Five weeks of travel above 10000 feet can leave a couple of travelers a little breathless and even a little more chilled. We relished the opportunity to explore Peru’s northern coast for some waves, sand, and warm weather.
Our night bus was first a bumpy ride on an impossibly twisty road brought out of Huaraz and the Cordillera Blanca moving North again along the smooth Pan-American highway. We escaped our bus on a sleepy Sunday morning in Trujillo, Peru’s fourth largest city. We caught an eager taxi driver ready to speed us the ten miles to the coastal city of Huanchaco that we planned to explore. The dusty, brown expanses were in such contrast to what we had seen just a day earlier, the wind creating small dust tornadoes reminding me of May days on the farm as a kid.
We passed the Inca ruins of Chan Chan before rolling out to the beautiful blues of the Pacific and Huanchaco. Exhausted we found suitable accommodation and laid our heads down for a morning nap.
The endless rocky beach waited for us to gorge on banana pancakes before hosting us for a long walk on its’ shore. The water was frightfully chilly, the incoming tide left a little more wet than we wanted before we moved to the relative safety of the concert walkway.
Novice to expert surfers filled the waters near the pier. Some under the watchful eye of one the countless surf instructors, their advertisement littering the billboards outside the beachside hotels. Seasoned veterans steered clear of the newbie’s waiting patiently to catch a great curl, then ripping along its top effortlessly to everyone’s admiration.
We found a fantastic vegetarian restaurant for dinner before a leisurely stroll along the empty streets of a now seemingly deserted village. With no ice cream to be had we decided there and then to move North to touristy, but hopefully warmer Mancora near the Ecuador border.
The only thing worse than the night bus is… the day bus. After a sleepless night 2 days earlier I convinced Dee we’d take the day bus to Mancora, enjoying the coastal scenery and arriving well rested. Unfortunately, the bus gods had other ideas…
We caught our first bus from Trujillo painlessly; front row, seated on a luxury double decker bound for Chiclayo in exactly three hours. We passed the time easily, catching up on notes, reading, and even breakfast.
Now the fun began. Our bus line terminated service here and we found ourselves trudging with our packs to the next station in the soaring midday heat. We stood in line as our connecting bus pulled away, only to have the next one be sold out. Lunch break!
Our next bus was a definite downgrade with intermittent air-con and cramped seats. We persevered for the next three hours, finishing books, and practicing patience. Arriving in Piura we found out we now faced yet another 3 hours of bus and this one looking to be the worst of the bunch. Dee and I were faced with separate seating next to the two loudest snorers in Peru. Did I mention the Ipod was dead! We limped into Mancora wondering why we hadn’t signed up for the night bus…
The promise of ‘beach-side cabana’ and ‘warm ocean breezes' brought us north and arriving at ‘The Point’ it was evident we had hit the beach scene. The shirt-less male staff of twenty somethings appeared to be accomplishing as little as possible in preparation for the evenings ‘full moon party’. They reluctantly brought us to the cabin which could be at best described as ‘rustic’. There was no doubting its proximity to the ocean, just 50 meters away. The thick ocean breeze instantly covered us with humidity we hadn’t felt since leaving Bermuda 9 months ago – it felt great! – and the waves crashed like thunder under high tide.
Instantly invigorated we wandered back into the emerging party, complete with DJ, tiki torches, and umbrella drinks. We happened across Carla and Elias, an American couple – or were they? – we had met hiking in Huaraz. They were relishing the beach as much as us, introducing us to a couple of Canadian sisters among others. We chatted, drank, and danced until the clock struck four – not bad for old farts! – before escaping to the comfort our cabana. The music was raging but we fell fast asleep, the sticky air wrapping us up like a blanket.
Running Mancora’s beach the next day verified the return to beach weather. I was sweating minutes into the run, dripping perspiration draping my body like a wet rag. Despite all the hiking at altitude the heart rate was soaring and I in particular was thankful for the one minute walk rest. The walk-run is a great invention…
We found the ‘fine’ dining in Mancora over-priced but far from satisfactory despite the boastful claims of travelers we had met. We’ve both grown a little weary of eating someone else’s food, tired of the false claims and the mysteries that show up on the plate.
The sunsets from the beach were magnificent and we took full advantage to enjoy them both. The sun was enormous, engulfing the clouds around it before quickly disappearing into the horizon. Our second story deck provided the ideal perch to drink it in and we once again toasted our good fortune.
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