The Last of Peru

I rolled out of Mollendo past the water park and along the beaches for the final stretch of Peru after buying one sole of bread and some mandarins. Peru is particular in that you buy quantity by price, the little things like this I have grown accustomed to I will miss but I am ready to change up the countries. I was unsure of the distance along the dirt road but figured I was 100-150km to the next port city of Ilo so I carried 6 liters of water with me and couple days food. Peruvian advice on the road was typically conflicted and unclear . . . they probably had not been there.
The narrow strip along the ocean is well irrigated and gradually broadens as I approach the Meija Laguna Nature Reserve. Dirt roads lead into the reserve but a sign says no bikes so I decide to roll past, save my 5 soles, and observe from the road. However, within a kilometer clouds of pink sitting on the water catch my eye. I can not recall seeing pink flamingos on anything besides a front lawn so I flip around to check out the reserve. The ranger tells me to ride through the reserve on my bike and gives me the best directions yet for making my way down the coast. He was surprised that I would not ride through the reserve . . . I am going to miss the laid back attitude about rules and if you get caught a 2-10 sole yappa (gift) will clear things up.Large flocks of pink flamingos filled the far reaches of the lagoons well out of reach of my wide angle lens as well as flocks of wading birds, cranes, and ducks of every description. I understand why birders carry the Hubble telescope around their necks. But vultures are not shy and they are funny looking birds to mess with.
Surrounding the lagoons are large fields of onions and livestock with the communities perched on the dunes above preserving the valuable irrigated land as well as being out of reach of tsunamis.
By early afternoon I round a point, at La Punta, buy a couple more liters of water (drinking 5+ liters a day now) and start down the dirt road along the coast.
The road is flat but rough and soft. Receding from town are irrigated fields in the desert with reed mat shacks. These scenes used to scare me because they looked desperate - how could they not want what I have? But I have grown accustomed realizing they are working to make something for themselves and these are not scenes of desperation but aspiration.
While Peru has some serious poverty people can display an industrious optimism for the future that is stunning as times. Within one year the route I am on will be fully paved between Mollendo and Ilo meaning I am riding through continual construction as culverts are poured, the road bed is built up, and humungous jackhammers carve the road out of the hillsides.
The construction makes for dusty riding on soft to heavily wash boarded roads into the ever present headwind. But at least if I need anything there are people around in what is otherwise an empty place but that may change with a new road. Towards dusk I pull off behind some boulders to lay out my pad and enjoy the sunset from a high bluff.
I fell asleep before eating my dinner and wake at some later time to eat cold pasta that I realize is a little burnt but I am too hungry and tired to care much.
I woke early with the sunrise and start riding before the winds start to pickup by mid morning and the morning fog provides a welcome cool cover from the sun.
The dirt road rolls over the headlands gradually improving and widening as I approach the paved stretch into Ilo. Highway markers are painted on rocks sitting beside the road every 20 meters . . . it is nice to know where I am but 20 meter increments can be a little annoying serving as a constant reminder of just how slow I am. I make a concerted effort to ignore the markers. Peru highway markers are often painted rocks and for a country that is fond of leaving rocks in the road I am surprised no one ever seems to touch them.
Getting closer to Ilo olive groves appear in all the little valleys that have a prayer of holding moisture. I am eating lots of olives and they are really tasty and cheap with good variety as well.
The paved road into the port city of Ilo is fronted by mineral refineries (copper) and a rail way hauling ore. I pass maybe a half dozen refineries on the way into Ilo and I figure Ilo must have a little bit of money.
On the edge of the city is a new gated development that houses foreign workers vaguely reminiscent of our own suburban sprawl. However, if I was living in a Peru I would not want to be plopped down on the edge of the desert away from the city. Especially Ilo's great waterfront with a long boardwalk, beaches, and harbor packed with fishing boats. But no accounting for other people's taste and you gotta watch out for those crafty Peruvians . . .
I arrived in the early afternoon check into a cheap hotel by the waterfront and wander the small port city taking photographs and eat and eat. The next morning I am unsure of my exact route and figure I will see how the day goes and what the roads are like. My map is a little old and has the entire coastal route as dirt but Peru is road building like crazy. Turns out the coastal route is a lonely new highway with a heavy wind driving sand in wispy snaking patterns along the pavement. It is almost pretty if it was not in my eyes, ears, mouth, food . . .
At times the road hugs the shoreline past immense empty beaches
or large lagoons filled with pink flamingos
or not much of anything but you never have much doubt as to where you are going.
The second half of the day the wind relents a little and I decide to shoot for Boca del Rio, a beach resort area, that will make for a 100km day. I arrive in Boca at dusk and I am a little surprised that there are no hotels . . . open that is. The place is written up as a nice beach area (it is) that people travel for but it seems to be largely under construction, like the rest of Peru, and the beach goers are not going to arrive for another month. But I meet a friendly group of people hanging out in front of their restaurant and spend some time talking until the sun goes down. They tell me to just camp on the beach and I will have no problems - enjoy the stars, wash up in the ocean . . .
Ah . . . other people's advice. People get very caught up in the romantic notion of traveling under your own power and camping under the stars - usually has little to do with reality. Camping on a beach is sandy, I have enough sand in my life at the moment, and washing up in the ocean is salty. Sand + Salt + Bike Shorts = Bad Rash. But after hanging out I ultimately grab a couple beers and head for the beach. Fortunately, there is a concrete boardwalk with a nice, relatively sand free, view of the ocean and a backrest plus a little privacy provided by concrete benches.
I wake with the sunrise pack up and get moving by 6am for my final push down the coast for 100km into Arica, Chile along my last dirt roads for awhile.
The border crossing is painless but I have to forfeit my fruits, vegetables, and ditch my coca, which is illegal is Chile. However, I discovered a second bag of coca a day later that I had forgotten in the bottom of my rear pannier . . . be nice to have when I climb back in the mountains again in 2000km.
Immediately, Chile is different and I had a little culture shock for the first day or two, but I am adjusting. Besides the shocking reminder of how much more of this coast I have to traverse to get to Santiago.
Chile is far more expensive, people own cars, there is refrigeration, Chile has its own chains of big box stores, the hot water is hot, and children have there gym classes on the beach.
Peru had been a great ride through a spectacular variety of landscapes. I will miss Peru, I am comfortable in Peru, and I will return to Peru yet again because my list of adventures is still a mile long or 1.6km. But I am ready to change up my country after 3.5 months. I dream of the mountains, lakes, rivers teeming with trout, and the familiarity of forests almost within my 3000 kilometer grasp - Patagonia.