The day started out great, with our nice campsite by the beach. We packed very effectively that morning and once again had breakfast at the market in the city to save some time and spent some of our remaining Peruvian currency. The market was one of the nicest ones we had seen so far and the smoothie was without a doubt the most delicious one I had had so far. I had a bun with fried egg and one with fried cheese in an attempt to boost my protein levels (I really hadn’t gotten enough of those during the entire trip), while the men had trucha soup with potatoes. We all enjoyed our breakfast but the men decidedly had enough of trucha for a long while after that. We did some last groceries to effectively spend our money and changed the rest that we had at an unofficial currency exchange office (where you get far better rates than at the bank).

We were in high spirits due to our tasty breakfasts, the nice market sphere, successful groceries, and the idea of reaching the beaches of Copacabana in the early afternoon. So we set off and cycled our last few kilometres to the border where Jacques and Göran went into the immigration office first, while I was guarding the bikes. A mistake, as it would turn out only 5 minutes later. Why? Well, because for Göran and Jacques the whole process only took a few minutes and they had officially left the country with the passport stamp to prove it. For me, however, it turned out that the immigration officer at the airport had made a mistake and given me the 60-day instead of the 90-day visa. We had entered Peru on the 27th of August and were now leaving it on the 27th of October, which meant that I had overstayed my visa by one day.

For the fact that I had been an illegal resident in their country, I had to pay a fine. Luckily, it wasn’t high as it had only been one day, but the problem was twofold. Firstly, Jacques and Göran had changed our remaining 50 soles, which we had kept for emergencies, to bolivianos. Because things had gone so smoothly for them, we had expected the same for me to happen. So we no longer had Peruvian money for me to pay my fine with. And secondly, Jacques and Göran had officially left the country and could therefore not accompany me back 2.5 km to the national bank in town where I had to pay my fine. Great stuff. We reverse-exchanged just enough money to pay my fine, took the bags off my bike, and then I headed back into town, passport and stupid fine in hand, mind set on handling this as quickly as possible. But of course Peru wouldn’t be Peru if things couldn’t go differently than planned yet again.

Thinking it would go quickly and considering the warmth of the sun, I had gone to the bank in shorts and a short-sleeved T-shirt. But upon arrival at the bank there was a longish queue of 9 people ahead of me, waiting in the shade with strong drafts blowing through the alley. I parked my bike at the police station for safekeeping and waited in line. Nine people? Not too bad, I thought. However, that thought changed quickly when the line had not moved an inch after half an hour of waiting. Moreover, it seemed that locals had paid other people to wait in line for them because that is how long the wait usually takes until it is finally your turn. The line moved painfully slowly indeed, and it took a little over an hour in total before it was finally my turn to pay the fine. One hour (if rounding down benevolently) for a matter that took a mere five minutes to be settled. An hour during which I was absolutely freezing because of the strong wind and the cool shade.

It’s moments like these when I’m so happy that I live in Europe. When I’m in NL or DE and hear people complain just for the sake of complaining and having an important opinion, I can’t help but think how sad it is that they don’t realise just how good we have it. How convenient and luxurious many things in our lives are, and it frustrates and saddens me that they take so many things for granted that our forefathers and foremothers have worked so hard for. Our elders have faced a world war as well as all the death, atrocities, hunger, loss, and pain that came along with it. We have experienced Covid and the only big problem we had was staying inside more and not having enough toilet paper because many people literally just thought about their own ass. Here? They have problems and hardships so much more fundamental than us. They have to work hard every single day and all the way into old age (far older than 67) and still live thoroughly impoverished despite that. And yet they seem to accept their fate and make the best of it, to share what little they have with others. I hope I will keep this in mind when I get irritated or impatient about things in my little bubble of daily routine. It’s so easy to get used to what we have and where we are, but I will try to stay mindful of our relative opulence and luxury compared to most of the world’s inhabitants.

Anyway, I was finally done and returned to the border with my proof of payment safely in my pocket. After 3 minutes in the border station I was finally officially out of Peru as well, and we cycled further up the mountain to the Bolivian border post. One minute for a stamp and we were done. So we continued cycling the last few kilometres to Copacabana. It was directly evident that Bolivia is much poorer than Peru. The roads, the houses… everything was in a worse state than a few hundred meters on the other side of the mountain. We reached Copacabana quite quickly and stayed at an eco-camping/hostel a bit outside of town. It was very primitive but also made with a lot of love for detail and the environment. We enjoyed our afternoon, each doing what we wanted, and had dinner together – delicious nasi goreng cooked by Chef Jacques.

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