Jaen to Cajamarca

Up and at ‘em! No coffee. No eggs. Just haul arse, we’ve got a bus to catch.

Our ride was a mini-van and a driver who didn’t blink when we rocked up with fully loaded bikes. No side-eye, no complaints, not even a mutter about extra cash. Just helped us chuck them up onto the roof cage like it was nothing. Clearly not his first rodeo.

In Peru, these vans get stacked sky high, luggage, furniture, chickens... probably someone's aunt once, and hit the road without a second thought.

Once we were on the move, I plugged into a podcast and settled in for the show. And what a show it was, the scenery unrolling like a movie reel. From lush green rice paddies stretching flat across the valleys, we began our slow climb into the highlands. The air thinned, the land dried, and suddenly we were in a whole new world, arid alpine plateaus with the kind of big-sky views that make you forget to breathe.

Halfway through the journey, the van screeched to a halt, like we’d just entered a parallel universe. One moment we were in the middle of nowhere, the next we were at what can only be described as a full-blown meat rave. Picture a crowded food court humming with energy, people chowing down at packed tables, music pumping, smoke billowing from a massive BBQ pit loaded with meat.. A bloke with a cleaver hacked away making cut of meat while pig carcasses hung by his side waiting their turn on the grill. It was organised chaos. and it smelt divine.

The service was slick. The meat? Melt-in-your-mouth madness. We’d barely blinked before full plates were in front of us.

And then, just as fast as we’d landed, we were herded back into the van, belly-full and bewildered. Zoom — off again, climbing into thinner air.

Climbing higher into the alpine makes my heart sing. I think alpine areas are my favourite, something about the cool air, the vastness, and the crunch of rubber on gritty mountain road.

But mid-chorus, my sing-song heart hit a bum note.

What interrupted the buzz? Big open-cast gold mines gouged into the hillsides. Sure, mining might contribute to the region's GDP and throw some coin into local employment, but at what cost? The landscape looked wounded. Waterways tainted, forest cleared, entire hills hollowed out. And beneath the surface communities displaced, locals criminalised for daring to protect their land and lifeblood.

And seriously, who actually benefits from gold? It’s not the people hauling it out of the dirt with blood, sweat and broken systems. It’s the suits, the stock markets, the offshore accounts. Meanwhile, these once-pristine hills wear the scars.

We rolled into the mini-bus depot on the outskirts of Cajamarca just as the heavens opened. Of course. Rain. Again. I’d booked a hostel on the other side of town in the historic centre, so we saddled up and pushed through peak-hour madness, dodging honking taxis, weaving one-way streets, and praying for green lights and no dramas.

And we made it.

Our hostel, Kinti Wasi Casa de Campo, bloody bang on. Quiet. Homely. Hammocks. You know our vibe.

We’ve landed here for a few rest days. And with Cajamarca’s cool air, thermal pools, ancient Inca ruins, and no disco-tech pounding outside our window... it’s exactly what we need.

Time to kick back, dry out, and let our bodies catch up with our minds.

I bought some chain lube in Ecuador that turns into used car oil the second it hits your bike. Not only did it turn our gear systems black and sticky, it managed to attract every speck of grit, shit and jungle scum from the last 1,000km.

This morning, Maree and I both declared war on it. We degreased our chains, cassettes, hands, faces… and still couldn’t scrub off the grime. That cursed bottle is now where it belongs – slam dunked into the bin.

The afternoon rolled around and it was time for solo missions. Both of our bike shoes had blown apart. Maree set off to find new sneakers. I needed mountain bike shoes, so I embarked on a classic Google Maps “does this place even exist?” bike shop tour. Four shops later: three were ghosts, one had nothing.

Just as I was accepting defeat, a teen on a mountain bike zipped past. I chased him down, cut him off and flashed my translator app: “Do you know where a bike shop is?” He looked mildly startled but dropped a pin my google map to a spot nearby.

Following the trail led me to a shut-looking shop down a side street. Rayo MTB. A young guy inside explained (in excellent Spanglish) that they were mid-move but dug through boxes and found two possible pairs in my size. The EU41s fit like fate, even matched Thelma’s colour. They were ment to be.

Back at the hostel, Maree had scored her perfect sneakers too. Show and tell commenced. Then it was onto the next task: my deflating sleeping mat. Armed with a bottle of soapy water, I sprayed it down and found the culprit bubbles, surprisingly on top. Patch job’s for tomorrow as I need to wait for my mat to dry. Tonight, we rest.

Tomorrow? Maree & Me time. No chores. Just chill.

What a cracker of a morning! Coffee in bed, a cruisy start, both of us soaking up a rare moment of stillness.

Midday rolled around and the hunt was on. Market lunch mission: go!

On the way we stopped off to check out Qhapac Ñan, Cajamarca, statues ofthe 14 Inca rulers who governed the Tahuantinsuyo (Inca Empire).

Random fact, did you know the Incas invented Crocs?? All the rulers were wearing them....true story!!

We then biked on and found a local market and devoured our new fave, chicharrón with mote. Crispy, salty pork goodness with giant corn kernels, followed by the biggest mango jugos this side of the Andes.

With full bellies we picked up a few essentials and hit the ATM to prep for the next leg.

Fun fact: Peruvian ATMs only let you withdraw 700 PEN at a time (around $197 USD). That’s about a week’s budget for us. With things being cheaper here than in Ecuador, we’ve set our new challenge: NZ$46 a day for both of us. Food, beds, the lot.

But the real gold came in the afternoon, Baños del Inca. Thermal pools! The entry system was... let’s say mysterious. With limited Spanish and lots of guessing, we bought some random tickets and hoped for the best.

Turns out we scored:

30 minutes in a bubbling hot tub

30 minutes in a pounding shoulder massage pool

And then… the weirdest one: a rock walkway where little jets of water squirted up at your legs. You’re meant to walk back and forth like you're at some weird aquatic physio. We gave up and just sat down. The jets sprayed us from every angle, which was the best. Then we looked up, people were staring down at us with confused looks. They quietly walked away without a word. We burst into laughter.

Relaxed and glowing, we cruised back to the hostel. End of day... or so we thought....

“Babe, I think I broke a tooth!” Maree ran out of the kitchen, where she was being a domestic goddess, to me who was tots deep in our bikes brake pad changing. She was holding a chunk of her molar.

“How the hell do you break a tooth cooking dinner?!”

Apparently, by sneezing. I kid you not.

Luckily, chaos is my element. In minutes, I had her passport, cash, and the rogue tooth in a bag and we were tearing off down the street in a tuk-tuk bubble straight out of Mr. Bean.

Our driver was an absolute legend, turned a 25-minute trip to the emergancy dentist into 18 minutes.

The dental clinic ladies were amazing. Maree whipped out Google Translate like a pro, but there’s nothing they could do without an x-ray, which had to wait till Monday. It was 7.30pm on a Saturday so it looks like we’re shacked up in Cajamarca for a few more days.

We capped off the chaos with a date night: street-stall pollo con papas, ice cream cones, and a slow tuk-tuk ride home.

With a day up our sleeves and no dentist drills in earshot yet, we decided to do what we do best, go exploring.

We jumped on our bikes and set out in search of Ventanillas de Otuzco. In classic us fashion, we somehow ended up at Cataratas de Llacanora instead. And yes, if you pull out a map, they’re in completely different places... but hey, exploring’s about the journey, not the destination, right?

Turns out Cataratas de Llacanora is a gem—towering rocky cliffs, waterfalls, and the kind of terrain that would normally come with signs like: "Danger: Slippery when wet", "Keep back from cliff edge", or even "Use caution". But not here. Nope. The only sign we saw said: "No making out." Seriously. No warnings about plummeting to your death, just a stern reminder to keep your hands to yourself. Fall off the cliff? Sweet as. Just don’t pash while you’re at it.

We spent a cruisy arvo biking around the area, soaking in the views and chuckling at Peru’s priorities. Then biked back to the hostel...

...to chill. And, naturally, make out!

We were on a mission this morning… Mission Molar.

Doors opened at 9am and we determined to be there banging on them. Maree and her molar ready for action.

A doorman waved us up two floors to where the radiology magic happens. With our trusty translator app in hand, we managed to explain Maree’s dental saga to the x-ray technician, who was incredibly patient. Maree got zipped into position, while I was left sitting on a stool right next to the machine prime spot for a cheeky bit of radiation, no lead vest in sight. Cheers mate.

X-ray in hand… now what?

We wandered into the hallway, where a kindly older man popped out of a door and asked—in English, hallelujah, “What do you need?”

Turns out, he was a dentist. Maree explained her sitch. He took one look at the x-ray and said, “Come in, I can help.” Maree hopped into the chair. I perched on a stool in the corner again, more moral support than dental enthusiast.

Now, the set-up? Straight out of 1980's. Trays of old-school tools on a formica bench. Two assistants quietly moving about. A flimsy divider between us and the next room. Not quite the sterile hospital-grade gear we’re used to in NZ, but hey,when in Peru!

The dentist peered in Maree’s mouth, back at the x-ray, then back at her mouth again. Then came the prod test:

“Does this hurt?”

“Yes!”

Prod, prod.

“You need a root canal. Three roots. 200 soles each. Plus cap. You want?”

Maree: “Needs done.”

We paid on the spot (thankfully we carry a stash of USD), and next thing you know, he’s prepping his tray. As soon as I saw the massive anaesthetic needle come out, I bailed. Love ya babe, but there’s no way I’m watching that. Dentists make my skin crawl.

I had 90 minutes to kill, so I went for a wander. The markets in Cajamarca were a pleasant surprise, no yelling, no thumping music, no one hassling me to buy. Just a calm maze of colourful stalls and smiling vendors. I lost myself in the chaos-free chaos.

When I got back, there she was: numb, slightly dazed, but minus one angry root. I treated her to a cono (as any supportive partner should), and we moseyed back to the hostel.

The rest of the day?

Hammock. Dinner. Rest.

Day two of Mission Molar and it was time to tackle root number two.

I bravely (well, not that bravely) escorted Maree through the bustling chaos of Cajamarca traffic to her next dentist appointment, dodging tuk-tuks, buses, and random dogs. Once she was safely in the hands of her now-familiar Peruvian tooth wizard, I did what any emotionally supportive but squeamish partner would do: I bolted. Again.

While Maree was getting drilled, I took myself off on a proper touristy wander. First stop, Parque Enzo Salazar y su amante, the main square.

I'm not sure who Enzo or his “lover” were, but they sure scored a cracking park.

From there, I wound my way up to Mirador Santa Apolonia, a lookout that gave me a spectacular view over the city and surrounding hills. Cajamarca really is a charming mix of colonial architecture and Andes backdrop, minus the need to constantly wipe sweat off your face like in the jungle.

Feeling inspired by the views and with the hostel Wi-Fi still down (day two and counting), I set myself up on the bench outside the dentist office, aka the waiting room , and researched the next leg of our ride and starting to get a feel for Cusco, which is firmly on our “must explore” list.

When Maree emerged, looking slightly more hollow-eyed but still smiling, I was ready with her now-traditional post-op treat: cono (honestly, Peru’s soft serve game is strong).

Turns out the dentist was fully booked the next day, so root three has to wait another 48 hours. All good. We’ve earned a bit of downtime. A chance to relax, recharge, and maybe... eat more cono. Because healing takes time and ice cream!

Today was declared a body rest day. Sure, we hadn’t racked up the kilometres lately, but we’d still been clocking decent pedal time zipping Maree back and forth to the dentist, running errands, and navigating the Cajamarca mayhem. Our bodies were politely (but firmly) asking for a breather. So, rest it was.

We entered full cat mode—moving around the hostel with the sun. Hammock. Couch. Bed. Kitchen. Repeat. Honestly, if someone had filmed us in time-lapse, we’d look like sunflowers lazily chasing the rays. It was bliss.

The next day rolled around and... yep, still here. I was starting to get the twitchies. My legs were humming to be back on the bike. I reckon Maree felt it too, but she had one final tooth excavation to attend: root #3. Off she biked into town while I hung back at the hostel, trying to zen through my restlessness.

I bimbled around the local township picking up fruit and eggs, smiling at the familiar faces now nodding to me like a local. But inside, I was practically vibrating. I’m ready. Give me some gradients, give me dirt, give me roadside papas.

Fingers crossed Maree gets her crown sorted tomorrow and we’ll be outta here on Saturday, wheeling free again, just the two of us and the open road.

Free as birds, baby!