06.08.: Puquio - 3,200 m

06.08.

Today is a challenge.

It starts with a funny episode that has something to do with situational comedy. I get some milk and fruit for breakfast and enter a dark, about 20m2 small shop. The owner sits behind the cash register, he can't do much due to his size. Most customers know what they want, take the goods, and he enters the amounts into his calculator, puts the bills in his shirt pocket and the change in a worn-out wooden drawer. If you want fruit, you weigh it yourself and just tell him the weight in kilos. He treats me like his other customers, shows me the oat flakes and saves me the trouble of weighing the bananas and mandarins by simply giving me a price. He laughs a lot, and it doesn't bother him that he has almost no teeth to beautify his smile.
I pay, and he asks me where I'm going, and I casually point in one direction and say Nazca. He grins at me, points in the other direction and says freely translated: go that way. We both laugh, and he will surely tell his next customer something about the clueless gringos.

I have breakfast and observe the activity in the neighboring plot. There are worlds between the hostel building and the neighboring house. I live in a relatively luxurious palace with hot showers and running water, the neighbors - I don't know how many are in the family - live in an old mud house. Fortunately, people here are used to long sunny periods, but the rainy season starts in November with at least one serious rainfall.

Two worlds between my room and the other side...

Then the family is dependent on living in the narrow and dark house, dependent on a watertight roof and walls that keep out moisture. The man is mostly away, the children are at school and the wife stays at home.
But now the sun is shining, it's Sunday, but laundry needs to be washed. Not with a washing machine or running water - no, the maybe 14-year-old daughter has the task of taking care of water and washing and taking down the dry laundry from the line. She believes herself to be unobserved and practices the next dance steps - wherever she can perform them.
There is also a mother who, due to her size, is not as agile, sitting in the sun and dozing off.

On the roof of another neighbor, I see a small dog that manages to make itself comfortable on two blue plastic bags on a sloping corrugated iron roof, without sliding down. Later, the daughter comes onto the roof and plays with him, otherwise no one is visible. Peaceful Sunday morning atmosphere.

Another quick farewell to my hostel owner and off we go. I'm early, and already in Chaluanca, we start climbing, but the Vespa doesn't mind. We accompany the river for some time, it's another beautiful ride, but at some point, it's over, we leave the river and it goes up into the mountains. Serpentine follows serpentine, the Vespa is brave but loses speed, the temperature gauge goes up, the thermostat kicks in and I decide that the jet is not letting enough fuel through and the engine is getting too hot. Changing the jet is no problem, I think, and I perform my routine hand movements - when suddenly a jet of hot and greenish colored liquid shoots towards me. The coolant hose, the part we didn't replace in Arica because it was still fine, has been damaged due to the constant removal of the carburetor and has burst! I am far from Chaluanca, it's Sunday and there is not much traffic, the liquid cannot be stopped and soon subsides. I only think about my water supplies having to suffer again once I find a solution to the problem. I first focus on changing the jet, and while doing so, I remember that I should have a piece of coolant hose in my backpack. What luck! And it even has the right length and fits perfectly on the metal tube. The clamps are too small for the slightly thicker hose, and the cable tie doesn't tighten as much as required. Two clamps would be nice now, and indeed, I bought two in the right size as a precaution. Exactly two pieces that I need now. Great - I am confident, clean up, confidently refill my precious water, start the Vespa, and - it's dripping.
I try to tighten the clamp, it gets stuck, but after several attempts and keeping calm, it works, and it tightens. Second attempt: no more dripping. The drinking water is used up, the coolant level is below minimum - but I still drive and will refill on the way.
The temperature gauge stays in the normal range, so the jet change was not a mistake. Man, oh man - that could have turned out completely different.

Moon landscape at an altitude of 4,500 m

And this time, it's all about altitude: I closely observe the altitude development on my GPS app and see that we reached the summit at 4,556 m. Well, reached, but now we are cruising for the next two hours on the plateau between 4,200 and 4,500 m. The engine sounds good, we drive between 30 and 40 km/h.

Pampa and tussock grass, grazing alpacas that occasionally cross the road after a hairpin bend, occasionally a lagoon without flamingos

Then that's done too - we are allowed to descend to 3,200 m. The scenery consists of tussock grass and many alpacas grazing on it, but they also unexpectedly appear on the road after a curve.

It got us here

I drive into a parking bay and want to take some photos. I'm tired and unfocused, kick out the side stand with my foot without making sure it has a firm ground, get off the Vespa, look at the landscape, and in that moment the Vespa leans to the side - I try to catch it - no chance, and it lies there ready to fall asleep. I shout a loud curse into the valley and first remove all the attachments, hoping to manage then. Truck drivers pass by and honk as always when I'm tinkering with the Vespa, I wave to a family on a motorcycle with children on the loading area, they wave back nicely, not recognizing my helplessness. Then, after what feels like half an hour, a minibus comes, and it stops immediately. I point to the sleeping Vespa, the driver understands, another person joins and the three of us manage to put it back on its wheels. Thumbs up gesture and the minibus is gone again.

The rest is comparatively quick, but really exhausting. The sun is already quite low, my general direction of travel is west, the sun keeps piercing my eyes, then suddenly a change of light because a protruding rock obscures the sun, and I drive into a dark hole where a tight hairpin bend could hide, a mega-truck comes towards me, using my lane for its excessively long trailer - let off the gas and slowly feel my way into the dark hole - no truck, no tight hairpin bend - then bright sun again, which again causes a feeling of blindness - and it repeats like this until I'm finally so deep that the sun disappears completely behind the mountains.
Finally, I see the first houses of Puquio, and after some searching, I find a hostel.
Here in Puquio, everything seems very poor. Where there are no more mud houses, unimaginative houses have been erected in a frame construction style. It's Sunday evening, many people still on the street, the scene appears rather oppressive and hopeless to me.

Later, I go to the neighboring restaurant to eat grilled trout. Here too, everything seems very poor, white ceiling lights, walls radiating damp cold, stone floor, and a small TV around which the family gathers. When I arrive, the coziness is gone. I somehow feel like an intruder who interrupts the deserved Sunday evening but also brings in revenue. The trout is very delicious, the extra-large serving of salad hidden under rice and potatoes, the junior, about 10 years old I guess, sits at my table, continues to watch the TV, wants to start a conversation, but I am too tired after this day.

My room has no windows and is reasonably sized. But the shower is really hot, and I take full advantage of it, almost without limits.

Tomorrow another ride awaits me, just like today. The map doesn't promise anything good, but this time it's only 4,250 m.