– On a motorcycle through Peru’s desert, the Andes Mountains and the Amazon Jungle
Photo reportage
Text and photos by Villads Kok Mortensen
We put on our helmets, turn the keys, and feel the vibrations from the engines. And then we roll out onto the road.
the road along the Pacific coast near the small fishing town of Paracas. A flock of long-beaked pelicans
scared by the sound and ease off, while a slight salty breeze hits the face and the waves set the rhythm in motion
our motorcycle adventure.
But the cool sea breeze is quickly replaced by the heat and dry breath of the Atacama Desert. The sun
It hangs heavy over us, and the dust settles over the visor as we zoom past the cactus plantations in one of the
the world's most empty landscapes. Nature is raw. Here it is desolate. When we stop and turn off the engines, it's
It is so quiet that we can hear the momentary tinnitus that hours of wind noise causes.
Courses on the Andes and the Amazon
In the horizon we see the Andes Mountains rising – a giant wall of earth, stone, and eternal snow. The road winds its way
like an anaconda through the clouds. The air gets thinner, every breath is now a little heavier and
The prospect grows more dizzying with every turn of the hairspring.
From the cool, thin air of the mountains, we drift down into the humid warmth of the Amazon jungle. Here the world becomes green
and alive again: The parrots laugh, and the sound of insects fills the air. Here, there is a scent of earth,
rain and flowers. We drive on muddy tracks, cross rivers, the rear wheels slip out, and we barely have time to
Straighten up before you fall. Adrenaline pumps through your blood in a split second! Traveling also means sweating.
The ancient empire of the Incas
We set down our support foot for the last time in the city of Cusco, the ancient capital of the Incas. The stone-paved
Streets and old Spanish cathedrals are the perfect backdrop for a spaghetti western, where we have
We kept our iron horses amidst a gunfight between the Good and the Evil. You can't come
From here on, we’ll take a slow, blue bus towards Machu Picchu. Inka Rail
runs along the rushing Urubamba river, which whips turquoise meltwater from the glaciers into white foam,
while mountain peaks glides past the windows of the coupe.
In the morning we wander around among the Inca ruins and here we suddenly get a little shy – are we really
After having traveled thousands of miles here to this legendary place – or is it something we created ourselves?
dreams? Don't pinch your arm, mate! It could be that you wake up to a grey rainy day
back home in Denmark. So it's better to stay here in dreamland for a little while, isn't it?