Through the Barricades - To Ecuador - 31 May 2003
We still find deserts dull
Strikers 1 : Pat and Helen 0
Seconds out, round two.
Scabs
Ecuadorable
La Vida Loja
They just donít really cut it for us and the stretch from Trujillo to Piura is less than interesting. The best I can say is that there are some excellent examples of crescent dunes very close to the edge of the road, but when they get too close, some one nips out with a shovel and wheel barrow and starts shifting them across the road to avoid sand spillage.
Clearly the wind always blows exactly the same way here. Bad news for the group of cyclists who we met at the hotel in Piura. Their direction was exactly opposed to that of the propagation of the crescent dunes. Bugger.
You cannot not be amazed by the way small villages crop up when there seems to be little of commercial worth in the area. Weíd been travelling for about an hour with nothing to see but for the odd small herd of semi-skeletal goats when a sizeable community of reed shacks and adobe houses appeared. Then it finished without any obvious signs of farming or industry. The folk wandering around looked pretty well turned out, too. Very odd.
This desert also had the rather unattractive feature of shrubs being covered in shredded plastic bags. Peruís answer to litter is apparently to just take in a big lorry and dump it along the sides of the PanAmericana. Nice! Not!
We are now heading into the region of South and Central America which is best defined by the provision of only cold showers in hotels. It can be a bit strange when staying in a half decent hotel with a full set of 75 cable TV channels to chose from that there is only cold water for washing with. I suppose when we get to the really hot places in Amazonia weíll not even bother to remember that hot water exists.
The deserts failing to inspire and the rumour that the road inland into Ecuador was more scenic, decided us on the latter. We headed off to get to Loja in Southern Ecuador by late afternoon. By 10.30 it was clear that we were going no further than Sullana. What had happened was a series of our old friends, the paros. Unbeknown to us the farmers had now decided to take up the baton of road blockage. We passed through one without too much aggro by saying that we had run out of visa in our passports and needed to get to the border. The second bunch was rather more unyielding, almost French in their attitude to the strike.
We could go back to Piura but it seemed more sensible to stay near the strikes so we could get an early start to hopefully get there before the strikers were up and any news of developments would reach us quickly. We have started to look for silver linings in everything and this time we were pleased that we had been turned back by the protests because it gave us a free afternoon to catch up with our laundry. The TV in our room only had 2 local stations (that's what you get for paying one pound less a night), both were repeatedly telling us that the president of Peru was going to make an announcement to the nation, but neither was showing it. We packed everything and set the alarm for pre-dawn and waited for the announcement and waited. Eventually, at 10.30, he made his speech and declared a state of emergency. This is a first for us.
The news showed riots and burning of tyres in Piura, lucky we didn't go back there then. Now the health workers, teachers, farmers truck drivers were all on strike, demonstrating and making blockades on the roads. It was all something to do with increased taxation of some kind, I think. I could not decide whether the police presence shown on the TV was not inflaming the situation. The teachers had gathered outside the parliament buildings but the police were herding them into a tighter and tigher space until the protesters were being crushed and started to react by pushing the police to create breathing space. There was an extreme close up of an injured teacher who seemed to have sustained a small scuff to the knuckle joint of one finger. Once again, I think that the media images were somewhat over playing the situation.
The police that evening told us that the blockades to the north were cleared. I suppose the sensible thing would have been to set off then and there, but we had no working headlight and it was dark. So we stayed.
As we have said before, other than work during University vacations, Helen's work experience is wholly in the teaching profession which does not require early rises. I have had the unpleasant experience of having been a site engineer and am familiar with the ungodly hours. On this occasion, Hippy was in fact surprisingly functional in the morning and we were ready for the off with the sun a bout 1 degree above the horizon. Fortunately the weather was again fair and so there was plenty of light about to be able to make out the obstacles in the road.
We'd decided that we would have to stick with the same story as yesterday, at least for the first two roadblocks or we might just give away the fact that we were indeed making it all up. As I rode along, I practised in my head all of the appropriate vocabulary that I thought I might need to negotiate with the farmers. The police car that we passed told us that it was clear all the way to the border and so I relaxed somewhat and looked forward to a really straightforward day; early to the border, no rushing - excellent.
Shows what the police know.
The first blockade passed with no problems, just as the day before. The same guy wearing an England footy shirt (circa Euro í96) pulled branches out of the way to let us pass. The second took a bit of persuading but this time we were successful. We wished them well with their fight with the government. This went down very well and we decided to use as another string to our persuasion bow at the now inevitable other blockages.
I could go on and on but essentially the process was the same at ever barrage of rocks or hedge of thorn bushes that had been placed across the road. We would slow down and stop, turn the engine off and lift our visors. It's pretty important to note here that our helmets have completely opening fronts like the old Bill in Blighty. This is a hugely important feature as you get a completely different reaction when you approach people with your face visible rather than half obscured by the chin piece. We would then politely put our case to the gathered protestors (usually numbering twenty to thirty) and wait a little. The standard lines were; "Our visas run out today", "We need to get to the border", "While we sympathise with your plight, it is not our government and we cannot lobby them", and a lot of "Pleeeaaaasssssee" It worked every time and so when we left with a cheery "God luck with your fight" everyone was pleased with the outcome.
Hippy kept a count of the manned blockades that we crossed. 20. There were numerous other half hearted attempts that had been abandoned. My particular favourite was where the canopy of a petrol station had been taken down and laid across the whole road. At this point the road had a central reservation and so you can imagine the effort that had been made to shift this thing. Mostly a bit of a foray up the verge was sufficient to get past the blockage. Here and there things were a bit touch and go where the verge had a steep side slope and dodgy top edge. A big concern was the likelihood of punctures as the spikey hedgy stuff they were using had some pretty nasty spines. Hardly a scary day when the fear of scratchy bushes is more worrying than crossing 20 picket lines!
The later blockades seemed more concerned that our presence may mean that the other strikers were giving way. It was the truth when we reassured them that we were the only ones they had let through. At this their smiles raised and good heartedness took over and they happily let us through. I suppose there are some advantages in being a Gringo.
I was impressed to see the bloke working the toll booth had turned up for work and the look on a policemanís face at a control point was a picture, he had planned on a day of sleeping mostly. When we reached the border the guards pointed out that we were indeed the only ones to make it through and seemed confused by our paperwork. They had clearly never seen a carnet de passage before and proceeded to fill in the wrong sections. But we were not in a rush our early start meant that we had reached the border before 10 o'clock, and we could fill in forms and chat for another few hours. We were on a high anyway from making it through and it was going to be a good day!
The scenery in southern Ecuador did nothing to spoil the day, it was stunning. From the border we rose into the Andes again and the lush vegetation harboured birds and flowering wild flowers. The road was excellent with only the odd pot hole and stray donkey to be careful of. Following a ridge the views were spectacular with valleys and other mountains viewed from both sides. Today it felt good again to be on the bike!
Yes, the approach to road building seems totally different to Peru and Bolivia. Here, for large sections, the top of a ridge had been bulldozed off to create an excellent winding route. There are pros and cons with the top of the mountain and bottom of the valley routes. In the valleys, the roads get washed away by rivers and covered with rubble off the mountainside above. The ridge top routes obviously take a lot of climbing and descending to get to and from towns and, more significantly to us, are rather exposed to high winds blowing over the mountain tops. The fact that the high routes are built onto the top of virgin rock and have nothing to fall on them suggests that they may last longer. Time will tell.
Contrary to information weíd got from other folk, the signposting has been perfect so far, the police (and everyone else) more than friendly and although prices are double that quoted in our guide book, it is still reasonable. Even the petrol is a good deal cheaper than Peru. Watch out webmaster, we might not be being ripped off. But then again there is the Galapagos!
Loja was a convenient place to stop to gather our wits and plan how to get through to Guyana now that our route back to Peru may be inadvisable. We spent a bit of time poring over the maps and guides and decided that itíll all work out if we go north through Colombia. According to our sources, Colombia is not the battle zone that you might think and having had advice from locals (great thing this internet) weíre going for it.
Bertha needed a bit of love and attention, too. Hippy kept nagging me about the lights not working and the fact that there were tunnels to go down on the way to Quito. Fairly justified nagging, I think youíll agree. I donít know why I had been so lazy as it only took 20 minutes with a few spade connectors and a pair of pliers. The frame for the panniers had broken yet again. This time just next to where it had been reinforced. Clearly a weak area, now doubly reinforced. Could be down to the fact that we are seriously overloading the bike and all the bits on it?
The only other moment of note in Loja was thanks to a guy poking his head in while I was at the blacksmithís. Turns out that Ivanís (good latin American name, there) dad was the first guy to own a motorbike in Loja. Back in those days Britain turned out pretty decent machines (for the time ñ shame they never updated anything) and so his bike of choice was a 1,500 cc BSA. His mother had a collection of orchids in the quadrangle behind the familyís photocopying business and she gave us a guided tour. Charming lady, Victoria, who had clearly enjoyed her travels around by motorbike. She is an extremely stoic lady who has managed to raise a family of seven children following the unfortunate death of her husband, 28 years ago. She was obviously very proud particularly of her daughter who works in the diplomatic service in London who she is going to visit soon. A lovely little domestic interlude for us.
Loja is a lovely town nestled in the Andes. There is clearly more money splashing around here than in Peru and Bolivia, as all the colonial building are in perfect nick, and beautifully painted. The market is like the revamped market hall in Bolton, very plush with murals and escalators and all kinds of sophistication. I wasnít so sure about the layout of produce though with the clothing section just above the fresh fish counters. ëUmmmmm lovely aroma to your new suit sir.í
It felt like another world, shops displaying VISA and Mastercard signs and all manner of ëstuffí to encourage the customer to part with their cash - gameboys, a plethora of camera shops, microwaves, and all manner of plastic toys for children to break. Yuppie restaurants, designer clothes shops. Somehow it all seemed a little vulgar and crass, I had had the same feeling on our trip back to the UK. Maybe it is just a bit of a consumer shook and in a few weeks it will all feel very normal again.
I, of course, have no problem with shops full of all sorts of gadgetry. Iím a bloke after all. There were all sorts of shops full of tools. Come on guys, we all love those, donít we? We at last picked up a tripod for the camera and so hopefully some of the more zoomy pictures might start coming out a bit better. You may think that webmaster Will is being a bit draconian by only putting up a few pictures off each film, but the truth is that we are such poor photographers that the bulk of the others are not particularly good.
It was nice to see for once that the local male native Andeans have a certain pride in wearing traditional dress. In some of the other countries the women follow the traditions whilst the men wear the universal poor quality tee shirt and jeans. At first glance they look a little Bavarian in 3 quarter black trouser and boots, mostly commonly wellies in this case, but the addition a trilby hat and their long sleek thick black hair plaited down their back gives away a local origin. Some of the more well to do locals had truly scrumptious quality boots and pressed creases down the front of their trousers. It was good to see that when people came into a little extra cash they did not turn their back on traditional dress but rather upgraded it to a more dapper level.
A couple of years ago the country decided to move over to the US dollar to try and control inflation, apparently this hasnít made any difference. But more sadly, their currency has no relevance to them now. It seems strange to be handing over notes with American presidents faces looking up at me, in Ecuador. Somehow it felt different in Cuba, because it was clear that they had their own currency with Cuban relevant emblems on, but they were using the tourist to get in hard currency. But here, everyone uses the dollar. Ecuador has made its own coins, equivalent to the dollar, but the notes are all-American.