02.11.: Kishuara - 3,665 m -

02.11.

It's quite funny to use the police for your own purposes and keep them busy as jet readers, but it's not necessarily reliable. So I need a magnifying glass to become independent. And maybe the Vespa Club has a beautiful excel table for me...
These are the thoughts that I am being released into the night with.

Today's day actually invites me to take a day off, sit in the garden, read and observe the guinea pigs. But it drives me further. Does the horse want to go back to the stable?

Chincheras doesn't have much to offer. But an investor has dared to build a big department store near the plaza. In search of the magnifying glass, I also enter this one and find out that it may be open, but the store shutters are still closed. What's going on today? The hardware stores and restaurants that I find right away are not open either. There is a high police presence here and the answer to my question about the nearest hardware store is inaccurate and rude. Maybe it was me, because I haven't had breakfast yet and don't want to stay here for hours.

I go back to the hotel and ask the owner. No, he doesn't have a magnifying glass. But he has a good idea, the bookstore across the street must have something like that. But it still has its shutters down. It's almost nine.

Finally, I find a restaurant, and after hearing the usual "no hay" when I ask for fried eggs and bread, there are three buns with fried eggs on both sides. The place is bustling. 6 policemen and policewomen are also sitting at the table and having breakfast. Youngsters who should be in school are playing with their smartphones and later get served the Peruvian breakfast. Rice, chicken, potatoes and a soup beforehand.

The service is not very friendly, but the egg rolls are good.

In terms of the magnifying glass, I am not giving up yet and ask the maid a little later. No - the stores only open at nine. Now everyone would have breakfast.
I pack up the Vespas and before I leave, I realize that the bookstore is open. Yes, they have a magnifying glass in stock. I breathe a sigh of relief. But then I realize that even with a magnifying glass and reading glasses, I can't decipher the numbers. The son who helps in the store reads a three instead of an eight, making it unusable for these purposes.

Okay. That topic will be postponed to the next place Andahualys. I sit on the Vespa shortly before ten. Once again, a pass of over 4,000 meters awaits me. I am now meticulously writing down at what altitude I used which jet. That's a good start, but now I have to rely on the information from the police officers. The familiar change of climate awaits me again. Here it is spring to summer temperatures, at 4,000 meters gloves and an additional jacket are required. The shaking doesn't bother me anymore. When I am back at sea level, at the latest, I will have peace.

The descent rewards me for the inconveniences of the past few days. Great weather, clear visibility, impressive panorama, and an easily passable road. The Vespa sings, and we make good progress.

a cold wind, but I protect myself with my hat against the intense sunrays with each jet change

at eye level

In Andahualys, I don't want to linger. Just like the Peruvian cities: loud, bumpy, heavy traffic, and smelly cars and trucks. But fate has something else in store for me. The city has decided to allow a race through the city for the local car club. Today is a normal workday. It sounds impressive at first, but it's more like a disaster that brings the traffic to a complete standstill. The S3 road is blocked.
A friendly policewoman allows me to pass through, her colleague, 500 meters away, looks surprised and then shakes his head. This 'race' would take an hour or more. I position myself in a side street where I have a good view of the police officer, eat bananas and mandarins, and observe the hustle and bustle. This can't be true! Every five to ten minutes, a single vehicle with a high-performance engine drives along the road at high speed, honking, waving, and everyone clapping. For the Peruvians, it's a great event, but I find it rather unsuccessful. While I am being approached by an older man who is no longer quite sober, something happens on the opposite side of the street. Fireworks go off, something flies through the air, a crowd of people behaves as if money bills are falling from the sky, they jump on the object, push each other away, fall down - and then it's over. The police officer who is supposed to regulate the traffic, but apparently not maintain order, watches the scene calmly, but lets his countrymen do as they please.
I exercise patience. But when the first mototaxis drive down the street, I protest. The police officer has no answer to the mototaxis - I bother him until he lets me go. Get out of here.
If necessary, I will buy the magnifying glass in Cusco. Until then, it will have to do like this.

The jagged peaks on the horizon are getting closer and closer, and the first glaciers can be seen, but also thick clouds piling up from the west, which doesn't bode well. I would love to reach Abancay, but the estimated time on the navigation device keeps getting pushed back due to two more jet changes. I have no more problems with the cooling hoses. They are secure and no longer affected by frequent turning of the carburetor.

It is now 4:00 p.m. Six hours on the Vespa is enough. I skip Abancay and look for hotels in the nearby towns. The one that I can see now looks promising, but two youngsters standing at the plaza reply with "no hay" but then, as always, manage to turn it into a "si hay". The road goes uphill and then left, where there is supposed to be a hospedaje.
I follow the road. Soon there is no more asphalt, just compacted dirt with plenty of waves and tracks. The row of houses looks very poor. I don't think there is a hotel here. I ask a group of Peruvians who confirm the information and point to a blue, two-story adobe house. The door is not locked. I push it open and call out loudly. No answer. Baskets of laundry, an unmade bed, an iron, and lots of clutter, as the Swabian would say. Junk in standard German.

I park the Vespa in front of the house and ask the men if they know more. Yes, the señora went to the cemetery but will be back in an hour. I have time because I'm sure I can get a room there.
The usual questions are asked, but then the quality changes. What would be produced in Germany, what Germany thinks of Trump, if we have an arms industry, what Germans earn. And finally, they want to know my age. Guess, I answer, and they estimate that my answer buys me 13 years of life. I relativize because some of the men are probably younger, but they already look exhausted. Then they want to know my travel route. It's fun talking to them. I understand them quite well, and apparently, they understand me too. Meanwhile, the sky has darkened a lot. A strong, gusty wind picks up and sends dust waves over the dirt roads, and lightning can be seen over the peaks to the west. Quite unpleasant, and here I am, instead of looking for a room.

Farewell, and a few minutes later, the answer from the hostel owner: no hay! I try everything to turn it into a "si hay," but no luck. But down at the plaza, there should be a hotel. I roll back down to the plaza, but with a lot of imagination, I can't recognize a hotel or hostal or hospedaje.

Something is different today with the Peruvians. They seem excited, and then I realize that many of those who are coming towards me are simply drunk. An unusual sight. I know them as hard-working people. What they drink behind closed doors, the outsider does not know. But now? Here and so publicly? I quickly move away. Before that, a white house is pointed out, but that can't be it because it has breathed its last. So I slowly approach a shop with an advertisement for the internet provider CLARO to ask there. A one-story adobe house. The entrance door may have had the right height in the past. Meanwhile, the sidewalks have been raised, so entering the house requires a lot of physical finesse. The Peruvians are shorter and don't have such a problem. I push open the double door and come across about 10 happily celebrating Peruvians. I ask my question about a hotel: confusion. But they offer me a bottle of beer, which I would gladly accept. I say that and add, but only if I have a room. No visible reaction. Then the mention of the fully booked hotel - then confusion again. It is already getting dark outside, and a solution to my problem is not in sight. So I try money. I would pay 30 soles for a bed. That helps. A woman with many laugh lines and a very nice face gets up and asks me to follow her. The house is diagonally opposite on the slope. Her husband, who was still working in the house, joins us, and they show me a storage room where a bed is visible on closer inspection. I am fine with it and keep my promise. Maybe the guilty conscience will speak up - no, we cannot offer him a room like this for 30 soles. There is still a room on the first floor. Do I want that? I answer that if it's better than this one, gladly. We go back up a narrow unpaved path. They push open an unlocked door and show me my kingdom. There is even light. That convinces me. It is also more manageable, and there are several horse blankets on the bed. Agreed. I take the room. There is no lock, but I have a padlock for the hostel lockers and am independent. The parking lot for the Vespa is on this narrow path, its right side revealing a view of the steep slope. I drive the Vespa backwards down the steep path, always careful not to lose my balance and roll down the slope with the Vespa. I leave the backpack and spare tires on it, only the sleeping bag and bag come with me. The Vespa is somewhat hidden. Two girls join and help me and want to know everything: how many children, if I have a wife, where I'm from and where I'm going...
I feel very reminded of Ireland. As a solo traveler, I also had a bonus of contact there. Once the initial suspicion has disappeared, people treat tourists like friends.

I promise to come back later because I'm really hungry. And stepping into this nice group on an empty stomach could be dangerous. There is only one restaurant here, and only a dinner menu is available. Unpleasant white light. Bright green wall color, wooden chairs, and wax tablecloths. The soup is hot. I eat rice and potatoes, but prefer not to have the chicken feet. The main course is rice with chicken, and afterwards, a hot cup of tea is served.

The rest of the evening is very funny. We sit on boards placed on beer crates, there is a bar and a display case for the latest mobile phones and smartphones. Behind me is a wall decorated with a large number of sneakers, which are also sold here. The floor is made of clay and is repeatedly used during the evening to pour beer remnants onto it.

'It is customary here to commemorate and celebrate the dead,' says Juan Pablo Flores

my landlord on the right side

my señora on the right, with many laugh lines

the two girls who liven up the dance floor with their inflated plastic bags

the two-year-old girl can finally sleep - a little later she is wrapped in the poncho, where she continues to sleep horizontally, and the mother dances. The father - on the right - has looked into the glass too deep and has to go home...

The women - as always with their wide skirts, high hats, and colorful ponchos. But they are lying around somewhere except for one. It has to carry a 2-year-old girl who has to endure all this hustle and bustle and is even being breastfed. Later, she lies horizontally in her poncho cave - on her mother's back - while the mother dances vigorously. And not only her. The other Peruvian women also dance their Peruvian dance, which looks like touching and spinning in a circle. Two little girls - 5 and maybe 7 - play with an inflated plastic bag that they throw to me after initial hesitation. This turns into a game that is observed with interest by the others. Then I am asked to dance. And that's when I realize how much strength the arms of the Peruvian women have.

Already earlier, when we visited the rooms, my señora ran quickly up the steep and unpaved path. They just have a completely different condition than us, who only sit in their offices and don't have to deal with the altitude. When I'm out and about, I often observe women and men running quickly up the mountain slopes to check on their livestock or tend to their land. Their ponchos are heavily loaded with tools or seeds.

Or we dance in a circle, and I feel like my arms are being torn off.
And beer is constantly being refilled.
I have completely lost track of time and am amazed that the kids are still there.
Then coffee is brewed and served in plastic cups. It is hot, looks like tea, and is sweet. It is served with small bread rolls.
Then I am asked to film the events. Nothing I'd rather do! Although a lot of beer is being consumed, everyone except one is still composed and converses with each other. I want to know from my neighbor what exactly we are celebrating. He explains to me that November 2nd is a holiday. All Saints' Day? That's when the dead are remembered, and it is customary to celebrate and drink.
The host is in charge of the music. Which has nothing to do with traditional Peruvian music. Although there are panpipes, guitars, and drums - the rest is nothing but high-pitched wailing reminiscent of Chinese operas. There is no difference between the songs.
Four speakers are distributed in the roughly 20 square meter room and have to give it their all. No one realizes that they are hopelessly overdriven. My ears are highly demanded.

The two girls who pull me onto the dance floor and want me to spin them faster and faster can't find an end.
But tomorrow is not a holiday, so at 10:00 p.m., the party ends, and I go to my "chamber".

the entrance to my chamber - with electric light

What a day! I narrowly escaped a disaster.
Without this chamber, I would have had to continue with the thunderstorm on my back.