convenient journey on a motorcycle with no insurance in a country with police check points everywhere. No, you certainly wouldn’t catch me 🙄

That night we celebrated in the ‘Mood Hotel’ with some local food and beer. As the neon says ‘live more, worry less’ – that’s not easy to say when you have invalid TIP and insurance!

Yes, I thought that title would get your attention!

But first here’s a selfie on the roads of Ecuador.

That day we arrived in Cuenca and stayed at the wonderful Casa Hibiscus Boutique Hotel run by Mark and Alonzo. So great I’ve posted a Google review with a photo of Susan. That’s how good it was!

Cuenca, another city and another walking tour. It’s a lovely city with a European ‘feel’ and many ‘colonial’ styled buildings with clear Spanish and French influences. Here’s another selfie, this time it’s our walking group.

Our walk included a visit to the marketplace where we saw a limpia ceremony. This will be interesting for some of you with a certain predeliction for sado machism so keep reading.

A limpia is an Andean cleansing ritual that helps purge your mind, body and soul of any emotional confusion, ailments or negative energies stuck in your body. If you’re sitting there thinking yes I’ve got some of those then I’ve got the remedy for you – what you need is a good sound thrashing and a rub down with an egg. That will sort you out!

Now please don’t mock because famous Hollywood celebrities have travelled to Ecuador and paid a fortune for this ‘spiritual healing’ and you can’t have any better professional endorsements than that? Surely? 🙄

Okay, I appreciate some of you are getting impatient with this waffle about celebrities so let’s get straight to the ‘thrashing’

Here’s a photo of a ‘Thrasher Woman’ getting her thrasher ready for giving a good thrashing.

And here’s a ‘Thrasher Woman’ at work.

Now I know what you’re thinking – this poor guy could have had all sorts of ailments and negative energy and in his ‘private’ thrashing time there’s tourist Clif taking a video.

I agree with you as I felt mildly embarrassed that I didn’t let this guy enjoy his sound thrashing in peace. Sorry ‘poor ailment guy’ but I’m a tourist and watching you get a good sound thrashing was awesome!

‘Thrasher Woman’ is thrashing ‘poor ailment guy’ with a big bunch of herbs. Honestly, the thrashing smells lovely. Oh, and please don’t try this at home – you can’t just go to Tesco and buy a bunch of coriander and parsley. Thrasher Woman is thrashing with the freshest, finest herbs brought from the countryside that morning on a donkey. You can’t buy that authenticity at Tesco.

So what do you think happens next? Well, it becomes even more bizarre and because I’m a tourist I made a small movie.

Did you catch that? ‘Poor ailment guy’ is rubbed all over with an egg. It’s only a short video as I’m not sure how much egg rubbing you can take.

After the egg is rubbed all over the body to drive out the bad energies it is cracked into a jar and the egg is ‘read’, to determine the patient’s issues. Well I can tell you if ‘poor ailment’ guy didn’t have issues before he was thrashed with herbs and rubbed with an egg with me filming then he certainly has now!

So, if you’re the type of person who fancies a good sound thrashing then please get in touch with my ‘Natural Thrashing Holidays’ and I will arrange for a bespoke package for a small fee. For an extra remittance the egg can be replaced by a guinea pig. Yes, that’s not a typo, an alternative to the egg rub down is a black guinea pig rub down. Bizarre but true!

Now before we leave the fine city of Ecuador I’ve got another couple of educational points. Yup, you can hardly believe it – spiritual healing and education? Just marvellous!

Let’s talk Panama hats. Where do you think they come from? Well it’s not bloody Panama! It’s Ecuador of course! A Panama hat is also known as an Ecuadorian hat so next time you’re being casual about town in your ‘panama’ straw hat and someone compliments you on your head attire please throw in that little gem of knowledge to impress them. You could also add that the quality of an Ecuadorian hat can be told by the tightness of the weave though I would leave that fact out if you bought your hat from Marks and Spencer.

On our walking tour we visited a famous Ecuadorian hat factory and museum. The variety of hats was endless. I quite fancied one but Susan assured me they didn’t make them big enough. Oh well, back to Marks and Spencer XXXL for me!

Now let’s talk about something personal to most of us. I’m talking chocolate! In Colombia we found the chocolate to be relatively poor but in Ecuador it’s so much better.

Yes we all like chocolate but how ethical are you with regard to your chocolate choice. Susan and I are right up there at the top of chocolate society because we buy Pacari chocolate from Ecuador. Well, we visited their shop in Cuenca and it’s changed our chocolate lives forever.

And to be honest if you’re not buying Picari are you really an ethical chocolate eater like Susan and me? Here’s the chart to find out where you stand in the chocolate world.

Oh I know it’s embarrassing for some of you in the relegation zone. You might think it’s tasty but you’re doing nothing for the planet. Please stick to Picari if you want to be ethical chocolate eaters like Susan and me.

So that was Cuenca. Hopefully, I will be back if my ‘Natural Thrashing Holidays’ takes off. Give me a call – you know it makes sense!

Following yet another hard day (6hrs 30 mins and 152 miles) on the steel horse we arrived in Salento in the Cocora Valley. The only issue of note was we were stopped in a ‘policia’ road check. We have passed through many ‘policia and militar’ road checks on our travels through Colombia but this was the first time we had actually been stopped.

The ‘policia’ was friendly enough and asked to look in a side pannier. After a quick look he asked for the rear pannier to be opened. Again, quick look. He was obviously looking for drugs and guns and by this time realised the old gringos were innocent enough. We were waved on.

I obviously played it ‘Paul Newman Cool’ because the ‘polica’ didn’t read my nervousness. For if he had cared to look in the third pannier this is what he would have found.

No, no, not an offensive banana – that bag of white powder! Yup it’s Susan’s stashed bag of ‘crema de cafe’!

I’ve no idea what the ‘policia’, looking for guns and drugs, would have thought. Would he have stuck his finger in the bag, rubbed it on his teeth and tasted it for purity, just like the movies? Would I have pointed a finger at Susan and said it’s hers! I’ve no idea what could have happened next? Yes, probably after three weeks of Susan being banged up in a Colombian prison whilst the chemical analysis was done everything would have been fine and we would have all laughed about it afterwards. But that wasn’t reassuring, especially for Susan. So the ‘crema de cafe’ is now in the bin. We’re not going to find out if I’m a grass.

Back to Salento, an area known for coffee plantations and, coincidentally, we stayed at the Coffee Tree Boutique Hostel.

Everyone at the Coffee Tree was fantastic, everyone was helpful, everyone was young. Yes, we were the oldest people in the hostel.

Next day, ‘young hostel people’ and ‘old hostel people’ went in a jeep to visit a coffee plantation. ‘Jeep man’ surveyed the eager bunch of ‘hostel people’, pointed at the ‘old hostel people’ and said ‘frente’. That’s how Susan and I ended in the front seats. Then it was ‘chicas atras’ and all the ‘young hostel people’ climbed in the back, some sitting, some hanging on.

Susan and I had the best seats but these were obviously the pensioners seats. Furthermore, Susan was quite upset that she wasn’t regarded a ‘chica’. Worse than that, I was upset because I was obviously not considered strong enough to hold on for dear life at the back. Despite our smiles in the photo we were both feeling a bit huffy.

So off we went in the rickety jeep – ‘old hostel people’ in the front and ‘young hostel people’ in the back. Who said segregation doesn’t happen anymore?

The small coffee plantation was interesting to a point. We picked coffee beans, looked at the processes and tasted some very flavorful coffee. Then it was back to the jeep. This time, seat allocation was more of a free for all. Susan ended up in a comfortable pensioner front seat whilst I found myself in the back with the ‘chicas’. Don’t know how that happened. It was kind of the only seat I could see once I had pushed everyone out the way. As the old adage says ‘you can’t keep old hostel people down’!

That evening, I treated myself to what is perhaps the most popular dish in Colombia, Bandeja Paisa. It’s the national dish. Now let me start by saying we haven’t been impressed with Colombian food and this wasn’t my first bean dish since I’ve bean here 🙂

It included masses of refried black beans (obviously), rice, ground mince, plantain, a chorizo sausage you could use as a police baton, fried pork belly that was tasty enough but whose sole purpose was to take out some teeth, avocado, fried egg, and completed with a few other chewy things of interderminate origin.

Well I can now say I’ve tried it on your behalf and so if you’re ever in Colombia you can choose something else. Believe me you will thank me.

Susan obviously went for something less interesting. However, because some people are more interested in Susan than me here’s a photo of her dinner – trout in a muchroom sauce. They like their trout in Colombia.

After food we finished the day with a few beers. I was still trying to wash that pork belly down.

Then, suitably refreshed but feeling sleepy, the ‘old hostel people’ meandered along the back streets heading for the hostel and bed.

Guess who they met? About 25 ‘young hostel people’ going out for dinner and dancing.

Hola ‘young hostel people’ I said. ‘Buenos noches’ ‘old hostel people’ they replied.

Sigh!

The 254 miles from Monteria to Medellin looked straightforward enough. Unfortunately, when it comes to roads, nothing is straight in Colombia and our motorcycling is extremely tough. Whilst the scenery is stunning, we have no photos for there’s no laybys, no photo stops, no opportunity. It’s all about making progress. It’s not a holiday.

The sting in the tail for this ride was the ‘Monstrous Mountains of Medellin’ after 150 miles, just when we were looking forward to the finish. 16,500 feet of ascent and 11,000 feet of descent before we entered the multi lane carraigeway that cuts through the city. It’s a bit like driving into Glasgow I thought 🙂

It was dusk and I was already at the limits of my endurance and, like the rest of the country, there’s no lane discipline, no consideration for others and absolutely no road sense. That may be a sweeping statement but it’s 100% true!

I have worked out the outside lane is probably the safest to progress. Inside lane is for carts, donkeys, banana sellers, stationary buses and those lost to this world. Middle four lanes were just a cacophony of crisscrossing vehicle madness.

Even in my optimum choice of outside lane, motorcycles would pass us on the offside, inches from the central concrete barrier. If I moved too far to the outside to stop these crazy overtakes then a car would squeeze alongside me in my lane. It’s not for the faint hearted. You must keep moving fast. Keep making progress.

As we approached a road toll station the six lanes divided into 12. It became a stationary sea of thousands of motorcycles, cars and gigantic trucks. As we waited in a mayhem of a queue, trying to edge our way to the motorcycle lane, a gigantic truck rear ended us. Now I won’t exaggerate, it was more of a kiss, a nudge than a hit. The bike jumped forwards a little and I managed to keep it upright. I was reassured that Susan wasn’t going to hit the ground this time. We were so tightly packed with vehicles all around she would likely roll onto a car bonnet.

Susan kept calm, said we were okay, it’s fine, let’s keep going. There it was again that angel in my head, I mean my intercom, cutting through my ranting and raving at the truck driver. I’m not sure the truck driver could hear a word I said and not even sure he knew he had hit us from his lofty cab position in the fading light. So we moved on. This was not a place to stop and assesses the situation. This was a time to get out of the bloody situation! So we did. We kept making progress.

Eight hours and 50 minutes after our departure from Monteria with only 50 minutes of breaks, we reached our destination. You will be tired of hearing about how tired we were but we were. We were tired.

No ‘first class bell boy’ this time to help us with the luggage from the underground car park. Only me. You see we have a fair division of work – Susan sorts out the check-in and I do everything else. Susan says it’s fair and who am I to doubt her judgement?

Once the panniers were in the room and without getting changed I went out on the Friday night streets of Medellin in search of beer and water. It’s so so hot walking in heavy motorcycle goretex trousers and boots in 30c. However, I have come to realise over the years I unparalleled stamina if beer is my goal.

Our hotel was in the middle of a nightlife hotspot and it was jumping with bars, music and party time people. I had swapped road mayhem for night life mayhem. I’m quite sure people looking at me thought I was dressed up for some wierd club scene. Then again, perhaps they really just saw an old man desperately looking for beer.

There were police everywhere and none of them knew where I could get beer. Friendly and nice to the desperate old man but they lacked beer intelligence. I was on my own. No help from my brothers in arms.

Eventually I stumbled on a grocer shop, bought beer and water then walked 20 minutes up a steep hill to get back to the hotel. As I crawled into our room dragging the carrier bag of beer and water I was greeted by Susan refreshed after a nice shower. I told you this division of labour worked out well!

That night dinner was a takeaway Domino’s pizza. Oh I know, half way across the world and it’s Domino’s pizza. However, we were busted. Again. And needs must.