Puno

My parents had decided that, unlike their previous visit three years ago, they wanted to move around less. Back then we’d covered a lot of mileage in the States, them in their hire car and us in the van. All that driving meant we didn’t spend as much time together as we probably would have liked, and this time they were happy to trade doing less for more time together. The rough plan was to visit two or three different places during their two-week stay. After Arequipa, they wanted to head over to Puno on the shores of Lake Titicaca. This was about a five-hour drive up and over the altiplano, and due to the size of Ruby they decided it would probably be more pleasant to take a coach, while we’d take the luggage and meet them there.

We set off from Arequipa that morning, giving ourselves plenty of time to get to the bus station. In the end, rather than parking up and going inside with them, we dropped them outside the terminal in the usual chaos of traffic. A single policewoman was trying to manage a huge multi-lane roundabout outside the station where no one would give way, signal, or move. Needless to say, she wasn’t having the best time, and despite our attempts to reach the right spot, it wasn’t going smoothly. We dropped them with just their small luggage and hoped they’d figure it out. At least people here are generally friendly if you get stuck.

With Ruby a bit lighter, we pulled away and began a slow drive out of the city. It seemed likely they’d get there before us — we’d seen how fast some of the coaches were when we first arrived — and we also expected Ruby might play up with the altitude, meaning we’d need to stop a few times. In actual fact, neither of those things happened.

We eventually escaped the slow clutches of the city and filled up on the outskirts. We kept the tank half full and topped up the jerry can to avoid too much fuel in the tank as we climbed. Ruby seemed to handle things better today, and although we did stop twice, it was only for short five-minute breaks before continuing. It was quite a climb after all.

We reached the highest point and continued on, making good time. Puno sits over a thousand metres higher than Arequipa, so it wasn’t much of a descent once we had reached the top. We decided to stop at a supermarket so that by the time they arrived, we could just settle in. We dropped down from the main road on a ridiculously steep street we definitely wouldn’t be driving back up and stocked up for a few days.

Getting out of the narrow streets of downtown Puno proved more difficult than expected. We got stuck in the one-way system going completely the wrong direction before eventually escaping. We followed roads parallel to the main route, looking for a place to rejoin it. The further south you go, the closer the road runs to the lake, but you have to get well out of town before the gradients ease.

I got a bit optimistic and tried to turn off too early. We probably would have made it if a random truck hadn’t been parked halfway across the road, forcing us to stop on the steepest section. We lost momentum and couldn’t get going again. I edged Ruby backwards down the hill again through crowds of schoolchildren and traffic so we could try a different route further out of town. This time, we made it.

We headed to what we thought was the apartment. We had the address, but addresses here are unreliable at best — street names often don’t exist and house numbers rarely match anything logical. My parents were still on the bus with no WiFi, and we didn’t have the owner’s contact details.

We studied the Booking.com photos, trying to match them to the street outside. We were definitely in the right area, but we were starting to worry something had gone wrong. The apartment manager had agreed to pick them up from the bus terminal, so we could only wait. About an hour later than expected, a car pulled up and we were relieved to see it was them — just delayed, not lost.

It was already getting dark by the time the manager showed us where to park Ruby and let us inside.

The apartment was spread over three levels. From the entrance, stairs led up to a sitting room and first bedroom with en-suite. The next level had another living space, with part partitioned off into a second bedroom. The roof level held the kitchen and another bathroom. It wasn’t pet-friendly, but we had spoken in advance to Antonio, the property manager, who had asked the owner if two well-behaved cats could stay. The owner agreed, provided we paid a damage deposit.

The only problem was the washing machine — or rather, the lack of one. My mum was not impressed. It was sitting broken in the corner. Antonio didn’t see the issue. Why would you want to wash clothes on holiday anyway? Just go to a laundrette like a normal person. That wasn’t really the point.

At least water seemed more reliable here than in Bolivia, though Antonio still warned it could be limited. That felt strange given Puno sits on the shore of the world’s highest navigable lake, but apparently that’s just how it is.

The next morning, my mum and I set off to find a laundrette. We wandered for a while with little success — most places were closed. We also needed cash, so I left her in a huge ATM queue while I found a working machine. There was only one option.

After finally getting money, we dropped our clothes off. They wouldn’t let us use our own detergent, which didn’t start things well, and then told us it would take 36 hours. I tried repeatedly to explain I only wanted them washed, not dried, but I wasn’t convinced they understood.

That afternoon we walked down into town, through the market and to the lake shore. We split up — my parents browsing at their leisure while we went in search of a new fuel filter before meeting back at the apartment. After a long walk, we found one that we hoped would solve the fuel pressure issue. We returned by tuk-tuk to the apartment and to our very unimpressed cats, who had been confined to the second floor to avoid any lost damage deposits.

That evening we took my dad out for a belated birthday drink at Bar de la Casa del Corregidor. We sat in a colourful courtyard and enjoyed some excellent espresso martinis. The food looked good enough that we planned to come back with my mum. We ended the night in a completely different place — a dark rock bar with graffiti-covered black walls and tables carved with names from past visitors. This was more of a beer place, and we stayed for a couple before heading back through the cool night air.

The next day, my parents wanted a walk around town, and I saw a chance to tackle the rear suspension, which was now sitting absurdly uneven. In hindsight, this was a terrible idea.

Once apart, it became clear the chassis had twisted. Not only was it impossible to raise, it was barely possible to reassemble. We spent the entire day trying different approaches, and then discovered the brake shoes were worn down to metal — the rivets grinding against the drums.

Lee went off to get them relined while I continued wrestling the suspension. By the time my dad returned, all three of us were trying and failing to make it fit again. To make matters worse, my mum collected the laundry, which had indeed been tumble dried despite specific instructions not to.

By evening I had reassembled everything, but only by leaving the bushes out entirely. The brakes also had another issue — a leaking wheel cylinder with shredded rubber boots. I ended the day covered head to toe in grease, scrubbing myself in my parents’ en-suite before the hot water ran out.

It was not a good day. And our nice planned trip to the floating islands suddenly looked like it might not happen for me. We had booked a tour of the floating Uros Islands, and Antonio would collect us at 7:15am. I had resigned myself to staying behind to work on Ruby, but Lee insisted I go with my parents and he would fix the van. A very generous offer. So I left early the next morning with my parents, still slightly uneasy about leaving Ruby in pieces.

The boat tour took us to the floating islands and then to Taquile Island. It was very touristy, but genuinely impressive. We agreed Lee and I would come back again properly and do it together next time.

Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about Ruby.

We had no local SIMs and roaming was too expensive, so we couldn’t communicate during the day. I arrived back at the apartment unsure what I would find.

To my relief, a tired-looking Lee was there — and Ruby was fully back together.

He had done it.

We went out for dinner again, still slightly shell-shocked from the day. We ordered a mix of dishes and ended up with far too much food again. The highlight was a surprisingly good quinoa moussaka.

We left completely stuffed.

This time we saved space for dessert. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a mistake — decent savoury food, but desserts that should probably have been left alone.

We walked back through the streets to find a taxi, passing my dad’s new favourite vehicle once again.