Hola Peru

Cuenca is Ecuador's last stand; we have one full day here before the Odyssey into Peru and my 44th country by Stanford reckoning. Apparently we'll be doing a (safe) illegal sneak into Paraguay at Iguassu, which will leave me returning to England on 49-I feel a quick trip will be in order so I can raise my bat.

Cuenca was a great way for Ecuador to sign off. It is widely referred to as Ecuador's most attractive city, and our spin round the centre certainly bore that out. Like Quito Old Town, there are some sights, but the real pleasure is wandering round all the lovely colonial buildings. We took a spin round the art, tribal displays and shrunken heads of the Banco museum before passing by some rather underwhelming Inca ruins on our way to the markets (I knew I'd end up in a market).

First up was the Panama hat place: when I finally got one to fit my massive noggin, the hat didn't do much for me.



We went through the craft and flower markets, where you could buy stuff if you were that way inclined. As we emerged from the markets, the beautiful new cathedral appeared over the rooftops.



Sadly you'd need a helicopter to get a proper photo, as there's nowhere open and wide enough to get it all in. The inside was refreshingly tasteful and lovely until I saw the mammoth statue of John Paul II, which I managed to get a smash n grab stand by your statue pic of-already safely sent to the statue man.

As we left the cathedral, with my wrist feeling a touch, Laura and I invested in some special things



All this Jesus for one dollar. Apparently the faithful do buy them in good faith and pray to them: we've been dodging lightning bolts ever since.

All this was naturally preceded by a night out. Rich and I had been talking about our wonderful GCSE German on the bus and I had got thoroughly overexcited when I found the Wunderbar (does exactly what it says on the tin) in the Lonely Planet. Sometimes there's no mistaking an omen, so when we climbed the steps to reach dinner and the Wunderbar was right there, no discussion was needed on where to go once we'd eaten. Wunderbar, wundernacht.

At the museum we'd been invited to a violin concert, which seemed a good way to avoid a Wunderreturn, but dinner was a little slow and we missed it. I felt quite sprightly, but with an early start we headed back and caught the end of the Meaning of Life-I'd forgotten how essentially unpleasant the Mr Creosote sketch was.

Today's jaunt to Peru is a convoluted affair. 5.45 a.m. taxi to the bus station in Cuenca, bus to Machala, taxi to another bus station in town, another bus, off the bus for Ecuador exit formalities, back on the bus, off the bus for Peruvian immigration, back on the bus and then arrival at Mancura's beach on the North Peruvian coast. All being well, it'll be Mai Tais at 3.30. I'm not placing bets.

I think I should write a bit on the buses. I'm sorry to report that so far my rucksack hasn't been strapped to the roof, nor have there been any passengers with chickens in a cage to swell my ever expanding Indiana Jones obsession. This is not to say we haven't had entertainment. Above all we've had lots of reggaeton: I can best describe this as covers of Shaggy b-sides, in Spanish. Naturally this is played at volumes that iPod and my expensive headphones can't drown out. According to both Laura and Lorna after a month of being unable to stand it, you get to quite like it. We've had DVDs-Laura and I decided that Little Man in Spanish was a real contender for worst film of all time. Mostly we've got on buses at their point of origin and from what I can work out the number of regular stops represent a small fraction of the total. If someone waves at the bus, we stop; occasionally it's hard to work out where the passenger has come from-when there's not a single house in sight, you have to wonder what they've been up to out there. At many of the stops in more inhabited areas, vendors jump on and walk up and down offering all sorts, though as yet not chickens in a cage. Most get off without managing a sale. The toilet is locked and seeing people get access is reminiscent of asking to be excused at school-I'm just dehydrating. With all the activity inside the bus combined with the need to be vigilant with your possessions, it's an almost conscious effort to look out the window at the beautiful rolling green country, the plunging valleys, mountain tops, stepped and cultivated hills. And after Mancora, the night buses begin.

Of course we weren't going to arrive at 3.30. Of course this wasn't going to run to plan. There's a strike on, so the road to the border is shut. This means going off road. In a 50 seater, non bendy bus. OK, these are dirt tracks, but the holes are big, the turns way too tight and the way unclear-there's quite a lot of turning round. And then there's the tilting. With all the obstructions to the bus' progress, 3 or 4 times it crawls while tilting substantially left or right. On the last tilt, it's so alarming that a lot of the passengers on the left stand up and move to the right. Later Richard told me he'd been working out the best places to hold on in a rolling bus. Needless to say the bus stayed on its wheels.

Some of the border area was disputed territory for many years-only in 1998 did Peru and Ecuador agree the border and cease hostilities. As a result, we saw signs warning of mines (and possibily vigilantes) either side of the dirt track. When we were reversing near mines, it was a little worrying; I was somewhat reassured by the dog sleeping in the so called minefield. Laura decided the ante needed upping and opened the window, risking losing an eye to the trees and bushes lining the route-after my initial shout of watch out Laura was too late and long to say, it was necessary to abbreviate to WOL. Just as the whole thing threatened to descend into where's wally, we saw a couple of buildings and were back on a real road. Drives got the round of applause he deserved. During all this the soldiers dotted around seemed to do nothing and be less interested.

Our entry into Peru was not as lengthy or dramatic, but managed to include guys offering to help us fill out our forms. I ignored them and was unsurprised to learn their favourite payment for this service was to take some of your possessions without permission. The border also had some very rank toilets and showers-apparently the ladies was even worse. Naturally, as Vanessa is Peruvian, we were gentle as we took the piss.

Still, one of the big benefits of entering Peru is I pass out of Swiss Toni's sphere of travelling experience: I'm hoping for marginally fewer corrections from him!

We've 2 full days at Macora, which seems to be beach and nothing else. Seems I read Harry Potter too early. At least there's the Swiss National Day celebrations tonight, which I shall be assisting Manuel with. Maybe a new bunch of girls will be able to instill me with some sort of beach enthusiasm. And I think the Geneva convention requires all beach towns to provide championship standard crazy golf.

I took the first day in Mancora pretty easy-talk of body boarding tomorrow. Suffice it to say that the Swiss National Day celebrations has led to some people invoking what goes on tour, stays on tour.

We struggled for waves to start with, but once we found a better spot bodyboarding was quite good fun.



It did feel a bit like the SAGA version of surfing-lie on your little board, wait for a wave and then paddle away so the wave catches you and throws you up onto the beach. there didn't seem much to it, or many niceties to uncover, but it was good fun and swimming around looking for waves was quite good exercise.

Our first night bus, to Trujillo, was comedy and none too restful-Lorna and I barely seemed to manage any sleep and I arrived in the hyperactive state sleep deprivation arouses in me. The aisles were packed, someone slept on the floor by me, a guy all but sat on Richard's lap and Lorna had a crotch in her face for a few hours. And the movie starred Chuck Norris.

There are supposed to be three quarters of a million people in Trujillo, but I've no idea where they are-all I could see was a small town. The central Plaza des Armas is another attractive colonial remnant with a cathedral topped by Jesus



with the taxis on the street below, it looked to me as if Jesus was trying to flag one down.

We're staying in Huanchaco, a few km out of Trujillo, as the key sights aren't in town, but the ancient temples and settlements of Chan Chan and the Huaca de la Luna.

Chan Chan is an official Dan Cruickshank treasure-when I get back I shall have to see how many of his 80 treasures I can add to the 4 modern 7 wonders I'll have crossed off. Dating from about 1300, Chan Chan was the Chimu capital and a demonstration of what could be built with mud, straw, sand, shells and a lot of skill.



Less than 1 percent has been excavated; the city was covered by the sands after the Inca conquered the Chimu and decided they didn't want it. Each governor (effectively king) built their own palace upon the death of their father; Daddy would be buried along with a selection of wives, aides, slaves and ministers (freshly killed to help Daddy out in the next world), in the meantime (c 2-3 years) the new governor lived there while waiting for his new pad to be finished. There also seems to have been a fair amount of human sacrifice. Only the 8th governor's palace has been excavated, so if you fancy an archaeology project.........

In places the mixture of structure, erosion and submersion by the sand is very Tattoine (spelling apologies to Star Wars nerds).



There's some cracking detail, such as these pelicans



I also received confirmation that no one foreign can understand a word I say: Julio had already said he found me the most difficult to understand and when I asked a question, the guide on this trip looked at me with less comprehension than the waitress when I ordered the fried rice sin carne. I had to resort to whispering to the others and getting them to ask my questions.

The remains are spread over a large area, there were over 10,000 structures, and it took us till Sunday to reach La Huaca Arco Iris (aka Dragon temple).



We also took in the Huaca de la Luna (Temple of the Moon). This really isn't far from Chan Chan (just the other side of the city), but was a key temple for the Moche culture. Although 700 years older, some of the multicoloured freezes have been preserved here




These guys seem to have been even more up for human sacrifice, though some native hairless dogs remain.



The night bus to Lima presented a sharp contrast to the previous one. As the bus had a toilet, I went with the heavy drinking=sleep and snore. The seats were massive leather recliners at the front of the top deck. The film was Happy Feet. We checked our bags in, more like a plane. There were comedy security measures-everyone had to put a single fingerprint against their seat number and a bloke came round with a video camera, recording everyone's face-US Homeland Security would have been proud. They handed out food. The aisles were clear. The seats had leg rests and were comfy. We didn't get a flat tyre. We didn't keep stopping to pick up and drop off. There was simply no comparison to the previous bus, but did I sleep? Did I f........

I've started to notice that quite a few of my clothes are falling apart with just over 2 months to go. Now there's a freaky thought-sounds like the home straight.