Mancora: Surfer’s Paradise
Well Piura was such a dull place I don’t even feel like writing about it. So I don’t think I will. My happiest moment there was while looking for a bus a man came over and asked if I would like a space in a ‘collectivo’, a shared taxi. I looked at the rickety bus and the shiny silver taxi and decided to pay the extra €2. I was last in so got the booby seat, in between the driver and the guy sitting next to the driver. After hearing lots of horror stories I explained to the driver how holding onto my laptop bag was way more important than him being able to switch gears. We cruised off for two hours of stomach defining curves in the road. If I couldn’t keep myself upright I had the choice of leaning on the sweaty driver or the sweater passenger man.
But all that didn’t matter when we reached the chilled laid back Mancóra. We drove in from the desert mountains into this little road surrounded at each side by huts with straw roofs. I was amazed at this little paradise road that was still called the Panamerican Highway, even though it’s full of drunk surfers. I wasn’t sure if my stop was where some people asked to get out, but I got out anyway, I wasn’t going to miss out on this fun!
I hailed one of the motorbike taxi things and was delighted that he wasn’t trying to rip me off. No, no, this guy was way more evil. I asked to be brought to the hotel Lonely Planet said was good and cheap (I decided to give them another chance) but the driver was obviously working for one of the most expensive hotels. They’re as sneaky as he is because they don’t have their name clearly displayed. I didn’t notice I was in the wrong place until I was checking the bounciness of the beds.
Once I realised what that driver guy had done I got all angry and stuff and started to storm out of there. They seemed so desperate to keep me they bargained themselves down from $20 a night to $12. And well, it was a gorgeous little hut I’d be getting, with and ocean view and private hammock. I decided to stay for one night but told them I was still mad at them, I was only going to stay long enough to sleep and do a few laps of the pool. The pool
Mancora itself is tiny but great. Everyone seems to surf in the morning, sleep in the afternoon and drink in the evening. Sounds like fun, but this timetable seems to be for everyone, not just tourists. So when I had the audacity to ask someone for some food at 3pm I was told no way. Who would cook at that time of the day when there’s still sunshine? So I had to sit and munch on biscuits until someone decided it was an ok type of temperature to cook me dinner.
That night was quite boring. I was starting to have second thoughts about this travelling thing. Second night in a row when I took ages collecting my key from reception just so I could have a converstaion with someone.
Next day I was out very early, trying to get a room before the tourist buses arrived. I decided hostel type didn’t matter, as long as there were people who spoke English or my type of Spanglish. Before leaving the posh hotel two guys asked me to take their photo. They mentioned they were on their way to Quito in Ecuador and before they had even got the ‘O’ in Quito out I was sizing up their vehicle to see if it could fit me, my laptop and all my cables. They seemed to know what I was thinking and invited me to join them on their travels. They were due to leave 3 days after but I thought they’d forget me, or leave in the middle of the night. We said we should stay in touch and I went on my way to my cheap hostel pretty sure I wouldn’t see those two guys again.
Tags: 2 - Peru, Mancora, Peru
cybersusst