from 28.10.: Pampas - 3,200 m -

28.10.

First of all: I didn't get very far today. But let's start from the beginning. One last breakfast in a pleasant atmosphere, packed up the vespa, and by half past 10:00 I'm ready to go. It's a beautiful morning, Saturday with hardly any traffic in the city. I fill up with good 95 octane fuel and continue southeast. Everything around me is green, even though I haven't left the highlands. It could all be very relaxed, there's hardly any traffic outside the city. I enjoy my life and my Vespa adventure in America, when the vespa stalls at a bump. We had the same problem when I arrived here. Wrong diagnosis? Wasn't it the spark plug after all? I don't take this hiccup seriously yet. It starts again after three attempts and I keep going. Then there's a police check - maybe the third one during my whole tour - that stops me. But it quickly becomes clear that they are just curious and don't want to see any documents. The engine stalls again when I stop. I don't have much interest in questions about where I'm from and where I'm going, but I pull myself together. We say goodbye with a handshake - Peruvians like that - the vespa starts again after several attempts - and I keep riding. So, first of all, ostrich politics. Maybe it will get better. But it doesn't. at the next bump, where I simply have to take my foot off the gas, it's over. It doesn't start again. The jet - what else? So the usual procedure, the jet is reduced again, but the vespa still doesn't want to start.

Beginner's mistake: I look at the spark plug connector, because I want to take a look at the spark plug, it's hanging loose and not connected. Did it come loose? I'm happy that I found and fixed the cause. It still doesn't start. The battery doesn't have endless power and is already starting to weaken. It can't be the spark plug, because the engine occasionally tries to start. I remove the spark plug connector again, unscrew it from the ignition cable and find that it is not properly screwed on anymore and only a few copper wires are visible. Not a big deal. I remove the tangled piece, screw the connector back on - it still doesn't start. There's a tremendous noise around me. All the cars that come have to slow down because of the bump and become loud again when they accelerate. Most cars have a modified exhaust that roars and contributes significantly to the game of "Who is the loudest in the land?" To make matters worse, 5 or 6 motorcycles show up on their modified machines. I sit down and smoke a cigarette. There are trees here that cast cooling shade. I enjoy the moments of peace and have a nice view of a wild garden. I try again - and it's back. I raise the idle speed, pack everything up again, and keep going.

I GOT IT RUNNING AGAIN!

Now I have to improvise: Nic from Lima, where the vespa was inspected, gave me some leftover hose from a bicycle tire that can help me now. I'm about to get to work when one of these modified motorcycles drives by, slows down, turns around, and comes back. I actually can't use that at all, I know what needs to be done. Quickly it becomes clear that he is an employee of my luxury hotel, who wants to offer me his help. "Misterrrr, what's wrong?" I show him the two hoses - "I know a mechanic in Pampas. I'll go there and bring the right hose." A good idea. More motorcycle buddies come, look, ask questions, and one of them, who is introduced to me as an engineer, helps me reinforce the hose with the hose remnants from Lima. When the hotel employee comes back - unfortunately with a hose that only fits on the air filter - we're done. Photos and farewell.

I keep an eye on the temperature needle and after a few kilometers it starts moving up again. Stop immediately. Once again, at an inconvenient place. I remove the helmet compartment again and see that the new hose has burst. Replacement is no problem. At that moment, a pickup truck stops and asks what's wrong. "No problem, we'll help you." The reason for the hose bursting - as we assume - is that it came into contact with the engine block. The conversion is no problem, the clamp is tight again, I change the jet, and we say goodbye - with photos, of course. His brother has a workshop in Pampas and he also has the right hose. I get his phone number and the assurance that there is a hotel on the Plaza de Armas in Pampas.

'I have a brother in Pampas, he's a mechanic. He'll help you.'

The two of them are gone again, I pack up the vespa again, enjoy the great landscape, and continue uphill. IT CAN'T BE!!! Once again, the needle moves up, I stop on an open stretch and once again see a tear in the hose, even though it is far away from the engine block and I have prevented it from moving towards the engine block with a cable tie. The cause lies in the material. The hose is too thin and not resistant enough to hot water. Okay - the only thing I can do now is revert back and hope, with a firm resolve, to connect the two old ends of the hose to the coupling piece as tightly as possible with the hose clamps. I'm still in good spirits. The sun is shining, it's warm, I have replaced my destination of Huanta with Pampas and taken the pressure off the whole venture. To let the engine cool down at least a little, I sit down on the roadside, smoke a cigarette, and admire the landscape. No fuss or hasty steps that would only result in important screws etc. getting lost or jumping into nothingness.

This time I get a visit from a police pickup truck. I stay seated, wait for them to cross the road, stand up, shake their hands, and explain the fiasco. Basically, they are stealing my time. They can only help me if they have the right size hose in the trunk. One of the police officers looks west with concern and predicts rain and cold. Whether I can manage on my own and have any knowledge about engines. Mass or menos is my answer and I let them drive away.
I convince myself with a look to the west and see dark clouds coming towards me. Just remain calm. The reverting back works well. The clamps are tight. They can't sit any tighter. I start the engine, which starts perfectly and immediately, and I want to top up the coolant for the third time when I realize that it doesn't reach the maximum mark. I don't have any water, so only external help can help. I stand on the side of the road and wave the empty coolant container at passing cars, but no one stops. I stand in the middle of the road and wave my hand, and after the third passing car I succeed. They even have coolant. And when I look at the now packed vespa again, I see a growing puddle. Now my patience is at an end. Helmet compartment out and the diagnosis is clear. The clamps can't hold back the water.

The occupants of the car - three in the front and four in the back with a small child - get to work, ask for a ballpoint pen, and create and build. I don't see what they're doing because they're working on the engine with three people. It's getting cold and windy up here. I give my fleece jacket to the driver, who is only wearing a T-shirt, and he casually throws it over his shoulders. But the three of them finish and proudly tell me that everything is fine now.

despite this series of breakdowns, the uniqueness of the landscape is not lost on me

something is brewing from the west. will the police officer be right?

Farewell without a photo and off we go. And once again, the needle moves up. I stop briefly, look under the engine, it stays dry, now there's a long descent into the valley, bridging a difference in altitude of 1,000 meters. my only thought is to turn off the engine and let it roll. That way I can at least make it to Pampas, look into the engine compartment, and see two hoses hanging in the engine compartment without function. Well, for the last meters, only cable ties and agua sin gas from across the store will help.
It's warmer here again, the landscape is beautiful, Pampas is located in a fertile valley. A very pleasant silence welcomes me. We have arrived dry!

Pampas Plaza

It's the exact opposite of my luxury hotel from the past four nights. A chamber, dirty toilets in the courtyard, the floor of the chamber freshly painted with stain that gets to my head, the senor is nice and talkative, the vespa has its place, and I pay him 10 soles. About 2.60 euros.
I eat chicken legs with fries, take a walk through the main street, which is still full of life. I'll be at the workshop at 8:00 tomorrow and hope that Rodrigo has the right hose. A no hay would really not be funny.

The vespa is safely parked here in the courtyard - a puddle underneath it...

29.10.

Today is Sunday and I'm up early, driven by the vespa under the blanket. Despite the stained wooden planks, I slept well and wake up without a headache.

it has flair...

The sanitary facilities are not usable, so I even skip a cat wash. It will probably be fine for one night. The senor is a funny person, whom I initially thought had had a few too many. But this morning he is just as mumbled in his expression, but after several attempts I understand him.

Although he runs a hotel with parking (for cars), it feels more like an old shared apartment to me. But young people who travel alone or are single also live or stay here. There is a beautiful patio enclosed by a two-story adobe house with a balcony facing the courtyard. A somewhat shaky staircase leads to the rooms, but there are also rooms on the ground floor.

The rooms are really very simple, but there are electrical outlets. In the patio, the senor has planted old pig troughs very nicely, his hotel has atmosphere, but the money is not enough to modernize the sanitary facilities at least. A one-story adobe house where people live and work closes the patio off towards the street.

After breakfast in a cafe opposite, I take a mototaxi and have it take me to the mechanic Rodrigo, whose brother helped me yesterday with my second coolant hose breakdown.
I assume that he has coolant hoses in stock, but he sends me a few houses further to Ramirez, a hardware store. Behind the counter stands a Peruvian woman dressed in black, who smiles at me with recognition. She helped me out with coolant yesterday with her sons. I remember and thank her again.
She sells me a fuel hose that has the same diameter and circumference as the original. It is also more reliable in its material composition. They didn't have coolant hoses, but the fuel hose would be reliable - even for hot coolant.

Back at my senor's place - his name is Caesar - I install the vespa and immediately attract an audience. The clamps I bought are useless to me because none of the nuts fit the screw head. They can't be closed all the way with a screwdriver. Another resident, who resembles grandpa Erwin - sweater with a V-neck and a shirt - watches me with interest. When all the clamps and retaining rings fail, he brings a piece of copper wire with which I can actually seal the hose watertight. In the meantime, conversations take place - overall, it's a funny morning.

on the left, the ingenious idea with the copper wire, on the right, the owner of the hotel

I set off to Rodrigo's. His gate is locked. His neighbors send me to another mechanic. His task is to put the bolt of the luggage rack back into its guide. It shifted due to the bumps on the dirt roads and is only connected to one side of the luggage rack. But then it turns out that it can be readjusted with just a few hammer blows. For safety's sake, he wraps wire around the bolt on the left and right so that it can no longer move. I try to persuade him not to do it because the retention rings are now in the right place, but he means well and I let him do it.

Help is immediately available here too. Father and son run the workshop and a small hardware store. The parents sit in their hardware store with few customers, the son - my mechanic - runs the workshop himself and has plenty to do. The motorcycles are the Peruvians' livelihood. On Sundays, they are made fit again for the upcoming work week. Only Sunday is a day off, but not for the mechanics.

I stop by the gas station to check the air pressure on both tires. But it's not as easy as it is for us. There is no display at the gas station, instead, the customer has to estimate when the correct air pressure is reached.

I pass another workshop and ask if they also have a pressure gauge.

A crowd of mechanics and onlookers immediately gather around the vespa.
Carlos the maestro and owner takes care of me. I explain my problem to him. He knows two tire dealers where I can get air. He would drive with me there. But unfortunately, there are two "no hay" moments, as the shops are closed.
We drive back to his workshop. There is reportedly a gauge that only needs to be pressed onto the open valve, and then you can see the existing tire pressure. I can get the air at the gas station. I should wait, he will take care of the gauge and will be back here soon.
I observe the hustle and bustle in his workshop during that time. Two of his 5 sons and a friend work in the workshop today. The kids are 11 to 18 years old and know what they're doing:
A motorcyclist arrives with a tube sticking out of the rear wheel. Not pushing, but riding! The kids are immediately there with the right tools, the rear wheel is quickly removed and is worked on or rather mistreated in the workshop itself. I don't see a workbench with a vise. The kids work on the adobe floor, stand on the wheel, and try to remove the tire, a longer undertaking, but the wheel can take it, no spokes break. After half an hour, the rear wheel is mounted, the customer is satisfied, pays, and drives away.
Meanwhile, Carlos is back, his son gives him the money for the tube change.
Then it's my turn again. He proudly hands me a ballpoint pen-sized pressure gauge. I can't see a manometer and I'm afraid we misunderstood each other, but then he removes a black cap, opens my valve, and puts the gauge on the opening. A cylindrical rod emerges, on which it becomes visible how strong the tire pressure is.

I seem to be well-liked by him, as he invites me to have lunch at his house.

It's closing time, the two kids are put on his motorcycle, the older son takes the friend with him, and we drive off. The sky quickly becomes cloudy.
His adobe house is located slightly outside of town, the paths there are no longer paved later, and in the end, it's a footpath that leads to the house of a neighbor and to his. Veronika, his wife in her forties, makes a chicken and corn stew, and a cucumber salad to go with it.
Their children are very well-behaved. The father's word counts.
After our arrival, they have to fulfill their household duties, while I sit outside in Carlos' patio with a good appetite.
The communication works more or less. They have a cat with four kittens. They're all lying comfortably in their little house - ideal for taking pictures, in my opinion.

I lie on my stomach to get this perspective.

They get to survive and don't have to go in the sack

He has a tablespoon as his eating utensil, and his harvest is quite impressive

Then there's also a two-year-old who is called bubu. He is Carlos' nephew.
The 21-year-old father now lives in Argentina, his 19-year-old sister Stephania lives in the neighborhood and is here every day. But bubu is growing up in his family and he is the dad. Carlos is a caring and also strict family man.

The food is ready. We sit in a simple kitchen, bubu sits in his little high chair and has developed a way to transport so much rice and chicken from his overloaded spoon into his mouth. His yield is almost 100% - the rest ends up on the floor and is disposed of by the cat.
Carlos' son Angel impresses me the most. At 11 years old, he already knows that he doesn't want to work in his father's business. He wants to study agricultural economics and get his ing degree. He likes animals and it's not out of the question that he will also study veterinary medicine.

A very clever guy, who also has a lot of social skills thanks to his numerous siblings. Veronika is initially quite quiet and works in the kitchen while we eat heartily.

Carlos has built a two-story angled building. The bathroom with a shower is outside. For a cat wash, there is an outdoor sink under the open sky that is about two meters wide.

On the ground floor, there is the kitchen and two other interconnected rooms: the utility room with a washing machine (!) and the other room houses Carlos' other two motorcycles.

The rain has started in the meantime, quite heavily. Carlos knows this and is sure that it will be over in one to two hours. Actually, I don't want to stay that long. But I have no choice because I don't have a jacket and rain pants with me.

The kids are spread throughout the house, the cat's house is in the kitchen, the door is open, and it's ice cold - a perfect photo opportunity for me.

Then there's still a two-year-old, who is called bubu.
The now 21-year-old father lives in Argentina, his 19-year-old sister Stephania lives in the neighborhood and is here every day. But bubu is growing up in his family and he is the dad. Carlos is a caring and also strict family man.

The food is ready. We sit in a simple kitchen, bubu sits in his little high chair and has developed a way to transport so much rice and chicken from his overloaded spoon into his mouth. His yield is almost 100% - the rest ends up on the floor and is disposed of by the cat.
Carlos' son Angel impresses me the most. At 11 years old, he already knows that he doesn't want to work in his father's business. He wants to study agricultural economics and get his ing degree. He likes animals and it's not out of the question that he will also study veterinary medicine.

A very clever guy, who also has a lot of social skills thanks to his numerous siblings. Veronika is initially quite quiet and works in the kitchen while we eat heartily.

Carlos has built a two-story angled building. The bathroom with a shower is outside. For a cat wash, there is an outdoor sink under the open sky that is about two meters wide.

On the ground floor, there is the kitchen and two other interconnected rooms: the utility room with a washing machine (!) and the other room houses Carlos' other two motorcycles.

The rain has started in the meantime, quite heavily. Carlos knows this and is sure that it will be over in one to two hours. Actually, I don't want to stay that long. But I have no choice because I don't have a jacket and rain pants with me.

The kids are spread throughout the house, the cat's house is in the kitchen, the door is open, and it's ice cold. Now, the questions about Germany start, about Hitler and the special question of where he is actually buried. Fortunately, there's Google. I can tell them that his ashes were scattered in eastern Germany.

The rain hasn't stopped. I accept their offer to stay overnight. There's even a guest room. I have my sleeping bag with me, so there's no additional effort for them. I seem to have lost track of time and suspect that it's already half past 10. It surprises me that Carlos is hungry again and the kids slowly return to the kitchen trough. I look at my watch. It's only half past 7. Dinner is rice with chicken, rolls with cheese, and hot tea. The evening is coming to an end. Carlos brings a friend of the boys on his motorcycle to his home. His two other sons ride with him. Only dressed in a T-shirt - that has to be enough for the short ride. Carlos in a beanie... all the kids are interested in motorcycles, except for angel.

The oldest son is already studying and no longer lives at home, the second oldest works in the workshop and has already won many prizes for motocross races. The other two also go in that direction and even bubu is already putting on a motorcycle helmet. Veronika doesn't drive herself, but she enjoys riding along... I couldn't get a clear answer from her as to this.

The evening ends around 9. A very pleasant evening in the simplest of conditions.

The kids will have a good start because they - in my impression - receive a good education. "I don't feel like it" or "I'll do it later" doesn't exist. When the father makes a request, it is followed without opposition.

My first encounter with a Peruvian family.