Sunday, 29th November, Huanchaco: Hello Pisco
Crappy hotel we stayed in in Piura had open gaps above every door. Which means that when the room beside you decides to watch TV ALL NIGHT, you’re going to get a shitty night’s sleep. That’s not entirely fair they didn’t just watch TV all night, they did have sex 5 times, (TV still on).
I’m in a foul mood. This happens if I don’t get enough sleep. Mike, thankfully (since we are driving 8 hours today) got a great night’s sleep, able as he is to rolll over and go straight back to sleep.
Piura is not the most charming of towns – we have found, during our various drives in Peru, that there is often a pile up of rubbish, landfill-style, at the side of the road, which makes for some very smelly patches (not that I’m not used to that with Mike…). But the PanAmerican highway is in the best state that we have seen it since Mexico, so no complaints there. Mike guns it and the trusty steed makes it to the utterly magical surfing resort of Huanchaco, just outside Trujillo, by 3pm. We get a room overlooking the ocean (and the surfers, more importantly), there is a canopy of bougainvillea for me to wake up to in the morning, and I manage to convince Mike that we should stay in this paradise for 2 nights rather than doing another long driving day south immediately. He agrees.
That evening we meet Luis, a Spaniard who lived in London for 5 years (so swears as much as we do), and the 3 of us dine together, then end up in a local bar for one of the most extraordinary evenings of our trip so far. The bar is a tiny, single room. It’s filled with people all sitting round in a circle, most of them have instruments of some sort or another – bongos, wooden pipe, guitar, home-made shakers, some killer voices… and together they spend a few hours just jamming. Mike and I sit back and take it all in. Along with the first Pisco Sours we have had since crossing the border. All good.