03.10.: Jaen - 730 m -

03.10.

a quiet night - unusual for Peruvian standards. It could be because there are more mototaxis and motorcycles than cars here. No honking, no pseudo-sirens from over-nervous car alarms.
I have breakfast where I was spoiled with a burger and fruit salad last night. Today I have fruit salad and a burger bun with fried egg. No Argentine tango music.

Before I start, I change the jet, supply the Vespa with motor oil, and replace a screw that was left behind in Riobamba with Victor.

Contrary to the information from the border official, there is no insurance office here, so I have to take care of that in Jaen. It's 110 km to get there, which is said to take 2 hours. At least an average speed of 50 km/h is assumed. This speaks against big and long ascents and hairpin bends.
The weather looks quite threatening in the mountains. Dark clouds are piling up and covering the peaks. But the lady at the hostel told me that I don't have to climb to high altitudes, but rather ride along a river. That comforts me. The ride is amazing again, I drive through a fertile valley, spring-green with rice fields partially standing in water. The road requires a lot of attention. At one point, it simply sinks about 10 cm, which I didn't see before. I get lifted off the seat, the luggage creaks, but nothing else happens. Maybe the road damage is still from March when it rained here for so long? Great caution is required. I also have respect for the rock walls that flank the road for longer stretches and especially like to sag or throw rocks in curves. Stones and big rocks that haven't been there for hours, but have fallen just a few minutes ago. How can I protect myself from them? Hope that I will be spared. These stones and rocks have so much force that they fall onto the oncoming lane and are caught by the guardrail. There are traffic signs that warn of this - but what good are they? Prevention is not possible in this case. Rather, accelerate and go through.

The weather clears up again, hunger demands a stop.
I find myself in a kind of roadside village with wooden barracks covered with corrugated iron. Peruvian food is offered here for long-distance travelers. I ask for salad with pollo (chicken) and get very tasty seasoned chicken meat and a salad that barely covers the plate. I ask for more. I'm not under time pressure, especially since it's only 20 km to Jaen. So I spend at least an hour here, have another coffee, write to Karin and Nora, and help the boss open a parasol. It should protect the sales assortment, consisting of fruit and sweets. Its construction is simply ingenious! The umbrella is not supposed to stand, that would not provide any protection, it is laid down and is not supposed to fly away. It's not his first time doing this. There is a loop on the table leg of the sales table where the foot of the umbrella finds support. And to prevent the umbrella stand from suffering in the long run, a wooden fork is already available on which the umbrella stand is placed. The strong wind cannot harm this construction.
Three boys come to my table and ask questions. I ask them if they know Germany - no. If they know Europe? No. If they know Chile? Shaking heads. The capital of Peru? Long silence, two shake their heads, the third asks hesitantly Lima? When I mention the capital of Germany, I can tell by their reaction that Berlin is a term for them.
on a clothesline, meat patties hang in the wind. Later I find out that it is beef. There are flies on my table, but not on the meat.

like laundry that is eaten by moths. But it's beef.
It doesn't bother anyone that it comes into contact with the umbrella. And before the umbrella was opened, no one cares either, with the heads of the customers who buy fruit - no one.
Jan Fedder from the movie Soul Kitchen would be thrilled by it...

the harvest here is not brought in by large tractors, but by three-wheeled and off-road motorcycles with loading platforms.

I say goodbye to my hosts with a handshake and after half an hour I'm in bustling Jaen. Here too, I notice that there are hardly any cars, let alone pickups. The iOverlander app leads me to the insurance office where I have to insure the Vespa. The police impose high fines if the insurance cannot be presented. Apart from that one time in Puno on Lake Titicaca, I haven't been checked anymore. I suspect that the police are deterred by my European license plate. On the one hand, their English is probably not very good, and if there should really be a reason to take action against me, it would be too strenuous. So far, I have always been waved through or simply interrogated. No one wanted to see any papers except for a customs check above Antofagasta.
I am also a big challenge for the insurance office. It takes about two hours until I have my policy in hand. I wait, keep an eye on the Vespa, and suddenly hear multi-voiced flute playing. At first, I think a gas sales truck is coming off the road and attracting the attention of the people - but no, three old men are sitting on the opposite corner and playing. I listen to it from a distance and applaud and call loudly, against the traffic noise, bravo! There is eye contact and thumbs-up.
The insurance office is run by a brother, sister, and their mother. I can't pay with Visa here and have to go to the nearest bank. On the way to the bank, I already wonder why there is a dense queue of people on a bridge and they seem to be eagerly looking down. On the way back, I find out the reason: a man, equipped with a microphone and two wooden boxes, manages to captivate these people. I watch this from the side and have a view of the tense expressions of the spectators and can also see what is in one of the two wooden boxes: a thick snake, apparently sedated. Allegedly, it is an anaconda. The snake charmer tells horror stories about the anaconda and shows bloodthirsty newspaper clippings that he has collected in a ring binder and in clear plastic sleeves.

respect - fearful expressions watch the snake charmer with his anaconda

the object of desire

I'm back in the insurance office. By now, the documents are ready for me to sign. There is still some gossip about my passport photo and signature, I tell my suspicion about the non-checking police officers, understandable grins, and say goodbye. A nice and humorous encounter.

Tropical temperatures prevail here, like in Manaus. 30°C with high humidity.

I quickly find a hostel whose rooms don't remind me too much of prison cells - maybe also because the windows leading to the staircase are grilled. The first question that comes to mind: when is lockdown?

photographed from the bed. To my right, the wet cell separated only by a three-quarter high and doorless wall. Without a shower curtain, so that after showering everything is wet.
When I ask for hot water, I get the convincing answer: why hot water? It's hot enough here.

I take a walk to the Plaza de Armas and find a restaurant that brings me salad with sliced ​​limes and a delicious salad dressing. I order a second portion.

Over 80,000 people live here from rice and coffee cultivation.

The motorcycle shops compete with each other and advertise with low monthly rates. Apparently, it works well with financing because household appliances are also offered on a large scale.

the mototaxis dominate the cityscape in Peru

Tomorrow I want to cover more kilometers. It goes back up to about 2,800 meters - then I leave the tropical climate behind.