Unwinding in Huacachina

South and inland from Paracas is a small, gringo-filled oasis in the midst of enormous sand dunes that seemed to be a good place to unwind for a night in a nice hotel. Moments after stepping from the bus, I shrugged off the many people trying to sell dune buggy tours, sand board rentals and a guy high fiving me not too subtly, "if you need anything at all, let me know" and made my way toward the only lodging I could see with a pool. I splurged on the $25 a night room with a tv, this was wine country after all.

The desert oasis of Huacachina as seen from the dunes above.

I tried my hand at sand boarding on a homemade board with Velcro straps that wrapped around the top of your feet and ankles to mount you on the deck. It was fun, but not even close to the rush of snowboarding.

Homemade sand board with the latest in binding technology, Velcro straps... A wipeout left my pockets and shoes completely filled with sand.

After a very anti-climatic wine tour the next day, which included a stop in a "witch's village" (looked no different than any other town I've seen), I decided one night was all I needed here.

Dunes with no signs of plant as far you could see...

I have since visited the beautiful colonial city of Arequipa 12 hours further southeast and flown back to Lima for some surf, but haven't had a chance to load the pictures yet... Tonight I begin an 11.5 hour journey north chasing swell for a few days. Another update to come soon!

The Worst Laid Plans

In hindsight, arriving to Lima at 5:30 am with no idea of accommodation, no transportation knowledge and no sense of direction, armed with little more than a vague idea of where the surf is, was probably not the best idea. Hazy from the 8 hour overnight bus, my cab driver hurriedly threw me out on the side of the freeway to catch my connecting bus, which dropped me off on the side of the freeway in the beach suburb of Punta Hermosa. After an hour of looking at a flat ocean and unable to find internet, I found myself walking the one and a half miles back to the side of the freeway. Long story short, I ended up in Paracas, about 150 miles south of Lima via three buses, one cab, five miles walking and a bit of hitch hiking.

Paracas is a small port town adjacent to the national park of the same name. The national park juts out into the Pacific on a large peninsula where the northern flowing Humboldt Current brings cold Antarctic waters to mix with the warmer waters near the equator, creating an abundance of marine life. According to a marine biologist I met there, 15% of the world's anchovies are fished off the coast here (didn't verify that fact so take it as you will). The sand dunes, steep cliffs and offshore islands that comprise the park are refuge to many birds, including penguins and flamingos, and also seals, foxes and a few other hardy animals.

Miles of dunes with literally no signs of life.

Ummm, that way... I think... Forgoing a guide, I figured out the park on my own with a rented mountain bike.

At the far end of the park, this little bay was home to a couple dozen fishing boats and a handful of restaurants serving fresh seafood and ceviche.

It's a bit hard to tell, but the sand on this beach is bright red from the volcanic rocks that comprise the cliffs in the bay.

Kokopelli Hostel, my beachfront home away from home in Paracas. I'm pretty sure I woke up to see a drunk girl peeing on our dorm room floor in the middle of the night but that's another story...

My time in Paracas was capped off by tasting several types of pisco, Peru's most famous alcohol, and good conversation with an awesome local old bartender, sans drunk idiots stumbling around.

Cheers!

Mountain Biking the Peruvian Andes

While tourism in Huaraz and the surrounding mountains was more popular during the 80's and 90's, there are still a fair number of backpackers passing through hoping for adventure high above sea level. Most tourists do one or two day trips followed by a guided overnight trip to several lakes. Trying to veer a bit from the typical itinerary, I have spent the last three days mountain biking with a local Huarascan with over 25 years leading expeditions into the mountains.

On day one, three others and I went into the Cordillera Blanca, having been dropped off an hour's climb from a pass below the towering peaks.

From there we wound down single tracks, dirt roads and narrow walking paths to the city below passing lone adobe homes, herds of sheep and rural Andean life.

Day two, just Julio (my guide) and I ventured into the Cordilleda Negra for hours of riding through Andean back country. Small villages intercepted our descent down cow paths, dry creeks and pre-Inca trails, some of them thousands of years old. We would take a quick break riding a barely drive-able road before diving off onto one of Julio's secret shortcuts again.

This trail is the "break"? Okay...

Up on the hills, many locals still live and dress much the same as they have for centuries. Sharing the trails with us were shepherds driving along herds of sheep and cows; women dressed in traditional clothing, a sack of potatoes strewn over their back; pigs tied on a short rope, rolling in thick mud; and the occasional pack of aggressive stray dogs nipping at our heels.

A woman in traditional dress tends to her crops. The locals in the rural villages speak Quechua, a local dialect, completely different from Spanish.

A pre-ride portrait....

On day 3, we went back into the Cordillera Blanca with another small group of experienced riders. Following narrow, rocky single tracks, the descent into the valley was technically challenging and I finally had two long overdue wipeouts. The first one, I fell off the edge of the of trail down five foot drop off straight into a thorn bush. Julio spent five minutes pulling inch long spines from the seat of my pants!! I proceeded to launch over the handle bars about twenty minutes later on another steep downhill, somehow landing on my feet.

Julio and another rider changing one of three flat tires we had today.

Prepping for an ascent up into 13,000 foot plus altitude....

Though I don't think mountain biking will replace surfing for me, it has been an amazing and different way to get a glimpse into rural Andean villages, scope South America's highest peaks, and attempt to tame some scary, feral dogs.

Today's crew along with our all-knowing guide, Julio.

Confidence broken but physically unscathed after today's tumbles, I'll take a rest day in the local hot springs tomorrow before heading south to Lima.

La Cordillera Blanca: More to Peru than Jungle and Beaches

Dividing the arid Peruvian coast from the Amazon rainforest, the Cordillera Blanca is the highest tropical mountain range on earth. With 33 summits over 18,000 feet high, only the Himalayas boast more peaks in such a small area. This is probably the most visually stunning place I have ever seen and an incredible, unplanned detour from my South American surf tour.

Nestled between the Cordillera Blanca and the less impressive Cordillera Negra, the city of Huaraz is bustling commercial center of about 100,000 people and the place I have called home the last several days. The city itself is quite ugly with the most horn-happy cab drivers in Peru, though the city's lack of architectural beauty cannot be blamed entirely on its citizens as a massive earthquake in 1970 leveled virtually the entire city. Two hours north of Huaraz during the same earthquake, a landslide broke free above the town of Yungay burying the entire population of 20,000 alive. A tragic reminder that these mountains and altitude are to be taken seriously.

Huaraz sitting far below the Cordillera Blanca. Peaks like these make a semi-circle around the city.

Surprisingly, Huaraz is lively, congested city and was my first introduction to the more bizarre foods you find here in South America. Meat is not kept cold and slabs of cow, whole chickens, gutted guinea pigs, cow hooves and chicken feet.

Looks appetizing, huh?

After taking a day to acclimatize to the breath-taking altitude, I took a day hike with a couple new friends to Laguna Wilcacocha in the Cordillera Negra to get views across the valley.

At about 12,300 feet, Laguna Wilcocha is a small, deep lake with a pretty impressive backdrop. An amazing way to kick off my intro to the highest mountain range I've ever been in.

More to follow...

5 Minutes of Fame

Not far from Huanchaco are some amazing ruins, including Chan Chan, the largest pre-Incan city in South America and two large temples, the Huaca de la Luna and Huaca del Sol. Chan Chan covers 8 square miles and is still being excavated, however, tours are offered in a partially restored palace on site which was a large maze of intricate, adobe sculptures and towering, defensive walls.

As my guide, the two locals in our group and I were leaving the ruins, a group of 30 or more local middle school students from an all girls academy were walking in. One of them grabbed my shirt and insisted on taking a picture with me, which led to a frenzy as all of them fought for five minutes to get their picture taken with me too. Even the teacher got in on the photo shoot! By the time I got my camera out and turned it back on them, they had all ran away, suddenly embarrassed. Probably the closest I'll ever be to bring famous...

I left Chan Chan and headed to the other major ruins for a free tour of the enormous temple. Somehow, I ended up in another all girl school group again, though it appeared my five minutes of fame was up, thankfully.

Original wall painting at Huaca de la Luna. This 4' x 4' design has not been restored in any way, pretty amazing!

This detailed painting was part of an intricate design covering a five story exterior wall.

Perhaps more interesting to me than even the ruins was the public transport getting from Huanchaco to Trujillo to the ruins and back. Wanting to avoid comparatively expensive taxis, I've gotten quite comfortable taking buses everywhere, though with mixed success. From Huanchaco to Chan Chan, the bus costs 1.5 soles or 50¢ and is pretty straightforward. The bus is a 20 foot long beater that chugs slowly along, making frequent stops wherever people are waiting alongside the road. There are no set bus stops and no other foreigners onboard.

From Chan Chan to Trujillo, the major city where I ate lunch, I managed to take a similar looking bus, get completely off route and ended up jumping off and into a taxi to get the main Plaza de Armas, a charming mix of colonial architecture and dinghy casinos.

Didn't realize The Excalibur had gone international... Think I'll stick to Vegas!

After getting to the Huaca del Sol by taxi, I took a collectivo back to Trujillo where I hoped to catch a bus. A collectivo is basically a van that operates as a mini bus along a set route that may not have enough traffic to warrant taxis or needs a bus more than every 15 minutes. With a driver up front and an assistant sitting in the back yelling the route out the window to passersby, collecting fare and opening the sliding door to let people on and off, there is nothing in America that compares.

A typical collectivo. At one point on the way back from the Huaca del Sol, including the driver, assistant crouching on the floor and children on their parents' laps, there were 24 people in our van! Seat belts? Max capacity? Some concepts we take for granted don't translate as well as others.

Leaving the collectivo, I got on a bus along the Hunachaco route, though 20 minutes in, I realized it was headed the opposite direction I needed. Locals yelling and pointing at another bus, I jumped from the moving bus, dodging cars in the stalled traffic going the other way and hopped into the bus I needed, finally arriving home after dark. All in a day's travel in Peru!

Hola Huanchaco

Travel days are often the most difficult for the solo wanderer. Walking down the street carrying all of your belongings on your back with no goodbye, no "see you later" and no company for the dusty walk to the bus station. But the squalid conditions of my lodging at Chicama were something I was glad to have in my rearview mirror. Besides, today was different. Mema and Maria Julia were there to send me off with a hug and a kiss the cheek, giving today's departure a much warmer feel. I had befriended the two chatty eighty year old women over the last several days as I bought a banana, homemade cookie and bottled water at their "bodega" each morning for breakfast.

The day was also different as I felt something I had never felt before and probably never will again; I was bored with surfing perfect waves all day, every day.

Sink falling off the wall, no shower head, cracked mirror, filthy floor and no shower curtain to keep the place from getting soaked every time you "hosed off" it was easy to say goodbye to this gem of a place...

Fortunately, my next stop in Huanchaco is on the well-worn gringo trail and despite my hostel being 50 feet from the ocean, I did not get wet once in four days. It was refreshing to meet other young backpackers and swap stories from the road over a few beers.

Besides tourism, the town's economy is also fueled by fishing and many locals still use the same boat technology that was perfected thousands of years ago. Each afternoon, a dozen of these rafts would take off beyond the surf, fishing for corvina, octopus, shrimp, and squid before riding the waves back into shore. Some argue that the first surfers were not actually Hawaiians but the Huanchacans standing on their reed rafts.

While in Huanchaco, there was also some sort of celebration that wasn't explained very well but nonetheless it was pretty cool seeing this group of military academy cadets parading down the street. A local school teacher handed me a Peruvian flag and I joined the patriotic fervor, not having the slightest idea why.

On a completely unrelated note, I have been working on growing a mustache the last couple weeks. Here's my best "blue steel" before I shave it off...

Chicama: The Good and the Ugly

Imagine you're at Disneyworld, not just regular old Disneyland, but Disneyworld, literally the happiest place on earth. You're patiently waiting in line to go on the most amazing ride you've ever been on yet every time it's your turn, six people cut in front of you, leaving you to wait for the next one to come through. This goes on for twenty minutes till you finally get a seat, not the best seat but its still an exhilerating ride. This goes on at every attraction, all day long.

Welcome to Chicama. As arguably the longest wave on earth, those too weak or too lazy to walk or paddle back to the peak after a long ride and willing to spend a few bucks, are scooped up into one of a few zodiacs buzzing the water only to be dropped back off at the top of the point, deeper than the rest if us doing it the old fashioned way. When a set comes, the boaters are deeper on the wave and thus in position to have right of way for the entirety of the ride. Several boats even cut straight through the surfers battling against the strong current and drop guys off perfectly timed with sets so that they guarantee the best waves.

But this is worse than cutting in line at Disneyworld, as the boats not only break the unwritten yet universal code of line-up etiquette, they go against the essence of surfing itself. Surfing is a way of life, much more than a sport or the simple act of riding a wave. What makes it so rewarding is all the hours spent looking at swell charts, driving around checking each spot, traveling great distances, learning how to read a wave, acquiring tribal knowledge, waiting for the tide to drop, and paddling against the elements only to finally arrive in that perfect spot at the perfect moment to get a fleeting ride on a wall of moving water that was generated by a storm thousands of miles away. To boat through the surf skipping so much of this process, creating wakes that ruin the waves, bypassing the surfers struggling to stay in position and selfishly claiming each wave as "mine", couldn't be further from what surfing makes surfing such a beautiful way of life.

One of surfing's great lessons is "just because you can, doesn't mean you should." We're an infinite number of people all fighting for a finite number of waves. Restraint, grace and humility are as much a part of surfing as actually riding a wave and are virtues that carry on into the rest of our lives. The boaters may need a refresher course.

But I digress from my rant. For a strong paddler and someone willing to spend endless hours in the water, the boats are frustrating but certainly not enough to ruin a great wave. Chicama is actually an interesting study of all the various people that surf from around the world, from the two week vacationers paying a couple hundred dollars per night at the resort on the cliff, to the slummers like me paying less than ten a night a couple hundred yards down the road.

This is about 1/4 of the wave as it peels down the point. On an all time day, rides of over four minutes are possible.

The coast here is extremely hot, dry and windy. The land above the point is completely devoid of plant life giving it an almost Martian appearance.

I've been in the water at least four hours every day but yesterday was a marathon session from 1 to 6 with just a quick sunscreen and water break somewhere in the middle. Even boatloads of kooks couldn't wipe the look of pure happiness and exhaustion off my face!

Disclaimer: Though my audience is almost entirely non-surfers, I have intentionally avoided naming waves or towns near waves and posting photos that might hint where I am, though Chicama is such a circus, I did not feel it needed nor deserved such protection.

North of Puerto Malabrigo

A little over an hour north of the arguably the world's longest wave sits its much lesser known "big brother." More susceptible to wind but also much more open to receiving the swells that constantly bombard Peru's coast, the left hand point break offers rides of over 500 yards without the crowd and hustle of its more famous sibling. Besides being in the shadow of fame, another crowd limiting factor is that the waves break far offshore, not allowing you to walk back to the top of the point after a long one, but forcing you to paddle against the swift current for an eternal 15 minutes or so. Needless to say I'm sore!

Can't see the wave in this pic, but you can see the work it would take to get out there!

Unlike the last place I was in, the town here is actual quite charming, with a cobble stone boardwalk along part of the ocean front, narrow one way streets bustling with mototaxis and a variety of great seafood restaurants. There's even a fixer-upper colonial property right on the water for sale I've got my eye on (kidding guys, but seriously)...

Like many coastal towns in Peru, fishing is the main industry and there's a 550 yard long pier where the men set off to work on everyday. Built in the 1870s and destroyed several times by big storms and even a war with Chile, the pier has certainly seen better days as evidenced by the excellent view of the sea beneath your feet through gaps in the planks. I've got a pretty litigious mind and can't help but think about how nothing down here would meet ADA standards...

After the first night in an overpriced "surf resort," I moved to a new hotel with a seven story tower that provided great views of the surf, pier and town thus the hostel was named, El Mirador or "The Lookout" in English. There were several foreign volunteers working while I was there so I got the chance to meet some really cool people from all over the world, although none of them surfed. I didn't take a picture that really shows the tower all that well so here's me standing at the top, obstructing the nice sunset.

The view of the pier and town from atop the mirador on a hot afternoon....

More of this till my next post from the longest wave on earth!