When the bike fails on me I’m lost. I’m not a mechanic you see. I was lost for twelve days in Cusco (Peru). The battery didn’t charge. No need to say that I didn’t know where to look for. When it comes to bike-problems I better ask a left-handed cheer girl to help me out. Then came Ko, the guy on the CX500, along and things took a turn. Ko fixed the ignition, another problem the bike had. Had to push the Guzzi for days to get her running on an altitude of 4000 meters and that’s of no fun when you smoke cigarettes and wiet. I turned out that the wires of the ignition weren’t connected. You understand that I can drive motorcycles not cure them.
Anyway I was lost in Cusco. Didn’t like the place at all. Too many blancitos and when they take over a place prices raise and the locals go mad, because they see an opportunity selling stuff. Bars, discothèques, fancy shops, pizzas, pastas, hamburgers, greedy tourists buying there ass of all the things I’ve fled for in Holland I found in Cusco of all places. Just before I sunk in a fatal depression Ko and I found a good mechanic. It turned out that the regulator mal functioned. I just had it renewed in Holland. If I’m right I paid 200 bucks for the damn thing. Not everything is expensive in Cusco, regulators for example; I paid less than 30 bucks and the Guzzi woke up again. Next day I was gone.
The ride from Cusco to the border of Bolivia was hallucinating. I like the Andes the most in Peru. Sometimes you pass through a village and for the rest of the day you’re on your own in these fascinating landscapes. In these surroundings people are friendly but now and then a little suspicious. Who can blame them when this smelly, unshaved Dutchman with this Stone Age-vehicle joins them for diner? I do smell from time to time, at oil, gasoline, and sweat and not to mention my underwear. You drive a bike or not, right? The Guzzi ran well on straight roads, but suffered big time when she had to climb. She’s screaming for oxygen on this altitude and coughs her self-up. I can almost count the revs when she behaves like this.
The best thing of traveling by yourself on a motorcycle is that you can stop at any place. I eat and sleep with the locals. One day I paid for two good meals and accommodation less than three (3!) bucks. People keep asking me for money tough, but they don’t realize that after two years of traveling and doing practically nothing I’m as poor as a Buddhist. Very cheap meals and accommodations keep me form bankruptcy, si señor. This is no complaint, just a fact. That’s why I speeded up to Bolivia. It’s very cheap there and I can look without stress for topics to write about.
Last stop before Bolivia was the place Juli, next to the Ticicaca-lake. There was a feast going on and the whole village was absolutely shit faced. When people drink in South America they drink hard, especially on Sundays and especially when there’s a feast on a Sunday. I was the only Gringo in town and people invited me drink after drink and I ended up like them, wasted. Boy did I have fun with these Peruvians. Just before I let the whole town drive around on the Guzzi I crawled into the only hotel in town that strange enough had no water. In fact the whole village lacked water. Water comes from the tap only twenty minutes a day. You need to know that Juli is overlooking this huge Ticicaca-lake.
So I didn’t have a shower for three days – I washed my face a bit with purified water I bought the day before – when the Guzzi and I prepared us for the next border. I left Peru smelling like a stray dog.
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In Peru I was looking for nice Inka-sites, but refused to pay for the entrance. Machu Picchu can kiss my balls (200 bucks to get there). So I was looking on my map. When you see three dots it means that there’s some Inka-stuff going on. I still work for two motorcycle magazines back in Holland and needed an opener (picture), I mean bike, some Inka-stones and me on the background or foreground that depends on how my hair looks like. In fact this Inka-hype is based on some bricks. You see a pile of stones (okay, they’re big) and it’s called it the temple of virility. Thank you very much. In Juli just before the border I still had no picture when I found this old church with Inka–influences. It was almost falling apart. The tower still stood only because of some improvised scaffoldings. There was no entrance. So I had to climb to take some inside pictures. Nobody cared for this church but me. I think I made an archeological discovery of great importance and will ask for the credits soon. I’ll call it the temple of virility, the real one, the only one, of zoiets.