Intro
Good Friday has draped a strange, heavy quiet over Cajamarca, a sharp contrast to the brutal 1,000-meter climbs of the previous days. The sky remained mostly sunny and indifferent to my exhaustion, reflecting off the paved streets and polished cobblestones of the historic center as I swapped my cycling shoes for walking sandals.
Tickets and Broken Straps
- The morning started slow, anchored by a bowl of hot porridge in the hostel kitchen. My legs felt like lead weights, and the simple act of sitting still felt like a hard-earned luxury. By late morning, I forced myself into the heat to handle the logistics of the next leg. I headed toward the Terminal Terrestre, weaving through streets that felt oddly hushed. I managed to secure a bus ticket for Sunday night; it’ll get me into Chachapoyas by Monday morning, saving my knees from another vertical assault for at least a few days.
- On the way back, I went on a hunt for a zapatería with Herbert from the hostel. My sandals are falling apart, and I was hoping for a quick stitch-up. We found the shop tucked into a side street, but the heavy metal shutters were pulled tight. Herbert had warned me that for Semana Santa, the city effectively pauses. At least I know where it is now. I’ll have to limp along on these straps for one more day and bring them back tomorrow when the holiday fervor dips slightly. The rhythmic, low murmur of the Good Friday crowds in the nearby plaza acted as a constant backdrop, a sound of thousands of people moving in a slow, synchronized shuffle between churches.
The Ascent Without a Bike
- I spent the afternoon playing the part of a pedestrian tourist, which is surprisingly tiring. I strolled through the central market, which was a maze of stacked produce and hanging meats, then found the dairy shop the hostel owner had mentioned. Cajamarca is famous for its milk, and the moment I stepped inside, I was hit by the thick, sweet smell of fresh cream and manjar blanco. I didn’t buy anything yet, saving my appetite for a proper dinner mission later.
- I eventually made my way up the stone steps to the Mirador Santa Apolonia. It’s a steep walk, and I found myself laughing at how much more I felt the burn in my calves on these stairs than I did on the 10% gradients leaving Yanacancha. From the top, the city spreads out in a grid of dusty red tile roofs and white-washed walls. There was no ‘epic’ feeling to it, just a grounded view of a city mid-ritual. I sat there for a while, watching the light change on the cathedral towers before the descent back into the shadows of the narrow streets.
Bread Sticks and Late Night Talk
- The highlight of the day wasn’t a view or a landmark, but a plastic bag of bread. I went on a food run for dinner, scouting for something better than the dry biscuits I’ve been surviving on. I found a ball of smoked cheese that gave off a sharp, wood-fire scent even through the wrapping, and paired it with a few Ciabatta and pan Frances rolls. But it was the ‘toasted bread sticks’ that caught me off guard. They had a shattering, dry crunch that was incredibly satisfying—easily the best thing I’ve eaten all week. I sat at the hostel table, methodically working through the cheese and the sticks, finally feeling some energy return to my system.
- While I was eating, I ended up in a long conversation with Tais, a 22-year-old student from Lima who is here on an exchange. She was fascinated by the bike, asking about the weight and the mountain passes, while I was curious about her life in the capital. By 10:00 PM, a dull headache started to throb behind my eyes and a wave of dizziness hit me—the kind that usually follows a week of overexertion and altitude. I stayed at the table until nearly 10:30 PM because the conversation was a welcome distraction from the physical flatness I was feeling. Now, I’m finally in bed, hoping a night of actual sleep will clear the fog before I have to deal with the sandals tomorrow.
Overnight
I’m staying at a central hotel in Cajamarca, chosen specifically for its proximity to the market and the bus terminal. It’s a basic room, but it’s quiet enough to actually recover before the Sunday night bus ride.
Reflection
Logistics and repairs take twice as long during a holiday, and even a rest day can be physically draining if you spend it climbing stairs instead of sitting down.