30.08.: Piura

30.08.

The comparison is fitting. My hostel room in Hostal Deliciosa resembles a prison cell. The small window, which is supposed to provide daylight directly under the ceiling, only lacks the bars, but has a door like a cell bathroom. As a result, my cell, measuring less than 10m2, is dominated by the smell coming from the bathroom. The walls are painted with washable dark blue paint. My predecessor did not work through his checklist, but carved his and his partner's initials into the walls. The previous guests also left their mark on the small wooden table. A chair is not provided, but was brought to me last night. The bed has a white, but already aged steel frame, and surprisingly, the mattress is comfortable.
According to the PONS dictionary, Deliciosa means: wonderful, graceful, charming...

Fitting for a cell dweller, this morning I had my breakfast from Ludwig's tin bowl again, instead of milk there was agua sin gas. But the excellent fruit from the market that I got yesterday made up for it.

Will the weld hold?

I have already vented my frustration in this blog about how Peru makes sure that drivers really slow down. They are everywhere: the concrete waves or plastic bumps, which are not only supposed to control traffic at the beginning and end of a town, but also for no apparent reason within the town itself. It is suspected that this bumpy road has finished off the luggage rack yesterday.

Some cities and towns are reducing my average speed significantly. Today, I am accompanied by dreary desert, but compensated with fresh spring green. Autumn is also making an appearance: the corn is being harvested. Here, it is piled up on truck beds, far beyond their limits. It is allowed to grow wider above the side walls, so that I feel like I'm in a tunnel when I overtake these trucks. Other trucks, also loaded like this, try to avoid each other, but it can happen that the protruding cargo shaves each other off. South America, right.

Today, I have covered 323 km - there are still 385 km to the border, but it is estimated to take 6 hours. Who knows what awaits me there tomorrow.
Piura is the seventh largest city in Peru with 440 thousand inhabitants. And those who have read 'The Green House' by Mario Vargas Llosa have already been in Piura as readers.
It welcomes me with unpaved roads. All main roads have potholes and are one big bumpy road. The city has many majestic trees, mostly represented by the ficus, which we know as a houseplant, but also fern-like plants.

So much green all at once! El Nino provided rain for three months at the beginning of the year. The city is always green, the desert still benefits from the water masses today, according to our hostel owner

The hostel is located in a beautiful neighborhood across from a park with green lawn, oleander, and the first signs of spring. Maybe I'll take an extra day on the way back, but for now, bureaucracy is pushing me to the border.

I stroll through the neighborhood, have ceviche on the way back, and am delighted by a beetle and a VW bus with a VW camper conversion. Will I make it to the border tomorrow?