Constant Movements
Minhas Viagens
From Trujillo to Lima - The urban chaos and the untouched nature
Trujillo
The sharp pain ran like an invisible wire through my skin´s surface spreading like an oil stain on my hips. It was the last injection of a
painful treatment that had anchored me forcefully to the city of Trujillo for much longer than I had wished for. The city of the Plaza de
Armas that looked like a rainbow was a mere passage place with limited charms that expired after three or four days, and the three weeks that
I ended up staying revealed a city empty of cultural or other entertainments. The days became monotuous and lazy and the asphyxiating
heath left my body in a lethargic and apathetic state.
Trujillo
The sharp pain ran like an invisible wire through my skin´s surface spreading like an oil stain on my hips. It was the last injection of a
painful treatment that had anchored me forcefully to the city of Trujillo for much longer than I had wished for. The city of the Plaza de
Armas that looked like a rainbow was a mere passage place with limited charms that expired after three or four days, and the three weeks that
I ended up staying revealed a city empty of cultural or other entertainments. The days became monotuous and lazy and the asphyxiating
heath left my body in a lethargic and apathetic state.
After exploring the charms of the Plaza de Armas, the pre -Incan ruins of Chan Chan and the touristic beach of Huanchaco, the obscene traffic,
the noise levels, much higher than the human ear should or could stand, the ugly and poor architecture of the shanty towns eating the
desert dunes around the city, I couldn't bring myself to enjoy that city.
On the day that we left I woke up early and tired. The night before we had celebrated Lucho´s hospitality at his place, cooking Bacalhau a
Espanhola (a typical Portuguese dish funnily enough). After dinner, Lucho improvised a disco and we danced to the sound of cumbias and
salsa. hose sounds are becoming our trip soundtrack and danced to the sound of the improvised cumbias and although we cant really dance
them properly, we still attempted some clumsy jumps and steps, under Luchos amused stare. I think the happiness and the spontaneity was also
coming from the fact that we were finally leaving Trujillo.
Lucho accompanied us out of the city, as we were cycling side by side, Lucho asked me in a sincere and honest way how my adolescence had
been, he wanted to know how to deal with Angela, his daughter and the light of his life, who is going through that stage. Those 10 initial
kilometres went very quickly and even the 5 kilometres climb felt like a flat piece of road in Lucho´s company and remembering those gone
days.We said our goodbyes on the top of the dune, Lucho had hosted us in his Casa de Ciclista during those long weeks, I looked for the last
time to his childish eyes and his warm smile, and saw him going, back to the chaos of his city now silent and distant.
Ahead, the silence, the yellow of the sands and the blue of the pacific, we were back to Sechura desert. A truck passed by and
interrupted that order of things to disappear in the endless Panamericana Norte. We were returning to the Andes and leaving the
Panamerican through a private road of a project, that we later found to be of irrigation to the green fields that
sprout in the desert. Mankind proves that that there is not much that isn't doable and plant the pure desert with asparagus or artichokes is one of
them. But those refined vegetables are for exportation, I don't think there is an interest to use those technologies to feed Peruvians. The
choclo - one of the many kinds of corn, potatoes, quinua, camote and so many other vegetables typical in this country are still planted and
harvested in the traditional way on the steep hills and river valleys, depending mostly on human labour and force and being subjected to the
unpredictability of the weather humours.
interrupted that order of things to disappear in the endless Panamericana Norte. We were returning to the Andes and leaving the
Panamerican through a private road of a project, that we later found to be of irrigation to the green fields that
sprout in the desert. Mankind proves that that there is not much that isn't doable and plant the pure desert with asparagus or artichokes is one of
them. But those refined vegetables are for exportation, I don't think there is an interest to use those technologies to feed Peruvians. The
choclo - one of the many kinds of corn, potatoes, quinua, camote and so many other vegetables typical in this country are still planted and
harvested in the traditional way on the steep hills and river valleys, depending mostly on human labour and force and being subjected to the
unpredictability of the weather humours.
The silence
The heath was so dry that dried even the sounds. Pedaling after leaving the paved road, we could ear the sound of the tires on the
unpaved road dust and stones, our breathing and not much else. The bright blue sky, the red and yellow hills of sediments in formation -
it was a transitional landscape between the desert and the mountains. The feeling of isolation was liberating after all the urban intensity
felt on the last weeks and we were happy to be back in nature´s womb, to let ourselves get involved in its long and caring arms, we were
insignificant dots in the vast surroundings.
The heath was so dry that dried even the sounds. Pedaling after leaving the paved road, we could ear the sound of the tires on the
unpaved road dust and stones, our breathing and not much else. The bright blue sky, the red and yellow hills of sediments in formation -
it was a transitional landscape between the desert and the mountains. The feeling of isolation was liberating after all the urban intensity
felt on the last weeks and we were happy to be back in nature´s womb, to let ourselves get involved in its long and caring arms, we were
insignificant dots in the vast surroundings.
We would follow the Rio Santa for the next 300 kilometres snaking its banks on a unpaved road that would take us to Huaraz - the entrance
door to the Cordillera Blanca which was considered by a geographical society as the most beautiful mountain range on the planet.We didn't´t
suspect that those kilometres would be so beautiful and that we would have to stop so many times in awe with the power of those natural monuments that rose before our eyes.
We cycled the bottom of the valley that was the passageway of the river waters. At the beginning the banks were soft and the river was
large lazily flowing to the sea, but as we cycled upstream the hills gave place to canyons of vertical walls with rocks exposed like a
wounds, the road that we rode in an almost state of loneliness was like a white hair sculpted in the mountain and the waters were
starting to rebel, debating angrily and furiously against the hard round rocks that stopped their natural flow. We were following the
sound of this invigorating battle on the opposite direction of where the waters would meet the sea. We were heading to its cradle up in the
mountains.
There was hardly any human activity in that remote area, there was only a few Toytas used as mean of transport between the distant
mountain villages, trucks loaded with rocks from the mines that existed nearby, around which the few people seemed to live. It was a
desolating landscape in what concerns to human existence, the eyes of the miners that we saw on the way, reflected the lack of light in
their lives, the physical endurance demanded by their work and of their resolute determination in extracting from the earth a way of survival.
After 4 days pedaling in what seemed the most beautiful landscape of the whole trip and also the days that I was most distant from
civilization, we arrived in Huallanca a village that was truly idyllic. Huallanca was an oasis amongst Peruvian villages which are normally
mirrors of the poverty existent in the country. In Huallanca the streets had names, no rubbish and there seemed to be some order and
familiarity. Maybe the explanation for this is the presence in the village of a north American company that explores an hydroelectric
project. Passing by its installations we could see a small village with sports complex and pre-built homes. I really felt I wanted to spend
some more time in there, but we had to leave the next day.
Canyon del Pato
The last part of our route to Huaraz was the only that was mentioned on Lonely Planet but we could not see anymore human presence than
before. The Canyon del Pato was the natural continuation of the road we were cycling, but the road started to climb the vertical walls of
the canyon through the 37 tunnels and offering breathtaking views over the rapids below. Some of these tunnels were too long to enable seeing
its end and in one of them I had a close encounter with a speeding car that almost crashed into me. It took me some time to recover from the
scare and after that all I wanted was a safe road to ride on.
The last part of our route to Huaraz was the only that was mentioned on Lonely Planet but we could not see anymore human presence than
before. The Canyon del Pato was the natural continuation of the road we were cycling, but the road started to climb the vertical walls of
the canyon through the 37 tunnels and offering breathtaking views over the rapids below. Some of these tunnels were too long to enable seeing
its end and in one of them I had a close encounter with a speeding car that almost crashed into me. It took me some time to recover from the
scare and after that all I wanted was a safe road to ride on.
As we approached our destination the landscape started to have more human presence and becoming less interesting. We were expecting to see
the white tops that gave fame to the Cordillera Blanca but the clouds that we hadn't seen for so long showed up and covered the scenery.
Between grey sky, the mototaxi noise and the Andean cold - that´s how we arrived in Caraz a village in Andes supposedly more interesting
than Hauraz. Apart from the Plaza de Armas that was somewhat nice and a colorful market where we could see again people with their
traditional outfits, there was not much else that was charming in the village and we left the day after we had arrived. We celebrated Nuno´s
birthday in a little village called Carhuaz that was signaled on our map as one having one of the most beautiful main squares of the region. I suppose that you don't argue tastes, but that main square could only be of the liking of a blind person. We spent part of the evening of
Nuno´s birthday on the long wait for our dinners. Nuno decided to try roasted guinea pig, or Cuy as it is known here and I had some steak
with fries.Let´s say that Nuno´s cuy looked like an electrocuted rat with its raised paws, its flavour is not as bad as its
appearance but baring in mind all the effort it takes to eat the thing I don't think I will be having some anytime soon. We got back to
the hostal under rain and ended up the birthday celebrations drinkingrum, chatting and listening music till we fell asleep. We woke up the
next morning and cycled under rain the last kilometres to Huaraz.
Back to Chaos - Huaraz to Lima
Huaraz managed to be an even uglier place than what I had imagined on my worse expectations. Its from there where most adventures to the
cordillera Blanca are organized, but that city with a past of natural catastrophe (it was almost wiped our by an earth quake in 1970) has
got absolutely no beauty or framing with the pristine surrounding landscape.
We found good lodging away from the chaos of the city centre in Caroline Lodge, we stayed there updating the websites and organizing
the next movements that we would follow separately. I was going to Ayacucho via Lima to do volunteer work in an orphanage.
Unfortunately I would have to do this by bus as I didn't´t have anymore time left to cycle to Ayacucho, and Nuno would accompanied me to Lima
and return to Huaraz, he had to replace his camera since the one he had was broken and to make sure that I got on OK in the not so well
know for its safety city of Lima, the capital of Peru.
Not even the most luxurious bus in Peru avoided the dinner to end up in a vomit bag. While Nuno slept I was trying to challenge the evasive
needs of my stomach curve after curve, but the inevitable happened, and I was cursing the need of having to travel by bus instead of my
comfortable donkey. We arrived in Lima at dawn and the city quiet awake hid the real dimensions of it. We went for a stroll in the Plaza de
Armas at about 7 AM and there was no living soul around there. Tired and hungry we wanted to eat and find a nice place to sleep in the sun,
we ended up walking for hours waiting for something to open and with no luck for our sunny dreams because any piece of grass in Peru is
guarded as if it was piece of gold and no one is allowed to rest their bones in the soft green spaces of the parks.
We spent the afternoon in the commercial area of the city and at night we decided to see a show of water, light and sound highly
recommended by the guide we obtained from the tourism office. The Percurso del Agua was indeed an attraction with some interest - in a
city park they installed some light fountains and orchestrated a light and sound show of pure political propaganda and national pride.
We were there for a few hours before getting back to the bus terminal, almost forgetful of the fact that we were in one of the most poor
countries in south America. Lima seems to get all the investment and the money produced in the country, it is a modern and somewhat
developed city, but it is hard to understand how it represents its country yet so linked to its rural routes. When we returned in the
evening to the bus terminal the road that had been so quiet with its warehouses and bus terminals first thing in the morning became the
scenery for male prostitution activity. These are the contrasts of my reality, in one moment the total isolation touched by the most
intimate and unspoilt nature and then in the most chaotic surroundings created by human hand.
The following story will be about my volunteer work experience in Ayacucho.
