Hitchhiking dirt roads, chasing alpacas, and road bandits

A hitchhiking story across the Peruvian Andes

As with all things, once we try something once, it´s never enough. We tend to want more. And I´ve been stuck in Peru for far too long now. Firstly in Lima, then in Cusco because of protests, then again in Lima, and in my opinion, being stuck in any city in Peru for more than a week is far too long (with the possible exception of Cusco, which is really nice), so I found myself sitting in the common area of a backpackers hostel, thinking on my next move. Brazil, I thought. I wanted to go to Brazil.

Spending sometime on google maps I have learned that the most fun way to get there from Lima would be to go to Yurimaguas, take a cargo boat to Iquitos, and then one from Iquitos all the way to Manaus in Brazil.

As I mused on the idea, I liked it more and more. I was going to take a bus to Tarapoto, go to Yurimaguas, and leave Peru behind me. I was thinking of resuming hitchhiking once I had arrived in Brazil. In retrospect to all of this, it would have been a lot more economic to take a bus.

While overall it was still an amazing experience shared with a now really good friend, I personally put my seal of disapproval on hitchhiking in Peru. The people don´t seem to understand the concept. Even normal drivers (of which there are not many outside of the coast area) expect you to pay them after the ride, making things really awkward. For gasoline they say. And outside of the coast, on roads that I and my friend took, the only existing traffic is taxis. Everybody who can afford to buy any sort of vehicle is a taxi driver. And they all expect you to pay, taking away from the experience. So anyhow, this is how it went.

I was sitting in the common area of the hostel, thinking of taking a bus to Tarapoto the next day. I have shared my travel plan with a friend I met the day before in this same hostel, another fellow traveler, Johnny Outsider. He has told me his story about biking to Peru all the way from Equador, and then hitchhiking the rest of the way to Lima after his bike gave up, somewhere in the northern deserts of Peru. He was thinking of buying another bike and continuing on through Bolivia and Argentina before arriving in his final destination of Buenos Aires, from where he was going to take his flight back to South Africa. So, I quickly suggested an alternative.

"Why don´t we go to Brazil instead, and then you can continue your cycling on the other side of the continent?" - I said.

He thought about it, and then agreed. And of course, I´m not the kind of person to suggest to anybody to ever to take a bus. So off we went the next day, hitchhiking to Tarapoto.

The first quest was to get out of Lima. A huge city with unthinkable traffic, it was probably the most car-congested city I have ever been in. And yes, I have been to Los Angeles. Compared to Lima, LA is heaven.

In any case, after walking for a better part of 2 hours, having some fat guy having his shoes polished swear at us in probably what were the only 4 English words he knew (my friend, faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaark youuuuuuuuu), looking like he was about to burst from rage, and successfully deflecting a pickpocket who went for a bunch of used tissue, we have arrived on the freeway.

My first thought was to walk on the emergency lane, but upon seeing that there wasn´t any emergency lane, and what seemed to be 80% of the traffic consisting of buses, the remainder 20 probably being taxies, you could forget about hitching from the center of this city.

We ended up taking a local bus that got us to the outskirts of Lima. Here was the Panamerican highway, stretching all the way north as far as north goes.

Our plan consisted of going of going to Huaura, some 100km out of Lima, and then turning east on the Ruta 18 to the city of Sayan.

You might have guessed what the first ride of the day was. A taxi. Well, it was a couple seemingly driving home from somewhere, and they offered us a lift some 20km down the road, which was great. They were very friendly folk. This was an amazing start to the day, since we didn´t have to pay even though they were a taxi, and also a prelude of what was never going to happen again.

The next ride of the day was probably the best of the whole journey. It was a semi pickup, and the driver was some sort of a supplier for the engineers and builders, so he was on his way home from Lima, full of supplies. He stopped by a local restaurant and bought us food. This was great! This guy was re buena onda. He got us all the way to Huaura. John and I thanked him, and we set off.

At this point, we were going to take the Ruta 18, which went off to the east, and was a significantly smaller road. There was some traffic on it, but most seemed to have consisted of taxi-vans, with signs Sayan on their front window. In reality, I don´t remember whom we hitched to get to Sayan, but I am pretty sure that we have not yet encountered these taxi-vans at this point. No, that was yet to come.

The first day was off to an amazing start. Upon arriving to Sayan, which was on one side of the road across the river, the other side being beautiful rocky mountains, we decided to take a break here. I sat down in a shade, and played some harmonica which I bought in Lima the day before, periodically listening to the wind. This place was so great and tranquil that John insisted we camp here for the night. It was just past 2PM. Since there wasn´t any rush, we have decided to do just that.

We climbed the steep mountain with out backpacks for about one hour, rocks unsteady and slipping under our feet, and found a perfect ravine clearing, overlooking the entire valley down below where the Sayan was situated.

This is where we set up camp. We ended up going down once more for firewood, and then climbing back up with hands full of it. During this, I ended up falling on my ass and ripping my favorite pants, which was a real tragedy. The fire on top of the mountain with an amazing view and a beautiful quiet camping spot was well worth it though.

Can it really get more beautiful than this?

The next morning we awoke, broke camp, and with out hefty backpacks back on, taking into consideration the pants incident that took place last night, decided to look for another way to descend.

We found a path that didn´t seem to involve many slippery rocks, but instead huge ones that we would have to jump on, from one to the other. John ended up dropping one of his panniers in a cave in one particularly difficult section, and my backpack hit him in the face when I dropped it for him to catch. It was pretty funny.

We ended up descending after about an hour, covered in sweat, and dusty.

It was a great relief to then take a bath in the mountain river nearby. The water was amazingly cold and refreshing, and since it was upstream from the town, also seemingly clean. I have washed some of my clothes and myself, while John almost got carried away by the current, smashing on rocks until he caught a grasp about 10 meters down river. I did not notice this, but I believe him. What a crazy bastard!

After feeling refreshed and clean again, we went back out onto the road to hitchhike.

Now, this is where we first encountered the van taxis. Not after long, a van stopped by that was headed to Churin, and since that´s also where we were going ourselves, we quickly jumped in. The van stopped numerous more times and picked up quite a lot of people on the way. After eventually reaching Churin, I was distraught to see that everybody was giving the driver 10 soles. Well, of course we did the same, but from here on out, decided not to take anymore of these vans. Ha ha ha. Oh, how naive, as we were to find out the next day.

But for now, it was after 1PM, and we were in the mountains, and as per John´s past experience hiking in the French Alps, it normally rains after this time, with sometimes intense lightning storms, so we decided to set up camp there and then.

We climbed onto the ground above the road, which was a grassy plane, and pitched out tents. The area was full of dry grass, but that didn´t stop us from building a fire. We dug a massive pit, and fortified it with stones all around, even using mud as cement. After, we cut all of the grass in the immediate area surrounding the fire pit. Real army style.

Not long after actually starting the fire and getting it to burn, and true to John´s prediction, it started to rain. At first it was a light trickle, but then it escalated to a real downpour. I didn´t have a poncho, and the prospect of sleeping in wet clothes in cold mountainous environment did not particularly appeal to me, and I decided to wait it out inside of my tent.

It stopped raining after an hour or so, after which we restarted the fire and cooked some amazing pasta with tuna and a rocotto sauce. Life was good, the music of harmonica was about, and we exchanged campfire songs late into the night.

Upon waking up the next morning and breaking camp and hitting the road, we got a few exhilarating rides with some locals, for about 5km each, and then, after that, on the way to Oyon, nothing. The road was also winding and steadily ascending uphill, Oyon being so high up in the Andes that it actually receives snow.

One taxi van passed us. Two vans. Three. It´s been over two hours of hauling our packs uphill like donkeys, and the only traffic on this road appeared to be these blasted taxis. After letting a few more pass and another hour move the sun further to the west, we finally succumbed and took the next van.

I had no inclination to sleep in Oyon or before it, since this high up in the Andes, in a tent, without any warm clothes to speak of whatsoever or even a ground mat, it was going to be a freezing nightmare. We reached Oyon, ravaged through some food at a local cafe, and quickly set off to get out of here.

As the city faded away, fields upon fields opened up before us, as we were headed for descend down the Andes. It was officially here that the desert landscape of coastal Peru was finished. Now we faced planes of fertile land, tall trees and beautiful forests. The sight was breathtaking.

In fact, so breathtaking that I started to get a bit dizzy just looking at it. As we kept on walking, the dizziness intensified, and it was even painful to look at the brightness of the day, as the light seemed to strong it whitened my eyes. What was happening?

"Do you feel it?" -I asked John. "Yeah" - he said. - "The effect of high altitude and low oxygen content." "Indeed" - I concurred - "and coupled with the fact that we are walking doesn´t really help. Let´s take a break and prepare some mate."

The mate did help. Or maybe it was just the rest. In any case, after this short break, we got one of the most incredible rides yet, in a back of an old pickup, and that along with descending down the mountains was simply incredible. We sipped mate and watched the view of the planes and fields far below us cruise by. This was an amazing ride.

This ride came to an end at a tiny farm house by one of the planes, apparently belonging to the driver, and we continued on walking from here. It was still extremely high in the mountains, as we arrived to a small truck outpost, from where trucks seemed to be leaving one after another. There were about 20 trucks parked in that area. The road winded up ahead in rapid ascendance.

Climbing up that road,a truck slowly crawled past us, and I gave him a thumbs up in a regular hitchhiking manner. He signaled to me that he´s going to stop further up road. So I set off running after the truck. John tried to do the same but fell and nearly dipped his face in a puddle of snowy water (Yes, we were still that high (in altitude!)). Eventually, I caught up to the truck.

"Your friend is coming?" -asked the truck driver. "Yes, he´s just behind, gotta wait for him" - I replied.

Once John arrived, covered in mud, we got in and the trucker really drove us a generous distance across a dirt road with an innumerable number of potholes. My ass was singing as I was sitting on some metal cover on the bunk bed. Apparently, this was John´s first experience with a truck, and he seemed to enjoy it. An important step in every hitchhiker´s life - achievement unlocked: successfully hitch a truck.

The trucker was on his way to Cerro de Pasco, which was not exactly on our route. So we got off an the intersection of Ruta 100 which went off to Cerro de Pasco, and our own Ruta 18. It was literally in the middle of nowhere.

The nearest town of Chinche was about 100km further still. The scenery once again, was breathtaking. There were fields and planes, and alpacas feeding on grass. Soooooo many alpacas! So naturally, we started chasing them around the field, laughing like maniacs, as they ran from us at full speed probably thinking about how weird the humans were. I ran out of breath pretty quickly, but John spent a good 10 mins chasing them around, and seemed to be pretty satisfied and happy with himself.

Not after a long wait, a ride was gotten in a semi full of fertilizer. I sat in the front with these two dudes in the cabin, and John layed in the back on top of huge bags of fertilizer.

"I felt like an illegal immigrant" - he said in retrospect.

Luckily, the ride wasn´t long, and it took us to about 10km away from Chinche. Obviously, the guys asked for money. "For gasoline" they say. Everybody here asks for money. I didn´t give them any.

We have resumed our walk, during which time I have snatched a few strands of Aloe Vera, and before long, we hit the town. It was extremely, extremely tiny, with a population that couldn´t have been more than a few hundred.

"Gringoo!" - shouted one local as he drove past us on a motorbike.

We soon realized, as we walked through the town, that the locals were whispering between themselves and giggling while staring in our direction, and before long they were following us. After a brief stop to resupply on water at a local kiosk, we got out to find ourselves surrounded by them.

"Where are you from? Can I take a photo with you? Why are you here? Where are you going?" - they pretty much rained us with questions, extremely excited and all. I don´t think they´ve ever seen foreigners before in their lives. At least not in passing through Chinche.

We needed to get out of here as soon as possible. We walked as fast through the town as we could, and found a camping spot in the nearby forest, which I think might have been on someone´s farm. There we set up tents, cooked, and slept. It was completely pitch black after the sunset.

The next morning we got a ride in an amazing old pickup and had the time of our lives rocking down the beautiful planes down the mountain in the direction of Yanahuanca, the next town. We actually went a bit past the town, which was nice, and continued on on foot. This was also the day we got into our most awful taxi ride ever.

Walking somewhat outside of Yanahuanca, a driver in a sedan pulled alongside and promised to get us all the way to Ambo, a huge distance away. We got in, and ended up listening to the same fucking song about some religion crap (gloria dios!) on repeat for close on to 2 and a half hours. In fact, since I was trying hard not to pay attention, the only way I knew it was on repeat the same song over and over was because there was a fault in the tape at one point where it made just a flicker of static before resuming. It was horrible. The driver was a fuckwit.

By the time we arrived in Ambo, I got out of the car and breathed a sigh of relief, as I was able to enjoy fresh...ahem...sound. We parted ways with 5 soles, and John said Gloria Dios to the driver instead of Gracias. The driver didn´t get it though.

Happy to be out of that car we made our late lunch in Ambo. This town was a crucial point because here the Ruta 18 ended, as did the dirt track that it was, and we were connected with civilization again. This was the Ruta 3N now with loads of traffic.

After trying to hitchhike, a bus stopped for us that was going to Huanuco and 2 soles didn´t sound bad at all. So we got in, and were in Huanuco shortly.

After deciding to stay in a hostal, because some drying was called for after last night´s camping in Chinche, we went to a nearby market where John was determined to buy some weed. His idea was to just ask people there.

We found a guy standing behind his stand with a huge bag of coca leaves, and right next to it, a non-transparent bag of about the same size. From this bag, he was taking out handfuls of white powder and sorting them out into small baggies right there, in plane view of everybody who cared to see.

Now get this. After John asked him about weed, he said that weed is illegal in Peru and that he cannot sell it! He is selling cocaine in broad lamplight of the streetlights, but weed is illegal! Get a load of this guy! Here´s how the conversation went.

John: Hello! Do you know where I can buy some weed? Cocaine guy proceeds to slap a handful of coca leaves into John´s hand. John: No, weed. Weed. Cocaine guy: Ahh, no, I don´t have any weed. Weed is illegal here. I can´t be selling weed.

And then he continued on sorting his bags of cocaine.

Well, that was that. If this guy couldn´t get any weed, nobody could. We resolved to just walking around for a bit, and going to sleep.

The next day saw us trying to get out of Huanuco. This was easier said than done. But why, you might ask? Didn´t you just say that the Ruta 3N was a huge highway with loads of traffic? Ok, consider this. almost 90% of that traffic consists of taxis, mototaxis, and minivans, which are surprise surprise: also taxis. So how on earth were we going to do this?

Let me introduce you to the concept of Selective Hitchhiking. You see, these taxi driving bastards have a tendency to stop even if you so much as make eye contact. And if they stop, normal cars and trucks will assume that you are getting what you need, and even if they had an inclination to stop, they won´t now. So you pretty much have to get off the road and pretend to be doing something else as the taxis drive buy, and when you see a normal car or a truck, run back to the road and hitch it.

After a few failed attempts, during one of which a fucking taxi stopped, causing a perfectly hitchhikable truck to beep and roll past us, and after a couple of hours, we were almost experts at Selective Hitchhiking.

Firstly, the bags were hidden, so taxis wouldn´t assume. We would get off the road look the other way, and the taxis seemed to drive by without stopping. Annoyingly, they slowed down as they drive past us though, and beeped furiously, outraged at the fact that we weren´t looking for taxis.

Eventually, or should I say finally, we got a ride with a sedan who was going to Tingo Maria to visit his family.

Tingo Maria was far, and over the Andes, actually down on the other side after a ful descend. Almost sea level. Tingo Maria was also a jungle. The Andes divide Peru into 2 major landscapes. On the west coastal side is some of the driest desert in the world. On The east side, a dense impassable jungle. The Atacama, and the Amazonas.

So as we descended into the Amazonas and found ourselves in Tingo Maria, where it was already getting quite late, we quickly walked along the highway out of the city, and upon finding a trail leading off the road, turned and disappeared off into the jungle.

Following this trail for about 10mins, we found a picnic table, by which we made camp. We quickly cooked and went to sleep, before the mosquitoes could have their feast. While we cooked, we also discovered that this was no picnic table at all. This was a grave and final resting place of one Aida Diaz, a loving mother of 3 children, as said the stone inscription.

It rained in the morning. Heavily. In fact so much that my tent was not able to withstand the downpour and got soaking wet, along with me inside it. It was a challenge to pack everything during a heavy tropical rain.

We hit the road again shortly after, but standing there under the rain, our stuff getting soaking wet, we had absolutely no luck hitchhiking at all.

The road was so slim with no emergency lane to speak of whatsoever, not any openings to stop, dense jungle being on both sides, we decided to head back to Tingo Maria as the sun marked late afternoon. I was thinking at this point, it was worth it to actually just get a taxi all the way to Tarapoto, because literally everything I owned was soaked to the thread, making the prospect of camping another night rather off putting.

We found the cheapest possible car deal to Tarapoto (which was still pretty damn expensive) and got there after 8 hours. The journey was uneventful except for a small minor hiccup. At some point on the road, a rope decorated with old tin cans was pulled across by 3 men. Upon approaching, I noticed they had shotguns strapped across their shoulders. So as we came to a stop, the 3 surrounded our car, going to every window but the driver´s. The one that came up to me told me that they were some bullshit revolutionary fighting force for freedom and some more crap bla bla bla, and that we needed to make a contribution to their cause, and if we didn´t, then well, they had guns. The other 2 seemed to be selling the same pitch. I heard John in the back say ´no entiendo´.

Well, the guy in front of me was waiting for contribution, right? I fished in my pocket and found 1 sol (about 30 cents USD). I slapped it into his hand. I don´t think he even looked at it. He just said ´Gracias gracias!´ and the rope was lowered, allowing us to go. This was bullshit. The rest of the way, I was wondering inside of my head how much of a dickhead the driver was, afraid to scratch his car on the tin cans, leaving his passengers to get robbed. Obviously he knew they wouldn´t touch him. He had nothing but his car, which wasn´t even his but that of the agency.

Having been robbed of 1 sol, eventually we made it to Tarapoto. After the shithole that was Tingo Maria, Tarapoto was a lovely break. It was a great city, with cheap food, and seemingly friendly people. We walked into a cinema complex, where I was able to use wifi to search for a hostel to pause for the night. Finding it, off we went, and not before long we dead asleep in a friendly backpackers.

The next morning saw us meet Neils and Hanneke, 2 friends from Holland, and Sofia with Lena, from Denmark, who were also going to catch the boat to Iquitos.

The next chapter of the journey was spent cruising along the Amazon river in the direction of Iquitos in the company of these lovely people. Brazil was now just a few stops away. It was near. I felt content knowing that before long, probably within a week, I´ll finally be in Brazil. It was a good feeling.

Likewise, it was an amazing boat ride, full of friendship and exhilarating experience, with lightning storms, beautiful sunsets, and of course, the Amazon itself.
Only more adventure lay ahead, and as drifted away down the river swinging in my hammock, life was good. Until next time, good people!