Our route to the coast still has 326 kilometres to go. Over the last 200 km we can descend 4500 metres! It was Paul’s idea to include this bonus descent in the route. What a reward that will be for all our climbing. The first day of cycling takes us to Pomabamba, the only larger village on this side of the Cordillera Blanca. The temperatures are mild, despite its location at an altitude of 3000 metres. It is also pleasant to walk through the town in the evening. On the central square people walk and sit under the lanterns. A few stalls sell snacks. Mostly greasy meat snacks. But after a walk through the streets we come across a stall that sells our favourite savoury snack; papa rellena. That is a round potato croquette with some vegetable filling in the middle, a piece of boiled egg and a tiny bit of meat, served with mayo and/or hot sauce and sometimes a lettuce leaf. Sitting on the curb we each tuck into two. Paul takes another fried cracker with honey and we each drink a warm quinoa drink at another stall. Our bellies are filled as we like it best, with ‘street food’ on a soft evening on a village square. We have not been able to do that that often on this trip, because of our camping and the often cold evenings.

The next day we have a rest day and our friends Karin and Harold arrive in the same village again. They move in with us in the hotel. This time we really have time to catch up because they are also taking a day of rest here. We cook breakfast together in the courtyard of the hotel and meet each other several times that day. It is great fun to exchange our experiences. The next morning we wave them goodbye early. We ourselves, due to a surplus of time, only leave around lunchtime.

In the afternoon we cycle a beautiful climb of 880m. A few kilometres before the top, a bicycle is parked crosswise in the middle of the road with a stick on either side. Paul is there a while before I arrive and talks to a boy who is standing there. The boy tells us that we have to pay 1 sol (€ 0.25) for the passage. I ask him why we have to pay; ‘carretera privado’ he says, a private road. It seems unlikely to me, but actually I don’t care. This boy doesn’t look like he earns a good living with this. And so we both pay him a sol. I see a local motorcyclist who arrives at the boy just after us also pay. We cycle the last part to the top and decide to pitch our tent there. We have made a good habit of camping on the passes. The altitude doesn’t bother us anymore and we haven’t been really cold in our sleeping bags for a long time. In addition, we have sun until ‘late’ as well as early when we camp on top of a pass. Although the landscape here seems deserted, just as we crawl into the tent, a man and his little daughter pass by, walking together. They are very happy to meet us here and live just over a hill in a farm. We may be their first neighbours ever.

The next day we are allowed to descend. The road surface is a lot worse than during the climb. When we arrive at a junction, a family is sitting there (probably waiting for the bus). I ask them which way we have to go for ‘Pasacancha’ and they immediately point to the right. I enjoy asking for directions instead of constantly looking at my phone for directions. Paul trusts me and the locals and hobbles downhill behind me on the increasingly worse road. After a while he starts to doubt… ‘something’ in him tells him we are going the wrong way… Should we take a look anyway? And yes, we took the wrong turn. Too bad, because now we have to go quite a way back up. Still, we can’t really blame the family. Both turn-offs go to Pasacancha. Only this route is 8 kilometers longer and we wanted to take the western route. Oops… I had forgotten for a moment that we would encounter this junction. A little later we roll downhill into a village and.. we see Karin and Harold’s bikes parked in front of a house. They have found the only restaurant in the village and have just ordered lunch. Of course we join them. When we ask for the bill with full stomachs (always ask about the price in advance!) we are shocked. This is by far the most expensive plate of ‘almuerzo’ we have eaten in Peru! But ‘oh well’, I quickly think, ‘all the money we spend here in local eateries, at the market, at the bakery, will definitely end up in a good place’. People here don’t have that much to spend. Still, it is always nicer to give a tip than to be charged a ‘tourist price’. A little later the four of us cycle out of the village.

Towards the end of the afternoon we arrive near a village. It is time to look for a camping spot, because after this a longer climb begins. Our very last climb of this trip. Well before the village we start looking for a camping spot, but everything is either overgrown or a vegetable garden. The only public flat area we find is next to the local football field just outside the village. It is our least beautiful camping spot in Peru so far. While we cook two large pots of soup, it gets busy at the football field, where a volleyball net is hung. Nevertheless, it becomes a quiet evening. The game on the field is friendly and even before the big lights go out and the players leave, Paul is already fast asleep.

When we leave the next morning, I feel butterflies in my stomach. The last climb! The road is supposed to be paved, but I don’t regret for a second that it turns out not to be and we ride mostly on an unpaved surface with bumps and occasionally quite deep loose sand. I enjoy the climbing and balancing to the fullest. For a moment I swap bikes with Karin… ‘just give it a try’. She easily zooms away from me while I struggle on her heavily laden steed with an upright sitting position. ‘Waaaah!’ I quickly shout ‘I want my bike back!’ Gosh… what strong legs she has! I cherish my light bikepacking setup once again. We let Karin and Harold ride ahead of us on the last part, so that they can take a picture of our arrival at this last pass of our journey. Phew… phew… I have no words for it. A little later, when we are having lunch just past the pass, I cycle back up (where I did have reception) to send a message home from there to share this moment with them ‘live’.

We descend, now really on asphalt. Well, for a little while… soon it becomes a bumpy dirt road again. There, far away from any habitation, suddenly a group of people are sitting on a hill. A few children are playing on the road. When they see us coming, they raise their hands to make us stop. They shout that we have to pay for the passage. I look at the adults, who don’t seem to care. We consider it child’s play, say goodbye and drive on. A little later I come across a small group of people walking. Two children try in vain to block my way with a piece of tape that is too short. I also pass them with a friendly greeting and they greet me back in a friendly way. What a strange place here… so far from a village or town. Paul drives up next to me and together we come across another group of children who, better organised, block our way with a stretched rope. They also ask us for money. They are a lot unfriendly than the previous children and actually try to stop us. We decide that we don’t like this and push past the children anyway and drive on. What follows: a barrage of abuse and a pelting of pebbles. Paul turns around decisively and drives back to them, where Harold and Karin just arrive. They have a hearty chat with the children, according to whom we have to pay because they maintain the road. I doubt it… First of all, the road is full of potholes. Secondly, we met several children at a short distance who asked us for money. Thirdly, we just passed an actual worker who was improving the road surface with suitable equipment. In retrospect, I actually regret not having given them something, they could really use it. But the way it went felt false and made us defensive instead of helpful. Too bad.

We spend the night in a tiny village consisting of hotels, shops and restaurants. A stop for many on their way from one side of the Cordillera Blanca to the other. Just as we are in bed, a lot of honking starts outside. What a traffic jam! Then a few men start shouting loudly. After a while I look outside from behind the curtains. The narrow street (located between a narrow bridge and a hairpin bend) is jammed with traffic. Large trucks, vans and cars have jammed each other so much that they can no longer go forward or backward. It looks almost comical. A few men run between them in an attempt to direct the gang. My goodness, you must live here. Then I think there will be a party almost every night. Eventually the traffic jam clears up, peace returns and we fall asleep.

The next day we ride downhill for a while with Karin and Harold on a road that was indeed once paved. We say goodbye at our turnoff. We descend into the gorge. They follow the descent south along the mountain towards Huaraz, their destination. How nice it was to ride together like that! Now, the very last days, it is up to the two of us again… uh, three of us.. Of course we haven’t forgotten the giraffe! In 12 kilometers we descend another 1000 meters, to the thermal bath at the bottom of the gorge. We still have ‘time left’ so we decide to spend the afternoon at the warm pool with a bit of floating, lunch and a game. In the afternoon we only cycle a bit more to find a camping spot. The area, here at only 1700 meters, is dry and prickly. Eventually we find a flat spot to pitch the tent, between the cacti, mind you… As soon as the tent is up we flee inside because we are attacked by horseflies. Yuck… give us 4000 meters above sea level! The next morning, you guessed it, I have a flat tire. We carry all our stuff to the road to prevent more flat tires. Paul puts a new inner tube on the rim while I fan the tires to keep the flies away. ‘Love is…’

The next morning we cycle into the aptly named village of ‘La Pampa’. A tiny oasis of friendly people and green vegetable gardens. Nevertheless, we are sent to the mobile greengrocer for our vegetables, where we are received with great curiosity. When it becomes clear that we would like avocados but the greengrocer does not have any, one of the other customers gestures to wait for us. A moment later he returns with an enormous avocado! He does not want to know anything about paying. When we do some more shopping in a shop, we are tempted by the enthusiastic saleswoman to also order a smoothie and a cake from her and devour them. And so the horseflies and the flat tire are quickly forgotten.

From La Pampa we cycle into an unearthly looking landscape. We stare at each other until I have another flat tire. The spike was probably still in the outer tire. A repetition of the morning ritual follows. What a great guy Paul is, that he always patches my flat tires, I only have to play his lovely assistant. When the tire is hard again, a steep serpentine descent to the river follows. Once we have arrived at the bottom, we take a look at the GPS: another 120 km to the coast, another 1300 m to descend. That may sound like a lot, but it amounts to a descent percentage of a meager 1%. A kind of false flat! What we feared during the hairpin bends turns out to be true; a strong wind blows through the gorge of our ‘descent’, right in our faces. Fortunately, the gorge is beautiful! But also, long! Paul’s mood drops below sea level before we do. He had been looking forward to this descent, but now we still have to pedal against that stupid wind! Tired, we arrive at a village. The hotel is still ‘under construction’, but luckily we are allowed to pitch our tent in an empty storage room. Safe from the strong wind. We can use the toilets and even take an ice-cold shower. It is not the worst last camping spot we could have imagined for this trip… but almost, as far as I’m concerned. And Paul? He is already glad to be off the bike and in the tent.

We are lucky that the wind dies down a bit the next day. After a while we drive away from the dry rocky surroundings and into the fields. We see peppers everywhere around us! It is nice to see how these peppers grow and are dried, to eventually be ground into the chilli flakes that we regularly add to our food in the Netherlands.

In the afternoon we cycle into Chimbote, a fishing town, where we will take the bus to Lima. As soon as we approach the bus station, the smell of fish reaches our noses. What a stench! You will live here! We book bus tickets for that same evening and go in search of a shower. We find one at the local market. At least, there we find a tap high on the wall with cold water that is sold as a ‘shower’. Better than nothing! We fill the hours until departure with some food and shopping for a night on the bus. If we can’t sleep, a bag of chips, a bar of chocolate, etc. are ‘indispensable’ for such a long ride. The bus turns out to be comfortable and I even slept a few hours when we arrive in Lima early in the morning. In the dark bus we gather our things and rush outside to be there when our bikes are unloaded. When we are well and truly packed at the waiting room of the station, it shoots through me like lightning: ‘GIRAFFE!!!’ I run away from Paul and the bikes and stand in front of the departing bus. I wave and gesture until the driver opens the door and suddenly I don’t speak a word of Spanish anymore. I run to our seats in the back of the bus, an employee comes to stand next to me. ‘Yo buscando…’ I say. ‘I’m looking for…’. My heart is pounding. With the light of my phone I find him under the seat. Giraffe!! ‘Es muy importante!! Muy importante!!’ I say to the employee who chuckles a little. I run back to Paul, who had suddenly lost me and show him Giraffe. I feel so guilty, tears are almost in my eyes. Our buddy! I put Giraffe in my shoulder bag in my front bag. I don’t dare to put him in my handlebar bag in this big city, after what just happened.

We drive into town looking for a coffee shop to fill the time until we can get into our hostel room. At this early hour, we only find a gas station. I still have to recover from the shock. A little later, I lead us through the busy city towards our hostel, where we flop down on our bed, tired. We make a list of the things we want and have to do in the coming days here in the city: find bike boxes, souvenirs, book a pancake house in the Netherlands, a walking tour, a vegetarian restaurant, write a blog and go to a medical laboratory. Paul’s stomach is finally doing well, but mine… I have had increasing stomach pain for a few days and it seems better to have a test done here easily than in the Netherlands via appointments and waiting lists. The first day in Lima we end up doing ‘nothing’. The next day, my stomach pain has suddenly increased enormously and I walk through the city groaning and hunched over in search of souvenirs and a laboratory. When I do a test the next day, it turns out that I too have been affected by giardia. We get a cure at the chemist while we scour the overly large souvenir markets. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to save the ‘souvenir shopping’ for Lima after all. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack to find a really nice or special souvenir. Writing a blog and going on a walking tour are out of the question. We only do what really has to be done and try to take in some ‘sights’ on those routes. At the end of each day I crawl into bed with my knees under my chin from the stomach cramps.

The entire trip we kept an eye open looking for a girlfriend for Giraf. Our bachelor would love to meet a nice alpaca girl. Every now and then we checked a few and there were some real beauties, but each and every one of them stood with their four paws on the ground. That makes cuddling so difficult… Giraf thought. Should he really return to the Netherlands as a bachelor? To top it all off, I am stopped in a shop. Do I want a ‘bag’ for my ‘purchase’? I don’t understand exactly what is being asked. She repeats the question and points to Giraf who is sticking his head out of my shoulder bag. I take him out.. Only when she sees his brown snout does she realise her mistake. From her apologies it is clear that she was not doing me a favour by offering a bag, but was addressing me about shoplifting!

For our last 2 days in Lima we have arranged to meet at a ‘casa de ciclistas’ near the airport. There is also a box with stuff that we sent to Lima earlier and the owner has already arranged a taxi bus for us to the airport. When we arrive there it is ‘a bit disappointing’. The host does not leave us alone for a second and our sleeping place turns out to be on the floor in the living room. I am still dying of stomach ache and eventually we manage to make it clear to the good man that I really need some more peace and privacy than in his house (filled by 4 other travelers). Fortunately he understands. We look for a small hotel where I lie down on the bed while Paul disassembles and packs our bikes in the ‘casa’. The next day we do the last few chores and then the last evening of our trip begins.

It feels WEIRD. We’ve been off the bike for a week now and the whole trip seems so far away. The arrangements, the illness, the city, have filled our heads and bodies and pushed the feeling of travel away. It makes me sad that it just seems to ‘disappear’. It was SO big, so beautiful and so intense. And now it lets itself be banished far into the background by a week in the city? Paul feels it too. He comforts us with the thought that it will surely come back, when we talk about it in the Netherlands later, write our last blogs, have the photos printed and hung up at home, give our souvenirs a place. I hope he’s right! Because actually I’m not at all ready to leave the trip behind me.

After a turbulent departure early the next morning (booked taxi cancels and bags suddenly have to be ‘sealed’ for a lot of money after a long time in the queue at check-in) we are ready for our plane in time. I decide to let it all go for a while and let it happen. The last week that was colored by illness and lugging through the city, the journey that seems so far away, going back to the Netherlands without a ‘goal’ there, the sadness that the trip that I had been looking forward to for so long, that was so uncertain because of my knee problems, is now over. It is all too much to process now. So I put it aside unprocessed and as soon as the view of the earth below us has disappeared, I put on a film that transports me to another reality for a while. Thanks to a sleeping pill I doze off for most of the flight while Paul ‘binges’ films next to me. During the transfer in Madrid we eat sandwiches with our last Peruvian avocado and tomato. Not much later the Dutch countryside appears below us. As the plane touches down I swallow a lump in my throat. This was it, our journey. The journey we had been looking forward to for so long. I say, “It’s over!” but Paul wisely corrects me, “It is completed!”

In the next blog I will tell you how we were welcomed at Schiphol and how we experience picking up or shaping our lives in the Netherlands again.

Until then!
Greetings from The Hague..

I say “It’s over!”
but Paul wisely corrects me;
“It is completed!”