Tarapoto to Chachapoyas

Travel day, and I can’t make up my mind whether to chance the 8 hour journey sans washroom or wait another day or two.  My preferred option is to take the bus tomorrow because there are washrooms aboard… but alas it turns out there are not tickets left. 

Breakfast is disappointing, with greasy eggs and mediocre coffee.  Not someone’s best morning in the kitchen I guess.  Whatever… it is not something that is usual here.

Back to the room to pack and I finally decide to trust Imodium and down a couple, wait while Yolanda calls ahead for a reservation and hail a motorcar for the ride to the depot for the minivan service to Chachapoyas. 

What a Zoo.  There is a crush of people, vans loading for 7 different locations and no discernable “stations”.  Watching the chaos for a moment allows me to find what I think is the ticket booth and I join a small mob of people waiting to get tickets.  Finally I worm my way to the woman sitting writing tickets, tell her I have a reservation, watch her scan the clipboard in front of her and frown.  She shakes her head, points to the chicken scratch on the page and I THINK she was speaking Spanish, but there was no comprehension on my part.  I tried again.  Nothing. 

Onto the scene comes a guardian angel who guides me to a minivan and we slowly work out what seats are available, and which I will take.  Back to incomprehensible lady, pay money and wait a half hour for take-off.  I say take-off because I remember the last trip I took by combi and we could have been flying at the speed we travelled.  The driver offers me the front seat for the first part of the trip as his next pickup is two hours down the road.  Bueno.  I am very happy to leave the madness behind.

 Off we go, zooming along at 60 in a 30 zone and I resign myself to relying on angels to get me there safely. 

As we travel up the valley the deforestation is almost complete, with small patches of rainforest her and there towards the crests of the mountains.  I close my eyes and try to imagine what this area looked like a hundred years ago. 

I also close my eyes when the impatient passing starts.

We pass areas where the roads have given way to the rains, meaning we take turns with oncoming traffic to use the single lanes left behind.  Military checkpoint.  Conservation checkpoint.  Mountains, rain, dogs playing chicken with the cars, and many heavy transport trucks to whiz bye.

Lunch stop was in Moyabamba, which is much smaller than Tarapoto but is actually the capital of this province.  Nice spiffy new station, good bathrooms, restaurant, and there is order instead of chaos.  Nice.  Good food, lose some passengers, gain some passengers and lots of cargo.

Back on the road I am not sitting up front anymore, but have a window seat nonetheless. 

Cue the rains… tropical downpour.   We are now headed east with the high Alto Mayo mountains off in the distance.   Second stop is Riojo, again passengers depart and board.  Not too far after that is Nuevo Cajamarca where the last of the passengers embark.  And cargo.  Wow.  A lot of cargo. 

We are in a transport Minivan and it is hard to convey just how much stuff they carry on the reinforced rooftops.  To start there is all our luggage, add to that boxes of motor oil, bags of produce, chickens, propane cylinders (thankfully empty)… and that is just the stuff I remember.  Once covered with tarp and netting it sits 4 feet tall.  I am hoping this guy belongs to the CAA or something because this is a Toyota van carrying weight way beyond what I can believe it is meant to. 

Hoping he had good brakes and tires too.

I close my eyes for a bit of zzz’s (hardly, let’s just say resting) and the bus heads into the hills and their turns that make the compass I have attached to my backpack go round and round.   The lush rainforest is trying to overtake the road faster than the road crew that attempt to keep it back.  

We are flagged down by what appear to be armed militia of some kind, and when the door opens they make a polite request (no idea) and people dip into their pockets and hand over change.  Hmm.

Round and round, back and forth, and the little van that could just kept on climbing. 

Until we are stopped by another armed checkpoint, these gents wearing blue uniforms marked security.  Another polite request, twice to me… (again no idea) and coins chink into the extended palms.  I, ignorant tourist and all have yet to clue in and haven’t yet produced any requested donations.

Somewhere into hour six the vegetation turns slowly drier and we begin to head down for a change.  Cue another checkpoint and another request for cash.  This time I am ready and hand over a couple of soles, and on we go.  This alms thing is new, and I am thinking not necessarily government sanctioned. 

We begin to stop and drop people and cargo off in small towns, and I am thinking it is toilet time.  A generous townsfolk offer reminds me of the vast differences in “facilities” outside of the city as I am shown to a large cement pee spot.  I manage a dribble or two, buy a coke from them as a way to say thank you and reboard the waiting Van.  Shortly thereafter we pass a large lake and we reach the transit town of Pedro Ruis.  No stop here, but a left hand turn puts on the final approach to Chachapoyas.

The river is running high and rough, evidence of recent rains up the valley.  We twist and along its’ banks for about 45 minutes before we begin the winding upward journey to the hilltop town that is Chachapoyas.  And I am so relieved.  The acrid, sour smell of vomit has been filling the vehicle for some time as child and adult alike give in to the effects of careening the multitude of hairpin turns.  Like dominoes, one after one in the rear seats they take turns, and I shudder thinking how full their plastic bags are getting.   I am guessing there is no such thing as Gravol down here.  (prayer of thanks sent upward)

We arrive after dark to a terminal just a couple of blocks from the town square and my destination, the Hostal Amazonas.  Home away from home for me.  I opt for a seriously ridiculous taxi ride to avoid having to carry my bag.  Shortest taxi ride ever.

My friend Carlos is in his usual spot near the doorway and a warm welcome ensues.  Nice room, laundry drop off, unpack, dinner, tired, bed.

Made it without pooping my pants.  Hooray!