10.14.: Pallasca - 3,150 m -

14.10.

one day before the elections in Lower Saxony.
I read that the SPD is slightly ahead of the cdu. Will the AfD succeed here too?

I slept well and was woken up at half past six by the roosters that are crowing from a greater distance.

I have breakfast in a small tienda that I asked yesterday evening if they would serve breakfast. Since Peruvians have a different breakfast than North Americans and Europeans, I ask if they also have a Desayuno Americano. The store owner - around 50 years old - nods and I sign up for breakfast today.

Before that, I collect my belongings and pay the promised 10 soles for the vespa. Then I have to go to another tienda. I bought toilet paper and something sweet there yesterday, but the owner couldn't change the 100 soles. I suggested that she could give me the change tomorrow. Luckily, I remembered the location of the tienda. In the evening, the village streets look completely different, because many stores close their shutters. The next day, the view of the streets is completely changed and it's difficult to navigate.

And then something happens to me - even before breakfast! - a mishap:
The road is sloping, I want to park the vespa and lean the front wheel against the high curb so it doesn't roll away. But there is also a wide and deep gutter that runs at an acute angle from the house side and the street side downward. I don't pay attention for a moment and sit with the front wheel in it. I give it some throttle, but the front wheel gets caught in the tip of the triangle and the vespa wants to lean to the side. I hold it upright with all my strength, but my strength is fading. A motorcyclist hears my cries for help and saves me.

Breakfast consists of tortillas and tea.

I pack my things and want to refuel before I start. I haven't seen a gas station yet, but the mechanic told me the night before that there is one. I was relieved because I have almost no fuel left.

After searching for a while, I ask a young man where the gas station is. He wants to know how much octane I want, I answer 95 - he replies with a "no hay", he only has 90 octane. I look around, no gas pumps in sight. He shouts something to a house and a young woman appears with a 10 liter canister. I understand this "gas station's" business model and have the tank and the two reserve canisters filled up.

So - another hurdle is overcome. Now I can finally get started.

I already know what to expect today. Gravel, potholes, and tight hairpin bends. I haven't thought about the ascent anymore because the vespa has mastered everything so far.

The weather is sunny again, but the first clouds are approaching from the west. It's a sustained uphill climb, but then there are steep climbs and hairpin bends that push the vespa to its limits. And then it happens: I make a driving mistake and take a very tight and steep hairpin bend from the inside. Normally, that would be correct, but here the left side of the road needs to be used to avoid the very steep inside curve. The vespa cannot handle this incline because I had to let off the gas earlier due to the gravel. I slowly let it roll back to take the curve again and do it correctly. The rear wheel is blocked by a stone that throws me off balance. The vespa throws me off and falls to the side.

The German word for shit echoes through the valley. But it's no use. An off-road atuo will come. I free the vespa as far as possible and smoke a cigarette for composure. Then I hear a truck noise from above and it will probably take another fifteen minutes until I see it. I step onto the road - I can't call it a road - and signal for help. The driver doesn't reduce his very low speed significantly. The vespa lies in the curve, so the truck driver doesn't know what I want from him. Of course, he is suspicious. I explain it to him and then he sees it too. Together we manage to get it upright again. It starts immediately and I drive it to a passing spot and park it. In the meantime, my helper has already carried my backpack and one side case to the vespa. I thank him and he wishes me good luck. I am also soon back on the road. The third time - but the first time she threw me off.

I continue - I can't call it driving - working my way up and down the steep road with many switchbacks at 20 to 30 km/h. I take a mandarin break without knowing that the END is coming.
I'm overtaken by a motorcyclist on his off-road BMW. We exchange three words, but I have to concentrate on the road and the next climb, which is already visible. He continues and I already notice that the vespa has no more power. And it stops. It doesn't take another step, the engine seems to tell me.
An almost hopeless situation. Simply going back and choosing a different route is out of the question because I wouldn't be able to climb the descents behind me either.

I hear motorcycle noises behind me again. The motorcyclists are from Ecuador, want to go to Lake Titicaca, and belong to the first group. Finally, one of them gets off his bike and gives me a push. I work with my feet, but we only get a few meters far. Hmm - helplessness. My idea of unloading my luggage and carrying it up on foot... very laborious.
After a few minutes, we try again and this time it works. The curve is overcome. There is another straight stretch and I notice how the vespa gains speed. Without regard to the luggage rack, without regard to the gravel that makes the front wheel drift, "I tackle the mountain". At the top, we meet the motorcyclist I first met. He immediately takes out his phone and takes a photo of the vespa and me. We ride together for a while until another curve comes and the vespa simply doesn't have enough momentum to make it. I get another push and decide to change the nozzle. Maybe it's just that or maybe it's the fuel? The others say goodbye and I get to work. Actually, her behavior changes immediately and she handles long climbs and tight turns well. According to the GPS, it is not far to my destination Pallasca anymore. I arrive in a mountain village that demands everything from the vespa. I drive with momentum and full throttle up a certainly 50 m long and very steep street paved with concrete slabs. I don't care about the bumps and undulations. I just want to make it to the top and she makes it and I hope that the welded luggage rack can handle it and won't give in.

Another 6 km to Pallasca. They are challenging. The vespa's engine stutters, and it seems like the performance is completely decreasing, but it quickly recovers. I suspect it's just the fuel. In the next bigger city, I will refuel with 95 octane gasoline again.

Pallasca welcomes me with a very steep and long stretch of concrete slabs that I take with momentum and without regard for pedestrians, accelerating to full throttle to the Plaza Mayor. Done!

The square is empty and deserted. It's Saturday afternoon. Only a few people sit on the benches. It's cool here again and the poncho provides warmth to the Peruvians. Is there also a "sports show" here that keeps people at home?

I immediately find a hotel, but upon closer inspection, it looks quite deserted. Two girls look at me curiously, and I ask them right away if they know a hotel.

They point somewhere and I ask them if they want to lead me there. Luckily, it's only a few meters. The lady opens the door and nods when I ask about a room. The vespa also gets its sleeping spot. There is also a patio here and the house is made of clay.

My room is on the first floor with a view of the courtyard and the typical balcony for patios.

the view from my window

I have to pay 12 soles. The room is very simple, but unlike yesterday, the bed even has a sheet so that I'm not in direct contact with the horse blankets. I share the bathroom with the family. There is a little daughter between 5 and 6 years old who comes towards me with a bundle on her arm. At first, I think it's her doll, but then I see that she carries a small baby with her. Everything is very, very basic. From my window, I have a great view of the hazy mountains. Directly below me, I see the chickens pecking, a goose drinking water, and a sheep's pelt lying on the corrugated iron roof.
When I ask for a towel after dinner, I see numerous guinea pigs bustling around on the clay floor in the kitchen. I ask if they are being eaten. I get a casual yes. Guinea pigs are on the menu everywhere in Peru. How does the little daughter cope when her playmates gradually diminish?
There is no internet reception for everyone here. To make sure, I ask someone on the plaza and also in the restaurant - the residents of Pallasca are cut off from the digital world. There is a tower here and I observe how the mobile phone users gather underneath - I also join them, but without success.

Will I have a connection to the digital world again tomorrow?