We left Valladoid and
traveled through the small city of Palanda and as we approached Zumba we were
stopped by the police at a road block.
They were all quite young and none spoke English. He asked where we were going and we told him
Peru. He looked over the bikes and
motioned towards my cases. I said; “no
habla espanol!” He motioned more
aggressively and said something in spanish.
“no hable espanol” shaking my head.
Then he knocked on my cases, motioning to open them up. “no habla espanol”. Finally in frustration he just motioned my
on. That’s all it took, I was out of
there and Chuck right behind. The next
checkpoint before the border, the guard was much more friendly, asked where we
were going, how long we had been on the road, took our passport information and
finally told us which way to go. We were only about 8 kilometers from the
border but it took us the best part of an hour to reach the border.
By the time we reached
the border it was around 11:30a. We had
done well; we had traveled about 90 kilometers in about three hours. We found the border agent at a small café
eating lunch. We followed him back to
his “office”, he stamped our passports and we thought we were out of
Ecuador. Back to the bike, and waiting
for someone to lift the gate. The agent
came out and said “Adunas” or bike check.
So we got off and went back to the Adunas agent. Here is where it got a little difficult.
Apparently, we needed to
have the paperwork for the bikes when we entered Ecuador, where the VIN’s had
been checked and bike import authorized.
Now, we had asked about this when we came into Ecuador from
Colombia. We were both told that it was
unnecessary. Well, don’t ever believe
them! We should of gotten our bike
authorization and the Adunas agent at the Peru border was not going to let us
leave without them. He said we needed to
return to Loja (Low’ ha) to get the proper credentials. It had started to rain hard and the roads were
turning to mud. To return to Loja meant
about a two day ride. There had to be
another way.
The border agent came by
and seemed to be advocating for us. We
asked if the Adunas agent could call someone for special permission;
“no!”. We asked if there were a “fine we
could pay there?”; “no!” with an emphasis of cutting ones throat. Chuck, in his best Spanish whine asked “por
favor, special excepcion!” “No” again
with the throat cutting. Finally the
border agent got him to call “el hefe” and there was a long, long conversation
with the outcome of el hefe telling the Adunas agent to let Peru deal with it J! We were through without having to go back to
Loja. But it had been raining hard now
for an hour.
Next came the other
side, Peru! We stopped at the Peru side
of the border bridge. We walked to the
Adunas building on the Peru side and the agent said we must go to the Passport
check primary. So down the sidewalk we
go. No agent. We wait, and wait, sit more, walk across to
the restaurant ask for a coke where they say “si” then sit down and watch
television. We sit there for thirty
minutes and finally leave for another restaurant, where we finally get a
coke. Still no passport agent.
Another person, of
unknown authority tells me the passport agent is a home, points out his house
and tells me to go knock on the door. I
didn’t know who this person was, so I didn’t go. Turns out this is apparently very acceptable
behavior, that many times people at this crossing go find the agent. Mean time the Adunas agent takes pity on us
and starts filling out the motorcycle import paperwork. About the time he is done, someone has
finally gotten the Passport agent out of bed an up to the office. He fills out my passport paperwork but there
is one more step. I must be checked out
by the police.
Down the hill with my
paperwork I go, to the police building.
Huh? No one in the office! No one in the back room, no one in the
kitchen, so around the corner to the sleeping quarters I go. Ah, there he is, asleep in the cot. Clear my throat, nothing! Perdon! Nothing! Hola!!
Hola! Hola! Finally, some
movement. “Una momento!” “Si!” and back to the office I go. He finally comes into the office with his
uniform half on and fills out my paperwork.
Back to the Border agent and he stamps my passport. All in all about 2 ½ hours. Did I mention it had been raining!
After Chuck completed
the same cycle we returned to the bikes, this unknown person I mentioned,
unlocked the gate and let us into Peru.
Finally! It’s about 2:30p, it had
taken only about 3 hours but it seemed like an eternity.
Only 25 kilometers to
San Ignacio, as the crow flies. We are
quickly learning though that 25 kilometers as the crow flies here in the
mountains is probably more like 75 kilometers.
And, had I mentioned it had been raining. Now everything was mud. Not a real deep mud, but a very slimy,
slippery mud.
This is, in my opinion,
the worst conditions to ride in. Worse
than snow, rain, sand or anything else.
The back end will just not stay behind you. Your brakes work marginally but sometimes
when they do they cause the front or back end to slip out. We struggle, we push on in the rain and then
we come to stopped traffic. Apparently,
due to the rain, there had been a mudslide that blocked the road.
An hour and a half later
they finally let us through, but the road was an absolute mud pit.
Now it was getting
dark. We still had about 15 kilometers
to go. Chuck wanted to pitch a tent, I
didn’t. It was muddy and the only place was
on the side of the road to pitch it, which, in my opinion would not have been
safe. We decided that we would just take
it easy, work slowly towards San Ignacio.
But the mud was bad, it had been worked over by all the traffic
including large trucks. It was now dark
and I watched in my headlight as a large 2 ½ ton truck tried to make it up a
small incline. Two spotters, one on each
side, pushed against the truck frame to keep it from sliding sideways, but it
still did. But he eventually made
it. Now my turn, feet down, light on the
gas, keep the back wheel behind me, slowly, clutch, gas, adjust and eventually
success.
At the top of that hill,
a French guy in an RV came out and waved me down. We talked a little of the road and the mud,
but he said he had had it and was stopping there for the night. He could, he had an RV. Chuck and I pressed on. More and more mud, slow, slow in the turns, a
little speed in the straight aways.
Eventually, we made it to San Ignacio around 8:30p. We had started in Valladolid around 8:30a, so
12 hours to go about 150 kilometers or about 100 miles.
In San Ignacio we
started our pattern of looking for a place to stay. We had asked on the road and had been told
the best place was the Gran Hotel.
Asking for directions to this hotel just got the RCA dog look. Eventually I asked a police man who took us
to a hostel. I tried to get them to tell
me where we could park our bikes and they told me we could put them in the
restaurant next door, but that didn’t close until 10p. About this time, a German pops his head up
from a computer there in the lobby, there are three of them there. He says they are staying in a hostel down the
road, but there is a big hotel just down from them. Chuck and I have a long chat with the Germans,
they are riding a couple older K100R’s and an Africa Twin. Finally they help us find the Gran Hotel.
We check in, drag mud
across everywhere, the lobby, the stairs into our room, then order some dinner,
but they are closing and the only thing they still have available is Carne
Seca, or dry meat (think beef jerky). I
was hungry but more tired. I eat a
little but it upsets my stomach so I go upstairs and go to bed. A very long day!
