24-26 June. We’d been warned about cartel activity along the Peruvian coast and had heard it was quite active. Not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention, we decided against free camping on the beach. Finding a campground in town was a stroke of luck, as nothing was listed on iOverlander for big rigs. At the first place we asked, they pointed us to another entrance around the back, which was big enough for us. The property was large, with a gate about two blocks away. We parked up on the grass and even had our own clean, newer bathroom with a hot shower – all for just 30 soles per night, about $11 CAD. Being walled in, we felt comfortable leaving Bruce unattended, and the kids too.
The following morning, we set out on foot to explore the waterfront, then followed the beach out to the lighthouse point where we hoped to kite.
A little history
Pacasmayo has been shaped by its strategic location along the Pacific. Geologically, it features long stretches of sandy beach interspersed with rocky headlands, though none very high, allowing a steady side-onshore wind that creates ideal surf and kitesurfing conditions.
Before Spanish colonisation, the region was inhabited by pre-Columbian cultures. In the late 19th century, Pacasmayo became an important port town with the construction of its iconic pier in 1871, built to export sugar, cotton, and other goods from inland. Today the pier is a rickety landmark used only by fishermen, as confirmed by the guard who denied us entry.
Now better known for its legendary left-hand surf break, which attracts surfers from around the world. Despite this tourism, however, many locals still struggle with limited economic opportunities beyond fishing, small trade, and seasonal surf tourism.
El Faro – The lighthouse
The lighthouse point is where the waves form and peel clean for a very long time. Unfortunately for us, once again, the wind is light and we don’t have kites big enough. Riders are out there on 12m kites, our biggest is 10m.
Chatting to a couple from the USA who have been there 3 weeks, they said the past few weeks were disappointing, small waves with light winds.
We sat on the warm round stones for a couple of hours watching the kiters, windsurfers and wingers out there. Tomorrow we’ll come with our gear as the wind is forecast to pick up.
Walking back home along the dry windswept point towards the village we couldn’t take the beach due to high tide. It was like we were walking through the war zone of Gaza, piles of concrete, brick and construction debris, garbage and plastic everywhere. It was as though a bomb had gone off.
The streets appeared deserted, doors and windows shuttered, gates padlocked. There were some people around, nobody smiling, no friendly faces. We didn’t exactly feel welcomed or unsafe, certainly aware that we were foreigners as all eyes were on us. I didn’t take any photos, as we were warned that these poorer areas could have opportunistic crime of ‘snatch n grab’.
The next day the kids wanted to stay and chat online with their friends. Sometimes we all need a little space from on another. So Tim and I took our kite gear and flagged down a tuk-tuk (moto taxi), to give us a ride out to the point.
Arriving to light winds, pooh. Grey sky, light winds. We hung out again for a couple of hours before making our way home. Totally bummed as the waves look like lots of fun to play in.
The forecast was not looking good for us, no wind for the next few days. So we called it the following day. Packed everything up and headed out of town, East into the mountains. Out past the endless rice fields. Climbing for the afternoon, camping the night next to a concrete wall in a large empty lot on the edge of a small pueblo. We ate a yummy dinner at the restaurant for 10sloes p/plate. Apart from a few trucks passing by in the night, we slept soundly.
Cajamarca
30th June – 2 July. Is a sprawling city with tightly packed brown brick buildings, most of them simple square two-storey homes with rusting rebar poking defiantly from the rooftops, as if dreaming of a future third floor that may never come. Wall-to-wall construction squeezes narrow roads and alleyways between them, while garbage-filled streams wind sadly through town, carrying plastic and waste down the valleys. Stray dogs lounge lazily on street corners, snoozing in the sun or sniffing for scraps, as people go about their day – vendors setting up stalls, mothers herding children to school, and men bent over hauling sacks of supplies. Mototaxis buzz past in clouds of exhaust, weaving between belching diesel buses that rattle the cracked pavement.
Plaza de Armes is anchored by ancient baroque churches built by Spanish conquerors on top Inca foundations. Here, Catholicism competed fiercely with indigenous beliefs, leaving behind ornate facades of devotion and power.
Climbing a lookout hill on the of town gave us a sweeping view over the city that stretches towards distant green hills. I imagine what the valley looked like when the Inca thrived here, the temples & plazas alive, animals grazing & smoke rising from cooking fires…before Pizarro arrived, captured Atahualpa, executed him despite his offer of rooms filled of mountains of gold and silver. The ransom for his people, the greed of many that forever changed the destiny of the Inca.
The three main churches were closed, we’ve seen so many churches it’s ok to miss these. We are often just intrigued & fascinated by the architecure & design, the worn entry flagstones, the mighty wood doors & ornate towering alters over the beliefs they stand for.
finca santa maria
30 June – July 2nd. We’re camped on a farm tucked within the city, a hidden slice of paradise surrounded by urban sprawl. This land has been in the same family for three generations and is now run by five determined sisters who refuse to yield to the relentless pressures from developers eager to buy them out. Their 15 acres keep them busy every day. The farm is 100% organic and entirely sustainable, growing crops to feed the animals that feed the family, with the surplus sold for income. Chickens, ducks, pigs, cows, goats, rabbits, and guinea pigs roam here, and school kids come on field trips to learn about real farming life. Overlanders like us come to camp, enjoying the peace and connection to the land. The city has grown up around them, but this farm remains a sanctuary, a reminder of what once was.
Tim was able to put the new replacement fly on the tent. We had purchased it online back in Colombia and had it shipped to Paul & Pam’s in Ecuador. It proved to be a long winded and expensive process clearing it from customs, which turned out to be the price of the tent again. Still, the UV had eaten away the plastic skylight window and would have leaked on whomever was sleeping up there, not really an option. It was a bit of a krypton factor getting it fitted, as of course, it wasn’t exactly the same size and now droops a little at the entry, which will collect rain and droop further. Botheration!
Kitty was one of the farm cats that adopted the kids, painfully thin we brought her a couple of cans of cat food. So of course she stuck around us. One night she managed to slip in to the camper as Jaxon was climbing into bed. She jumped up and cuddled into him. Leaving her behind was tough on them.
We came intending to stay one night but ended up staying three. On our last day, we offered our hands to help out. Work gloves on, we trimmed trees and cut back a towering crop of bamboo-like grass that was encroaching over the driveway. Tim tackled their broken chainsaw, pulling it apart and fixing the fuel leak, though it still wouldn’t run. We cut down 30-foot trees that grow like weeds, bucked them into manageable lengths, and stacked them neatly, making the driveway much easier for Bruce to leave and any other big rigs to come in.
The sisters were so grateful. Like all farms, the work to be done is endless. A tractor would change their lives, and a massive bonfire to clear the years of old wood pallets and debris accumulated. Camping here was just 30 soles per night, $11 CAD. Before leaving, we stocked up on farm-fresh organic eggs. Saying our goodbyes, we left around 11 a.m. feeling humbled by their resilience and grateful for our time here.
The mountains are calling, and so does the crazy road to get there…
0 Responses
Know how you felt about leaving your cat friend, Jaxon. Many a dog we would have driven away with, given half a chance. .:)
I bet you all enjoyed the meaningful work, and appreciation. Well done.
Delighted to see you all enjoying yourselves and having new experiences.