OVERLAND JOURNAL FALL 201935G
ridlock,chokingfumes,a clamorofhorns.Motos,taxis,
buses,andtrucksvieforspace,tradingpaintandinsults
withoutmercy.Batteredlanemarkingsintendedtoimposeorder,
nowuseless,arelostbeneaththechaos.Pedestriansclamberbetween
thevehicleslatchingontoslow-movingbuses,abandoningtaxis.
Notexactlythewildernessadventureonepictureswhenplan-
ninganoverlandingjourney.Theonlywaytomoveforwardwasto
becomea partofthischaoticsteelballet.Liketeethina turning
cog,welumberedin unisontowardourdestination.A glanceat the
clocktoldusweshouldhavebeentherealready.
ThatBenandI wereeventhisclosewasa testamenttoour
goodfortune.Orthefactthatwewerenowstuckintrafficcould
beseenastheresultofa completelackofplanning.It dependson
howyoulookat it.
Sixmonthsearlier,wewere 18 monthsintoourtripoverland-
ingthroughtheAmericas.Reflectingthatwehadn’tseenourfami-
liesina while,wehadanidea.WhynotinviteBen’sparentsto
meetusfora holiday?Theytookusupontheoffer,thedealno
doubtsweetenedbyouroffertoactasunpaidtourguidesandan
airporttaxiservice.
FromAntigua,Guatemala,webegana lengthyjourneytopick
thefolksupfromtheairport.Lengthy,astheywere flyinginto
Lima,Peru.SixmonthsafterdepartingGuatemala,wewerenow
inthefinalstages,crossingtheborderintoPeru fromEcuador,
witha littleovera weekremainingtoarriveinLima.Therewerea
mere1,113kilometersleftdowntheCoastalRoute1, alsoknown
asthePan-AmericanHighway,some 17 hours’driveaccordingto
Google—easy.
Tooeasy,actually.Awholeweek,that’splentyoftimeforan
adventure,right?Sensiblechoicesdon’ttendtomakeforthebest
trips.So,weleftthereliable coastalhighwayandstruck inland.
We’remountainpeoplethroughandthrough.
ThewindingswitchbacksoftheAndeanhighlandshadbeen
callingournames.It wouldhavebeenrudenotto respond.Likeits
coastalcounterpart,Highway3Nwillleadyouona north–south
journeythroughPeru.Thedifferenceis thatit windsitswayhap-
hazardlyamongstthejaggedcontoursofthecountry’snorthern
highlands.
FromthecityofCajamarca,wewereputtingourfaithentirely
inthisroad.OurGPS,Javier,wassimplyalongfortheride.As
usual,wehadnotpreparedwithrespectablemapsora planofany
sort,optingtofollowournosessouth.
Inthesemountains,roadsarea thinribbonof civilizationreach-
ingoutthrougha lonelywilderness,connectinga chainoftowns
andvillageswiththeoccasionallargercity.Somedayswepassed
throughdozensof small,ruralcommunitieswitha handfulof homes
andnotmuchmore.Othertimes,wefoundourselvesfollowingthe
meanderingtrailoverbreathtakingmountainpasses(anythingover
4,000meterscountsas breathtaking,regardlessof scenery;thelack
of oxygenwillensurethis)beforecascadingintopeacefulvalleysor
returningtokilometersof barrenalpinescrubland.
Manyofthetownswereeerilyquiet,thefewinhabitantsoff
workingfortheday.Emptyplazasandcloseddoorwaysgreeted
us.Butin sometowns,peoplewouldshout“gringo”andwaveas we
passed by. These places offered a view into a peaceful way of life, and
welamentednothavingthetimetoenjoyit as werushedsouth.
Asthelastglimpseof thecharming,aging,colonial-stylebuild-
ingsof Mollebambashrankfromthemirrors,werealizedweought
tohavestoppedforgas.ButthenextpopulatedareaofPallasca
didn’tlooktoofarawayontheveryvagueGPSmap.
Distances asthe crow fliesare meaningless inthe Andean
highlands.Tenkilometersseparatethetwotowns,bothsituated
atapproximately3,000meters.Butthemostdirectroadtakesa
serpentine40-kilometerdetourplungingintotheTablachacaVal-
ley1,500metersbelow,beforeclawingitswaybackskywardviaan
unrelentingseriesof hairpins.
The fuel light emitted a forlorn
glow by thetime wearrived inPal-
lasca,and we could onlyhope there
wassomefuelforsale.Wehadcome
toexpectroadsidecartsfullofvarious
containers of questionable gasoline,
but now that weneeded it,we real-
izedthatwehadn’tseenany.“Goback
down that street;it’s thehousewith
thebarreloutside.”AtleastI’mreason-
ablycertainthatis whatthefriendlycajetavendorsaidtomesince
I wastoobusyenjoyingmysampleofsweetcaramelandcounting
outloosechangetobuymyownsupplyof thetreat.
Werolledbackdownthenarrowstreetandthereit was.Upon
closer inspection,thebarrel evenhadan old Mobillogoon it.
Scrawledonthewallinroughhandletteringwasa sign,SeVende
Queso.Well,at leastwemightbeabletogetsomecheese.
Thedullthudat firstwentunanswered.Bententativelynudged
thecreakingdoorajartocallout¿Hola?beforea raucouscacoph-
onyofbarkingbrokethesilence—atleastsomeoneknewwewere
there.
Theowneroftheservicestationandresidentcheesemonger
emergedfrombehindtheantiquewoodendoor,accompaniedby
herassistantFrijol,a blinddalmatian.Hestoodguardwhilethe
cheerfulwomandisappearedbackinsidetoretrievevariouscon-
tainerstoquenchour4Runner’sthirst.
Witha supplyofsnacksandplentyoffuel,wedepartedthe
tranquil town,continuingto follow thenarrow highway.There
appearedtobea shortcut,atleastaccordingtoourmaps.If you
can’ttrustwildlyinaccurate,outdatedGPSmaps(mapswhichyou
boughtoneBayforthebargainpriceof $20),whatcanyoutrust?
Thisparticular shortcut soonhad usfollowing a narrowing
road:a singlelane,clingingtothecrumblingmountainside.De-
cayingtowersofrockloomedaboveaswedescendedtothefloor
oftheTablachacaRiverValleyoncemore.Here,thecanyonfloor
consisted ofbarrendesertandlooserock—aneeriemoonscape
madeallthemoredramaticbythelateafternoonglow.
Wepassedthroughroughlyhewntunnels,remindingusthat
weneededtoreturninlandtorejointhemainroadif wewantedto
experiencethefamousCañóndelPato.Sure,timewasticking,but
whatwastheharmingoinga fewhundredkilometersoutofour
wayonanotherwindingmountainroad?Witha combinedlackof
mapsandresearch,weregularly asked one another, “Do you think
this is the Cañón del Pato?”Decayingtowersof rock
loomedaboveas we
descendedto the floor
of the TablachacaRiver
Valley.Here,the canyon
floorconsistedof barren
desertand looserock—an
eeriemoonscapemadeall
the moredramaticby the
late afternoon glow.