Resident puppy at El Pirata

The border into Peru from Ecuador seems topographically indisputable. We were only minutes across it when the lofty lush green mountains of Ecuador gave way to the barren desert of Northern Peru. The crossing itself was a breeze. Our bus dropped us on the Ecuadorian side where we got our exit stamps and then walked over a bridge to Peru. The armed guards who awaited us on the other side were friendly and welcoming as we filled out our paperwork amongst a swarm of nasty mosquitos. With a brand new Peruvian stamp in our passport good for sixty days, we climbed back onto our bus and soon arrived in Piura. I don´t know what it is about bus travel that makes us so tired...is it the hours of gazing out of a window, the intensive reading or just sitting in the same position slipping in and out of sleep? The following morning we wandered to La Plaza del Armas in search of a bank and stumbled across preparations for an event. We discovered much later that it marked the first day of the under 17s world football championship - unfortunately we were never in the right city at the right time to see any games.

We decided to stay at the Hostal Pirata in the beach town of Mancora mainly because of the resident puppy. The guy at the hostal spent most of his time raking the puppy prints out of the sand while the puppy´s main activity was racing around making new ones which provided neverending entertainment. The first night in the hostal was a little rough as the 40+ owner had an all night fiesta in the room above ours. When we were having a late breakfast their beers were still flowing and they informed us through hiccups that the friend´s wife had left him and he was seeking advice from the owner (who was currently on his fifth wife, aged 23).

At the beach we watched surfers ride huge waves that crashed on the rocks in front while kite-surfers jumped over them, suspended in mid-air. Brett gave it a whirl, but the cold water, the left handed break and the difficulties involved in staying out of the way of the locals proved a bit tiring after an hour.

Sinead's birthday in Pacasmayo

In Pacasmayo we were pampered with the unbelievable hospitality of the Teevins. The language barrier made for a bit of difficult conversation at first, but after a few afternoon Algarrobinas on my birthday, we all loosened up and we began to speak a little more Spanish and Monica a little more English. Pacasmayo is much prettier than I expected. It has a nice boardwalk lined with colonial style buildings, many of which have been restored. We spent a few hours relaxing at El Estacion drinking coffee or beer.

The highlihgt of our Pacasmayo trip was the Museo Tumbas Reales de Sipan. It displayed all of the artifacts that were buried with Señor de Sipan - obviously a very important fellow seeing as his whole family, a couple of dogs, llamas, over 200 young women, and millions of dollars worth of precious metals were buried along with him. While we admired hundreds of ceramics, earrings, necklaces and other ceremonial artifacts, the young Peruvian girls admired Brett. They followed us to each display, clearly more interested in us than anything the museum had to offer. I was quizzed briefly on my age, marital status and citizenship before they swarmed Brett (obviously I seemed to be no impediment). Monica and I watched in amusement as they clawed and pushed at each other to speak to him.

Rooftop accomodation

After saying goodbye to the Teevins, we made our way to Trujillo. We wanted to hit the town that night and decided on a restaurant/bar recommended in our guidebook called the Chelsea. We were quite alarmed to arrive and have a doorman open the door to our taxi and several impeccably dressed waiters prepared to bring us to the table of our choice. They might as well have been dancing and singing ¨Be our guest, be our guest, put our service to the test..¨ as they made such a fuss over us. It was definitely not the kind of place we had in mind for a fun evening but with all the attention on us we found it impossible to make a graceful exit.

In our hostal we were escorted to an unfinished roof that was to be our bedroom. The owner seems bored of his chosen lifestyle and much rather watch football matches than answer questions for the pesky tourists; however, he did turn out to be an excellent guide. He brought us to the ruins of Chan Chan, the Dragon Temple and the Temple of the Sun and Moon (an English speaking tour guide). It is only partially uncovered and it was amazing to see the process of how images are carefully dug out of the rubble. Unfortunately, after the archeologists uncover and study the ruins, they must cover them up again to protect the clay structures from the weather and the effects of tourism. Only one or two of the nine temples discovered in the area are uncovered at the same time.

Ruins of Chan Chan

As I walk down streets in Peru I´m surprised at how easy it is to adapt to a different lifestyle. Today I found myself at dusk weaving my way past screaming vendors and men urinating in the street, through loud, irrational traffic, and steering away from bus drivers trying to get me to go places and kids needing money. I had tuned out a little... silently recounting my shopping list for dinner. Maybe after being in a place long enough we begin to accept different ways of life which become normal as we think about ourselves and what we´ll be doing from day to day.

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