This is Getting Beyond a Joke

Remember that tyre man I was supposed to remember to visit? Well, I forgot. Or at least I based my decision not to visit one on the way out of Huancayo on the fact that the last repair lasted 5000km, more than enough to get to Trujillo and do it there. So I passed all the llanterias and vulcanizadoras by with barely a glance, as I motored the totally tarmac route to Hunaco. Until, that is that my rear end started feeling squishy again. Its no laughing matter, let me tell you, when your rear end starts to feel squishy! I pulled over, peered backwards at my tyre and, lo and behold, it was flat again.

Luckily, a mere 1km at walking-pace-on-a-flat-tyre up the road, was a vulcanizadora who sorted me right out for S/.5 , including fixing the bodged patch on my spare tube as well. Crisis averted, and in only an hour too. Great what you can do quickly when you spend your life doing it, eh?

The rest of the day passed relatively uneventfully, just racking up the miles and getting to Huanaco by evening no worries. Next morning at 0805 I set off again, on what was looking to be a long day of 350km, the first bit all off road. As it turned out it was persisting down, but despite this I decided to give it a go, not least because Hunaco is not a very inspiring place.

The road out of town was bad, the river running alongside was in full flood, and as the road got steeper, it also got pot-holier, muddier and lumpier. The temptation to turn back and sod it was great, but on I soldiered at the remarkably swift rate of 20km/h for the next 6 1/2 hours. Yes, it took me that long to get to La Union, the almost-but-not-quite half-way point, and the only other place to stop for the night before Huaraz. And so I stopped, given that it was at least 4 more hours at best, in the rain, and no guarantee of getting there anyway. Reckon I'll finish it off tomorrow. And this too.

I'm mildly aware, incidentally, that I don't want this to turn into a dull and repetitive day by day acount of me driving places (I hope it hasn't so far). I'll work on it. In the meantime, back straight, shoulders back, head up, take a deep breath and hold iiiitt.......

....Aaaaand relax! Bloody lying hostal owner. It was far closer and nearly all on tarmac from La Union to Huaraz, not gravel and stuff like he said. Still, he probably just needed someone, anyone, to stay in his hostal. It still took about 4 hours as well, so not something I'd have wanted to do yeseterday afternoon in the rain. Huaraz strikes me as a very Quessnstown-y place as far as scenery goes (big mountians with snow on, pine trees and rivers etc), but the town is once again typically run down. It is, however, aware of its potential as a tourist honeypot, and is working on its image. Well done Huaraz! Stayed one night, during which it rained almost continually, and delayed the decision as to whether I go on to Trujillo tomorrow until the morning.

Wow. I've said that before about other things, but wow. Double wow, in fact. Almost a triple wow, come to think about it. Its only not a triple wow because the off road section was only 70km or so, otherwise it would be triple wow for sure. Given that I'm drawing to an end of the motorbiking section of the trip, this was one hell of a way to go out.

Out of Huaraz there is a road. Its a road that begins with tarmac, albeit tarmac with surprise pot-holes around cormers and sections of mud where the cliff collapsed across it one evening having been unable to withstand the rain just a little bit longer. It was raining last night as it happens, so some of these slips were still in the "little man with a spade trying to move several tonnes of mud and tapir-sized rocks off the road" stage (apologies for the similie there, I've worked with a tapir, you see, so I know for a fact the rocks were the same size as one. Go to the zoo if you want a better mental picture). This less-than-pristine tarmac continues for about 100km, maybe a little less, then becomes a gravel-and-other-substances road for 70-odd km, before returning to actually very good tarmac indeed. Its the 70-odd km that deserve a mention here. That's 70-odd km that go by the name of......Duck Canyon (Dah dah daaaahh!!!!).

Ok, its a crap name. Its name is actually Canyon del Pato, and pato in Spanish translates to duck, so I guessed it meant Canyon of the Duck, or Duck Canyon, if you will. I'm hoping, none too secretly as it happens, that "pato" in Quechuan, the local Indian dialect, translates as something like "road that all but the bravest warriors fear to tread" or somesuch, but "pato" just seems a little too short of a word to mean all that.

Anyhow, back to the road, and don't let the name lull you into a false sense of security. Its lucky, I think its fair to say, that I had taken the road less travelled in the preceeding few days, because it was, as it turns out, great training for Duck Canyon. Because of where I had been recently, I had seen nearly everything Duck Canyon had to offer.There was less deep mud in the canyon, and it didn't climb as high as I had expected it to, but that was all that was missing. But its not what was missing that was the significant part; its what it had extra that's important.

Imagine, if you will, a raging torrent, fuelled by heavy rains and a catchment area the size of NZ (OK, that might be an exageration a bit, but it was big and raging, for sure, and it had been raining). Now alongside the river, 'pon a high path barely wide enough for a truck with ne'er a protective barrier to be seen, throw in a cocktail of big rocks, potholes, landslips, loose shale, streams, tunnels chipped from the very rock faces themsleves, a drop to near certain death should even a slight mistake be made...but no, I better stop there, lest you have nightmares for a week, and Mother has kittens.

It was not the best surfaced road in Peru, I'll give it that, and the drop-off was genuine, as were the tunnels and other stuff, and speed was once again limited by these factors to a still fairly hairy feeling 30km/h. I tried, I really did, to take video footage as I went along, and I hope it comes out well enough to make Richard even more sorry he stuffed up his bike visa (sorry mate, but you would have loved this road!).

It was a fine parting shot for the Crazy Roads Tour. Utterly appropriate and, combined with the previous few days, a suitable tribute and swansong for the whole journey. During the days ride, I notched up kilometre number 30,000, dropped the bike a number of times, almost entirely due to overbalancing on the treacherous surface while at a standstill (an old favourite of mine, that), bent the handle bars a little picking the bike up, the chain started to stretch like a rubber band that only stretches one way, probably due to my neglecting it over the last week when it got dusty and wet and muddy many, many times. Serves me right. Oh, and the luggage rack appears to have broken again, in an altogether new and more serious place than ever before. Givi have a lot to answer for, let me tell you.

So, on my arrival in Trujillo where I had a couple of days to gather my wits, a monumental decsion was made. I would leave the bike in Trujillo (where Bruce Peru can keep half an eye on it and my ramaining luggage) and I would take a small bag and a...I can barely bring myself to say it....a bus...to Ecuador and sort out a trip over to the Galapagos Islands for the last couple of weeks left to me before I have to get to Lima for the rather tedious, and no doubt highly complicated, process of crating and shipping the bike back to NZ.

It makes sense really. Why drive an extra 2 - 3000km up long, straight, dusty, tedious desert roads, seeing nothing that I haven't seen before, just to turn around and come back pretty much the same way, with no real certainty of having a safe place to leave my stuff, of getting a flight to the islands or even a tour when I got there? This way, I can save time and money travelling, get longer on the islands, and get back to Trujillo in time for tea and scones, hurrah! Although I won't get to Columbia, which sucks a bit but probably eases the olds' minds a bit. They've had a lot to put up with over the last 10 months or so, bless them.

And that's exactly what has happened. I sit here before you (well, before this computer screen writing to you) in the city of Guayaquil, Ecuador, having just visited a small town park crawling with iguanas that try to steal packed lunches, awaiting my flight in the morning to the island of Santa Cruz, from whence I shall book some scuba diving and day trips as I await my vessel to set sail in Darwin's footprints (oh, you know what I mean) on a 4 day voyage of re-discovery, before docking on the island of San Cristobal in order to return to Guayquil and thence Trujillo, where I shall collect my bike and luggage and delicately, so as not to further damage the rack, proceed to Lima and the last stop on the Crazy Roads Tour. I fully expect to be able to write a little more from the Islands (they have all sorts of modern contraptions you know, including, I believe, a horseless cart that moves under its own power!! Amazing!) so fear ye not (can someone please explain why this entry seems to have gone all medievel in its language?), I shall be in touch before too long. Now, go and powder you codpieces ready for tomorrows jousting, you blaggards.

Flying without my Rear-gunner. So to Speak.

Blimey. I can tell already that I have lots of long days with short distances ahead of me. I figured I might, but its looking worse than I thought. Or better, come to think of it.

Yesterday was Cusco - Andahuaylas (a name I had enormous trouble remembering for some reason, every time I stopped to ask if this was the road to A...), and I knew before I started that the bit to Abancay would take 3 hours minimum, followed by a second 130km odd stretch that took about 3 1/2 hours.

The first bit was as good as I knew it would be, having ridden it the other way just a week or so before. The second bit was almost entirely gravel, and just as steep and curving as the first bit. Some amazing scenery that left me thinking how much Rich would be enjoying it, and feeling that for almost the first time I was seeing the Peru that I had imagined. Huge, sharp-edged mountains, erupting out of lush, cultivated valleys, in the middle of nowhere. Fantastic.

And today (Sunday) was about the same. 260km in 8 1/2 hours form Andahuaylas to Ayacucho, over every type of off-road you could hope to get (keeping in mind there are some sorts - sand, mud, snow, deep gravel etc - you don't want to get). It started as normal, stoney gravel, became extremely pot-holed, all of which were filled with water, requiring much 1st and 2nd gear dodging in and out (I'm getting very good at potholes - I manage to hit nearly everyone!), immaculate smooth hard pack with light gravel, turning to light sand (bearable) and becoming extremely lumpy without being pothole-y, also requiring 1st and 2nd gear (I'm good at lumps, too). The apparently final stretch was immaculate hard-pack (got a little worried when it showered, as it could have become slippery), and then finished with a lumpy flourish. It was a fantastic day to ride, and perfect training for the road between Ayacucho and Huancayo, which has a reputation, and I'll say no more until afterwards. It was tiring though, and when I got to Ayacucho, I experienced the first major issue of journeying alone. Security.

Normally, one of us would stay with the bikes while the other arranged barracks. Today, even though I parked in sight of the reception desk and was gone barely 5 minutes, when I came out to collect my stuff, one of the front bags had been emptied. I think they only really got a bunch of long johns and shorts etc, but also my English-Spanish dictionary and my bendy tripod, thus making self-photos harder. And to think it was not only a Sunday, but the first day of their holy week Easter celebrations. Godless heathens.

Ok, we're 2 days later, and I'm in Huancayo. 280kmin 11 hours, door to door. All very exciting, and one of the most satisfying days yet. I left Ayacuchu as early as possible, about 0750, not wanting to stay in a town that robbed me, besides which it didn't seem like a welcoming place. every on seemed in a hurry, which is not typical of anywhere in South AMerica really, except some of the major cities.

A quick blat up some tarmac took me about 90km into the day in an hour and a half, and then the good stuff started (Rich maybe slightly surprised and hopefully a little proud to hear me refer to off-road as "good stuff"). Up the curvy roads I went, climbing all the while, checking my progress with nearly every bemused looking local I passed, as road signs wre non-existant, and despite the fact there was only one road marked on my map, there were many more out in the real world.

I was planning to take the high road to Huancayo, rather than the one that followed the river, and in Mayocc where the road split, I checked which was the right one with the local police. After firmly recommending the river road, he conceded and directed me to the mountain road, warning me of the altitude and cold and potholes (hah! he had no idea who he was talking to!) and off I went. It was shaping up to be as good as I'd hoped (video does exist - if the camera was set up OK), and when my back end went spongy, even a puncture didn't dampen my spirits. It ws 1125.

Hmmm. Edge of winding mountain road - outside edge, that is - flat tyre, no mate to help, just my raw wits and hard earned experience. Bike chocked up on side box+rock, wheel off no probs, but how to break the seal to take the tyre off, without a second bike with convenient side stand? Just then, as luck would have it, a massive construction truck came past (actually, as I was in the middle of an area of road construction, several came past, but this one stopped) and the driver kindly suggested that maybe if he drove over the tyre, it might break the seal. It didn't. Either time. But nice try. Only one thing for it, I'd need to use the stand on my own bike. So, with much struggling, lifting, balancing and shuffling with foot, I got the tyre under the stand, leaned on it and off she popped. Shuffled tyre out, lifted bike back on to box (harder than it sounds) and got on with the job. Time 1150-ish.

Tyre off rim very easily, tube out, offending nail removed from 3-day old, brand new tyre, patch applied in 2 places (second was precautionary - I might have damaged the tube taking off the tyre), tube stuffed back in and tyre re-fitted with remarkable ease (be proud, Rich, be proud!). Re-inflation underway, time 1220-ish. No holes (a first for me - replacing tyre without digging more holes in the tube, requiring second removal of tyre), pressure up (hand pump only), bead on one side popped out, but not on the other. Damn. Time 1240. Two choices: stick wheel on bike and hop it pops out as I ride along, or deflate and have another go. Option 2 it was, and given breaks for a snack and rest, by 1310-ish, still not right. Option 1 then. Wheel back on bike and boxes reloaded by 1330, and off I went, with about 5 hours of riding and 5 hours of daylight. It was going to be close if I wanted to get to Huancayo before dark. Which I did. The policeman in Mayocc had said there were bandidos in the hills at night!

Fortune favours the brave, though, and before long a check showed the tyre had popped its bead perfectly (Yes!!), and the riding was still superb. Until I got up in the clouds (about 4500m if the choking sound from my bike were to be believed) and it began to drizzle and rain. Road turned...not slippery exactly (thank god) but not totally trustworthy either, so speed much reduced, and time still ticking past rather quickly. Conditions improved though, as did visibility, and before long I was on the down hill side and moving well again. Made it to Pampas, my emergency-plan town by 5pm, and the police there reckoned it'd be easy to get to Huancayo before dark, showed me the road and waved me away. He was right. More up and curves, great surface, and before I knew it I was on the tarmac stetch in to town, and what a treat that was! For the first time in 3 days I was able to get above 70km/h, and hurtled into town just as it got dimpsey. Picked a hotel from my book and moved in, bugger the cost its on Visa, and decided to have a day off. I figure I'd deserved it. Should be in Trujillo by Friday, giving me Easter weekend at the beach. Fingers crossed, eh? Must remember to take the bike to a proper tyre repair man.....

Cusco-ver Again

I was right, you know. It did take 2 days to get back to Cusco.

The first was in 2 parts as far as Abancay. Part one, as far as Puquio, was a bit rough with many inconvenient roadworks and roads with top surface removed in readiness for new asphalt. Can't complain about that I guess, and the scenery was stunning nonetheless, and the road as winding as you could have hoped for. From Puquio onwards, the surface was outstanding, the curves went over a stretch of alti-plano, where a vicuña (part of the llama family) nearly took me out for good by crossing the road at almost exactly the wrong moment (luckily my lightening quick reflexes and suprememly safe riding style kept me safe), and then down to follow a river up a valley into Abancay. A truely lovely ride, I have to say.

Day 2 was a short one from Abancay to Cusco, only 180km, and not gravelly as my map suggested, but quality surface again. Still took 3 hours, mind you, so that gives you some idea of how curvy it actually was. Very enjoyable as well, and I got to Cusco about 12ish on Friday.

I was expecting to be staying until about Wednesday, allowing for urgently needed chiropractic appointments, visits to Machu Picchu and catching up with Rich, but in fact left only today, 8 days later.

I got my chiro, visited my badass massage lady (pain like you wouldn't believe. My back's going to take some straightening when I get back to UK/NZ), caught up with everyone I'd met while working in town, got to MP for the day and waited for Rich. And here is where the problem lay. Rich, bless him, asked the customs office in Cusco for an extension on his bike documents as they were about to expire in a couple days. They said "you have to leave the country and come back in to get extensions, but if you ask in the SUNAT office, they'll give you an exemption to give you time to get back to Bolivia". They lied. Well, they didn't lie, exactly, SUNAT wrote a letter for Rich giving him 10 days extra, so he didn't rush to the border, and arrived 3 days after the original documents expired. He showed the customs guys the letter, and then had to wait 10 minutes until they stopped laughing. It turns out SUNAT have no authority to grant extensions, Rich's bike was 3 days over its limit, and was therefore supposed to be impounded, never to be released again, ever. Luckily, the customs people were extremely helpful, gave Rich all sorts of advice about how to avoid impoundage (flee, basically) and actually encouraged him to run the border, by getting his passport stamped and then just driving the bike across and not looking back. Which he did, into Bolivia, then came back to Cusco on the bus to collect his stuff and have an emergency meeting. After much umm-ing and aaah-ing and beer, we came to the difficult decision that I should continue to Ecuador and beyond, and aim for Lima at the end, and he would go back south and explore a bit more in Bolivia and Chile etc, and find an alternative port to ship from. Sad, but true. The team has been disbanded thanks to mis-information, and the final 5 weeks or so will be 2 separate solo missions. On the upside, I can make up all sorts of wild and crazy tales and have no-one to contradict me, but then again, I doubt I'll be needing to make anything up!

But that all aside, I glossed over the Machu Picchu day, which deserves better, quite frankly. I decided, for many reasons, to take the easy option and do MP in a day by train. So, a 7.40 train took me 11okm in 4 hours, to Aguas Calientes, then a bus took me up to the ruins. I did the hard yards then, and went up Wayna Picchu, which, if you've ever seen a photo of MP, is the taller of the 2 mountains usually in the background. Yes, that's right, the hugely, ridiculously, you-can't-be-serious, steep mountain. Its top is about 300m higher than MP, and that's an almost vertical climb up what I guess are the original steps, up to the ruins on the top of the hill. "What were they thinking when they decided to build up here" popped into my head as I huffed and puffed to the top, the huffing and puffing due less to the altitude (which was only 2500m after all) and more to my terrible fitness levels. I made it though, and it was worth the effort. The view was astounding, the ruins were more authentic than in MP on account of looking more aged and less restored, and the satisfaction of a job well done helped with the climb down.

Machu itself was also pretty amazing. Its the sort of place where its possible to wander around for hours getting lost in a kind of time-warp, as long as you can ignore the soudn of the tourist police blowing their whistles if they suspect you of staring at the walls too hard. But, due to my return train, I only had a couple of hours, before jumping on the bus down the hill and hopping the train for the painfully slow trip back to Cusco. Hopefully the photos will paint a better picture than me, when I finally get them on to Flickr, but sadly its one of those over-photograophed places that no matter how hard I try will just seem like all the other photos and postcards out there. Except that I'm in some of them, of course...

The only other occasion of note while back in Cusco was meeting up with David and Judith for dinner one night, which as a huge amount of fun, and we all enjoyed our cholesterol-free alpaca steaks to the max. Looking forward to catching up with them in July.

And that's it for now. I'm in Andahuaylas tonight, but I'll tell you all about that next time. And I guess all that is left to say is something along the lines of "go safely Rich, and thanks for everything. Its time to stand on my own 2 feet. See you in NZ in August". Why do I have all the classic comedy sign offs in my head? Now is the time to say goodbye...its goodbye from me and its goodbye from him...soupy twist...I should probably save them for the last entry at the end of the trip, huh? Sleep tight.

Lines and lines and lines and lines

Its been a busy few days, then. Having left the jungle last Wednesday and updating you, I have now got as far as Nazca on my way back to Cusco. That'd be 2159km or there abouts in less than a week, with about 600km left to go. Its been through jungle, up mountains (well I'd call 4500m a mountain even if you wouldn't), across alti-planos, back down mountains, along coasts and through deserts.

The fantastic road I took to get to Santa Maria was marginally less fantastic in the low cloud and drizzle, but when I got some moments of clarity I tried to take a couple of photos. Nothing like the real thing, obviously, and my plans to video part of it were thwarted (now there's a word that doesn't get enough use these days) by the rain. I made it to Copacobana and did get some video of the ride into there, and then instead of heading back to Cusco, I went south-ish to Arequipa, finding my way with ease into town thanks to being led by some bloke coming out of a quadbike store next to where I had pulled over to check the town map. I had a rest day, jumping a tourist bus (will Rich ever forgive me?) at 2am (I actually got up for 1am as I'd forgotten to change my watch when I crossed the Bolivia-Chile border. Doh.) out to Colca Canyon. This, as the name suggests, is a canyon, about 3400m deep, making it deeper than the Grand Canyon, though not as wide. It has a view point at its deepest point called Cruce Del Condors (Cross of the Condors) where on a good day you can see double figures of condors at eye level as they are under the impression they are 2000m up a canyon cliff face. Which, I suppose, they are. They just aren't expecting to see people up that high. Although by now I suppose they might be. Anyway, needless to say I didn't get a good day, but did see several nonetheless, albeit further away than I'd have hoped. Impressive and spectacular it was though, so no complaints here.

From there it was up the coast to Nazca. I had been warned that the coast road was a bit on the dull side, but the person doing the warning had obviously done it in a bus, because it was far from dull. Very winding, very dramatic scenery, with coastlines, craggy bits and big wide open spaces, all leading into the typically scruffy desert town of Nazca. Towns this far out in the desert can't help but be scruffy, with winds blowing across open plains, not enough water to go round (but strangely always enough to keep a beautifully lush and well maintained Plaza), and populated by people tough enough to survive here, even given the presumably large amounts of tourist money coming in. The Plaza de Armas was a nice surprise - not because it was especially fantastic in itself, it just had about a dozen nightjars flying around as dusk fell, chasing the flies that were drawn to the lights. Very pleasant surprise, that, although probably only Mother will really appreciate it!

Anyway, I got hijacked (in a good way) as I came into town. I pulled over to try and decipher the inadequate Lonely Planet town map (or maybe the map was fine and it was the inadequate town signage), and a woman trotted over, offered me a room and board in a hotel on the plaza with parking for the bike for only S/.15 a night. Bargain, and her driver led me through the streets to find the place. All very convenient. She also conveniently ran a tour company and could offer me a flight over the lines in the morning, but all the reservations for tomorrow stopped in 10 minutes at 5 o'clock, so better hurry and choose. Good job my brain wasn't at all befuddled by 9 hours of driving through hot deserts and windy coastlines all day. I coughed up probably more than I needed to, but just as probably not by much, and then, due to lack of communication or bad planning on their part, ended up going on the wrong plane. Saw the same stuff though, I expect, and apart from the briefness of the flight, it was all very impressive. The line shapes are huge, and there are far more of them than the tour companies let on, they're just not all of animals and stuff. Many are just shapes and patterns, but the famous ones are easy enough to pick out, although photos are a bit trickier. Hopefully got some of them on film. I mean chip...And that's the last few days. I reckon its a 2 day ride back to Cusco as I don't want to rush the gravelly bits, where I hope to catch up with David and Judith on Sunday, and Rich on Monday. Or something. Plans are flexible, as always.

So, until I get the chance to add some more photos while I'm in Cusco, fare thee well, and mind those dark lanes on the full moon. Stay off the moors!!

Jungle Fever

Right, some thoughts and stuff. First though, for those interested enough, I forgot to give the park details if you want to check web sites etc. The organisation is called Inti Wara Yassi, and they have 2 working parks and one being set up. The web site is a bit dated (far more animals now, and the info about numbers of volunteers is a bit off - they routinely get 40-50 volunteers in Parque Ambue Ari at peak times of the year, and there were 23 while I was there). I went to Parque Ambue Ari, and I forget the names of the other two.

So, where was I? The park is run by the head vet, Zandro, and he, the other vet and the local women who come in to cook for the volunteers are the only people who get paid. There are a bunch (6 or so) of locals who live at the the park, all quite young, many living there due to being orphans, and Zandro acts as their guardian for school registration etc. They work at the park after school and weekends to earn there keep, and none of them pay to be there. Its a great system, gets them educated, interested in their environment, and safe from harm.

While I was there, there were about 23 other volunteers, but that number changed as people came and went fairly randomly, some staying the minimum 2 weeks (ahem), others several months, or returning for 2nd or 3rd visits. Of the people there, only one was a bit of a tosser, and he was from Australia, so it's only to be expected. The other Australians there redeemed their nation however, so all is not lost. I met some great people there who I hope to see again, either in NZ or else where. My first impression of arriving in the park was of a shabby funeral, with everyone walking about in a variety of hats with black mourning veils and gardening clothes. Or maybe a group of badly dressed bee-keepers. A few moments later as I was crossing the "patio" to my room, Morocha the spider monkey climbed up me and sat on my head. Welcome to Ambue Ari.

And all that leaves to do is jot down some final memories of what the jungle is to me. It's hot. And wet. Very hot (mid-30ºC) and wet (80%+ humidity). When it rains, it doesn't mess about and sticks at it for about 4 days non-stop. It's more mosquitos than I've ever seen before, and more bites than I ever want again. It's 2 pairs of trousers and 2 shirts and mosquito net hat all the time, regardless of how hot it is. Did I mention the Mozzies? let me tell you about the mozzies. When you're in the jungle, all you can hear is the whine of mosquitos as they circle your head, searching for a way in. The camp record for "number of mozzies killed with one slap of one hand", achieved at the peak of the season, is 42. My personal best was 12, but then I was there as the season was dwindling. There is nothing more depressing than sitting at the tables in the comedor in the evenings and seeing a mozzie, so full of blood that it can't actually fly any more, plop on to the table in front of you, and then make its way along in 3 inch hops. They make quite a stain if squashed, let me tell you, and an attractive ornament in trapped in molten wax from a candle. It's monkeys in the compound that giggle when you tickle them. It's not being able to sleep at night due the heat and humidity, the rock hard mattress and the stifling, but vital, mosquito net. It's seeing large snakes, hairy tarantulas and monkeys (but no chickens) crossing the road. It's having your jungle path go from thick mud today to thigh deep water tomorrow thanks to a rain shower. And staying that way. It's walking carefully on the paths to avoid getting water in your boots, even though you know you'll be thigh deep round the next bend. It's seeing cappuchin, howler and squirrel monkeys in the trees as you walk about. It's glimpsing a lizard as it scrambles out of your way. Its millions of ants of all sizes, colours and shapes, many of them off to the races to judge by the head gear they are carrying. or maybe they are off windsurfing, sails hoisted to catch the breeze. It's astonishment at how much some of them carry and how neat and tidy their trails are. It's a cacophany of noise from insects, and frogs that sound like the whine of a firework that forgets to explode (luckily for the frogs), or maybe the zoom sound of a passing Formula 1 racing car. It's walking a short rope length behind a large, partly untamed jaguar, and then playing rough and tumble with it. It's being tackled to the ground before your eyes even realise the cat has moved. It's having your arm licked by the jaguar, with a tongue that will draw blood if you don't rotate your arm fast enough. It's walking across the compound and having your hand taken by Morocha as she walks alongside you, and then scales you to sit on your shoulders, resting her head on yours and draping herself around your neck. Its standing in a group below Faustino who is sat on the roof, and wailing his name full volume at him in order to get him howling in return. It's being woken up at the crack of dawn by the most unearthly of sounds: a troop of howlers doing their thing. It's wishing you had a tail so you could climb as well as Morocha. It's regret that I picked the worst time of year for weather and bugs, and hope that I get back there some day. It's The Jungle: not the most comfortable of places, but one of the most unforgettable. Another golden moment, despite (or maybe because of) the difficulties.

Til next time, then.

More Than a Match for Me

OK. I'll come clean from the off. I caved. I tried to stay strong, even gave myself options, but when push came to shove, I threw in the towel, after using it to flap about my head to try and keep the bugs at bay.

Here's the scoop. After my last entry (written in Guarayos, mosquito-free haven 50km from the park), I returned to Ambue Ari with renewed hope. Only to find that hope vastly misplaced. I spoke to the volunteer coordinator on the Sunday night and said that if the mozzies didn't quit, I would have to, and that I realised it was letting them down, so I would try to do at least 2 weeks and make a final decision then. If that meant being taken off the jaguar, so be it; the animal's well being came before mine. The decision was then made that I would stay with the jag, and closer to the 2 weeks, if new volunteers had turned up and I still planned to go, a replacement would be trained up then.

The next day, it started to rain in the late afternoon. Just a shower, but it scared the mozzies off a bit. Then, for the rest of the week it bucketed down, almost non-stop, and the previously muddy paths on the 2km trail to Ru's house became thigh-deep-in-water paths. The bug numbers dwindled to almost acceptable levels, the temperature became almost bearable, the humidty plummeted from about 90% to maybe 85%, and things were looking up. OK, so now we were all soaking all day, but with some careful planning there were dry clothes for the evenings, and its not like it ever got cold along with the wet.

But after 4 days, the rain stopped, the sun came out, the humidity went up again, and even though the frogs had arrived and were doing there best to make tadpoles to eat mozzie larvae, and subsequently adult frogs to eat mozzies, unfortunately the bugs were back. Not as bad as before, certainly livable-with, had I been planning to stay a couple of months, but having mucked the management about already, and having a bunch of new blokes arrive, and because it actually gave me more time to do other things, I stuck with the leaving idea, and skipped town this morning. Leaving was actually far harder than I thought it would be, as every day Ru became friendlier and I enjoyed hanging out with him more, so to have to leave that behind was very difficult. I would love to go back some day, preferably at a better time of year, and do a full month, and see how he's doing. In the meantime, its on the road again, and an extended return trip to Cusco, via Arequipa and Nazcar.

But before that (because I'm not there yet), a little more about the park. Its about 600ha of reclaimed jungle, housing 23 cats (5 jaguars, 13 pumas, 4 ocelots and a mini bolivian wild cat), a bunch of monkeys (howlers and a spider), a tapir called Herbie, 2 deers and some parrots and macaws. All the animals have been rescued from illegal collections, peoples' homes or zoos and circuses, and for some it marks the start of a rehabilitation and release programme. Not for the cats, unfortunately, as the governement requires all sorts of licences and red tape which they almost never grant due to the problems associated with releasing large, dangerous cats into the wild, not to mention the shrinking rainforests and habitats etc. But many of the parrots and macaws are released, and if enough monkeys of the same sort are gathered, they can be encouraged to form a troop, allowing them to be released as well. We actually have a small group of Howler monkeys that visit the camp now and again, as they used to live there, which disturbs the resident Howler no end, and gives the resident spider monkey all sorts of fun.

The camp is very basic, with no electricity or mains water supply (they have a gas run generator that pumps water to the header tank in the trees and a gas run freezer for minimal food storage), long drop toilets that got washed out in the big rain, leaving us with the "poop in the woods" option, or the "large, precarious hole dug on the top of a very muddy hill with a tarp roof" option, both of which left the brave soul rudely exposed (quite literally) to the mercy of the mozzies. And they had no mercy, let me tell you! In camp, we have a resident howler monkey called Faustino (10 years old, ex-hotel owned, and apparently ex-smoker and -alcoholic) and a resident spider monkey called Morocha, who is the funniest creature I have ever met. Highly acrobatic (unlike Faustino, who is very slow about the place, and whose only real trick is to howl like a fury at any invading monkeys or volunteers who wail at him first), very chatty, hugely comical, and very ticklish. It is hilarious to watch her wriggle around and laugh when you tickle her, like a wee kid. Always looking for an opportunity to get into rooms or the comedor (the other day she snuck in via the back door and ran out the front waving two captured bread rolls above her head in the classic monkey fashion), chasing the 3 resident peccaries (pigs) and pulling at their legs, lying flat out, trying to be invisible, or generally crashing about in the trees, defying gravity.

Work is from about 7am to 5.30pm-ish, and for me consisted of camp chores (that's chores around the camp, not mincing about with a duster and a pinnie) followed by a 2km, 40 min walk through the flooded jungle to Ru's house, and taking him out round his paths on a long, double rope lead, one for each person. Ru is 5 years old, and came to the park, aged about 8 months, from a private family who had him as a pet, and were convinced by someone from the park that he would have a better life at Ambue Ari. Which he does. He picks his route, and we follow behind, letting him stop, sleep, turn around or whatever he wants. He has access to the river and often goes for a swim, and generally mooches about until 3, when he goes back to his cage for food. He is generally scared of everything in the jungle, be it snapping sticks, lizards that run across the path or sudden loud stamping behind him (hey, its funny to watch him jump in the air and run off, OK?), but did, on one auspicious day, catch a careless agouti (large rodent) and thoroughly enjoyed eating it as the afternoon wore on. He is wary of new folks at first, not showing them much attention other than trying to jump them for a bit of a dry hump (and you know when you've been humped by a 100kg jaguar, let me tell you!), but as he gets used to you, he gets very house-cat like, with head rubbing, hand licking and generally enjoying hanging with the boys. Jaguars are not noisy cats, and can't purr or yowl or roar (unlike pumas that are like max volume house cats with purrs and meowing), but he does sometimes make groaning and grunting noises when he is having a particularly satisfying belly-rub or nap in the sun. He never fully gives up the humping though, and is always trying to out-flank the walkers so he can get them from behind. If that fails, he hooks a huge paw around the back of one of your knees from in front of you and pretty much hauls you to the ground. He is generally slow moving, however, so it is usually easy to spot when he is making his move, and thus relatively easy to avoid, especially with help from the other walker on the other lead (pumas are again opposite, and move very fast and unexpectedly). His other favourite game is a full on pounce, this time at high speed, when no-one is expecting it. He never jumps high, always to the legs or waist, and again, when 100kg of jaguar hits you in the knees, the only place you're going is to the ground! But he never uses claws, and always lets go when he has you down and has made his point. He's just a big kid, playing and making sure you know whose jungle it is.

So, yes, hard to go in the end but overall the best decision, both for my physical comfort and for the greater good of the trip in general. Only about 7 weeks to go until the bikes get packed away, and we still have to get to Colombia! I want to write a bit more about the jungle in general, but that can have an entry to itself. Its another of those "things I want to remember" efforts, so you can take it or leave it when the time comes. It'll be for me, more than you. Sorry 'bout that.

So beaten by mozzies, but still in the fight, know what I mean, 'Arry? Seconds away, round 2 tomorrow.

Once bitten, twice bitten.

So there I was, pootling along the deserted Bolivian highways, heading further and further away from the big cities, and closer and closer to the unknown, when a thought drifted into my head. They do that, thoughts, as you ride along by yourself, ipod-less due to previously encountered thieves etc. This particular thought was roughly along the lines of: "aren't the remotest areas of Bolivia supposed to be teeming with drug barons and unscrupulous muggers and stuff? At least there's two of us travelling together, we'll be safe as houses as long as we stic....hang on, Rich is back in Cusco....." I cut that thought off about there, and tried to think of more pleasant things. Like the fact that, thanks to the bus drivers in Copacobana who laughed at me when I asked them whether I could ride my bike along the road to Trinidad, I decided to give "death road" a miss and stick to the tarmac. This was a great decision out of Copacobana, especially when I saw the horrendously black storm clouds ahead and somehow managed to skirt round them on about 3 sides, avoiding a drenching.

Once I turned off the alti plano road and started along the route for Cochabamba, the road turned spectacular, with twists, curves, ups downs and all the good stuff bikers love. I had a night in Cochabamba, then headed on to the sanctuary, or so I hoped. It was going to be a big day if I made it, and it started well, with another great road out of town. Things went well until about 3pm, when the road marked as a main one on the map turned into gravel. Not so bad I thought, but then it ran out altogether, and I had to ask some local villagers who lived in the swamp in which I found myself if I was still on the right road. With difficulty, I understood that I was. I say "with difficulty" because, having boasted to various people that I now understood about 70% of Spanish spoken to me, these locals in the back end of Bolivia spoke the laziest, worst Spanish ever, dropping letters, slurring words, mumbling and mixing in local dialect, I suspect, so I struggled.

Anyhow, on I went, until I got stuck in a deep mud puddle. Luckily a local bloke with no shoes came along and helped pull me out. It was during this stage that I wondered again if it was possible to grow cocaine in the swamps, or not, and whether I'd stumbled upon something best left un-stumbled on. But he was a helpful chap, waved me on, and about 1/2km further on, I was lost in the bushes. I found the river bank (river bank? what river bank?) but the river was way to big and fast to cross - we're talking 400m or so and very muddy and deep looking. I left the bike and went a-wandering, as I had seen what looked like a bridge up river a ways, then heard a bike heading to where I'd left my bike, and tried to rush back, only to find I was nearly lost. Luckily, I stumbled across my bike, and also a bloke keen to lead me to the river crossing.

So, I followed him into the bushes a bit further, with a little voice in my head suggesting following strange Bolivians deeper into marshy bushes might not be the wisest thing to do. Sure enough, though, he led me to the "ferries" that would take me across, and rather nervously I drove up the rickety ramp onto the tiny boat and was taken across. To be met by about 10 other men. Who wanted paying. I think they were honest chaps though, and even though they asked for 50 bolivianos for the ride, the loading and unloading, and holding the bike while I relaoded the boxes, which seemed a bit high, I paid up. And realised I rather foolishly had all my cash in my wallet. No probs, though, and they even had change for a 100! And helped me up when I dropped the bike in the mud on the way off the river bank! Despite their honest dispositions, I have to admit I high-tailed it out of there along the gravel road, watching my mirror carefully for signs of pursuit, in case they had changed their minds, but they were just friendly blokes making a living. Given a choice, however, I'll find a different route back, if only for the mud avoidance!

That night, I never made it to Santa Maria and the animal park, it got dark too early, and I was exhausted, hot, hungry and dehydrated. I stopped in a small town, and noticed my box frame was broken again, so I got that welded, and in the process got more badly bitten by mosquitos, on my shoulders, through my thin top, than I had ever been in my life before. Unfortunately, this was to be a sign of things to come. It was such a small town as well, that I was unable to buy food, so went to bed hungry. In the morning at crack of sparrow's, I was off, and the rest of the way was a breeze, all be it a warm, humid breeze. I rolled into the the sanctuary at about 10am, and was mozzie bitten all over my head by 10.15. And it hasn't gotten any better. At the risk of being a whinging pom, its too hot, too humid, everything is wet, the beds are too hard, there are too many mozzies (like millions too many) and even a mozzie net is not up to the job. If I was to shake hands with a blind man right now, his braille skills would tell a very bizarre story as he felt the bumps on my hands, and if he ran his fingers over my neck or hairline, he would have almost enough words to write War and Peace (or some other lenghty book)! I have to be honest, I'm not gonna lie to you, I'm not sure I can stand a month of this. I'm 4 days in and have nearly been driven insane. Its only the fact that I am walking a real live jaguar through the jungle every day that is keeping me there. And not because its fascinating either, because its not. He just sleeps a lot, usually in areas of maximum mozzie concentration, but its a committment to the animal, and I want to do the right thing by him (Ru, the Jaguar). I will see how the rest of the week goes, and maybe reduce my time to the minimum fortnight, which is still jipping a bit, as I should do a month if I'm with a big cat. But I don't know if I can. We'll see. On the up side - because there is always an up side - we have spider and howler monkeys in the compound, the food is great, and the jungle is an interesting place to go for a walk. It could work, possibly. We'll see.

Until then, I have to go buy meat for a BBQ tonight, and food to supplement my breakfast, and have a cold beer. and maybe some more long sleeved/legged clothes to fight off the bugs. Wish me luck. More than ever I think I'm going to need it for this part of the trip.