We woke up around 6:00 with hopes of getting out of Lima around 7:00 and beating the morning traffic. We went to bed too late as usual and were dragging. We ate a quick breakfast of yogurt and fruit, packed the bikes and braced ourselves for 8 a.m. rush hour traffic. To our great surprise, it was quite easy to get out of town. Within 45 minutes we had passed through the suburbs and slums surrounding the beautiful inner city. We couldn't help but to notice that the nice part of the city lies close to the water, cooled by the ocean breeze. As you move out towards the Pan American, the neighborhoods deteroriate and there is no sea breeze which leaves the slums both hot and covered in smog. Anyway, down the PA we went through the now ever familiar barren desert terrain and stiff winds. We stopped about 100 miles down the road for a pitstop and were back at it within 10 minutes. Another 90 miles or so through unchanging desert scenery, we stopped for some lunch. We were trying to make good time as we only planned to spend one day in Ica and wanted to go for a tour of the local winery and pay a visit to the oasis in the desert, Huacachina.
After asking a few locals for directions, we found the right road and travelled the 5 kilometers through the sand dunes to find a tiny little lake surrounded by palm trees. It was lovely. We rolled the bike down on to the walking path that rings the lake and were of course greeted by numerous curious onlookers. On the way over, we had decided to spend another day in Ica and try to catch up on some sleep. Therefore, that meant that we put off the big Huacachina attraction, sandboarding, 'til the following day. For now we were going to see if we could try out some Peruvian wine that we intended to try at the winery. We ordered a bottle of tinto at the little lakeside restaurant. Well, it wasn't terrible, but let's just say that there's no comparison to the Chilean wines. Anyway, it was a nice, relaxing afternoon. We headed back to town and walked around a bit and checked out the sites. We stopped for a beer in a little bar that actually played modern American music. We had to stay for awhile just for the sing-along aspects. We decided we'd come back the following night for the live music.
I spent the next morning getting the oil filter and oil changed on The Green Hornet. Then it was back to the hotel to clean the air filter and tighten the chain. When I returned up to our room on the second floor we noticed a tiny rumbling which grew into rocking and finally shaking. It lasted for about 20 seconds and I was amazed at the movement of the building. It felt like we were on a boat. It took us a while to figure out that it was an earthquake. Our first one. While the earthquake was occurring it was a time of bewilderment and just before it ended it was a time for concern. The realization that we should have, but didn't, take evasive action, like standing in a doorway, was a little disconcerting. Meanwhile the hotel seemed to hold up fine. When I went downstairs to confirm that it was in fact an earthquake the hotel staff said that it was but not to worry, they happen every now and again. Easy for them to say.
After taking care of the moto maintenance we finally headed off to the oasis. Huacachina is one of the most unique places that I've ever been to. It has the feel of a ski town but is in the middle of the desert. The town used to be quite the travel destination as evidenced by the once grand casinos and hotels that have since fallen into disrepair. The ever-looming sand dune just north of the lake dwarfs the tiny hamlet. There were a couple lakeside restaurants that provide a great location to view the intrepid sandboarders as they make their way down the face of the dune. If it were a ski slope I would rate it a black diamond, not for its length but for its steepness. There were numerous gringos and Peruvians climbing the dune with sand board in hand. It was now our turn. We returned to the same restaurant as the day before and rented the sandboards for 3 soles each. They gave us some wax and said to use it for practice on the windward side of the dune. They warned us not to wax our boards on the side of the dune facing the lake because the steepness combined with a freshly waxed board meant instant death. Ok, well maybe that's embellishing a bit. Let's just say that it would not be good. I'm sure with enough speed you could possibly run into the palm trees that fringe the oasis.
It was quite hot and the trudge up the side of the dune was very labor intensive. The other day we had seen some gringos take 45 minutes to reach the top. But if you take it slow and steady and don't stop it's possible to make it in 15 minutes. Once we reached the top the scenery was incredible. We were standing right on the apex of the dune, seemingly on top of the world. Of course there was also a couple Germans up there and together we made our first tentative practice runs down the more gentle windward side of the dune. It was amazingly hard packed. It hurt when you fell and like all new things you had a tendency to fall alot. I was able to execute a rather awkward sliding stop but this was nothing like snowboarding. There was no real edge to speak of. It was more like surfing on a 9 ft rescue board. No real mobility and to stop. You basically had to jump off. We were now ready for the real thing. Standing on the precipice was a lot like looking down Heather Canyon at Mt. Hood Meadows. I was first to go and took a relatively safe angle. The feel of floating on sand was pretty gnarly, dude. After a couple hundred meters I did a power slide stop and waited for Linda. Linda started the descent and after falling a couple times she started to get the hang of it. All of a sudden she caught an "edge" and fell. Because the board only has two straps for your feet it is easy too lose it and that's what happened to Linda's board. The sandboard had suddenly transformed into a missle as gravity took over and it came shooting down the slope at mach speed, flinging sand off the bow. Linda was relegated to running down the rest of the way taking 15 ft strides. I boarded the rest of the way down. It was a blast all the way until I got close to the palm trees at the bottom of the run. Not sure I could stop in time I jumped off and, one slightly separated right shoulder later, I came to a stop. It was alot more fun than I thought it would be. It was now the German couple's turn. When we were up top I noticed that they were waxing their boards. They were going to take the dune sitting down hoping to attain top speed. The girl had difficulty staying upright but the guy came screaming down looking like a bobsleader. He was bouncing all over the place and finally ended the wild ride with a spectacular crash. My shoulder was aching pretty good and the difficult walk back up to do another run had us scampering back to the restaurant for a couple of well earned beers. It would have been great to spend all day learning the ins and outs of sandboarding but alas we had to get back to town to listen to some music of the Andes.
After dinner we had a little extra time so we hung out in the town square. Two little girls came over and started to ask us all sorts of questions. Like how old we were, how many children did we have, when we have children do we want a boy or a girl, do we know how to count. The last question sort of hit a nerve for us because we've noticed that there are not alot of people here who can count with any proficiency. Even store owners have a hard time making change. Linda started into her lecture about the importance of a good education as both the little girls' eyes and mine slowly glazed over. We didn't want a lecture, we wanted to hear a story. It was then time to head over to a smallish pub that had a stage and advertised a free concert of Andean music. At the appointed hour the muscians started shuffling through the door. The place filled quickly with other local musicians and Peruvian vacationers. The band was very young and it was hard not to get into the music because of the rampant enthusiam with which they played. From the visual cacophony of strumming hands, fanatic fingers and swaying bodies came the hauntingly spiritual music that strikes to the very core of one's own existence. I remembered the first time that I'd ever heard music from the Andes. It was during Madre Gras in New Orleans, of all places, and I was put immediately into a trance. The primal rythyms, percussions and flutes transport the listener back to a time less complicated, and some may argue, a better time. We listened for hours and by 2 a.m. the band was playing at our table. They thought it would be fun if I sang the lyrics while they played some classic songs from a more modern time, like Hey Jude, Yesterday and the 'hammer and a bell' song. Fun until they heard my singing and then it was time to teach me how to play the pan flute. Ok this guy obviously has no musical talent, we'll just let him bang on the drum. By this time the whole crowd was in on the act. We finally said our goodbyes by 3 a.m. These late nights are going to get me in the end. But what a magical night. I just can never really get over how kind and generous everyone is. They are so accepting and invite you into their lives without any conditions.
We slept in the next day and eventually hit the road by 1 p.m. Not really that big of a deal because we were only going 100 miles down the road to Nazca, home of the infamous Nazca lines. The road out of Ica was very desolate. The winds varied from nonexistant to very strong. At times you could see the Panamerican disappear off into the horizon. On the way we passed through several small towns. Because there was some kind of festival going on anyone and everyone was the target of being doused in water. Little kids armed with buckets of water would throw them on the passing motorist, myself included. But I got the last laugh because, unbeknownst to them, I was decked out in my MSR gore-tex jacket and pants, perfectly protected from the attacks.
Several kilometers from Nazca is a viewing tower. We paid our 1 sol entrance fee and climbed the tower. We could see a couple of lines but really couldn't make out what they were. The amazing thing about the Nazca people, a civilization that flourished before the Inca war-mongers whom conquered much of the west coast of South America, is that for all of their engineering prowess they will go down in history as a people who had enough time on their hands to draw some caracatures in the sand. They were able to develop an extensive overground and underground acquaduct system to irragate their fields, employed mining techniques still in use today and had a very organized religion. Supposedly the acquaduct system was one of only three known systems of their time. The others being in Rome and somewhere in China. But here we were coming to catch a glimpse of the lines. There are numerous lines and geoglyphs depicting spiders, birds, whales and, what some people say is an astronaut. There are many schools of thought that say the lines are some sort of gigantic astronomical calender. Another theory holds that they were walkways that formed some sort of ritualistic parade. Others contend that space aliens visited the old civilizations and used the drawings as a landing pad. I think that some left brained artisan with a little too much time on his hands got a little carried away. Some engineering-type wearing a colorful alpaca plaid shirt with pre-Inca pocket protector, recently retired from a lifetime of building pyramids for the royals, got together with a couple of his buddies and with no one to stop them, had a good ol' time. And here we are 2,500 years later getting ready to board a flight to view their handiwork.
We finally arrived in Nazca around 3 p.m. absolutely exhausted. We quickly found a place to stay with spacious cabinas. We were able to talk them down from 60 soles a night to 40, or from $17 to $11. Next we booked a flight and a cemetary tour for the next morning for $40 a piece. We heard that it was possible to get as cheap as $30 per person but we were just way too tired to spend the half hour it would take to get the price down. Besides our bookies seemed very nice and everyone needs a good payday now and then. After taking care of those essentials we ate at a pizza joint and found a place to connect for e-mail. After some Italian ice cream we hit the hay for some much needed sleep. That night I dreamt of my 10th grade high school geometry class and Mr. Mabe, my teacher, (who is a member of the same BMW motorcycle club as my dad) whom was lecturing me on how one day a proper understanding of the laws of geometry would come in handy. That day is about to arrive.
The next morning our guides woke us up at 7:45 sharp. They gave us a ride to the airport, we checked in and then were treated to a Time-Life series video on the life and times of the Inca. Very interesting and I would recommend renting it for a little culture. We finally boarded our flight at 9:30. The people who paid $30 for their flights had to wait for over 3 hours before they boarded their flight. I felt much better about paying the extra 10 bucks...Not! Anyway, our trusty aircraft was what appeared to be a rickety old Cesna 172 4-seater. Our pilot explained the flight plan and which geoglyphs we would see and in what order. He accomodatingly pitched the plane so we could see directly down on the figures. By the color of Linda's face I could tell that she would have rather craned her neck to catch a glimpse. The figures were much smaller than I had originally expected. The flight lasted for about half an hour. 29 minutes too long as far as Linda was concerned. It was nice to take the tour though and to try and put yourself into the shoes of the person who decided that these lines were necessary. I'm still sticking to my retired engineer theory. After the flight we took a tour of the old cemetary. With over 6,000 burial plots with at least 2 to 4 people in each, it was a gigantic final resting home. Because of the looting of the tombs over the years there was burial debris scattered everywhere, including too many human bones to count. It was a very strange place. You could tell that the powers that be tried to recreate the tombs by replacing some skeletons and clothes in some open pits. It did make for an interesting tour but more likely than not totally contrived. Next stop was the ceramic factory and gold mining exhibit. Afterwards we visited with our Swedish tour companions who are working with disenfranchised families in Lima for three months. They were staying in the slums of Lima and had very few nice things to say about the city except that it was very polluted.
On the way back to the hotel room we saw a motorcycle loaded to the gills parked outside a restaurant. Inside was Matthias, from Switzerland, who was riding from Santiago, Chile to meet up with his wife in Lima, Peru. He has traveled extensively in South America over the years and we made plans to meet up with him at our hotel later that evening.
Linda was not feeling very well after the plane ride so she laid down for awhile while I fiddled with the bikes. Matthias showed up, I helped him to check in to the hotel, and we then poured over various maps sharing travel stories. Matthias is a motorcycle mechanic back in Switzerland who speaks 4 languages. He was out of practice with his English so we talked in Engmanish (a mix of English, German and Spanish) for most of the night. One thing led to another and we decided to hit the town. Besides, the sound of Linda "tossing her cookies" was a little bothersome. We found a lively dance place that had a live band. We worked our way up to the front of the stage. We were the only gringos there and the band leader would, from time to time, interview us in between songs. He would stick the microphone in our faces and ask us how we liked the beer, food, women in Peru, not necessarily in that order. It was great fun. We danced and sang for the next 4 hours. We finally dragged ourselves back to the hotel at a very ungodly hour. Linda was feeling a little better so we thought that we might be able to leave in the morning. We may have to figure out a way to do a bike trip through Europe after all the people we've meet down here.
After Jeff's big night out with Matthias and my big night of praying to the porcelain gods, I wasn't real confident that we would be leaving Nasca. Jeff was anxious to get going though. Originally we had planned to go from Nasca to Arequipa but seeing as we had awakened at 9:00, we probably wouldn't make it. Matthias had told us about a nice little beach at Camana so we set our sights for that. We ate some breakfast with Matthias and got packing. After a few more photos in the daylight, we hit the road about 10:30. I was feeling pretty retched and still didn't know why I had gotten so ill the night before. As we set off through the desert winds, I was just hoping to keep my breakfast down. Of course, the miles passed quite slowly. We rode along the coastline for quite some time with parts called "zona de arenamiento" or sand zone. It was funny to see these signs as there was quite obviously nothing but sand for thousands of miles, why one place is designated as a sand zone over all the others is still a mystery to me. We stopped for a few photos and then climbed up through some gently winding turns that made up the coastline. The curves allowed us a bit of a reprieve from the wind which was nice. We stopped after about 100 miles for some cokes and talked about how barren the scenery was. Atleast we had the nice, cool air from the Ocean. While we were drinking our cokes, I mentioned to Jeff that I had gone onto reserve really early. In fact, I had gone on reserve at 146 miles which is 44 miles short of my average. We assumed that we had either gotten leaded gas or that ol' Suzi just was not liking the 85 octane we had filled up with. We went ahead and dumped in my half gallon plastic bottle of gas.
We took off again and knew that eventually the road would jut inward through a small river valley and then rejoin the coast again for the final push. Jeff got ahead of me in the downhill turns to the valley. When I rode into town he was waiting by the side of the road. I pulled over to tell him that I had once again gone on reserve early and didn't think I would make it to Camana, which I should have made (normally) on my regular tank, without using my little extra tank. We opened up the cap and peered in. We could see the gas so figured I could probably make it. The station in the small town only had 84 octane so we decided to go for it. We cranked up the bikes and set out for the final stretch. Just after getting up to cruising speed, a German Shephard sized dog started chasing Jeff. He was to my right but in front of me. I decided to go left and sneak around the dog's left side before he had a chance to chase me too. (A strategy I have used the whole trip). Unfortunately, the dog whipped around toward me without knowing anything was coming and I plowed right into him. His poor little body whipped around in a 360 and he was tossed to the side of the road. In my rear-view mirror I saw him trying to orient himself from the whiplash. I burst into tears and sobbed and sobbed, not knowing whether I had killed the dog, broken his back or what. We didn't go back which was equally horrible for me. There was nothing I could do. There are zillions of these stray dogs that chase us and it is also very dangerous for us. Jeff said he watched the whole thing in his rear view mirrors. He said that he was really glad I hadn't tried to swerve around the dog as I probably would have had a dangerous wreck. He actually seemed excited for me, like running over a dog is some kind of right of passage for a South American motorcyclist. Ugh. What a day this was. Onward we went and as we entered a little town about 50 kilometers from Camana, Suzi stopped dead in her tracks. Out of gas. I tried honking but Jeff didn't hear me. I pulled over and waited for him to figure out that I had dropped off the back. It wasn't long before I could see him coming towards me. Fortunately, we were in a town. Jeff took the plastic tank and said he'd be right back. Ten minutes and a half gallon later, we made the final stretch to Camana and filled up with 95 octane.
At the gas station, we inquired about where the beach hotels were, the guy said we were just five minutes away. We cruised the strip of beach and settled on a hotel on the far end of the tourist area, hoping for a quiet room. We unpacked and went to the hotel restaurant for some dinner. We were completely exhausted and returned to the room to read and listen to the relaxing sounds of the Ocean. We were sound asleep by 9:00 pm.
The next morning we slept in until about 8:30. We only had about 100 miles to Arequipa so we thought we'd try to go for a run on the beach. I haven't run in about 7 months due to an injury that has alluded the doctors and they assured me that with enough rest, would heal. Bollocks. So, we laced up and hit the beach. It was quite warm but felt good to feel our hearts beating. We only were planning to run for about 20 minutes so we stopped at the halfway point to check my knee. I could feel it a bit but it seemed ok. Feeling giddy that I was running again, we happily plodded along towards our hotel. It wasn't long before I had to stop because my knee started bothering me too much. What a sad state of affairs. Running has always been the center of both of our universes for such a long time. It's so hard to believe I can take 7 months off and still have problems. Well, before I digress too much... we came back, showered, packed and ate some breakfast and were on the road by 11:30. The road to Arequipa was really nice. It is a gradual incline through speedy turns and eventually winds up on what they call "pampas" or flat land in the mountains. We cruised in to town and got a little lost before we found the hotel zone. We checked out the few we had selected from the guide book. The one I liked was $20 which was more than we liked to spend but they said we could connect and that we could leave our luggage there if we took a side trip to Colca Canyon. Jeff scooted all around the one-way streets and checked out a few more. He returned to tell me about a beautiful hotel that was $23 but that we could only stay in the room for one night and then would have to move in to a much lesser room for the same price. We finally opted for a different one all together, "Casa de mi Abuela". We paid $17 for a double with shared bath. We chose it because of the beautiful gardens and grounds. It was just so cozy. We hadn't seen that much golf course grass, pretty flower-beds and comfy lawn chairs in ages. Of course, the hotel search took us 2 hours so we didn't get out on to the streets until about 4:30.
We went walking through beautiful Arequipa in search of a restaurant. We found a great place with rooftop seating and a free movie and the meal of the day price was still available. We had an excellent dinner and read our e-mail that I had just gotten back at the hotel. The sun was setting as we ate and the temperature plummeted. We went inside to wait for the movie and reply to some e-mail. As it approached movie time, we decided that we were too tired to hang out. Well, that combined with the increasing number of chain smokers that selected seats near us. We went back to the hotel to send our e-mail and went to bed early.
The next morning we enjoyed a wonderful breakfast in our hotel restaurant, poolside. That weather was looking very dreary, though not raining. We planned to spend the day getting information on the road conditions to Colca Canyon as they are not paved and we were trying not to duplicate the ride to Huaraz. We did a little walking tour of the city as well. Arequipa is famous for the number of old colonial buildings made of white lava blocks. One of these beautiful structures was the Monasteria Santa Catalina. At one time over 400 nuns lived there in the old days. We took the tour. We really enjoyed touring that intricate pathways that comprised the living quarters. After spending about an hour there we went off to the markets in search of the famous Alpaca and Baby Alpaca sweaters. We found some we liked but decided that we didn't want to part with $50. We were going to make sure we had the best price before we handed over the cash. This is always the kiss of death as we get too tired of bargaining and wind up with nothing. Which is what happened. We headed back to the hotel and discussed our plans for the next day. We decided that we were sick of worrying about the mountain road conditions and that we would blow off Colca Canyon and Cusco for now and hopefully that would give us time to get to Tierra del Fuego before the weather turned too foul there. This plan would also buy us time to get us into the dry season in the Andes and we plan to come back after making the bend down south. So we were set. We had some dinner in the hotel restaurant and got all packed up. We would leave bright and early. Right before bed I sent a quick e-mail to our friends Kevin and Julia, the English couple on the BMW, to let them know of our change in plans and hoped we would catch up with them again soon.
We got out of Arequipa bright and early around 7 a.m. The cool of the mountain air was invigorating as we steamed towards the border 285 miles away. I noticed that The Green Hornet was behaving erractically. Shutting off whenever I had to slow for traffic or toll boothes. When we finally stopped for gas I found that I had left the choke wide open. I find it helpful to make rookie mistakes from time to time just to keep me honest. By noonish we pulled into the scenic pueblo of Moyogalpa, gased up and found a little roadside restaurant. They didn't have a menu but they did have Cuy. Cuy, guinnea pigs, are considered to be a delicacy down here. We jumped at the chance to finally eat one of those cute little critters. Not sure how good they would taste we ordered just one. From what I understand they just shave 'em, gut 'em and throw them into the deep fryer. They come out intact. Their teeth are tightly clenched together and their tiny feet are curled into fists. It was a little too graphic for Linda to truly enjoy but it didn't stop her from making Cuy skin sandwiches. This trip is turning her into a barbarian. As for myself the taste was nothing to write home about, suffice it to say that it tastes a little bit like Wahoo (an inside joke from our Utila days). With our stomachs feeling a little dicey we climbed aboard the bikes and headed towards the border. The desert terrain south of Moygogalpa is considered to be the Pampas and the highway is straight as an arrow with only a few turns to negotiate from time to time. It was in one of the few twisty sections that all the problems started.
As usual I raced ahead when we got to some turns. I found a little side road to turn around and wait for Linda to show up. Unfortunately the road was comprised of really soft sand. I went over a rise to find a suitable place to turn around. There was none. After 10 minutes or so I finally got out of the mess. But I wasn't sure if Linda had passed by or not. So I waited for a while and then finally decided that she had already passed and I took off down the road to catch her. When we returned to the flat section of roadway I could see ahead for miles but I didn't see Linda. Not sure if she was ahead of me or behind me I stopped at a lonely little tienda to ask if they had seen another motorcycle go by. No they hadn't. Great, now I was worried that she may have wrecked in the turns. So I raced back to the turns. I spotted a couple of trucks stopped by the road and asked them if they had seen another motorcycle go by. Yes they had! But it was a long time ago, maybe a half hour. That must be her. So I raced back the other direction to try and catch her. The next 100 miles I stopped and asked numerous cops, truck drivers and just the average Joe on the street if they had seen another motorcyclist. Some had seen her and others had not. I still wasn't fully convinced that it was her up ahead. I even stopped to ask a police officer if there were any reported accidents on the roads. He assured me that there weren't any. With every mile my anxiety grew. Finally we approached the last town before the border. Surely she wouldn't go into the city! If she did I may never find her. Since I was carrying the paperwork on the motorcycles and the money, if she got stopped by the police she could be detained indefinitely. I crested the hill praying she would be there waiting for me. She wasn't but all the people waiting at a nearby bus station had seen her and excitedly pointed in all directions to show me where she went. I took a deep breath and went looking for her. I aimlessly criss-crossed the streets of Tacna trying to think what she could have been thinking. I finally decided that she had either broken down 100 miles back or she just went on to the border. Since the border was closer I decided to check there first. When I rolled along the road my mind was racing. What could have possessed her to ride the last 100 miles without realizing that I was behind her? What was she thinking? Was she really ahead of me or was she behind me? Nothing made sense and I was close to panicing.
Meanwhile my lovely and talented wife was racing along at 80 mph hour in an effort to catch me. "Why doesn't he stop and wait for me?" she asked herself. She couldn't believe that I would just go straight to the border without her. After all, I had the motorcycle paperwork and the money. What was she supposed to do if she got stopped. So ahead she raced, assuming that she would eventually catch me. She was a nervous wreck when she finally pulled into the Peruvian border. When the border guards saw her pull up they all excitedly looked at her stickers and asked her about her trip. Meanwhile she searched the area for me. When I wasn't there she became despondant and the border guards could tell she was upset and left her alone. It was about this time that I showed up. I was both relieved to see her again and livid that she didn't stop to wait for me. We entered into a heated exchange, trying to figure out what happened. That was until one of the more seasoned immigration officials took me aside and told me that I shouldn't be yelling at my wife. He said that she was already very sad. Then he went on to say that we had obviously traveled along way together and probably still had a long way to go and that we needed to support each other. He said that whatever happened was in the past and we should look to the future. A very wise man.
One of the interesting dynamics of traveling with someone for as long as we have is that you can experience all sorts of situations that test your ability to handle them together, as a team. Then add the fact that the person that your traveling with is your spouse. It becomes much more complicated. When you ride with your riding buddies you can get into fights, yell at each other and after a couple beers laugh the whole thing off and move on. When you yell at your spouse the emotional wounds run much deeper. It's not just one motorclyclist yelling at another motorcyclist. It is a husband yelling at his wife. The whole trip I was always more concerned about teaching Linda how to become a safe motorcycle rider and less concerned with being a sympathetic husband. I would get upset with Linda if she would have a mental lapse or as I always put it - let the motorcycle ride her instead of her riding the motorcycle. It is extremely difficult to teach someone you love something that can be a dangerous activity like riding a motorcycle. It is even more difficult to take them on a trip of this magnitude. Everyday we are faced with one potentially dangerous situation after another. I am constantly torn between being overly protective and allowing Linda to handle tough situations without my help. Linda is a very couragous person and she is perfectly capable of handling any situation. But that still doesn't prevent my instincts to protect her from kicking in. When we got seperated I was very upset because I wouldn't be there to help her if she got in trouble. Once again fighting the urge to be overly protective. So the words of the Immigration Officer/Marriage counselor really hit home. Because at the end of the day, we only have each other. Out here, no one else is going to be there for us. This motorcycle trip is really just a condensed metaphor for life. We always will be facing difficult situations. If we face them together we are infinitely more successful than if we face them alone. The beauty of traveling is that we experience higher highs and lower lows than we do back home in our own environment. It forces you to work through the tough times and enjoy the good times together. Hopefully we'll emerge from these experiences as a stronger couple. But I digress... We changed our Soles to dollars and thanked the whole immagration office for their help in crossing the borders, both figuratively and literally. Adios Peru, hopefully we'll make it back after the rainy season.