Last night, even before showering and eating and sleeping, it became clear that there is no bus going north.
The horror pictures shown on television prove that nothing at all is working there anymore. Numerous bridges have been destroyed, washed away, smashed to fragments. Not to mention the roads. It will take some time - if the rains do not continue - until a regular bus service is possible again.
No bus going north
Well, that is it for the bus to the north. Since we are here in South America and not in Europe with alternative routes, There is only the plane left.
Of course I hate it, because driving along the Panamericana, has always been a little dream. Well, the little dream will remain sound and smoke or water and rubble, and so I have to look for a flight as fast as possible.
I cancel the planned extra day in Lima (I wouldn't stay another night in this hotel even under threat of death penalty) and find - thanks to the internet! - soon a suitable flight to Tumbes in the far north. If I have to skip the Panamericana, then properly. Departure 10.45, so enough time for an extensive breakfast.
Again a very special breakfast
Sometimes the imagination simply can not keep up with all the additional nuisances possible.
Desayuno starting at seven, announces the grumpy guy at the reception. Wonderful. But anything but wonderful is what I am served on the morning of this new day.
I've had my share of breakfast surprises, but it's always had a certain charm (remember the cold crepe in Santa Cruz), but this tossed down lackluster stuff is the low point of my experiences in this regard so far.
There is no juice, but ta pot of barely hot water, a tin of Nescafe, which is so hard that it is guaranteed to have lived to see the Thirty Years' War, and two rather stale sandwiches, one of which is topped with a slice of cheese so thin that you might be able to read the newspaper right through it, the other with a slice of ham, olfactorically also quite old. With a courage close to foolhardiness, I take a bite, swallow a mouthful before giving up in some indignation.
BBut one thing you have to give them: all services are utterly consistently bad.
Flight to Tumbes
I didn't like Lima on the first visit, and the experience so far suggests that there will be no improvement in judgment. Anyway, the flight at least is quiet, if raucously crowded. Other people, especially locals, also have no other option for getting north than to take the plane.
On landing at the tiny airfield the temperature is pleasantly hot, a wonderful feeling after the weeks in the cold. And oh miracle, I am picked up, feeling like King Croesus and let myself be driven to the hotel 'Costa del Sol Wyndham'.
The reservation in the 'Posada del Mar de Don Durand' was cancelled by the hotel at short notice, apparently the owner had to leave for a short time and the substitute had just no time. My mail was answered, but Don Durand pointed out that no one but me was in the hotel anyway. Also a possibility to get new friends and guests.
He is lucky that I never give a rating on principle, be it for a hotel or anything. I also have never liked anything and do not intend to ever do it.
Just by the way: on checking in at the airport in Lima, I was asked to give a rating after completing the formalities. A rating? For a self-evident matter? Jesus Christ. "I never do that," I tell the amazed lady at the counter and leave with my head held high.
Costa del Sol Wyndham
Anyway, the hotel 'Costa del Sol Wyndham' for a change is something rather age appropriate, just the right thing after the previous hotel in Lima. A huge room with two beds awaits me, an ultra-large flat screen TV is hanging on the wall, in the bathroom I easily could store three of the last bathrooms.
Tumbes
Tumbes is a town by the sea, not too well known, it seems to me, because I am the only foreigner far and wide.
A walk through the town shows all sorts of colorful and vibrant, and I must admit that I feel pretty good here. Of course, this also has to do with the fact that once again the sweat is running off my forehead and I'm finally allowed to use the sunscreen again. The ticket for the trip to Ecuador planned for tomorrow has been purchased, at ten it's off, and then bye-bye Peru.
Tumbes aislado?
The only thing that puzzles me is a statement on the evening news. 'Tumbes aislado'. Which is supposed to mean 'Tumbes isolated'. How come? A look at the sky doesn't show the tiniest cloud, so it must be a journalist's joke.
Oh god, how can one be so mistaken.
Mileage: 5803
Matching Song: King Crimson Islands
And here the journey continues ... north, to Equador
