#246. 28/12/04 Cañón del Pato

Christmas Eve was spent in the extraneous bosom of our adopted hotelier family. Christmas Day involved a long search for breakfast, a quick call to the mammy and a trip to the beach. Perhaps the novelty was reward in itself, but we had a great day getting battered by the surf, drinking black Peruvian beer and watching the fisherman come in on their traditional reed surfboards.

After a lazy Stephen's day we packed up and continued our endless journey south. After a forced stopped in a fish town (with the largest fishing fleet I've ever seen - it looked like some sort of water-bourne apocalypse), we arose early to catch the only bus up the Andies via "El Cañón del Pato", or less impressively in English "The Canyon of the Duck". Notwithstand the comical translation, the ride was absolutely breathtaking. Hugging the side of a canyon, driving through countless tunnels with hundreds of meters worth of cliffs above a twisting whitewater river; I was glued to the window for the 9 hours.