Monday Oct. 1, 2007
Of course taking the back way in to Machu meant I had to take it out also, but it was much quicker this time because I knew the road. Along the way south to Arequipa I met a couple of very friendly Brazilian riders doing a 3-month loop of South America. I couldn't believe how light they were traveling.
I'd been told Arequipa was nice, and I wasn't disappointed when I saw the beautiful buildings that were built with 'Sillar', a white lava rock from the area. It was a decent sized city with a good little motorcycle shop that helped me changed my tires. Once again, the Tourance rear had completely worn-out on the left side. I was looking forward to having my new 'dirt' tires on for the roads ahead in Bolivia and also not carrying spares. Although, these new tires were 1-size smaller and bias-ply instead of the typical radials I'd always used, so I wasn't sure what they'd feel like.
On the way north-east towards lake Titicaca I visited the ruins at Sillustani where I saw circular fortified burrial towers called 'Chullpas'. Most of which had been rummaged by the Spanish for gold, but a few were partially reconstructed showing more of the excellent Inca stonework.
Before leaving Peru I spent a couple of days around the city of Puno, on the edge of lake Titicaca - the highest navigable lake in the world at 3,847 m (12,621 ft). I visited the nearly completely restored SS Yavari and learned that it was built in England in 1862 and shipped to Arica, Chile (which at that time belonged to Peru) and then carried by mule across the Andes over the next 6-years before being assembled here to serve as part of a 5 or 6 boat naval fleet on the lake.
September 25, 2007; exactly 1-year after starting my trip (and my 41st birthday) was partly spent on a floating reed island where people have lived for hundreds of years. It was a strange feeling walking on the slightly spongy ground of reeds that were constantly being renewed with new ones. I learned how the islands were made, why they float and I gained a new appreciation for the friendly people who lived here.
The next day I crossed the fast and relatively easy (1.5 hour) border into Bolivia, where I told cops/border officials who asked me for money 3 different places that I wouldn't - and I didn't - pay.
La Paz, Bolivia. Another big city that I really didn't want to visit, but had to on my way to the 'Road of Death', so I decided that it would only be for 1-night. While searching for a hotel I was fortunate to bump into Joseph who invited me to a very cheap hotel (that was being renovated) where he and a few other overlanders were staying. There I met all 3 other riders; 2 Austrians, Albert and Joseph, and David from England (who I'd met earlier in Vilcabamba, Ecuador). We were all riding solo and all going different directions the next day, but managed to go out for dinner that night and enjoy a good time together. Sure was nice to swap stories.
The next day I rode the new highway through the highest pass of my trip so far at 4,638 m (15,216 ft), where the rain turned to sleet at 0 C (32 F) degrees and left me with nearly zero visibility while riding past trucks who refused to used their headlights (as if it cost them something to have them on) to the pretty little town of Coroico at 1,718 m (5,636 ft) and 25 C (77 F) degrees only 1-hour later.
There I would spend the night before starting my trip back towards La Paz along the old road; the infamous 'Road of Death'. It earned its name during the days when it was the only road in these parts and trucks and cars going both directions would have to pass each other in its mainly one-lane width, and because of the sheer drop-offs and blind corners, some didn't make it. Now, with the new highway taking almost all of the traffic, it's mainly used by bicyclists who like to ride down it so they can get the shirt that says they 'survived'. I wanted to see it for myself and had learned from Batopilas, Mexico that it's much easier to ride up bad roads than down them, so I chose to start from Coroico. It turned out have some nice views, but was allot easier than I'd expected, and certainly easier than the roads I'd ridden in the Cordillera Blanca of Peru.
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In Sucre there were more people dancing and making noise in the streets practicing for the following weekend's big all night celebration. Somehow, I managed to stay in the same hotel room as Che himself stayed in back in 1966, shortly before the CIA killed him here in Bolivia. Oddly, I had been reading a book about him and it was at about the same point in time. I took in a new movie one night (Oceans 13) for $0.75 US in the old-fashioned movie theater and wondered why movies cost so much back home, and strolled through the streets for a while looking at some of the nice architecture before continuing southward.
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