The Long Journey Begins

The ferry from Lagunas to Yurimaguas was much more comfortable than the other direction. Several factors contributed to this: first, we found a bit more space to hang up our hammocks, but it is nicer being squashed up to friends than strangers anyway; second, I'd had quite a bit of practice at hanging up my hammock at the shaman's house, so I was able to make a better job of it that the guide had on the way; and lastly, we bought three small bottles of aguardiente to take away from the bar at the dock when the ferry had arrived, and this certainly helped make the journey more comfortable.

In the morning I was ready with my tupperware to collect whatever breakfast would be. It was watery, sweetened rice, the only saving grace being that it was flavoured with a bit of cinnamon. I could have quite happily done without - or just collected it in my cup; I hadn't needed to buy my fork and tub. We were expecting to arrive rather late since the boat had left four hours late, but they really managed to excel in their tardiness: the boat pulled into Yurimaguas a full five hours late, on top of the four hours late in leaving. So instead of our originally scheduled arrival time of 4am, we arrived in town at 1pm after a fifteen hour journey. The boats really don't run on time!

After our pitiful breakfast I was dreaming of the chicken place Daniel and I had gone with Carlos last time we were in town, and I thought I could probably get us there. Instead, the guide who had taken a few drinks with us in Lagunas port a few days ago, was waiting at the port when we got off and offered to take us to a chicken place. First we had to refuse the taxi he had flagged for us, who wanted to charge four times the going rate, and negotiate our own, then the place he took us to was one of those standard menu del dia places of which I was thoroughly sick: a huge bowl of soup, a huge pile of rice, a huge pile of yuca or some other potato, and a teeny piece of low quality fried chicken. It just wasn't what I had been dreaming of after days of the same of worse in the jungle. To make matter worse he didn't even offer me any money when the other two paid me their share, after the waitress had mistakenly believed I intended to pay for everything. It wasn't much money, so I let it go and we said goodbye to him. When I told Maude she was furious: "these people - they only offer to help you so that they can get something out it for themselves!" She really didn't like Peruvians. On the other hand their disbelief at how the locals behaved here really made me look forward to Central America and Mexico.

A couple of hours in a taxi and we were in Tarapoto. We were only in Tarapoto to get buses out of there, so we asked the taxi driver to drop us at a hotel near the bus terminal. I had hoped for a little bit of luxury after slumming it in the jungle for so long, but this hotel was a real dump: no running water, no fan in the room, no internet of course: nothing! However, all was not lost: I still wanted the chicken of my dreams, so we asked about whether their was a polloria and found a place exactly like I had wanted. They rotisserie pollo a la brasa, sold as entero, medio, quarto, and even octavio. A big guy sitting at the next table gave us a "thumbs up" and pointed at his quarto, so I decided it must be enough for me too and very restrainedly ordered a quarter chicken. It was incredible.

The next morning I found out that the midday bus I had been planning to take to Piura was sold out but, they told me, there was another one leaving at 3pm although it wasn't up on their board. I was relieved because it was a long way to Cartagena where I was planning to meet Lucy, Zdenek, and the two girls for Christmas, and I didn't want to lose any more days. Oddly, and slightly suspiciously I thought at the time, the 3pm bus was due to arrive in Piura the same time as the midday bus had been due. I confirmed twice at the desk: ¿directo? and got the same response both times: ¡si, directo!. Now that Luis and especially Maude had pointed out what a bunch of liars and cheats the Peruvians are, it seemed to have got much worse for me: when I came to load my bag on the bus, the driver put a sticker for Chiclayo on it. There was a bus leaving for Chiclayo at 3pm on the board. ¿Necesito cambiar para Piura? I asked. ¡Claro! came the response.

I said goodbye to Maude and Luis, who were heading towards Bolivia as fast as they could, and got on the bus, thinking about what cheats and liars Peruvians are and how I, too, would be glad to leave the country as soon as possible. It was a shame to be leaving the Swiss couple, though, because I thought we had got on very well; but we had promised Scotland-Switzerland exchange trips when we return to Europe.

written by

The Happy Couple on December 18, 2009 from Tarapoto, Peru

from the travel blog: Michael's Lonely post-Honeymoon

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