The illegal miners blocking the Panamerican highway in Casma gave me the excuse to spend a couple of days in Huanchaco, the beach town near Trujillo. To be honest, there isn’t a lot of reasons to stay here more than a day. The beach is grey and not inviting, and there isn’t anything to do other than go to the beach. The only positive thing I heard about the beach is the surf is good, and it really wasn’t all that impressive particularly after spending two weeks in Canoa, Ecuador, where the surf is excellent and the beach beautiful.

When I arrived the first thing I set my mind to doing, as was the norm for every new town, was to find a place to stay. I had wandered by one of the recommendations in the Lonely Planet, and making my way back a man came out from a restaurant and asked if I was looking for a room. The room was basic with a shared bathroom, shared with the rest of their family as a I essentially staying in
their home, and they even had wifi. For only 10 soles a night it was hard to turn down. The downside, as I discovered that night, was the bed was made from packed grass or hay to then point I might as well have been sleep on the
concrete floor. I didn’t think it was possible for a mattress to be so hard! But it’s only 10 soles a night, I kept telling myself, and I only ended up staying two nights.

The protests in Casma were already over and I bought my ticket to Huaraz. That evening I bumped into two half brothers (one is Dutch, the other Indian, both have the same father) I had meet back in Cuenca, Ecuador, much to all of our surprise. After I spent 2 weeks in Chachapoyas I figured these two would be well on their way to Cuzco by now. They had instead stayed in Cuenca for a while with Dev and where only just now making their way through Peru. Parting ways I left for Trujillo and to the bus station.

The first sign that things might not go so well in Huaraz was when I almost got denied from going on the bus. This was courtesy of these two idiot British yobbos. They were both blind drunk and making fools of themselves in the terminal, and I being the only other white gringo also got turned back and had to go to the administration counter. They brought out a breathalyser and I knew where this was leading. I had a couple of beers back in Huanchaco before coming to the terminal so I immediately failed the breath test. As I watched the two British clowns fumble around their bag and drop phones, with one of them actually asking the other one for some gum to do the breath test again, I was getting a little annoyed I was being associated with them. But I just shrugged in the end and asked for the backpack.

I think at this point the staff must have figured I didn’t know the two drunks and they let me pass. Yay, I thought boarding, thankfully we don’t have to ride with those two. And yet for some god forsaken reason they both were let on the bus and must have spent a good hour each in the toilet (I was in the seat in front of
the toilet, one of the few remaining seats left when I booked). When we arrived in Huaraz at 7:30am I walked by where they were sitting and it was covered in biscuits, wrappers and I fear what else. The boys sure were living up to the drunk English stereotype, the Queen would be proud!

One thing that strikes you about Huaraz is how big the city is after having been mostly destroyed in 1970 by a combination of landslide and avalanche. That catastrophe saw half its popular killed, some 15,000 people lost. A second thing that is striking is the appearance of snow covered mountains. Huaraz is the trekking, mountaineering, ice climbing, and general adventure capital of Peru. The
astounding Cordillera Blanca mountains, capped in gleaming white, are home to the highest mountains in the tropical word, with grandest Huascaran at 6768m.
Looking up at the mountains I can completely understand why people have the desired to climb them. There’s an allure that stirs within and I could imagine
myself slinging on a backpack, armed with a pick axe, and tackling their lofty heights. Of course I’m awful with attitude, so mountain climbing won’t be an
activity I’ll be taking up any time soon, however there is part of me that is really attracted to the idea.

Casting aside thoughts of mountainous treks I turned by mind to the reason I was here – to visit the ruins of Chavin. Despite my dislike of doing tours, the previous
in Peru were quite enjoyable and well worth the money, so I decided to go with a tour out to Chavin. I was initially going to stay in the town at the ruins for a night, but decided a day trip would be better. I was here really only to visit Chavin and then move onto Lima, and didn’t want to spend any extra nights that I needed to. In retrospect I should have gone with my original plan.

The bus arrived at the tour agency at 9am. Rather than a mini bus every other tour I had been on used, this was a proper day bus. Okay, I thought, Chavin is 3 hours away so they use comfy buses, totally cool with that. There were only a few
other people on board and the bus went on its way. We then drove around Huaraz picking up additional passengers, from other tour agencies to just what
appeared to be peoples homes. On two occasions we had to reverse back down streets because the bus couldn’t fit any further. I couldn’t figure out why
these people couldn’t have just walked the 10 minutes into the centre of town to be picked up. Soon enough we arrived back at the centre of town and stopped at a bus depot that was a block from where I got picked up – an hour ago.

Alarm bells started going off in my head and the bus filled up to capacity. On a mini bus you have a maximum of 10 other people with you, and it’s quite an enjoyable ride meeting new strangers. This bus, on the other hand, had 30 people and you were just one of the throng and a certified bus tourist. And with more people the chance of having irritating people increases, and there was this one German guy that would make a point of ignoring the bus horn to get back aboard, literally standing in plain view with his back turned as we all waited for him. The tour guide should have had some balls and just left the German twat behind, I doubt anyone would have minded.

Chavin is 3000 year old temple complex, once thought to be the oldest South American civilisation until the ruined city of Caral took that crown.  The site is incredible with the bulk having been excavated and even the ancient water ducts intact. The water ducts themselves are impressive, running throughout the complex and under the temple, they were used to drain the water from heavy rain away and they’re big enough that it is believed they also acted as secret tunnels.

There are several points at the temple were you can actually enter and walk through the stone hallways. It’s hard not be impressed standing within a 3000 year old structure, the cold stone bricks surrounding you and looking up great slabs of rock holding up tonnes of stone above your head. In one of the hallways still stands a great obelisk, behind a glass door for its protection, carved to
depict the primary deity and possibly the use of the San Pedro cactus by the temple priests. I was immensely more impressed with entering the Chavin temple
than entering the incredibly boring Great Pyramid of Giza in Egypt.

The use of hallucinogenic drugs is thought to have played a major role in Chavin society, much like societies that would follow. The Chavin priests would take this to a greater extreme and give San Pedro to people within the dark cold rooms of the temple, while conch shells were used to create an eerie ambiance. After
visiting these rooms illuminated with electric light, I would have to say being in here by fire light (even if that) with the drone of the conch shells while hallucinating that the experience wouldn’t have been pleasant. The use of the drug was thought to bring on the transformation from man to feline beast and many of the Chavin obelisks and sculptures shows the half man half feline ascension of the priests.

We arrived back in Huaraz around 8pm and I headed to a pizza place that looked pretty good, and it was. After pizza, a few beers and some flirting with the waitress, I headed back to the hostal. The plan was to spend the next day lazing around at a café run by an American to use their wifi internet. But like most places
on a Sunday the café was closed and the rain arrived by midday. I had wanted to book a hostal in Lima, yet after walking by an internet café I shrugged off the compulsion to book a place in a capital city in advance and headed to the bus ticket office instead.

The next morning I jumped on the Lima bound bus. Time to visit the City of Kings.