We left Chalhuanca for Ollantaytambo after yet another breakfast of fruit and scrambled eggs. There’s no imagination in these hotels.

It was another day of motorcycling through the Andes – 194 miles and 20,000 feet of ascent and descent. The weather was great and the scenery was greater.

Here’s the road to Ollantaytambo with only 20 miles to go 👇

The bike is parked whilst Susan and Mr Google conspire to send us down a backwater dirt road. That was an unhappy 10 miles.

On this backwater dirt road we motorcycled past a woman in traditional country clothing with a flock consisting of goats, sheep, llamas, dogs, chickens and pigs. All one big happy flock family walking down the road. She looked at us on the motorcycle on the backwater dirt road as if we were mad! I looked at her as if she was mad. We all know who was right, of course!

The approach to this ancient Inca town is by ancient Inca road. The tarmac disappeared, like it does so often in South America, and was replaced by a steep hill of old Inca cobbles.

I careered up with a modicum of control. Half way up Susan must have sensed this trip was now in the hands of the Inca Gods and suggested it may be a good idea for her to get off.

Thankfully, before the tight bend at the top I spotted a few feet of flat dirt at the side of the road and managed to come to a halt. Susan was off as fast as she could before I changed my mind. We then travelled on independently to the hotel. Susan got the best deal as it was only a 10 minute walk whilst I had to negotiate treacherous cobbles and an Inca one way system through the town square.

That night we dined in a local restaurant like Incas.

There’s all sorts of stuff going on in this meal including corn the size of marbles, roast yam, roast chicken, roast lamb and roast alpaca. Yup, I decided to eat one of those cute furry Alpaca things.

Can you see the sideways look it’s giving me. I’m absolutely sure it knows I ate one of its pals the night before.

Alpaca is common in restaurants in Peru and it’s actually very nice. Tastes like chicken! No I’m only kidding, it tastes like beef. I had the opportunity to pair it with roast guinea pig but chose the lamb. Sometimes it’s difficult to choose which cute furry thing you will eat in an evening.

Here’s more Alpacas we saw the following day.

The problem I now have is when I look at this photo of this ancient Ollantaytambo Inca fortress all I can think of is … mmmm that’s tasty!

Apologies for anyone reading that’s not a meat eater. There were lots of veggies on these platters. The yam was beautifully roasted and tasted like an earthy potato. Talking of potatoes, did you know, Peru has over 4,000 varieties of potato. They all have a very earthy potato taste and bear little resemblance to the white fluffy potatoes we have in the UK.

Here’s another photo of the Inca fortress without the tasty additions.

That’s me at the entrance to the Templo del Sol. Certainly not tasty, more like an earthy potato.

Here’s Susan contemplating why she ever agreed to go on a motorcycle.

Ollantaytambu stone streets preserve the Inca architecture. Whilst many of the original buildings were destroyed by the dastardly Spanish invaders, many survive to this day. It really is a splendid, small, tasty town to visit.

Our next task was to visit Machu Pichuu. Well actually, that was the main reason we travelled over the Andes to Ollantaytambo. From here there’s a 90 minute train journey to a legitimate ‘wonder of the world’.

However, we had a major problem – we didn’t have tickets to get in. Now before you smack your forehead and mutter ‘Oh, that’s a bit silly’, please let me explain.

Six weeks travelling through Colombia, Ecuador and Peru on a bike with a plan doesn’t guarantee we will actually arrive anywhere on a specific day. There’s a multitude of issues that can happen between our plane landing in Bogota and us arriving in this tasty town.

Tickets to Machu Picchu are limited and sold out months in advance but there was still an opportunity to buy tickets so this is what we had to do.

Bought rail tickets for train from Ollantaytambo to Aguas Calientes at the bottom of Machu Picchu. Next day, get up at 04:30 to get the train at 06:10. Arrive AG at 07:45hrs. Get a numbered queue ticket from a government cultural building. Wait until 14:30 hrs to join a manic queue with a woman and a loudspeaker trying to control tourist mayhem. After another hour queuing, successfully get tickets for Machu Picchu for the following day. Wait another two hours to catch the train back to Ollabtaytambo. No time to eat another tasty cute animal so it was pizza and beer. Bed at 20:30. Up at 05:00 and train back to Machu Picchu the following day. Exhausting.

At least the train to Machu Picchu the following day had some entertainment.

I’ve actually got a video of Susan dancing with this guy below but I’ve been told in no uncertain terms it’s NOT being posted. Sorry!

As you can see we were in tourist heaven. It was awesome.

So we arrived at Machu Picchu and hired a guide. Here he is with Susan.

He was a lovely guy. I knew he was the one for us when I saw the bag of coca leaves hanging from his arm. ‘Mellow man’ was a cross between Bob Marley and Snoop Dog and the more coca leaves he stuck in his gob the more mellow ‘Mellow Man’ he became. He certainly knew his Inca history though as he was once a researcher on the site.

‘Mellow Man’ was also a good photographer for our selfies – well you can hardly fail when you’ve got subjects like us, I mean this.

Finally, name the Inca bird 👇

It’s a Condor of course. Use your imagination. The Incas believed the Condor had a close connection with their sun god because they could fly so high and carried the dead to the afterlife on its wings.

So that was our trip to Machu Picchu. It is a wonderful place to visit and whilst I admit I did have some misgivings about whether I wanted to see it, I’m pleased that Susan persuaded me. Well actually I had to go – there’s no way I was letting her go herself and fall into the clutches of ‘Mellow Man’.

Leaving Nazca, our road west to Chalhuanca was 225 miles, climbing 27,000 feet, dropping 16,000 feet and reaching a top altitude of 15,000 feet. It turned out to be an up and down day in more than one way!

We set off at 8am after a breakfast of deep fried eggs. The sun was shining, the road was winding and clear of traffic. We were as happy as two llamas. That said, you couldn’t tell that from looking at Susan’s face under her ‘hat’ – she didn’t like having to eat two deep fried eggs. She really doesn’t like the finer things in life and you would think she would being married to me!

So there we were, climbing out of the desert into a landscape of grassland. There were hundreds of bends, hairpins and no protection over the side. If you missed a corner it was ‘au revoir’ as I say in South America.

It was all going wonderfully well when this happened 👇

The road ahead was closed due to to roadworks.

Behind the bike is a one mile queue of vehicles that have been waiting up to 3 hrs. You will notice we’re at the front. Well, that’s because I learned from our early days in Columbia that when they close the road motorcycles don’t stop. Even when there’s a roadwork guy with a red ‘Pare’ (stop) sign, you just ride on.

These tactics saved us countless hours at such roadwork roadblocks. through Columbia and Ecuador. Unfortunately, in Peru it’s a bit different and, today, the ‘Pare Woman’ had a motorcycle policia with her. There was no going through. It’s really so unfair.

Nevertheless, we edged up to the front of the queue and waited. This was putting a dent in our tough schedule for today. The photo shows Susan delving into her snack bag – Ritz crackers are her current favourite.

After 90 minutes at 2pm we were allowed through.

Well we were allowed through for a mile then held for another 30 minutes. Apparently the tarmac hadn’t sealed yet. Then we were off again under escort for another mile then held again. This happened time and time again but at least we were moving.

Then it all went chumbawamba. Big time.

We came to a section of the roadworks where they had covered mud and potholes with aggregate gravel stuff – big 3-4 cm aggregate gravel stuff.

Now motorcycles don’t like aggregate gravel stuff. Especially big loaded motorcycles two up. However, when we reached the gravel I found it was a thin layer over the old tarmac road. The bike didn’t like it but it was fine.

I was tense and nervous but we were going to make it. Susan was silent on the back, holding onto the rear bars with a vice like grip. She was no longer thinking about those deep fried eggs. But it was fine. Only another 60 metres to go now. We were going to make it.

We were travelling about 15 mph, maybe slightly more when the front wheel dropped into 5cm deep aggregate. The old tarmac had been lifted and the road leveled with aggregate gravel stuff. There was nothing solid underneath.

There was absolutely no warning when the front wheel went sideways. I pulled steering straight but it was like it was on ice. We were going down.

Now the natural inclination when you’re in trouble on the bike is to brake. That’s what I did. Obviously on this aggregate gravel stuff it had no affect. We were still going down.

So we hit the ground about 15 mph with an almighty crunch. We then scraped along the aggregate gravel stuff, crunchy, crunch, crunchy, until we came to a halt.

Such a hit takes you a few seconds to come together again. Thankfully we were far enough in front of the following traffic to give them time to see us and drive around us. The traffic didn’t stop they just kept on rolling, truck after truck.

Then I was up on my feet trying to cancel the automatic BMW emergency SOS call. By the time I hit the ground, momentarily pause to think if I’m okay, check Susan, extract myself from under the bike, this stupid system is trying to call the emergency services. Give me a minute or two at least! Especially at my age!

At the same time I’ve also got a warning light and message telling me the ABS braking has failed and to go to the nearest BMW workshop. Oh, great!

By now ‘Oh poor Susan’ was pulling herself up. Unfortunately, she had fallen on her hip replacement side. Oh, I know what your thinking – that’s gonna cost us another £16k! Yes, that’s exactly what went through my mind when I saw her lying in the gravel on her right side. But she got up, dusted herself down and was standing. She was fine. Well, she was kind of fine. Not quite happy as a llama but okay.

‘Who cares about Clif’ appeared fine though he had a pretty sore elbow. Well it was kind of sore if he thought about it.

Thankfully, one truck stopped and ‘samaritan guy’ jumped out. We really did need help getting the bike upright and out of the line of traffic.

We had a short conversation where nobody understood each other. I think he was telling us to leave the bike and get to safety. But I had other ideas and so we all lifted the heavy bike and pushed it to the side of the road. Thanks anonymous ‘samaritan guy’.

As the line of traffic streamed by we gathered ourselves together. I checked over the bike and nothing appeared broken. The right pannier had a few knocks that give it character and there were a few scratches here and there. All minor.

As Chumbawamba says ‘I get knocked down, but I get up again’ – well at least we did today!

I held my breath as I switched on the bike. When I had turned it off in the aggregate gravel stuff it had been flashing like a Christmas tree with all sorts of unhappy messages. It was having a real whinge. On it came. No errors. It had calmed down. It was fine.

We still had to get it out the remaining gravel so ‘oh poor Susan’ walked ahead to where the road was clear whilst ‘who cares about Clif’ rode the bike out. Well if it went over again ‘who cares about Clif’!

You would think this would be the end of today’s story and I’m about to finish with a photo of us happy as two llamas with a beer. Oh no, this story has got a long way to go yet.

To be honest we were both a bit shaken. You don’t crash off a moving motorcycle and immediately put it out of your mind. Well, we did because we had to. We had 120 miles to go to our destination and we still had not reached the road summit at 15,000 feet. And by now time was getting on.

As we climbed, through hairpin after hairpin, to the plateau at 15,000 feet we saw hundreds of alpaca and vicuna wandering the grasslands. It was a marvelous sight. We didn’t stop and take photos because we were too busy focusing on the road ahead. The sky started to darken and we could see storm clouds on the horizon. The temperature dropped from 33c earlier in the day to 3c. This high up was no place to be in a storm

It was dusk when ‘who cares about Clif’ turned on the heated handgrips. ‘Oh poor Susan was so jealous and, by now, frozen. ‘Oh poor Susan’.

The biggest issue for ‘who cares about clif’ was that his hands started getting far too hot. Then the wind picked up, sleet started falling and the road surface became covered in a light slush. ‘Who cares about Clif’ had to stop playing about with his heated glove settings and focus on the road. He really couldn’t put ‘oh poor Susan’ down on her £16k hip for the second time today.

The bike slipped and skidded as we went down the mountain. Gradually, as we lowered altitude, the temperature slowly increased and the sleet stopped. We were back down to 10,000 feet and 30 miles or so from our destination.

You would think that was the drama over. Yes ‘oh poor Susan’ had warmed up and ‘who cares about clif’ sorted his burning hands but there was a sting in the tail – fuc*ing sand!!!

Oh I appreciate you’ve probably had enough of this story and are exhausted with it. Well imagine how we felt. I’m just trying to make you feel our exhaustion.

Now let me tell you about the ‘blinking sand’. Bear with me we’re nearly there.

I’m going to refer to it as ‘blinking sand’ because Susan edits my blog and objects to too much swearing. I think swearing expresses how I really feel but I take her advice. So when I’m talking about ‘blinking sand’ you really know I’m talking about ‘fuc*ing sand’!

So it’s dusk, the road is winding, curve after curve when we come around the corner and there’s a blinking sand dune on our side of the road. Now when I say sand dune, it’s really 1-3 cm of sand blown over one side the carraigeway. Yes one side of the carriageway had sand and the other was relatively okay. That’s the way the wind blows as they say!

You see the mountains are sandy rocky stuff and it erodes with wind and rain, blows onto the road and drifts into the sheltered corners. Nobody sweeps it away. If you come round a bend at 30-40 mph on a motorcycle and are faced with the road in front covered in sand then it’s a problem. A big problem.

This happened time and time again over the last 30 miles – ‘blinking sand’ over the road. Sometimes the bike slipped it’s way round but mostly we rode on the wrong side of the road for as long as we could. Well at least until the oncoming driver flashed his lights in an angry manner. ‘Who cares about Clif’ didn’t care about angry drivers as he was more concerned about angry ‘oh poor Susan’ if she went down on her £16k hip.

It was dark when we reached Chalhuanca and checked into our okay hotel. After an okay dinner of chicken and chips we walked into town to find Mr Beer.

As to our injuries – we were fine. ‘Who cares about Clif’s elbow’ was fine and didn’t amount to anything. Thanks for your concern, it’s appreciated. Also his hands were fine and didn’t suffer any burns from the heated grips. Again, your concern is appreciated.

‘Oh poor Susan’ was fine and doesn’t need another £16k hip. She’s got a bit of a limp but it’s only temporary. Her bruising is spectacular but again it’s only temporary. I would post a photo but she refuses to pose in her pants. So you will just have to take my word – it’s a large, wonderfully coloured bruise.

That evening as I was chatting to Susan with Mr Beer, I casually mentioned that we were quite fortunate to crash in that aggregate gravel stuff, it gave us a softer landing. ‘Oh poor Susan’ glowered and so me and Mr Beer changed the topic.

Time for bed I think or as I say in South America ‘bonne nuit’.

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!