ab 23.06.: Ayaviri - 3,800 m

23.06.

we have breakfast with fresh pancakes, a nice goodbye from Felix's wife, packing up the Vespas and the Defender, and then we're off. I only want to go as far as Ayavari that day, Sandra and Rolf are heading to Sicuani. There is supposed to be an Inca bridge made of reeds there.
They let me ride the two kilometers to Llachon, in case I need a push. Not a bad idea - just before the town square, the Vespa runs out of power. I'm about to take off the side cases to make it easier, but Rolf's Swabian talent for practicality pushes me along with Sandra, until the Vespa has enough power again.

This action is recorded, and who knows, maybe it will be on YouTube someday.
Quick farewell, because we're sure we'll see each other again soon.
I let them ride ahead, set my GPS, buy some apples and mandarins, and start the Vespa. It's used to the altitude by now. Although the morning start-up process involves a few attempts, once we're back on 00, all is forgotten. Do I want to struggle through Juliaca or is there another way? Both are risky. The other way could be a gravel road, in Juliaca, I have an idea of what to expect. So I decide to take the main road. I pass many gas stations and have my first scare of the day. I want to refuel and they only offer "gasohol"... this type of fuel tends to damage gaskets and is better suited for tough engines. Alex warned me about it, now I'm experiencing it myself. I politely decline and check the other gas stations. The first ones are closed, but at the third one, I get good old 95 octane gasoline. Let's see how it goes with the rest of my kilometers in Peru... and even more so in Bolivia. There are all sorts of horror stories circulating there...
in the afternoon, I arrive in Ayaviri at 3,909 meters. 100 meters higher!
A small town with 23,000 residents, but the capital of the Melgar province. Paved roads branch out from the Plaza de Arma - a great improvement over Juliaca. I quickly find my hostel and pay an unbelievable 8 euros for a bed and a bathroom. I live near the plaza, can safely park the Vespa, and decide to stay for two nights. The only downside: no wifi. That's not good for taking care of my blog. Although I can write offline during the wifi-less time - maybe there's an internet cafe here.

In the evening, I find a restaurant that offers fried trout, better than chicken for sure, but the quality they serve leaves much to be desired. I wander around the city and notice many eye contacts. It's not touristy at all here. The children either look at me suspiciously or go on the offensive and wave to me.

The cathedral from the 17th century is unfortunately closed. Not just the entrance, but also the large wrought-iron gates keep everyone out. What a difference to Calama, where you can enter the church on the ground floor without disturbing the service because the entrance is always open during the day.

As I explore the city, I pass by the school. I become alert to marching music and uniformed school children practicing their military march. The teachers lead the way, teaching the children the even step and the almost 90-degree angle of the legs... what is this? It reminds me of the omnipotent marches of dictatorships, but I don't have an answer. Here too, there are kids smiling at me and waving.

24.06.

the altitude phenomenon continues to have a grip on me during the night. The need for oxygen dominates and temporarily interrupts my sleep. Now I understand better how people suffering from asthma feel. But there is one advantage to these unwelcome interruptions. I have been traveling for three months now and feel a certain dissatisfaction. How so? the people back home might ask... Thomas fulfills his dream and still complains?
There's the desire, which I also had in Arica, to do something useful, which emerges in such moments. Yesterday's experience with the school children reignites the desire to teach German and establish a connection with the local population. A big wish! Speaking Spanish is one thing, but understanding is another...

And practical things also need to be taken care of. Doing laundry and replenishing clothing.
There is no breakfast here, so that's the most pressing task. There are also moto-taxis here, and instead of searching for a long time, I just let myself be driven to a breakfast restaurant. While Felix had a Peruvian breakfast consisting of pancakes and bread rolls, her desayuno means a hot meal with chicken and rice. No!!! Not chicken again!
I enter a simply furnished, lovingly decorated restaurant and take the initiative. I want toast, three fried eggs with poached tomatoes, and tea. I'm lucky and meet a cosmopolitan young woman who frowns at first but then doesn't consider the request too difficult.
And shortly after, I receive a plate with the fried eggs, poached tomatoes, and a bread roll. And a big pot of tea. I remember the address for tomorrow.
After that, I go to the market, which is not quite filled at this time, but I quickly find the textiles.
The clothing stall in front of me is 10 square meters in size, with a height of about 2.50 meters. In the middle, on the clothing wrapped in plastic wrap, sits the saleswoman. There are no shelves, they exist only in the woman's memory. How does she find things there? Unbelievable. A black-and-white television with poor antenna reception livens up her existence in the dark, still cold tent - and that every day. When I ask about t-shirts, she takes my measure with her eyes and quickly gives me a selection! The t-shirt purchase is quickly done, and for the boxers, I encounter a similar scenario. The black-and-white TV with an ant picture and a little girl coughing, looking for warmth in the piles of clothes. Not to think about the air she is breathing down there and where the cough comes from...
The mother knows her job and quickly presents me with a selection in the right size. I also ask about t-shirts, and she is well stocked there too. While we negotiate, I can hear the daughter coughing, which doesn't bother the mother. She asks me where I'm from. I can see from her expression that she doesn't recognize the country or even Europe, so I show her on my smartphone. She tells me she is from Cusco and that I must definitely go there. A nice chat.
There is no success with the jeans. Doesn't matter! I will solve that problem too. There are textile stores on this street, but they are exclusively for the ladies. Maybe I'll buy an ill-fitting size on the market and then ask a tailor to adjust it to fit me. This service is also available for a small fee.

Fitting for the ethnic group - blonde and blue-eyed

In front of the stores stand worn-out mannequins, presenting the same clothes for weeks or even longer and bearing the marks of numerous dog markings. Interesting here too is that once pure white mannequins with blond hair and blue eyes are dressed in typical Peruvian clothing. No connection to the rather brown to dark brown population.
Back at the hostel, I ask if I can do my laundry here. No problem, but in the evening, I realize with a certain amount of embarrassment that I have to wash it by hand... too late.
I find a cozy pizza place that doesn't offer salad but has beer and wine on the menu. Violent movies are playing on the TV, which are almost unbearable, but perhaps they reduce the potential for violence in families generated by tyrannical bosses in this way? Just imagine the boss being ruthlessly beaten...

I'm torn between staying and continuing on. Cusco, the capital of the Incas, calls and so do the tourist crowds. I also feel the urge to hit the road again. On the other hand, I'm starting to feel at home in this town and in my "basic hostel" with uncomfortable overhead lighting and aluminum doors. Tomorrow is Sunday. I will spend it here, and on Monday? We'll see.

25.06.

Today is Sunday. The cathedral is silent - just like in Juliaca.

Writing is on the agenda for today. Last night, I was too lazy because the dim lighting in my room requires blind typing. Today, it occurred to me to use my headlamp. 

Now it's already a struggle. Outside, beautiful weather with warm sun, inside cold and little light.
But if I don't write, I'll be dissatisfied.

But first, I'm looking forward to breakfast, which is supposed to be no different from what I had served yesterday morning. Confident of victory, I walk through the Sunday city center, and that's exactly what it is. Men in dark suits, women in short skirts and high heels, kids in their school uniforms. Everyone meets at the plaza, but I only glance at them because I want to have breakfast first. 

My restaurant has the metal shutters down. Disappointment... but there are others, and I think if I succeeded yesterday, I can succeed now too. But far from it. Three times, I receive bewildered looks and either get no answer or only a "no hay" - there isn't any. I'm starting to feel a sense of aggression rising in me. Toast and fried eggs! Is it so difficult? My last chance is the pizzeria from last night. They were even able to serve toast as a starter. But here too, a clear "no hay". I try to persuade them that eggs and toast shouldn't be a problem, but the other side remains firm. I step out of the dark restaurant back into the sun and see that things have changed out there. Dignitaries with gold medals around their necks are standing in line on the steps of the plaza, looking important and expectant. The first action of the morning is raising the national and municipal flags. All done smartly and accompanied by military music. I have no idea what's going on and ask a policeman. His answer: a national holiday. And then it starts:
A lone police officer marches down the certain 500-meter road in Hitler's time. He gives it his all in front of the dignitaries: legs raised to a 90-degree angle - then he turns a few meters later.

Schools, clubs, institutions - anything with a public character in any form has to take to the streets. And not only that - marching in unison and looking straight ahead is expected. The military band has already taken their position in front of the mayor and the other officials. They accompany the approaching representatives of their respective organizations, legs at a 90-degree angle in time to the music. The mayor applauds generously.

But now comes the best part: This can't be true. But North Korea? Kids in their school uniforms march in Hitler's time - each in their own way, losing the beat, picking it up again, excited and unfocused. The uniform fits perfectly, the freshly polished shoes already dusty on the way from home to the plaza, the hair freshly gelled and somehow proud to be allowed to participate. The straight-ahead gaze doesn't always work - there are parents, grandmothers, and relatives wanting to be photographed and smiled at. Just before the mayor's area, the 90-degree angle is required, a difficult task, which works quite well for the older ones and stays at 45 degrees for the younger ones. But whoever thinks there is no gender equality in Peru is proven wrong by girls in different age groups. They either wear dark blue skirts or khaki-colored ones. Looking straight ahead, marching in step, 90-degree angle. Later, the women in typical Peruvian everyday clothes join in. No distinction is made here either. It looks a bit awkward, but the proud look is there too.

17th century
unfortunately, never open, no church bells at noon or on Sunday mornings

In the evening, I finish writing my blog - I was a week behind. Tomorrow another day here, an internet cafe and buying pants, then on Tuesday, I'll continue north.
For teaching at schools or kindergartens, I prefer to find warmer areas at sea level.

26.06.:
Monday - and the chance for a proper breakfast increases. And indeed, the restaurant is open. When I say good morning, the owner asks me: que siempre? -  what more could I want? I'm a regular guest, and they know my preferences. The peak would have been if she had obligingly turned off the TV. But last time, I didn't dare to go that far...
On the way back to my hostel, I suddenly see a men's outfitter that I had never seen on this corner before. When the shops are closed, a metal shutter is down, and no one suspects that there's a store behind it.
I ask for jeans in my size - and it doesn't take long before I have them. Trying them on is a bit tricky. Pedestrians can see the changing process, but discreetly look away. However, if a light-skinned person is being inspected without pants, an exception is made. And - it was freezing cold in the store. So I speed up the purchasing process and get out into the warm sun again.
I spend the whole afternoon in a damp internet cafe, uploading text and images to my blog. In the afternoon, when school is out, the kids come either to play or seriously prepare for biology. Managers need important copies, and an older woman, accompanied by a typical Peruvian person, asks the person in charge there for an explanation. I can hardly imagine anything more contrasting: a farmer woman with thick socks and a wide red skirt has a computer problem... but it's true, many people I see in the city also have a smartphone in their hand.
Everything goes smoothly for me, and I'm glad when I'm out of this humid room back in the sun.
For dinner, this time I have rice with lots of vegetables. I found a "restaurant" off the plaza and stated my order while standing. I get a nod and a gesture to sit down. Jan Fedder also enjoyed this location. But the food was good, and the vegetables weren't overcooked. Plus, two hot teas. Total cost 2.50 euros.
Tomorrow, I will continue north, but only as far as Sicuani - 100 km from here.