Our bus pulled into the bus station in Chiclayo, Peru at around four in the afternoon. After grabbing our bags, Chris, Heidi, and I headed out front and surveyed the scene. We determined we were only a few blocks from the center of the city, so decided to walk towards there while looking for a hostel. We found our way to the beautiful Principal Park adjacent to Catedral Santa Maria. We popped into several hostels on the park, but they were all quite expensive. Eventually we found one a block away, and shared a room with two double beds for S./60, about $20, per night—still expensive but not too bad considering the location and that we were splitting the cost.
After settling in, we all went out for a walk around. We wound up at a huge bazaar, Mercado Modelo. We cruised the market for a while, marveling at the myriad offerings, and wondering how all the vendors stay manage to stay in business with such dense competition. I bought a half-dozen boiled quail eggs from a vendor for a Sole, which were quite rich and enjoyable. The vendors offered me some salsa for my eggs, but warned that it was ‘muy picante.’ I accepted, telling them I liked spicy food. They had a good laugh two minutes later when I repented, with red face, and admitted the salsa was in fact very spicy.
We walked through Chiclayo until after dusk, and found a restaurant that was highly rated on TripAdvisor, Balta 512. We had a couple drinks and an appetizer of fried cheese balls dipped in guacamole. I had an entrée of stewed duck, which was the most amazing meal I’d had in South America thus far. I have always liked duck, but this was something else. It was slow cooked in a thick, fatty sauce for a salty, sweet flavor with hints of apple and pear all the way through the tender, succulent thigh piece. My eyes were rolling back in my head with every bite.
After dinner, we had some helados (ice cream), and hung out in the park people watching. We headed back to the hostel, and Chris and Heidi turned in while I stayed up to do some writing.
The next day, we all went out to breakfast together. Chris and Heidi were intent on departing for Mancora. They generally move from place to place rather quickly, while I like to stay in a place for at least a few days. As such, we split up after breakfast. They headed to the bus station to get information and buy bus tickets, while I went to scout out a new hostel, not wanting to pay for our current room by myself.
Later, I returned to the hostel and informed the owner that I would be checking out. When I told him I was going to another hostel, he offered to match their price at S./25 for the night. I wanted to stay to avoid the hassle of moving my shit, and this place had nicer, queen size beds. I told him the other hostel had hot water, which this one did not, and got him down to S./20, one third of what we paid for the previous night for the same room. Note to self: always, always negotiate.
Chris and Heidi showed up with bus tickets to Mancora for 10pm. They wanted to relax and take siestas, but I felt like seeing the city more. I took a 40 minute walk to Paseo Yortuque, a river walk with sculptures and artwork portraying the history of Chiclayo and the Lambayeque people, and the myth of King Naylamp who brought their culture from the sea. It was probably more than a mile long with artwork the entire way, and took me more than hour to walk the whole thing while reading and translating the signage.
On the way back, I got some cremolada (gelato), and stopped in the park to eat it. Some girls in the park, Shirley and Rosa, sitting on a bench near me were giggling and waved at me. I went over to say hi. Turns out they wanted to talk with me and practice their English. I obliged, and said they could speak English to me and I would practice speaking Spanish with them. They were 26 and 23 years old, respectively, and studying to be nurses at a local university. Their parents were friends, so they had been friends for their entire lives. We had a lot of fun together, and I sat with them for about an hour and half.
Unfortunately, their English was better than my Spanish, so the conversation defaulted towards English—a theme thus far in my travels that I have mixed feelings about. On one hand I want to struggle and learn Spanish which would be more rapid in a total immersion environment, but on the other hand it is nice to have a conversation deeper than my current level of Spanish allows.
After the sun set, I figured it was time to rendezvous with Chris and Heidi, and said goodbye to Shirley and Rosa. I asked if they wanted to go out later that night, but they had a final exam the following day and needed to study.
I met the Kiwis at the Hostel, and we unanimously decided we needed to try ‘the burger place’ for dinner. The previous night we had seen this tiny, store-front establishment, that is nothing more than two people and a grill, just off the park, with a line some 40 people deep. The place turned out to be called Mi Tia. We waited for 20 minutes in line, then got up to the counter. You have to order quickly and precisely as the chef is working assiduously, and you don’t want to mess up his flow. It was almost like the Soup Nazi. The burgers are smaller, only about four inches in diameter, so I ordered two with fried eggs and salsa, for S./3 each. They come with lettuce, tomatoes, and fries in the burger. Simple, but amazing burgers…for $1 each!
We got our burgers then went over to the park to sit down and pig out. Then a couple little girls came by offering some sort of chocolate balls on a stick. At first we said no, but the girls were so cute we couldn’t resist and bought three for a half Sole each. Turned out they were chocolate covered marshmallows, a nice little desert to round out our palettes after the burgers.
We headed back to the hostel, and Chris and Heidi finished packing up. They left for the bus station and I promised we would meet up in a couple days when I got to Mancora.
The next day, I had a leisurely breakfast, and then headed to the bazaar to look for some sandals. I wound up getting a pair of decent flip flops and a tee shirt for S./15 after the guy initially told me S./25 for just the sandals. Always negotiate.
After doing some looking on the internet, I realized there isn’t a whole lot to do in Chiclayo. I thought it was a tourist destination, but was apparently mistaken. I am a quite uninformed traveler. “Maybe I should get one of those Lonely Planet guidebooks,” I wondered.
I decided to move on, and went to the bus station and got a ticket for Piura for 3pm. Again, I was going to a place I had done zero research on. It looked like the next logical place on the map to go though.
I arrived at dusk, and walked out of the bus station to a dusty, busy street, with horns honking and vendors barking. Luckily, Chris had told me about an app called ‘Maps.Me,’ which allows you to download maps and use them offline with your GPS. It has hotels, hostels, restaurants, and other landmarks notated on the maps, an extremely valuable feature particularly when you’re in a new place that is not tourist-friendly. It immediately came in handy in Piura. I would have been lost without it as the bus station was some 12 blocks from the center of the city. Otherwise, I would have had to rely on a taxi driver, which I later learned were notorious for being predatory in Piura.
Instead, I headed towards the city center on foot, and found a decent hostel within about 10 minutes. I settled in and then went for a walk to explore. After about 20 minutes, I began to realize Piura wasn’t the most pleasant city. The few blocks around the Plaza de Armas were decent enough, but then things started getting undeveloped quickly. More businesses seemed to have armed guards on duty than was normal in Peru, and at banks the guards were decked out with assault rifles.
I spent some time near the Plaza, having dinner at health-food restaurant called Detox, and later had some cremolada. I did some shopping, but it was weird. Usually the staff is excited to see a gringo, whom they assume have money to spend, and do their best to help you find what you need and try to sell you things. In Piura they didn’t really seem to care and ignored me.
After picking up a couple things, I headed back to the hostel. I did some research online, and gathered there wasn’t much to pique a traveler’s interest in Piura. My hostel was dead too, which seemed to confirm my findings. In retrospect, I think I only saw two other non-natives, a couple, during my day in Piura. I decided to do some writing, hit the hay, and move on in the morning.
The next morning I hit the streets and found a place offering buses to Mancora. I booked a ticket for 1pm and then headed towards the Plaza. I had breakfast in a nice café, then grabbed some food for lunch on the bus, and went to pack up.
I arrived in Mancora at a quarter to 3pm. Before leaving I had scouted out a hostel called Psygon Surf Camp. After being dumped on the side of the road by the bus, I flagged a mototaxi, haggled the price, and got dropped off at the hostel. It was about a five minute north from the center of Mancora. I went to reception and unfortunately all their dorms were booked. The place looked pretty cool and was right next to the beach, it had surf board rentals onsite, had a sushi bar onsite(!), and not wanting to get ride back into town to find a different place, I agreed to a Privado, a private room with queen size bed and personal bathroom, for S./75 per night, about $25. I dumped my stuff, then went and played pool (as in billiards(!)) and had a beer with Gerrard from France and Luca from Italy.
A bit later I wanted to surf, but the waves were not cooperating, so instead went for a swim at sunset. I came back and got cleaned up, then went and met several people in the bar at the hostel. I went into town for dinner with Grace from Ireland and Ash from Australia, the two of whom had been traveling together for the past three months. We went to a place called Surfer Burger, which had just opened a few days prior.
We chatted with the owner, Alex, who was from originally from New York, but had been living in Peru for the last 10 years. He had begun buying beach front real estate in Peru 15 years ago, and was now filthy rich from his foresight. He was peeved that nowhere in Peru had good burgers (a sentiment I shared until Mi Tia), so opened up his own burger place. The burgers were of the gourmet variety you might find in the US. Two great burgers in three days, que suerte!
Surfer Burger is one of those places where the walls are all tagged up by past patrons. So after eating, Alex made the three of us write something on the walls.
Mancora is the biggest vacation and party destination in Peru. It’s also renowned for its waves and surfing scene. So it’s like a combination of a place like Daytona Beach and Huanchaco. The beaches are packed with partiers all day, and the bars are packed until sunrise. Debauchery is in the air. As a guy at my hostel and I joked, ‘Mancora is the kind of place that makes your prick hard!’
It was a Saturday, and my 30 day post-aya diet had just ended, so I was looking to finally do some legitimate partying. When we finished dinner, it was still early and nightlife in Mancora hadn’t set off yet, so we went back to the hostel for beers. We stayed there until about 11pm, when Fernando from Argentina and Roger from Mancora, the two of whom work at the hostel, invited a group of us to a party in town. Seven of us piled in mototaxis and went over to Lucho’s place, a friend of Fernando’s who owned a restaurant overlooking the main strip in Mancora. We all went up to the restaurant, and hung their drinking Chilcanos, which are basically Moscow Mules with pisco instead of vodka, until 1:30am.
Then the crew headed to the beach, where there are about a half dozen beachfront bars, the music is blasting, and the party rages all night long. The group fragmented when we descended into the madness at the beach. I was hanging with Lucho, Roger, and George from London, on the beach drinking beers.
I looked over and saw an incredible Peruvian girl dancing all by herself. Literally, one of the two or three hottest girls there. I nodded at her and said, “Alright amigos, who’s going in?!” None of my three compadres showed any spine, so I said, “Fuck it, I’ll do it myself,” and shot them all a big grin. I walked up to her, grooving with the music, and said, almost yelling, “Que tal, chica?!” She looked up at me, smiled, put a hand on my chest, and started dancing more vigorously. Ho-ly Shit! I started grooving with her and we were vibing hard. After a few songs our faces were close and she was breathing on my neck. We were dancing closer and closer.
After a song ended, we walked down the beach together and sat in the sand. We started making out. Things started to get hot and heavy, at which point she pulled away, looking torn. Then she told me in broken English, “I really like you… like I really like you… but I have to tell you… … I’m a prostitute in Lima.” W.T.F. My mind reeled. Part of me was still ready to take her home, after all she was unbelievably hot. The other part of me was thinking, “A Peruvian prostitute? Who knows what I’d be exposing myself to?”
We continued to make out for a while, and then she wanted to go check on her friend. Good, a moment to think clearly and go discuss with Lucho and the crew. Lucho and Roger both told me they would never take her home. “Even if I bag it up, like double bag it,” I pleaded, still thinking with my little head. I guess that settles it, I lamented. She later found me in the crowd, we made out a little more, and I got in a few more feels, but had to explain to her that I wouldn’t be going home with her, still not happy about it myself. She looked sad, and didn’t want to accept it. She kept hanging around for a while trying to change my mind. I guess she really did like me. “Who are you, Leonardo DiCaprio, turning down an incredible hotty? Take this girl home,” my mind was still telling me.
I joined up with Roger and the crew. We sat on a ledge in front of one of the beach bars drinking beers. A group of girls wandered by and I called them over. I hit it off with a tall brunette, Rosienne. I guess my swag was on point that night. We got all lovey-dovey, and kissed a few times. At about 3:30am, she was tired and wanted to go home. She was too nice of a girl to want to go home with someone she’d just met, but said she wanted to hang out tomorrow. We exchanged contact information and said goodnight. I followed suit shortly thereafter.
I got up about noon the next day, and was not in good shape. After more than six weeks of relative sobriety, the partying hit me especially hard. I didn’t even do any shots, or drink all that much. I spent the day laying around reading, while intermittently going swimming in the ocean trying to purify myself. I tried to go surfing, but again the waves were just not there. I had sushi at the hostel with Ash and Grace, then went to bed early.
The next day I woke up feeling somewhat better. While eating breakfast and reading the news, I realized it was the 4th of July. I went to the beach in the center of town, to go surfing and look for 4th of July revelers. It was disappointing on both fronts. The waves were muted again. The local surfers told me the waves were unusually poor of late, but that a swell was coming next week. Next week? Cmon, man! And there weren’t really people partying for the 4th of July on the beach that I could find. It was a Monday, so the population in Mancora declined precipitously after the weekend, but there also just weren’t that many Americans I had met in Peru thus far.
I posted up on a beach chair under an umbrella and went swimming. Then I got a massage. I got a beer and was back on my beach chair reading when two beautiful girls strolling down the beach caught my eye. They were young, sexy latinos. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. I watched them for about two minutes walking towards where I’m sitting. Then they stop about 20 yards in front of where I’m sitting and break out their beach towels to set up shop. Ho-ly Shit!
They take off their sun dresses and are in their bikinis, looking even more incredible. They go in the water for a swim. I’m dumbfounded for a moment, sitting there thinking, “What do I do?” Then I think, “Well, if I don’t approach these two babes, I might as well lop off my balls and turn them into the proper authorities.”
I go into the water, and after acting like I wasn’t following them for a moment, I say hi and asked them where they were from. The giggled at my poor Spanish, but told me they were from Tumbes, Peru, a little north of Mancora. They asked me a few questions and we had some laughs going back and forth in my Spanglish, but they were game! Their names were Blanca and Marjorie. We fooled about in the water for a little bit, then went back to the beach and got some beers. Blanca worked at a school in Tumbes, and Marjorie did modeling and promotional work. We had a couple more beers and goofed around on the beach a while. Eventually they wanted to go change clothes and have dinner before going out that night. I got them to promise to do some dancing with me later that night, and we exchanged info before parting.
I went back to the hostel, showered up and went to the hostel bar. I met John, from Florida. Hey, another Americano to celebrate the 4th! Some Argentinos at the hostel were barbecuing pork traditional Argentinian style and invited us to join. Sweet, I even get some BBQ on the 4th! The pork was good, had some sort of mustard marinade that made it tangy and sweet.
John and I pounded a few more drinks at the bar while bullshitting, and waiting until about 11 when the bars in town would be popping. I texted Rosienne and the Tumbes girls. I got them all to agree to meet at the bar later. Lock and load, Jack!
Later, Kiera from London, John, and myself headed into town. Everyone else wanted to lay low since it was Monday, and they didn’t a shit about an American holiday. We went to the bar and Blanca and Marjorie were already there. I said hi and introduced John. They were already surrounded by a bunch of hombres, who didn’t like us moving in on ‘their’ chicas, and gave us shitty looks. We went to the bar and got some drinks. I told John that Blanca and Marjorie promised to dance with me, and I planned to hold them to it. I told him he was my wingman and we were going in. John is half Puerto Rican and speaks fluent Spanish, so he was supposed to be my secret weapon, but he declined saying he didn’t like the look of the hombres. Cmon, man!
I wasn’t going to be deterred. Marjorie was already dancing Salsa-style with one of the hombres, so I went up to Blanca asked her to dance. She looked a little embarrassed in front of all the guys wooing her, but she remembered her promise and I led her to the dancefloor. The song was a Spanish song, so she started dancing Salsa. Fuck! I really need to learn how to Salsa dance! I didn’t know what I was doing, so just did my Pazar-style dancing, in rhythm with the music, with some added spicy Latin flair (John later told me I fucken killed it). She was expecting me to dance Salsa, so it was a little awkward at first, but then we started vibing. She pecked me on the cheek after a couple songs and said she wanted to sit down. I went to hang with John, and he cheers-ed me when I came over, patting me on the shoulder, telling me great work.
Just then Rosienne and a big group of people from Loki hostel flooded the bar. I said hi to Rosienne and we started dancing, but she was really drunk and stumbling around. She was bumping into people and not doing so well, so we went out for a smoke. A few of her London friends whom were equally drunk came over, and after chatting with her decided they needed to go home. Damn.
I talked with Blanca and Marjorie a bit more, but my poor Spanish was inhibiting the flow. They seemed to be more interested in the hombres, with whom they could communicate clearly.
Back to me and John. Kiera was lost. We met a couple girls from Minnesota, and danced with them a bit. Around 3am, the crowd started thinning out. The people remaining were not the most delightful bunch, so John and I packed it in and headed back to the hostel.
The next day I was pretty wrecked again. I spent the day laying low, trying to purify myself in the ocean. The day after I hung out at the beach all day, staying mostly sober. It was in these couple days I started to see the dark side of Mancora. There is a big drug problem in the city and a lot of crime. You don’t notice this at first as you’re too busy chasing tail and partying, but after a couple days of sober observation my sentiment changed and I wanted to get the fuck out of there. I booked an overnight bus trip to Cuenca, Ecuador, leaving at 11pm the following night.
I spent the next day reading, writing, and chilling at the beach. I again observed a bunch of drug deals and watched a group of predators at the promenade scoping out potential victims as the sun set. I was glad to be leaving that night.
I made sure to have mariscos, seafood, one last time for dinner that night. I love seafood, and the seafood in Mancora was remarkable.
I made my way to the ‘bus stop’ on the side of the main road, across from the Departmento de Turismo building. A bus pulled up just past 11, and a man shouted “Ecuador!” I threw my backpack in the luggage compartment, and was the last person in line to board. When I was just about to board the bus, another bus pulled up. The doorman for that bus shouted, “Cuenca!” WTF? I’m going to Cuenca. If that’s my bus, where is this one going? I found out this one was going to Guayaquil.
I scrambled to go dig my backpack out of the luggage compartment. As I was wrestling with my bag, half my body in luggage compartment on the underside of the bus, I heard the airbrake on the bus release. After another moment, the bus lurched forward 6 inches. I banged on the side of the bus and shouted before yanking my backpack out and slamming the door to the luggage compartment shut. Whoo…close one!
I threw my bag in the correct bus, boarded, and was on my way for the 8 hour trip north across the border and into the second country of my travels, Ecuador.