Rice fields, girls on motor scoters, people swinging lazily in hammocks, by jove we must have rolled into Thailand.
Maybe not Thailand, but after a long time high up in the mountains rolling down to the sleepy little town of Macara we eventually feel that we are in the tropics. At 450 metres all feeling of altitude has evaporated.
We overnight in the border town pf Macara, cooking and eating on our balcony, the sunset view is of fields of vivid green rice.
The border crossing goes as smoothly as it can, the only hold up being the computer going pear-shaped on the Ecuadorian side, (‘shall we lend him a Mac’ suggested Sebastian), and having to wake the immigrations official on the Peruvian side.
Riding on through Peru we drop still further, we are heading for the coast now. Thick green jungle flanks the road, a tarantula wanders across in front of us, we stop and watch it, seized by a morbid fascination.
The road undulates but slowly it is descending towards the distant sea. It is so very green here it is difficult to imagine that we are heading for desert.