Penniless (in local currency that is) and with a busted AC we were gunning it at 120 km/h in Peru’s Northern desert. The fastest we have gone since Mexico. Our ear drums rattled as the strong winds shook the car and partially pealed the skin off of our faces, but at 37 degrees we were not about to close the windows. It seemed every half hour or so we were being pulled over for a police check, but unlike the corrupt bribe stories we were told to expect, these guys were friendly, with the last cop having us follow him out of town for a shortcut. None the less these frequent stops extended our travel time past the expected arrival time.
Just before dusk we arrived in Chikama, the host to the largest left breaking wave. The beach town was unlike those of Central America. It was set in a desert, void of vegetation, including palm trees and lacking the screaming Tucan’s and other birds that insured everyone was up before dawn. We were unsure whether the town was half destroyed or half built, but with the sand cliffs dropping off into the ocean it had character.
The water was also cold enough for everyone to be wearing wet suites, excluding one local kid and Brett. After an hour and a half Brett still claimed the water was fine, while I questioned him, wearing long pants and a toque, wondering if he was numb and loosing his senses (not that I am the best reference point for temperature, but still).
From Chicama, we migrated 60 km down the coast to what would turn out to be a longer than expected stay, as we clung to the air’s summer feel, which was about to be lost once we moved again.