Thursday 29 March 2012

Made it. Prayers of thanks sent.


I searched for options to avoid the bus trip from Cajamarca to Chachapoyas.  The best alternative was a 7 hour bus ride back to the coast, a 10 hour wait at the bus terminal and then the 10 hour bus ride to Chachapoyas from Chiclayo. 

Movil Tours has been running buses on the “road to hell” twice daily for some time now, and ploughing the route years before that on a less frequent basis.  Seeing as they have not lost a bus yet I figured the odds were in my favour and I bought my tickekt two days in advance and then sent myself off to enjoy the last two days of my life (ok, an over dramatization) in the beautiful Cajamarca valley.  Lots of cattle in the area, and it’s cheeses are considered some of the best in the country, so I picked some up as gifts for Janet and Donna, and enjoyed a few excellent meals.

With very little sleep under my belt (yep, I admit to being scared) I headed to the depot for a 6 am. departure…   After taking an Imodium.  Because of course on the day I am to take a 13 hour bus ride I have the runs.  Hmmm.

The first three hours of the ride took us through pretty valleys and wound gently to the town of Celendin.  Being curious I had Googled the town for information and it left me with the impression that it was a wee, two horse town kind of place, so I was surprised when we came over a hill and saw a relatively large hamlet nestled below.  Celendin possesses the reputation for excellent woven grass hats and chocolate made for heavenly cups of hot chocolate.  Unfortunately for me the bus stopped for only half an hour and there were no stores in sight. 

Google had also informed me that the road to Celendin from Cajamarca was easy, and it was… no real scares to be had.  However the next 130km will take us through a pass at 3000 mtrs, down to cross the Utcabuma  river at Balsas (980mtrs), back up on the most dangerous part of the road to cross a pass (3690 mtrs) to reach Leymebamba (2000 mtrs).

Thus armed I was not particularly taken aback when the road from Celendin became a single lane ribbon as it climbed upward.  Think cross between logging road and goat track.  Here and there the road widened just enough to allow a vehicle to pass if needed.  Zigs and zags.  Up and into the clouds and over the pass we thus went, experiencing the first “no shoulder” fun, typically passing high altitude farms manned (and womanned) in the fields wearing native dress.  Very pretty. 

Again I send up thanks that my life does not require the hard physical labour witnessed, and that I am fortunate enough to have enough left over to save for my travels.

Back to the road.  There are blogs and travel advisories galore about this road, and as we proceeded down every one of them was circulating in my brain.  The road narrowed, steepened, switchbacked and the river was very, very, very far away down there…  The decent from pass to Balsas is 2500mtrs, about 150% deeper than descending to the bottom of the Grand Canyon.  Yup… way down.  The actual condition of the road this side of Balsas was dry and in good repair, albeit narrow, and the areas set aside for passing looked sufficiently wide and stable enough.  Still though, it was a relief that few vehicles came along.  

Now the bus driver may have done this route over and over, but still he could have slowed down… you know?  I have taken enough busses and taxis to be familiar with the Peruvian driving style (take no prisoners), but why on such a narrow, high road with cliff like drops?  Does he want all of his passengers to pee themselves in fright?  Hmmm.

Down at the bottom of the canyon sits Balsas.  Blink and you will probably miss it.  I almost did.  The climate here is unique, catching and holding the heat of the full tropical sun.  Hot and dry, it is very green and tropical… lush with banana palms, avocado, orange and other fruit trees.  Well tended and fertile, the valley is pretty but small… just a blip on the ride.  We crossed the river here and I noted that it was running high and strong from the frequent rains.

Heading on up the eastern slope was almost immediately different.  Leaving behind the dry scrub of the decent we are headed into the Sierra Tropics.  And certainly the higher we got the more tropical the feel.  Humid.  Wet.  Slippery.  Scary. 

This ascent to the pass, and on to Leymebamba, is considered the dangerous part of the drive.  I fully concur.  Yes we made it (obviously) but it was in no way certain.  The road seemed even more impossibly narrow, and the drops down the sides would ensure no survivors.  I tried to look at the spectacular vista and not consider the precariousness of our position.  It rained.  There were wash outs.  Recently cleared mudslides.  Rocks on the road. 

And traffic coming the other way. 

You have no idea what scared is until a bus backs up on a slick high mountain road and moves to the SIDE, making way for a truck (and car).  

We made it to Black Mud Pass (aptly named I might add), and by this time we had left the jungle vegetation and were back into an area of high pampa grass, with not much else growing at this altitude.   There were clouds though, and you can add that to the list of road dangers… you know, reduced visibility and all.

The road improved only marginally as we began to descend through high, tight mountain valleys on the road to Leymebamba.   These are the mountains from which births the Utcubamba river.   The town itself is small, and although I have heard people say they like it, many of us didn’t.  There are ruins, a good stretch of old Inca road and a nice enough museum, but other than the hummingbird café I did not enjoy my visit last year and had no intention of getting off the bus when it stopped in the tiny main plaza. 

Having made it safely through the “road from hell” you would think the balance of the trip would not really bother me.  It did.  The next two and a half hour stretch had us bouncing over the severely rutted and weather worn road, and after almost 11 hours in the bus I thought I would go crazy.  Didn’t help that I had to pee.  Leymebamba was a micro  stop, so holding it in was mandatory.  I think my eyeballs were floating by the time we hit the small town of Tingo, and when the bus stopped to drop people off I made a beeline to the bus driver and more or less begged for a time out.  Closest toilet was at the police station, clean, toilet paper provided and all. 

I don’t think I would have made it all the way to Chachapoyas…

Altitude 2400 meters above sea level, which made it up, down, up, down, up.  My body didn’t know just what to do this that. 

A cab back to my home away from home, the Hostal Amazonas… hello, hello, kisses, key and off for pizza.  A short walk to stretch out my legs and then the bliss of a comfy bed and warm blankets.

What a trip.  Never to be repeated.

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