The Sweet Smell of . . . Garbage – or -The Big Sur of the South

Ilo – Boca del Rio, Peru

Today was not yesterday. 

First off, and maybe most important, for the most part we weren’t battling a headwind. 

But the day had a number of other redeeming features that provide some significant contrast as well.

Surprisingly, almost shockingly, really, we came across an oasis of green. I guess where the Rio Losumba comes into the Pacific it forms a huge delta. So pretty to see actual grass after miles of sand. Corn fields. Sheep. Lots of sheep. Goats. Some cattle. Trees.

There is something almost primeval about seeing green. Like we’re not meant to live in the desert sand; so when you see life bubbling up it makes you feel much better yourself – like you just returned to Earth after a trip to space or something. 

Oh, and the birds. Coming from Minnesota and all, I guess I never thought about it before – because there is fresh water basically everywhere in our fair state. But after being in the desert awhile you start to notice the patterns. Once you are far enough away from fresh water there are no birds. There was a river in Ilo, where we started, this morning – so there were birds there. But once we were – I don’t know – five or ten miles into the desert they disappeared. Even along the coast. 

Once you start seeing them again you know you are near some new source of fresh water. It’s like when sailors start seeing seagulls they know there’s land coming up. 

Of course, we are actually more interested in towns than rivers at this point. Towns mean cold beverages and maybe some food. 

And the funny thing that we realized today: the smell of festering garbage is a harbinger of a town – at least in Peru, if not in Latin America generally. Because people don’t drag their stuff way out into the desert; they go to the edge of town to dump. So what we’ve realized now is that – at least when you’re in the desert – the smell of garbage is actually a good thing . . .

Okay, let’s put that discussion behind us . . . 

After Ite – the town with the river delta – we came upon the most beautiful section of coast that I’ve ever seen. Rocky – in that Big Sur kind of way. Huge powerful waves splashing up on the rocks. Some of the rocks crowned in white from the salt left by the big waves. Pretty aquamarine colors. And completely unspoiled – generally not a soul around. 

The souls that do live around here don’t appear to be doing very well by the way – at least financially. Lots of little shanties. Little more than four tacked-together walls, which are often no more than a thin veneer, with a piece of sheet metal on top. I guess it doesn’t really rain around here – and the temperatures are always okay. But it’s pretty clear that people here don’t have much. Kind of hard to see . . .

When we finally arrived in Boca del Rio we made our way to the beach and then realized that we had inadvertently passed the “camping” place that we were intending to go to. 

Probably turned out for the better. 

We made it a little further along this way – meaning a shorter ride tomorrow – and we found everything we need here.

Showers? Check. For five soles (Peruvian dinero) – or about $1.25 – there’s a shower facility right here. No hot water – but it’s not exactly cold in this part of the world . . .

Campsite? Check. Turns out no one cares if you camp on the beach. Even in the middle of town. 

It’s hard to tell what Peruvians would care about . . . 

“Can we camp here?”

”Sure. Of course.”

Can we go pee on the beach?

“Why not?”

”How about poop?”

Shrug.

”Could I steal that car over there?”

”Whatever you want to do, man.”

Or at least this is how we imagine the conversation going.

So now we’re snuggled up a few feet from the crashing waves in our new tent. The surf is already starting to lull us to sleep. 

Tomorrow we have a relatively short ride – 44 miles or so. But we have a border crossing thrown in there.

I guess Chile is two hours ahead of Peru (same as Mountain Time Zone for now) meaning it will be light out until about 8:30. We’re looking forward to that. Usually we get going around 8 in the morning. If we continue that pattern in Chile we’ll be heading out about sunrise – meaning more early morning riding. Especially good in the desert . . .

Any other advice on the pais de los poetas – the country of poets?

By the way, we’ve been thinking about the upcoming Atacama – and we think we have a solution. Sand worms. Diana – who has read all the Dune books and actually likes the movies (or at least she likes Timothy Chelamet) – says that it takes a while to learn how to do this. But after riding Old Dan for over 8,000 miles or so I’m pretty sure I’ll be a natural. 

Kidding aside, we’re still nervous about the days ahead – when we leave the coast and head into the real desert – but today provided a nice reprieve from all that . . .