from 23.11.: East Frisian landscapes and pre-alpine region - Inapari and Brasileia / Acre

from 23.11.:

the front tire holds the air.

Great relief! Thanks to a tire pressure gauge that Carlos gave me on October 29th last year in Pampas. It looks like a pen with an opening on top. When its bottom side is pressed onto the tire valve, the escaping air pressure causes a cylindrical rod to move upward. It is labeled with the tire pressure values.

Carlos is the one who took me to his house in the afternoon and invited me to dinner with his family. I was even allowed to spend the night there because the rain wouldn't stop and the road was very muddy. It was very cold in this mountain village.

I say goodbye to the somewhat hesitant fruit lady. The others have a lot to do. She even gives me a smile!

Pablo is doing everything he can to ensure that I have a good departure. Although the hose for his compressor was still there two days ago, he has to look for it a bit longer this morning. He also says a nice goodbye: mucha suerte!!! (good luck). And he doesn't miss the opportunity to give me travel provisions in the form of chocolate cookies. I promise him that I will contact him via WhatsApp. I also shake hands with his mother and receive many blessings. Nothing can go wrong now.

I drive with caution to the gas station, which was the reason for the accident I had on February 12th. They even have 90 octane fuel there.

With mixed feelings, I pass the Golden Gate Bridge in miniature, cross the broad Rio Madre de Dios, and catch a glimpse of a campaign event out of the corner of my eye. Soon, the tricycles are becoming fewer and fewer. Regional elections will be held here in December. Only one party is strong. The candidate - a gringo - advertises honesty (!), work, and development as his top priorities on his campaign poster. On other campaign posters of his party, which are driven through the city on motokars with speakers, he promises water and better sewerage for his region.

It's a full moon, and the weather seems to be calming down.

If it weren't so hot and the sun wasn't shining almost vertically from the sky, I could ride through East Frisian landscapes or hilly pre-alpine regions. The grass is lush green, white and colorful cows are in the pastures, some standing waist-deep in puddles to cool off. The smell of fermented fruit mixes with the wind - only I am the one making noise. When I pour one of my reserve canisters into the tank, I first notice the absolute silence.

I get caught in a shower. I'm driving towards it while it's being driven towards me by the north wind. I stop just in time to unpack my poncho.

It's a warm rain and very pleasant. I'm driving in shorts and a t-shirt. Anything else is not feasible at these temperatures, but I have to come up with something to avoid getting sunburned. My forearms, the back of my hands, thighs, and neck already have sores, even though I wanted to protect myself with high-performance cream.

The Inter-Oceanic Highway - that's what the Trans-Oceanic is called here in Peru - is in good condition and hardly congested. I'm pleased on the one hand, but also surprised on the other hand.

We have long passed the spot where the Veps left me stranded during my test drive just before Christmas. A car had towed me back to Puerto Maldonado at that time.

I have a strong headwind and accordingly high fuel consumption. Wilfried, my coach from Ritterhude, suggests that this may also be due to the exhaust manifold gasket. I still have two of them in my luggage and I will look for a repair shop in Brazil. It seems to require a lot of skill to install this sealing ring professionally. Henrico also tried his hand at it...

It's 225 km to Inapari. I arrive around 2 p.m. The customs formalities are quickly taken care of, although I still have to make a phone call with my colleagues in Puerto Maldonado. They are certainly very happy to finally close the case file.

Across the street is the immigration office. I am immediately helped. All my fingerprints are taken and another photo is taken. I'm just traveling out, I wonder. Hopefully, I haven't committed any crimes and I'm not on the wanted list. So they won't have to fall back on it.

my last overnight accommodation in Peru

Now I am in no man's land. It may only be about 100 km to Brasiléia, which means about two hours, but hunger takes precedence. I find a fairly simple hospedaje where I can also park the Vespas in the courtyard. There are communication problems. The señorita who tells me that there are still rooms available and allows me to park the Vespas turns out to be Brazilian. She answers my questions in Portuguese, which I don't notice because she also communicates with head nods and facial expressions. When it comes to the details, I don't understand a word. Then I ask her if she speaks Portuguese and she nods as if it's the most natural thing. I'm pretty uncertain. I'm in no man's land, but not in Brazil, I think. With the help of the Spanish-speaking colleague, I finally know that I'm still in Peru.

Inapari is a small border town with about 1,500 inhabitants and a newly constructed plaza. As always, the restaurants are in one of the side streets. The plaza in Puerto Maldonado is also being redesigned. Do the mayors want to hold or win votes?

It could be quite idyllic here if there weren't a bar that is already open in the early afternoon. It blares across the entire plaza, but no one raises an eyebrow. It is accepted. I make my escape. Only the streets around the plaza are paved with concrete slabs, otherwise, dirt roads lead to the rather poor houses. Inapari also has high hopes for the Inter-Oceanic Highway and hopes for travel and heavy-duty traffic. Luckily, the mayor was cautious and didn't invest in new and generous border facilities.

From tomorrow onwards, the grace period is over. I wonder what communication will be like when Brazilians don't understand Spanish?

As I sit here on the bed and write, I notice that there is complete silence around me. Even the Peruvian cicadas are silent. What a precious commodity!

24.11.:

Just like on my tour through the Andes, I am awakened very early by rooster crowing. If I haven't realized by now that I'm on the road again, I know it now.

Today there is no fruit breakfast. Although I pass a breakfast place, there are only steaming soup bowls on the well-occupied tables. With chicken, rice, and potatoes.

So I have oatmeal with a banana and an apple. It reminds me that I have never read Günter Grass's book Katz und Maus (From the Diary of a Snail).

I write a few more WhatsApp messages - who knows when I will have the new SIM card in Brazil - pack my things and reluctantly put on long pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Outside, it looks like it could be a beautiful day. But appearances can be deceiving. When I finally say goodbye to the very laconic hostel owner, it starts to drizzle. The sky is gray. I can't see how it looks further north from here yet.

Now I can finally get started. It's half past 10:00. It's over 300 km to Rio Branco. That should be doable. My driving direction is still northeast. From Porto Velho - which is still almost 600 km away - it finally goes southeast.

I ask about a bank and am sent to Assis Brasil. Only 1 km from here. The road leads very, very steeply downhill into the village.

I remember January 30th when I drove this with my taxi driver Andreas. I got very nervous because I was afraid that this incline would be too much for the Vespas. That means carrying all the luggage 500 meters uphill. And that in tropical temperatures.

But that doesn't bother me anymore because I can continue on the Inter-Oceanic Highway from there. But later I find out that I still have to take this steep incline to get onto the Inter-Oceanic.

But things turn out differently. Everything turns out differently.

Already yesterday in Inapari, the ATM was acting up. It tells me that both credit cards are either not valid or blocked by the bank. At that time, I wasn't too worried yet.

But today at the Brazilian bank, I am left without the desired cash infusion and my calmness from yesterday is gone.
This is a very bad condition for making progress. Today is Saturday. The only solution now is to call LBB in Berlin. Without a working smartphone and without a post office, it won't be easy. I roll through the small border town in search of another bank and pass by a military police post.
Only they can help me, I think to myself.

It's a small office with a small square wooden table that just offers enough space for the computer and a cozy sofa that looks quite worn out.

I am greeted cordially. I can communicate in Spanish and am immediately offered help. The military police officer pulls out his smartphone. I should dictate the landline number in Berlin to him. I am skeptical, success doesn't come.
But that's the only way to find out the truth. If the cards are indeed blocked, then they won't function as a means of payment.

I ask for the Wi-Fi access, which surprisingly is entered into my smartphone without any problems. Now I can take action and Aldi Talk is my savior. I switch SIM cards and use the German one again. I recharge my Aldi account and now try to get through to Berlin. With great relief, I listen to the nice lady who informs me that all of the employees are on the phone - but then a dial tone sounds and I hear a lively voice.

After a few attempts hello, can you hear me? we get down to business. No - there's nothing wrong with my credit card. No - they can't see that I logged in there in the past two days. I should try with Western Union Bank. Farewell and the long-not-heard have a nice day.

In the meantime, two more colleagues have returned, whom I have already seen at the border post. They checked motorcyclists in full gear. They left me alone, even though I had crossed a solid line to go in the opposite direction to Assis Brasil...

While I was dealing with my "banking business", there was nothing for the two of them to do. Playing with smartphones, going to the toilet, yawning extensively and loudly, sitting on the sofa, and then sitting on the chair on the veranda again.

The boss - I assume - is the only one who looks casual, apart from a uniform t-shirt and his uniform pants. The work has to be done. There is no annoying radio and phone calls that make life difficult.

I notice a slightly perplexed look from him as I talk to the lady in Berlin on the phone. But then he returns to his smartphone.

What does that mean for me now? If the two cards are not blocked, then I can use them as a means of payment. The exciting question is, and that depends on whether I have to stay here until Monday or if the gas station accepts credit cards.

They accept them and they have 90 octane fuel. Whatever happens now. I refuel the tank and all the reserve canisters. And then it gets exciting. The colleague who handles the payment is having trouble. I remain calm and look at the gray sky. The payment fails again, and she already turns to me with a questioning look. I'm still calm and don't pay attention to her yet. But then another colleague, who seems to know what she's doing, intervenes - and the machine spits out its receipts. Sign and go.

The weather does not resemble yesterday in any way. The clouds are low. There have already been some heavy showers while I was struggling with my credit cards. To the northeast, I see a low-hanging, black wall of clouds. It will only be a shower - nothing more...

It's just past 12 o'clock. I'm in Brazil!

What more could I want? The Transoceanic stretches straight through a rolling, lush green alpine foothills landscape. The road conditions are different and remind me of my trip through the Andes. I need to be highly attentive. It is hardly busy, so I only have to look in the rearview mirror occasionally.

The rain is getting heavier. I have already passed through the clouds and am unable to avoid putting on my rain poncho.
Yesterday was already a dress rehearsal. It's made of rubber and heavy. At higher speeds, it makes the Vespa wobble and takes the air out of me.
I have decided that it will stay here in Brasileia.

Then there is a longer forced break - with very good shelter! It could be a private house with an extensive covered porch. The window shutters are closed. A street dog, who also sought shelter there, takes off.

It's pouring rain, thundering, and lightning. The landscape: simply very beautiful and peaceful. Finally, fresh country air again, the mooing of cows, and scattered farms. I am completely soaked by now and remember my rain pants and rain jacket. I put on the old t-shirt from yesterday again and wait for better times. A Fiat pick-up truck stops and I'm already afraid that I will end up like the dog. But I'm allowed to stay. A señorita joins me, waiting for her pick-up. The wind has picked up. It's not warm by local standards. I was even freezing!

When the thunderstorm moves somewhat, I continue driving. It is still raining heavily, but I am well bundled up. The road conditions are sometimes adventurous. If there is oncoming traffic, it comes towards me on my lane...

But then I can already see the first outskirts of Brasileia and soon I pull up in front of a hotel. There is a room available. They accept credit cards and the Vespa is dry. On the white-tiled floor, I immediately leave a large puddle of water. It drips from my trousers and jacket. But the receptionist, who also speaks a little Spanish, is tough. Even when I bring in the backpack, side cases, and front bag. Everywhere my reddish footprints.

A short time later, my room looks exactly the same. Now I hang everything in the shower and everywhere else to dry. Will they manage to do that by tomorrow? I ask for a scrubber and sponge to get the floor dry again.

No other collateral damage. The laptop and e-reader have survived everything well, packed in garbage bags.

I take a nap, only wake up at 7 p.m., the weather unchanged.

I decide to have a beer from the reception and some chips.
I'm not going out anymore!