Travel rhythms in Perú

The travel rhythm wakes me up early in the morning in Chiclayo, a dry and dusty yet vivid and colorful city in Northern Perú. We dress up like undercover tourists and head out of the hotel for a rare continental breakfast.

My senses are being triggered by the smell of meat and fruits, colorful umbrellas of the crowded market, the smiling people, the clash between salsa and honking vehicles. It looks like the city is one big market. A street vendor tries to sell more food by playing loud salsa music. So do all his neighbors. Some of them yell through cracking speakers and others just drive around with their merchandise.

We enter an indoor market. Hundreds of little shops are packed next to each other. There's an area for shoes, one for clothes and another another one for electronics, etcetera. Girls are giggling. We hear some guapo's flying around. Some of them approach us and ask for a picture. An older man curiously asks where we come from. After explaining where Belgium is, I take a portrait picture. When I enter the meat area, I walk through clouds of smells and flies. I quickly step out and head for a quick baños before we jump into a collectivo.

When I walk through the huge museum gate of the museum, I enter the astonishing world of the ancient Tumbas Reales De Sipán, not surprisingly described as a world class facility showcasing the dazzling finds of the Royal Tombs of Sipán and the Lord of Sipán himself. We admire a huge collection of jewelry, from giant decorated golden earrings to helmets with platinum bells.

Some hours from there, we visit the archaeological site. Pyramids resurrecting from the dry deserts form an intriguing background to the family that proudly shows us a just slaughtered pig. Colorful walls betray the habits and festivals were here thousand years ago. The guide drags us over the sandy paths into the maze of Chan Chan, where I declare myself king of Chan Chan.

King of Chan Chan

Later that day, we take another mini van to the beach. Sunday seems to be the perfect excuse to enjoy the last (or first?) beers of the week and shake some salsa on the sand. We meet some university students and laugh about the funny dance moves we exchange. Meanwhile, people stare, smile and wave at us. Some more pictures, even more. Do we look famous? Is it about the rasta haircut of our French backpacker friend?

All together we head for a pizzeria. Inside it feels like being in a club; same pounding music, dance floor, cocktails. We áre in a club. But hey, it's Sunday night. So we decide to go for some well-deserved sleep, because tomorrow more adventures are waiting.

dM3