Intro
Chancay Baños is a quiet pocket of heat and sulfur after yesterday’s 1,300-meter vertical grind. The sky was mostly clear today, and for once, the bike stayed locked in the hotel room while I navigated the gravel side-roads on foot and by moto-taxi. The air here feels heavy with moisture, a stark change from the dry desert miles I left behind just a few days ago.
Fish Soup and the Rushing Roar
- I started the morning on the unfinished roof of the hotel, scrubbing the salt from my jerseys by hand before the sun could get too high. I draped them over the rebar and concrete, then headed to the local market for a breakfast that didn’t involve energy bars. I sat on a wooden bench and ate fish soup packed with white beans and camote, finishing it off with a thick slice of watermelon. While I was eating, I managed to get through a birthday call with my dad, the sound of the market vendors shouting prices in the background.
- The plan was to head straight to the thermal baths, but the town’s transport was non-existent this morning. While I was standing on a dusty corner waiting for a moto-taxi that wouldn’t come, two guys struck up a conversation. When they realized I was just roasting in the sun, they suggested we forget the baths for a moment and head down to the river to cool off. The rushing roar of the water was audible before we even saw the bank. The current was incredibly strong, pulling aggressively at our legs, so we stayed in the shallows, crouching near the shore just to let the cold water snap us back to life. It was a strange, spontaneous detour with two people whose names I barely caught, but it was exactly what my legs needed.
The Private Tap and the 38-Degree Soak
- Eventually, a friend of the guys from the river rolled up on a motorbike. He was a professional driver and offered me a lift up the gravel track to the thermal baths. By the time we arrived at 12:15, the sun was a physical weight. I looked at the shared outdoor pools, but the idea of sitting in hot water under that direct glare felt like a mistake. I opted for the private rooms instead.
- Inside a small stone room with a roof to block the sun, I found a 2.5-meter tub and a set of taps. There is a specific luxury in being able to control your own environment after days of being at the mercy of the road. I filled the tub until I was submerged in the steamy weight of the 38°C water. I stayed there for a long time, the silence of the private room a massive contrast to the wind noise I’ve been living with. Later, I sat on the terrace for an hour and a half, talking to a friend in Germany while looking out over the valley. I eventually hiked up to a viewpoint above the baths, watching the light shift over the mountains as the heat finally began to break.
The Missed Invitation and the Slick Fries
- The walk back to Chancay Baños was three kilometers of quiet, picturesque road. I tried to hitch a ride at the main junction, but the only truck passing was headed the opposite way, so I just walked. It was dusk by the time I reached the hotel and pulled my dry clothes off the roof. The evening took a turn when the guys from the river messaged me an invitation to dinner. They invited me back to their settlement, about a thirty-minute walk up a steep hill, to eat ‘cuy’—guinea pig—with their family. It was a genuine gesture, the kind you want to say yes to, but the logistics were a mess. I tried to find a moto-taxi to take me up there, but the drivers refused. They told me the mountain road was too sketchy to navigate in the dark.
- So, instead of a traditional feast with locals, I ended up at a plastic table in town. I ordered grilled chicken and fries, and it was a disaster. The fries were the worst I’ve ever encountered—the slick, heavy oil had turned them almost transparent. They were limp, dripping, and completely inedible. I’m someone who usually clears my plate out of habit, but I had to leave them untouched and order a side salad just to have something solid in my stomach. It was a disappointing end to the night, sitting there thinking about the guinea pig dinner I was missing out on because of a dark, narrow road.
Overnight
I stayed at a basic hotel in Chancay Baños. It wasn’t fancy, but the unfinished roof was the perfect place to dry laundry, and the proximity to the market made the morning easy.
Reflection
A rest day doesn’t always mean resting your stomach; sometimes the worst meal of the trip happens when you’re not even on the bike.