We could hardly believe it, we had been in Cusco for almost the entire month of July...
Frank was in the midst of securing voluntary work and I had completed a 'Spanish for beginners' course when I was struck, again, by the lightning bolt of illness! Long story short - 2 days of hospitalisation, multiple tests with various specialists and a lot of uncertainty later, I was diagnosed with CMS (Chronic Mountain Sickness). I was told by the doctor that only 1 in 10,000 people suffer from this illness. What were the odds! Last year, only 1 person in Cusco was diagnosed with CMS. I was the first to be diagnosed with the illness this year - not the accolade a cyclist wants in a continent of extreme altitudes! Cusco is at an altitude of 3,400 metres; the effects of higher altitude can be felt from 2,400 metres.
My symptoms included breathlessness, exhaustion, headaches, palpitations and dizzy spells. I was sleeping all the time and basically had no energy. Acute Mountain Sickness is whereby the onset of the effects of high altitude are felt almost immediately. Chronic Mountain Sickness is an illness that develops gradually over time. Even those who have lived their entire lives at high altitude can develop CMS.
The cure? Descend! It is recommended that sufferers of this illness descend at least 1,000 metres. We descended over 3,200 metres - just to be sure! Where did we go? The jungle! And so, after 15 hours of journey by bus (which included a 3 hour roadside delay due to a puncture and a change of bus), we arrived in Puerto Maldonado. The heat was stifling and the sun burning. We were a far cry from the chill of Cusco. After 2 nights in Happy Cats hostel (a happy place, though lacking in cats) and after more than one month of no action, we dusted the cobwebs off our bikes. Inapari, 2,29km away, at the Brazilian border was our first port of call.
The kindness of strangers & the mixing of cultures...
Monday 10 August (89.86kms: Puerto Maldonado, Peru to Mavila, Peru)
It was a wet, wet day. A couple of hours of torrential rain and thunder later, the clouds dissipated and the burning sun of the jungle returned. I hadn't seen rain in quite some time. As an Irishwoman who spent her childhood summer holidays playing on west Cork beaches in the rain, I felt right at home. It felt good to be back on the saddle. That night we arrived in the small town of Mavila. When we heard shouts of 'Picarones' for sale by the roadside, we parked our bikes to indulge in these heavenly fried dough with syrup treats. There we enquired as to where we could set up camp for the night. Rain was forecast for that evening and if it was anything like the rain we had experienced during the day, the tent would be washed away. This was something we most definitely wanted to avoid!
We left the Picarones stand in search of some kind of structure under which we could pitch our tent. A couple of minutes later one of the girls from the stand approached us and, on behalf of her mother, offered us a place to set up camp. This girl is only 12 years old and drives the family's motocar! I saw her drive off the next morning with her sister and brother in the backseat. The motocar is a very popular means of transport in Peru; it is a 3-wheeled covered mode of transportation. The driver sits alone in front and there is space for 2 passengers in the back. In the morning, we bonded with our Peruvian hosts over sport and breakfast. One of the elder boys watched with intrigue as Frank and I launched into our regular pre-cycling sports routine. Frank asked if he would like to try a few exercises with him. He jumped at the opportunity.
The rest of the family watched with delight as the two men performed push-ups. When gym class was over, we headed to the kitchen where the lady of the house had prepared a big jug of papaya juice and a basket of fried bananas. We were invited to join them. I then cooked our usual breakfast of avena, milk, raisins, seeds and honey. The younger children were delighted to taste something new. As we were preparing our bikes for the day's cycling, Daniel, the youngest in the family, took out his bike. It felt good knowing that we had been a positive experience for the family. I left feeling inspired by the generosity of a family who sees their father once a month because he has to go far for work, whose mother runs a laundrette while caring for her 5 children and who, by European standards, would be classified as poor.
Tuesday 11 August (88.15kms: Mavila, Peru to Iberia, Peru)
We prepared our lunch in a beautiful ranch-style casa. We had asked if we could use the kitchen. Cooking under the burning afternoon sun with our homemade alcohol stove in no way appealed to us. The women of the house were hard at work making humidas - a Peruvian speciality of mashed corn, wrapped and cooked in its leaves. After eating our simple pasta dish, they offered us some fresh fish (caught locally) with rice and a potato-type vegetable. It was delicious. Usually, we only eat one meal (at lunchtime) but when more is offered, we have no problem finding the room for it! Before we set off for the second half of the day's journey, we were treated to a cold glass of Inca Kola (the Coca Cola of Peru). Since we had been drinking luke warm water all day, this was a real thirst quencher. Peruvian hospitality knows no bounds. That night we set up the tent in the house of a kindergarden teacher and her husband. Before heading to bed, we enquired about the availability of avena oats in the local tiendas (shops). The next morning, we were treated to a scrumptious breakfast of avena and toasted bread with cheese. When previously discussing Peruvian culture with a hotel owner in the city of Ica, Peru, he made a very apt statement - the Peruvians give, without expecting anything in return.
Peru of the hundred thousand welcomes ...
Wednesday 12 August (72.48kms: Iberia, Peru to Assis Brasil, Brazil)
We crossed the bridge between Inapari, Peru and Assis Brasil, Brazil, only to realise that we had already passed passport control. No cyclist likes to turn back but back we turned, a couple of kilometers to have our passports stamped. We had actually overstayed our time in Peru by a day. This should normally have incurred a fine of 1 dollar. The border control police, however, were more interested in the fact that we were cyclists than in our 'over-stayed welcome'. They had never seen bicycle tourers before. One of the questions they asked us was how many days it had taken us to travel from Lima, a question we get asked quite regularly. 'Days?!', we say with incredulity. 'More like two months!'.
Brazilian border control just outside the town of Assis Brasil meant not only a change in currency but in language too. Out came the Portuguese phrase book, though luckily the border police spoke English. When we enquired as to safe places where we could pitch our tent, they came up trumps. We were taken aback when they offered us their front porch for the night - the safest place we have camped so far!
Thursday 13 August (83.69kms: Assis Brasil, Brazil to 'somewhere in the Brazilian countryside')
In my extremely broken Portugese (so far, we have mastered 'muito obrigada' which translates as 'thank you very much'!) I asked at a tienda if it was possible to buy hot food for lunch. Luckily 'comida', the Spanish word for 'food', is the same in Portuguese. When my gaze was directed to the snacks on the counter, my heart sank. After further enquiries, I understood that it was another 4km to the nearest restaurant. When the tienda lady saw the look on my face, she disappeared to the kitchen. On returning, I gathered that there was food. I gave her our Portuguese phrase book so that we could translate what she was saying. That yielded no result. I then asked if I could see the food. It looked wonderful! When I asked the price by saying simply 'Reals?', both ladies in the kitchen shook their heads. There would be no charge! An incredible gesture of kindness.
That night, we camped on the porch of a beautiful Brazilian ranch. Three generations live here. Grandfather & Grandmother, son & wife and their two children. Not only were we made feel very welcome to spend the night with them, we were also invited to dine with them - a scrumptious meal of rice, mouthwatering beef (from their farm), beans (which seem to be part and parcel of a typical Brazilian meal) and bananas. In return, we produced desert - Columbian snickers bars (a chance find in Cusco - we are addicted!) and some Brazilian cakes we had picked up at the border town of Assis Brasil. Their cattle number 500. The grandfather explained that he is only a small fish. Some farmers in the area have as many as 30,000 cows, a number that is hard to fathom. It does give an idea, though, of the vastness of the land.
Today we crossed the border into Bolivia. Again we changed currency. We thought also that we would be back to the more familiar of the South American languages. How wrong we were.
We camped in a barren room on a hacienda (a farm). Two men from Brazil live there. Their work, however, is elsewhere. One of the men was particularly talkative. He told us that he misses his family. They live in Brazil. His work, which is not far from the hacienda, consists of carrying 500 litres of water per day, 20 litres at a time. It's no wonder he suffers nightly from shoulder pain. Frank showed him a few exercises to alleviate the pain. As neither of us speak Portuguese, I took out our phrase book and helped to translate what Frank was advising him to do. That night, the 4 of us combined our food resources to make a healthy meal of rice and beans.
Where are we now? We have reached the riverside town of Rurrenabaque, Bolivia, approximately 1,300 kms from Puerto Maldonado, Peru. A journey of 17 days by bike. And now for some much needed R&R!
