Huancayo – Huancavelica – Wild Camp – Huancavelica – Ambato – Paucara – Ayacucho – Vilcas Huaman – Santa Rosa de Anta – Potongo – Autama – Chicha – Restaurant camp – Abancay – Cusco – Machu Pichu

Many buses & lifts   |   11 cycling days   |   414 kilometers   |   6.031 meters elevation gain

I know Arjo from my first year in university in Delft. We both started our bachelor’s degree in Industrial Design Engineering. Both coming from rather rural parts of the Netherlands, trying to figure out how this new student life was supposed to be done in a new and big city. Although from completely different parts of the country, he from The West and I from The South, we clicked because of our down-to-earth mentality. We started in the same group and did some fun projects together. Together with two other IDE classmates Janno and Joep we started a group of friends of four. Partying together, taking trips together, hanging out during lunch and after classes, hanging out in our faculty bar, learning together, trying to wrestle through this new bureaucratic world of the university where we had to arrange/subscribe/fix everything ourselves; nobody to hold our hands. After we finished our Bachelors degree, career-wise, we all went different ways: Arjo went to work at a design bureau, I moved to the faculty of Mechanical Engineering to do a Masters in Biomechanical Design and Joep and Janno stayed in our faculty although doing different Masters degrees. Although we couldn’t be in touch as much as before anymore we did stay in touch. We went on amazing trips to Austria and Armenia and they came to visit me in Istanbul when I was doing my electives there.

Although we had a good group of four, in a very natural way Joep and Janno were a bit closer and me and Arjo as well. I shared common interests with Arjo like making music and cycling. In the pandemic we held some crazy music making sessions. More than once he cycled from Den Haag to Eindhoven to watch Milan-San Remo on television to crash at my place and to go out together.

I see him as one of my very close friends. A friend to mess around with but also, when the time comes, to have a serious talk with. We understand each other. Come from the same environment and live more or less similar lives.

Ever since I started this cycling adventure 1.5 years ago we’ve been sending each other long audio messages to keep one another updated on our lives. We jokingly have talked about making it into a podcast. When a few months ago he mentioned that he was looking for a new job and that he probably would leave some time gap between ending the old and beginning his new job I hesitated not a millisecond:

“Why don’t you come my way? Cycle along with me for a bit?“.

An idea is born.

More audio messages followed, shorter and more to the point: where to book flight tickets to?, bring a bike or rent one at the destination?, what to bring?, etcetera. Excitement grew. Finally he signed his contract at his new job and started his final month at his old job. He would have a time-gap of one month to visit me. I calculated where I would be around that time: Peru. He bought flight tickets to Lima. Excitement grew some more. Then we went into a whole new area of fixing shit: we needed a bike for him. We were planning on following the Peru Great Divide and I told him that a mountain bike would be the most comfortable option for this route. He doesn’t have a mountain bike himself, so we needed to get him one. After weeks of talking to people and shops about renting a bike, but with no clear green light from anybody we decided to buy a mountain bike in the Specialized shop in Lima for him. We would try to sell the bike again at our destination when the time comes. Moreover I did some more calculations and decided that the city of Huancayo would be a good meeting point: a big city, with direct buses from Lima, good for acclimatizing at 3.300m and not too far from the route so it would be reachable for me by bike as well. He would pick up his bike in Lima and put it in a bus to Huancayo, were we would meet.

Flash forward a couple of weeks. It’s October 8th, I’ve just cycled into the city of Huancayo. I’m trying to find a picture of a sign saying Bienvenidos a Huancayo, but I fail to find one, so I call Arjo to tell him I’ve arrived and that I’ll be waiting for him. He is flying the next day. After touching down in Lima he collects his bike from the bike shop, he keeps me posted, I’m glad that it worked out well with the online payment and that the bike was ready and installed when he walked into the shop. It’s Peru after all. He tries to take a bus that same night, rushing with all his bike bags and gear towards the bus station. Five minutes until the bus is leaving he enters the bus station where he is enthusiastically met by all kinds of men who check-in his bags and make sure he has a bus ticket. He seems to have managed to get that bus, only to hear that the ticket he received is for the next bus that will leave in 8 hours. Dammit. Night bus it is. He texts me to say that we won’t be reunited tonight but tomorrow morning. A small disappointment for the both of us as we are eager to see each other.

But the next morning the moment is finally there. I’m still a bit sleepy when the doorbell goes and after all this time, all the preparation, all the texts and audio messages there he stands on the other side of the door. My good friend Arjo. Let the adventure begin!

The first days are all about acclimatizing, catching up and preparing for our bike trip together. We move from “my” apartment to a hotel. We assemble all the bags, front fork cages, dry bags and bottle holders to his bike. Make some practice rounds on the bike into the city. We eat ceviche and go for beers. We look at the map, the time we have and the route and come to the conclusion that it will be a bit tight if we set off from Huancayo, so we decide to take a bus to Huancavelica and start from there onto the unpaved roads through the mountains of Peru.

One of these nights we go out to watch Peru play Chile for the qualifying games for the FIFA World Cup. It takes some time but eventually we find a nice small bar where immediately we make some friends. After a delusional 2-0 loss, we leave the bar and our new friends, but after 1 minute I notice that my little wallet is not in my pocket anymore. We go back to the bar where the wallet is nowhere to be found and a crazy scene unfolds. All the clients blame each other for stealing my wallet and start frisking each other. After 5 minutes we leave, this wallet will never magically come back and it had only 10 euro worth of money and an old condom. But in the end I go to bed with a bad taste in my mouth about this incident, somebody took advantage of us in that bar and somebody lied to us.

The last night in Huancayo happens to be a Friday night and so the boys go out for a beer. We end up in a super nice place with good live music. All the Latin American types of music are played. When we move towards the dance floor we’re again overwhelmed by the huge attraction we have on the locals here. Everybody wants to chat, wants to dance, wants to drink beer with us. It is super friendly and nice of these people but sometimes too overwhelming and tiring. When a group is literally dragging us to the next so called “best night club in Huancayo” we call it a night.

Nonetheless we have a huge hangover the next morning. We are late, have to rush to the bus station, take off all our bags, bribe the bus guy for taking our bikes on the bus, rapidly buy some breakfast and than take place. The last hour in the bus is hell: a twirly mountain road, no air conditioning and a hangover are the perfect recipe to make us feel miserable.

We recover from the bus ride in Huancavelica with a lunch and coffee on the main square. I notice that everything is already a bit much for Arjo. The altitude (we are at 3.700m now), the constant packing in/out of the bikes, strapping everything on, not knowing in which bag the stuff is that he needs. And then now on top of all of this the hangover.

I tell him it will take time to get to know his setup and his bike and to get used to finding his stuff. I give him time. It is three o’clock in the afternoon. Today we can cycle 5km or 20km or 40km, whatever we want. We have food and water. At 3:30 we set off. After months of preparation this is it! We are moving south on the bike, together. A great feeling. Today is mostly flat, but every slight uphill is already quite the exercise for Arjo. It’s okay, we try to take it easy.

After 13 kilometers we decide to call it a day. We are cycling next to a river and found a spot to set up camp. Then it starts raining and we have to hurry to set up the tent to have a dry shelter. It’s every man for himself now. I manage to set up my tent pretty quickly and crawl into my dry shelter. Arjo does a good job but then eventually finds out his outer cover is 180 degrees turned compared to his inner tent and thus his zippers are in the wrong location and he cannot enter his tent. I tell him to come to my tent to be dry. He’s bummed out once again. I get him, but tell him not to worry and that these things take time. Later when the rain fades out a bit we fix his tent. We cook and eat in my tent. Arjo starts feeling sick because of the altitude and goes to bed at 8PM. Today was a good baptism of fire.

Today is mostly uphill and we have to conquer our first pass of 4.800m. Something I have grown used to by now, but of course a hell of an assignment for Arjo. He is a good cyclist, back home at sea level, but this altitude is not to be taken lightly.

We pack up our tents, have my famous oatmeal breakfast with banana and raisins and start cycling. Arjo is basically suffering all day. Figurative dark clouds above his head all day. I have the feeling I have to keep the spirits high, but on the other hand don’t want to exaggerate as well. We take frequent, necessary stops for Arjo to catch a breath.

Apparently we both underestimated the altitude. For Arjo it’s logical, it’s hard to understand what this altitude does to your body, and the only thing he could do was to just follow the guidelines: acclimatize at altitude for a minimum of three days, drink a lot of water, stop when needed. For me it was also hard to judge the altitude because I’ve been at altitude now already for so long. Yes, I’ve been sick because of altitude 3 times before, but also because I never took those precautions so serious and always pushed myself over the edge of my physical boundaries. With the acclimatization in Huancayo and a slow pace today I thought it would be okay.

It turns out not to be okay.

At 4.300m we stop once again to catch a breath. Arjo doesn’t feel well. I tell him to lie down for a while. He feels miserable and has to puke. He is suffering badly. After we notice that it’s not getting better we stick our heads together to decide on our next step.

The 500 meters of climbing that we still have to go is way too much and we don’t have enough food and water to camp at this altitude. We are in the middle of nowhere. So basically we only have one option left: we decide to turn around. Back to Huancavelica.

We woosh down to Huancavelica where we check into a hotel. That day and the next Arjo lies in bed all day. He needs to recover from the big blow he took. I type this blog and try to make use of this time to also rest a bit, but in everything I notice that I have an abundance of energy. Arjo feels very burdened by the fact that because of him we cannot cycle, but of course I tell him not to worry about it. He cannot help that he got sick, and I don’t care where we will end up on this trip, I just want to have a fun time with my friend cycling a bit. Whether we don’t cycle at all, or 10 kilometer a day, or a hundred, I don’t care.

On day two of his sick bed I notice he gradually is getting more and more energy. We discuss plans. I tell him we can do three things:

  1. Try the same pass of 4.800m again. Fresh start, acclimatized longer and to a higher altitude at this point. We might make it this time. And if we make the first pass, we will make all the passes.
  2. Try a different route, leaving the Peru Great Divide, with a less high pass of 4.400m.
  3. Fuck the mountains, we’ve underestimated it, let’s take a bus to the coast and enjoy some low-altitude cycling along the coast.

Of course option #3 is a bit radical and we didn’t feel like throwing in the towel just yet. There is not enough motivation for option #1, so we go for number 2. A good middle way.

So the next day we get ready to cycle again. Take two, a fresh start, a blank canvas. The first 20 kilometers are down and flat, so perfect to get warmed up again. There are lots of road works where we have to wait or where the excavators have to stop so we can lift our heavy bikes over another landslide. At the next roadblock we are told that the road will only be cleared temporary in about one and a half hour for traffic to pass. Hmm. That’s a long time to wait. I tell Arjo I’ve seen a train track a few kilometers back and that we can maybe cycle along it. I’d rather be moving, although it might be slowly or walking, than standing still for 1.5 hours. So we turn around and turn onto the rail track. The side of the rails are not really cycleable so we bump over the railroad ties for about an hour.

After that we reach a small road that can bring us back to the main road we were following before. The road is steep as hell and Arjo blows up once again, he’s back with rapid short breathing. I tell him to walk, cycling up my bike first and his second. We reach a town where he can recuperate. We take a long lunch. After we get back to the bikes we find out that his rear wheel has a flat. Another setback. It’s just too much setbacks for him, I notice that he is having a hard time too handle it all. Of course I take the lead. All this metal switching, making new plans, overcoming problems, dealing with setbacks: I’ve been doing it for over a year already, I’m a pro in flexibility by now.

We put in a new tube and get going again. It goes uphill more after lunch and it is another big challenge for Arjo to overcome. With plenty of breaks and trying to not get him into his red zones we make it to a small tiny village.

He tells me that on other biking trips, this would be it. They would arrive at their location, check into their pre-booked hotel, take a shower and go to a restaurant to have a well-deserved beer and good food. Well, in my life the cycling part is far from being the end and today is a good example.

We reach this small little town Ambato, where ladies are walking flocks of sheep through the unpaved streets. A gringo has never set foot in this town, ever. There are no hotels here, no accommodation, no showers, I mean damn, we have to be lucky if we can even find a little shop here. We ask around if there are places to pitch our tent here. I see a big school (precedent has taught me that schools can be super nice spots to camp) but unfortunately the gates are closed and we cannot find the night guard. We hang around at a small building that is supposed to serve as the municipality. We are flooded by little children that are asking a tsunami of questions and follow us everywhere we go. Arjo is completely overwhelmed by all of this and also just really tired, he installs himself on a chair inside a building.

I talk to some of the older ladies that are teaching the kids to sew and to use the computer. They tell me that somebody of the municipality will arrive in an hour and that we might be able to sleep inside upstairs. It is super cold so anything inside would be super. We wait. Hungry, cold and tired. After two hours the guy from the municipality brings us inside and we can finally eat our dinner and roll out our sleeping pads for a good night’s rest.

Today feels like D-Day. We have to climb up 15 kilometers to 4.400m. If we survive this I have good hopes that we can reach the city of Ayacucho where we can decide whether we keep cycling in the mountains or not.

When we say goodbye to the profesoras, they give us some cooked potatoes for the road. They ask me if I can do them a favor. Of course. They tell me that for their sewing classes they are running out of fabric and cloth and ask if I can maybe help them out. (Latest status: I’ve send an email to The Salvation Army in the Netherlands to ask if they can help, if anybody has a good idea let me know!)

We start climbing and take it easy. The goal is to make it to the top, not to set a record time. Due to the easy tempo I find myself having a chat with everybody I meet on the side of the road. I greet a mother and daughter, both colorfully dressed in traditional clothing and hats. They really touch my heart if they tell me they are walking (!) to Huancavelica because their daughter needs some medical treatment. I don’t know where they’ve started walking from this morning but from this point it is already 35 kilometers of walking.

Let that sink in for a bit, 35 (or more) kilometers, that is 8 hours of walking without breaks. On bad shoes, carrying a baby on their back. Unimaginable. It moves me deeply. Here we are, the people from the West, living our comfortable lives, taking taxis if we feel something is too far away, elevators and escalators carrying our fat bodies around, in our comfortable houses with dish washers and vacuum robots. Okay, enough, I think I made my point.

Back to our reality. We make it to the top and we couldn’t be happier. Arjo is still feeling relatively good, although tired of course. But we are 100 meters higher than our previous “Waterloo” so it’s an achievement that gives hope for the remainder of what’s to come. We descend into a city where we install ourselves onto the main square of Paucara where some kind of folklore festival slash parade is happening. Lots of groups of people apparently dressed up in their regional traditional folklore clothing. We’re surrounded by old indigenous ladies with beautiful hats that are all knitting something. I start to believe that all the sweaters here must be knitted.

We check into a hotel for a comfortable night.

We take it easy this morning, have ourselves some traditional breakfast with a quinoa drink and some bread.

The first hour out of Paucara is climbing but then a big descent awaits us. It is absolutely beautiful here, deep canyons and a little asphalted road twirling down all the way to the river. We make some nice pictures.

But then.

It’s a small road and I’m picking up quite some speed. As I swing around a corner I see a car approaching me. No problem, I’m on the side of the road and we can pass. But I don’t know why but he seems not to be moving onto the right side of the road, leaving me no space to pass. It seems like he just doesn’t see me. It’s too late to throw out the anchors now. He forces me into the shoulder of the road. But the shoulder is basically a ditch with lots of big rocks. I hit some rocks and lose control of my bike. My bike gets stuck somewhere and I feel myself front flipping over my steer. I make a 360º in the air and land hard on my back, leg and hands. While I look up into the direction of the car we catch each others view in his rear view mirror. I look him straight into his eyes. I throw up my hands like what the fuck man, he decides not to stop and drive away. Probably scared of having to pay me for my damage. I crawl up. A first inspection teaches me that I didn’t break anything nor have deep cuts. Just some scratches and a sore back.

When I watch over to my bike the real shock comes: my front wheel is completely bend. Beyond repairing. Fuck! Arjo approaches, he has seen the whole thing from a distance. I tell him what happened, adrenaline and anger rushing through my body. What the fuck was this guy doing!? What an asshole!! Then another shock, When I take off my jacket I see that it has two rips in it. Dammit, that was a brand new rain jacket that I bought in Huancayo and obviously not rain-proof anymore. I temporarily put some duct tape on it.

I calm down and immediately shoot into this clear-minded state. Okay, I cannot cycle further, here’s what we’re going to do. We will find a ride to bring us down to the village at the river. There’s a bigger road there from where we will try to find another ride to bring us to Ayacucho where I’ll have to find a bike shop to get me a new wheel.

Soon later two workmen in a pickup are so nice to turn around (they were going up) and bring us down to La Esmeralda. We have lunch here and try to fix a ride, which doesn’t seem to be easy. After a couple of hours of waiting a pickup takes us to Huanta. In Huanta a tuk-tuk takes me and my bike to the bus station and Arjo cycles over. At the bus station we find a collectivo to bring us to Ayacucho. It’s very annoying not to be mobile. My bike turned into a very heavy, bulky and immovable suitcase. In Ayacucho we have no choice but to check into the closest hostal that we can find. A very crappy one, turns out. Both totally wrecked we fall asleep.

The next morning I’m a lucky man. I find the right bike shop right away. Well, it first starts off very Peruvian: a closed shop while his Google Maps page says it should be open at 09:00, but I talk to some guys that give the guy from the bike-shop a call and not later he shows up. A super capable young guy approaches me and immediately starts calling around. He does have the rotor but not the rim with the right size and the right number of holes for the spokes. Two hours later I come back and my new wheel is there already. Wow! I never expected to be able to be back on the road in the afternoon already. Finally some good things happening to us. I install my wheel and we load up the bags and leave the crappy hostal. Over lunch we discuss our next plan. We lay out the amount of time we still have next to possible routes. One thing is for sure: we want to end up in Cusco. We conclude to two options: or we take asphalt roads from here to Cusco. Or we take a bus to bring us back to the Peru Great Divide and do the last unpaved bit to Cusco. The latter it is. We decide that Vilcas Huaman is a good city to take a bus to where we can pick up the PGD again.

We take the bus in the afternoon that brings us to Vilcas Huaman. Another bus. Hopefully the last. I don’t like these busses. Cramping your bike somewhere in the back or on the bottom of a bus. Surely bumping around on the crappy roads here and leaving all kinds of scratches. Anyway. Us and the bikes make it safely to Vilcas where we check into a hotel, have dinner and a drink.

The next day we’re on the bikes again. My back still hurts but nothing too crazy. The day starts with a super steep ascent out of town, but after that it is rolling hills all day. Green and yellow hilly landscapes all around us, the real big mountains have seemed to disappear a little bit, although we’re still at altitude of course. After reaching a top we fly down in good moods but have trouble finding a place where we can eat something. Arjo has no clue what the route is or when we can reach a village so he gets a bit annoyed. Understandable, but I tell him it’s maybe a good idea to start downloading some offline maps so he knows where he is and what the situation is with elevation and villages etc.

After a lunch of dry crackers with canned sardines and some dry muffins we move on. A big descent awaits us. It’s a bit of a tricky road with lots of loose rocks, sand and hairpins. Then suddenly Arjo crashes. Seemingly out of nowhere. Hitting a rock or something and just going down. I’m behind him. He crawls up in pain, his wrist and elbow took most of the hit. Luckily the bike has no damage.

Can nothing go right then?? How many misfortune can happen to us?! A clear case of Murphy’s Law is upon us.

We make it down to the next village where we find a little school where we can set up our tents. Arjo still having pain in his wrist and elbow. We kill the pain with some big bottles of beer that we buy from the little tienda.

We wake up early to be gone before schools opens. With a very painful elbow and wrist we are going to give it a try today. Of course pavement would be much prefered now, but the closest pavement is far far away from here. We’ll have to do with bumpy unpaved gravel. Moreover there is a pretty brutal climb awaiting us. We first descent a bit until we reach the river and a pretty big, hanging bridge with wooden boards where we first have our breakfast.

When we cross the bridge the climb immediately starts. I try to talk positive things and courage into Arjo. But nevertheless I find him after the second hairpin standing next to his bike, in agony, tears in his eyes: too much pain. The thing is, we are absolutely in the middle of nowhere. The bridge is not allowed to be crossed by cars, so there is little chance that we’ll encounter a pick-up for a ride up. If we walk, the next village is 4 to 5 hours walking away. So we have to take it easy with food and water. I try to speed up the process a little bit by riding both bikes up, but we’re in for a long ride nonetheless.

Then suddenly we hear a car above us. A gift from heaven. We haven’t seen a car in one and a half day and sure didn’t expect to see a car on this dead-end road.

I stop him and tell him that my friend has fallen and cannot cycle anymore. He tells me that he is going to pick up his friends at the end of the bridge and than will pick us up on his way back up. He brings us a few villages further up the road, to Potongo. We visit a small medical clinic where the guy immediately wants to put a syringe of Diclofenac in Arjo’s ass. He kindly refuses. But luckily gets some pills instead, to relieve the pain and relax the muscles. In the meantime I learn that there is a so-called Tambo in this village. I’ve heard about these communal, free-to-use, dormitories. Apparently travelers and especially bike tourists are also allowed to make use of them, but in essence are meant for locals that travel around these areas, for shepherds and working people.

When we arrive at the Tambo we are greeted by a friendly woman which appoints us two beds in a small dormitory. The place turns out to be heaven. The review I leave on the iOverlander app says it all:

Marijn, 23-10-2023
“Wow! Seems we’ve arrived in a cyclists heaven?! A friendly lady, warm and comfortable beds, the best hot (!) shower I’ve had in months, Wifi, enough space to work on your bike and a beautiful view on the surrounding mountains. Great spot!”

We decide to take an extra day in the Tambo. To give Arjo’s wrist and elbow a bit more time to heal. Even with this extra day it will be hard and painful. We enjoy ourselves mainly with cooking a hell of a lunch (shakshuka) and (because my gas bottle is starting to get empty) we cook our dinner on a fire that we make behind the building.

The next day we have our breakfast, pack up our stuff and get going. It starts with a steep hairpinny ascent out of Potongo, where we reach the Páramo high-altitude plains with wild vicuñas and crazy rock formations everywhere. We get surprised by a sudden downpour of hail, rain and thunder. It feels like heaven is crashing down on us. We quickly put on our rain clothes and try to find a place to seek shelter. The only thing we can find are some rock formations to cramp against. We get pretty scared as the lightning strikes super close. Luckily the storm blows over. Cold and wrecked we reach another tambo in Autama and a warm bed for the night.

The next day is a lovely easygoing day with meandering roads through hilly terrain. No big climbs, no storms, no rain. It seems like we’re moving away a bit from the big Andes mountains.

It’s greener here, lot’s of water and trees everywhere. We cycle through beautiful green valleys, we spot waterfalls crashing down from ridges above us.

Last night we both got sick from something we ate so we take it easy today and decide to cycle to the next tambo that we’ve heard of which is only 25 kilometers away. Our first two tambo-experiences were amazing with friendly people and great amenities. But when we reach this tambo we’re greeted by a very unpleasant man. He literally says that he’d rather have us gone and tells us that we need to buy a big bottle of detergent for him in order to stay for the night. A super strange encounter. We hesitate to leave but we don’t have many options. I talk to the lady from the tambo from yesterday and she mediates for us. We never hear about the detergent again, luckily because I was not planning on bribing this unpleasant man.

In the afternoon we find out that we don’t have many cash left. Nothing too bad, we can make it to Cusco, we just have to watch our expenses a little bit. Once again it seems like a mental blow for Arjo and subsequently the atmosphere.

Arjo has had a bad night because of a snoring alpaca farmer that was sleeping in our dormitory. We encounter wild llama’s on our ride today and have our lunch in the grass with beautiful views on the surrounding mountains. Finally a day without setbacks. We end the day with a big descent on gravel, get invited to have some sips of beers with the locals in a little village and at the end of the day we reach tarmac! We ask at a restaurant if we can pitch our tents in their garden. “Si, normal!”. Perfect! There is even a cold shower we can use.

In the evening we discuss plans. It’s 1.5 days to Abancay, a bigger city that will provide us with an ATM machine. So once again we have two options: or we take it easy with our money and spread it out over those 1.5 days, or we have dinner and beers tonight at the restaurant we pitched the tents and we hitchhike the last part to Abancay tomorrow. I have the feeling that Arjo is on his last legs these days and that we could use a beer tonight so we choose the latter.

Today is probably our last day on the bike. The goal is to make it to Abancay from where we will take a bus to Cusco.

We say goodbye to the friendly family we we’re staying at, not before trying the famous chicharon that they’re preparing for the day to come. Delicious!

All day we cycle along the Rio Apurima, slightly moving down with the river. Our big chain-rings don’t know what’s happening to them. Although we do suffer from a severe headwind we are pounding away. Head over head.

At the end of the day, after 87 kilometer and just before the climb to Abancay starts we see a gas station. Perfect spot to find a car/truck/whatever to bring us and the bikes to Abancay. Alternately we push each other to approach the cars that enter the gas station. After not many tries we find a truck that is willing to take us. And the beauty of it? It’s Arjo’s try that succeeds. He smiles from ear to ear and I couldn’t be happier.

In Abancay we first get cash and with that cash we buy cans of beer to drink on the street. In front of us a vibrant procession marches the streets. We enjoy having successfully finished our last ride together. We check into a hotel, take a hot shower and go out for pizza. Where we hear about some kind of beer festival. Here, we once again become the focal point, basking in the attention and savoring complimentary beer. Joining forces with the band, we migrate to another bar, where the night unfolds with more music.

Deep into the night we stumble back to our hotel.

We feel pretty rough in the morning. Why is it always that we have to take a bus with a hangover? After breakfast, we check for a bus: yes, at 1:00 PM. After a bit of a rush to snag tickets, squeezing the bikes back into the cargo hold, another bus odyssey through the mountains kicks off.

There’s no AC, the bus is scorching hot and the driver takes the hairpin curves like he’s Max Verstappen. We both feel terrible, Arjo already unfolds a plastic bag on his lap. Just in time the bus stops for a sanitary stop. We find ice cold mango marciano popsicles that literally save our lives.

In Cusco, we piece our bikes together. This feels like the last stretch of our bus-and-bike saga. We’ve got a hotel booked in the charming San Blas ‘hood, but not before tackling steep alleys and loads of stairs, hauling our bikes upwards. Sweaty and worn out, we finally make it.

The next day it’s the big Sell A Bike Day. We’ve been doing some pre-work and there was one bike shop that we contacted up front that seemed pretty interested and which we are counting on. We meet him at the Plaza de Armas, he squeezes twice in both wheels and then tells us he won’t buy it. What?! Bummed out we sit down on the stairs of one of the cathedrals surrounding the plaza.

So what now? Plan B is to visit lots of bike shops to ask if they want to buy our almost-new-bike. None of them take the bait and despair already sets in. I decide to buy a sheet of paper and a marker and write with big letters “Se Vende” (for sale). We take place at the exit of a shopping mall. We don’t think much of this tactic but surprisingly many people approach us to inform about the bike. Our confidence grows. We gather some phone numbers of interested people. The problem is, these people have to talk to their girlfriends or wives and need to think about this purchase for a few days, but we want to sell this bike today!

At the end of the day our interested customers drip off one at a time and a new round of despair sets in. But then. An old man appears on the scene out of nowhere. He has a bike mechanic with him which tells him the bike is in good condition. He takes of our “Se Vende”-sign and tells us to walk with him to his house around the corner. He tells us to wait outside, comes back with a few hundred dollar bills and pays us. Boom! It’s not the price we had in our minds but we are super relieved. It took a lot of energy and I’m pretty tired.

We meet Jesus in the evening and Arjo tries the Peruvian delicacy cuy (guinnea pig) for the first time.

The next morning we wake up at 05:00 because we have a little van taking us close to Machu Picchu village. The ride takes almost 7 hours and drops us off where the road ends. The only way to reach the village is by train (expensive) or like this and by walking the last two hours. We walk alongside the railroad and the river. It’s an easy walk and we are amazed by the surroundings. Big rocky cliffs tower high above our heads. The climate is more humid and warm and reflects the green jungle that we see surrounding us. We make it to the village where we check into our hotel for the night. The village is super touristy, the food is expensive but really bad. Welcome to the commercial hell that’s called mass tourism.

The next day we wake up early again. Our tickets for Machu Picchu indicate that we may enter the premises between 07:00 and 08:00AM. Through the jungle we walk up the steep trail that leads us to the magical saddle mountain in which Machu Picchu is hidden. The humidity and heat already take a beating out of us, sweat pours from our bodies. We survive three checkpoints where they ask us for our physical passports that we don’t carry with us. Phew.

But then we’re there: wow! What a magical place.

Clouds stick to the sides of the limestone mountains piercing into the sky. We’ve all seen the picture on the internet, books, flyers, banners and now we’re seeing the view with our own eyes. How were they ever able to build such a place in such a remote location? After walking through Machu Picchu itself we climb Huaynapichu, a mountain towering over it for a birds eye view. The hundreds of stairs eventually reward us with a beautiful view over the area. We sit down, eat our sandwich and enjoy the tranquility and serenity.

At the end of the afternoon we walk back to the touristy pueblo and settle down on a comfy bench and order way too expensive beers, but fuck it we deserved it.

We take a combination of a train and a bus back to Cusco, we mostly sleep. When we’re back on the streets in Cusco we drink one last beer to look back on a magical two days of visiting Machu Picchu. In the meantime we’re up for 18 hours, have walked 11 kilometer with 1000 vertical meters en we’ve drunk like eight beers. Safe to say we’re tired, but satisfied. When we hit our pillows back in the hotel we’re gone in seconds. Two hectic but beautiful days and I’m glad we decided to visit this magical place.

In the morning we wander a bit through Cusco. It’s the first time I feel I can really start to enjoy the city, no more selling a bike, no more logistic puzzles, no more stress. Cusco is amazingly beautiful, picturesque alleyways, great cathedrals and churches and everywhere cozy restaurants, bistros, coffee shops. We have a last fantastic lunch together and then it’s time for Arjo to get into a taxi and go to the airport. I wave him goodbye and we give each other a big hug.

It’s been an unforgettable trip together, we’ve had lots of bad luck, but the beauty of it: we conquered all these problems together.

After our goodbye I find myself sitting on some stairs in an alley, staring into nothing. Again that emptiness in my stomach: that same feeling I had after saying goodbye to my siblings and my parents.

I let the feelings come over me like a dark cloud. After half an hour of just staring and thinking it’s enough. Time to go to my new accommodation for the coming days.

I pick up my bike and bags at the hotel, check out and cycle into the city, looking for the Casa de Ciclista that has told me I could stay with them for some time. I get welcomed by a friendly lady, she shows me around. The place is super nice, it’s a courtyard with a fountain in the middle, many seats that belong to the vegetarian restaurant and some other shops. The theme of the place clearly has to do with bicycles, because there are bicycles everywhere, paintings about bicycles, pieces of chain rings welded together making a lamp or a table. The owner of the building has a bunk bed in a storage room that is free to use for cicloviajeros: a Casa de Ciclista. Amazing.

The rest of my time in Cusco is all about gearing down again: no more fancy hotels, food nor hot showers. My room mate in the Casa Ciclista is Christian, a Columbian guy traveling by bike as well. He has a big scar on his face, talks super fast and sells little bracelets on the streets to earn some money. He is a fascinating guy, but starts to be an annoying factor in this whole Cusco-story.

He absolutely is not a bad guy, has the best intentions, we share food, he gives me a bracelet as a gift, I give him a cable to charge his phone. I know he is a good guy, but he just is incredibly annoying. He talks continuously, like he has an allergy for silences, but the thing is he just talks to fast and to unclear. Most of the time I have no idea what he is talking about, so I normally respond with “hmm” or a simple nod or any other sound. But the thing is, he doesn’t care, he just keeps rattling on. It’s quite fascinating (1), but at the same time immensely tiring. And now I overheard him say to other people that apparently he wants to cycle with me. But no way José that that’s going to happen. The other thing that’s interesting about him is that he doesn’t have a debit or credit card. So what he does is the following: in the morning he starts making like 20 bracelets, which he sells for 1 sol per piece and with that income he can buy some food. Fascinating (2).

Today Christan left the Casa Ciclista, I guess my signals of the last days have made clear that I don’t want to cycle with him. I have the bunk-bed alone for the next days which is quite nice. I notice I start being bored, I’ve fixed my stuff, everything is recharged including my own mental batteries. I have that urge again to start cycling, there is only one problem: I’ve come up with a cold, so I want to wait some more days until I’m fitter again. After Cusco I’ll have to conquer a few 5.000m+ passes so I guess it’s smart to be 100% for that.

I also notice that I’m not feeling 100% happy, I don’t know, maybe it’s just taking some time getting used to being alone again, but secretly I have the feeling that the cycling life is just not as exciting as it used to be anymore. I feel as if I no longer “own” the cities which I drive into. I used to triumph into a city: all the women were for me, the beer came our way for free and all the people looked up to me, I was invincible. But I feel like I’ve lost that shine, that invincibility. I increasingly think back to my buddy Jacko, who said goodbye to the cycling life with a plane ticket back to Europe in his hand and the words: “I still love this cycling life but I am no longer madly in love with it as I was in the beginning”.

Let’s see how these feelings develop, for now they’re just thoughts hidden far away in the back of my mind 🙂

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3 Replies to “Peru V: An Unforgettable Adventure With Arjo”

  1. Marijn, wat een schitterend verslag.
    Dit raakte me:
    “Het was een onvergetelijke reis samen, we hebben veel pech gehad, maar het mooie ervan: we hebben al deze problemen samen overwonnen.”

    Wat een vriend ben je geweest voor Arjo. Een ervaring samen om nooit te vergeten.

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