Beautiful... but nearly mugged, Mancora

The bus trip from Lima to Mancora is up there for memoriable bus trips along with those I took in Bolivia. First of it was half an hour delayed arriving, and while waiting I met another solo traveler, Matt from Oz, who´d been stuck talking to this Courtney Cox look-a-like who was possibly equally insane. She was joined by her three kids, about 4, 6 and 10, all hyper and fighting for your attention. All four of these crazy Canadians were eager to talk to me and Matt, and required alot of energy. I was looking forward to a break when we got on the bus, but when we get on it turns out me and Matt are beside each other, but the four crazy canadians are directly behind.... It looked like it would be a long bus trip for us.

And it was... 10 minutes into the journey, on the Lima motorway which is backed up with beeping traffic, a truck starts to overtake close to us, then mounts a curb, resulting in the top of this truck bumping into the top of our bus, shattering windows on the second deck where all the passengers are. I didn´t realise how bad it was until someones running downstairs to stop the driver because someones gotten glass in their face. We stop, the bus can´t continue and the girl gets medical help. Then we´re stopped right in the middle of this motorway for 5 hours. Nobodies sure whats going on, rumors there going to change the window change to we´re getting another bus, which eventually we do.

23 Hours later we arrive in Mancora were I leave everyone else, who are going to Ariqupa, Equador.
Mancora is close to the equadorian boarder, on the coast, and is a beautiful beach resort. I´d been recommended the Point hostel, which is a 15min walk from the town along the beach, but worth it. A chilled out place with plenty of hammocks and the staff were equally chilled and amazing, making dreamcatchers and doing yoga.
The first day was tragically spent getting sunburnt, which ruined my idea of learning to surf there. The next day Hijii, Hazel and Krishna rock up to the Loki there, along with a massive group of Australians, English and Irish. I bump into them that day on the beach and agree to come over that night to the Loki bar. It was Amanda, an Irish girls, birthday, so the celebrations are on. We drink, at the bar, which tragically isn´t as good as Loki Cusco, but still fun. When midnight hits Amanda gets a happy birthday and a requested ´maniac 2000´ which seems like an appropriately Irish song.

We all go down to the bars on the beach, and thats when I noticed how sketchy Mancora at night is. Surrounding the bar we were at was a huge group of men just starring at the tourists, and seemed to be waiting for an opportunity... The locals in Mancora were decidedly sketchy, they guys all sleazy in a very creepy way, even for south america. Two people got pickpocketed that night, and two had fake police search there bag and steal cameras. As a result, I wasn´t blown away by Mancora´s nightlife, outside of the Point. On Krishna´s insistence, two people joined me in my taxi home and then returned to Loki that night, just to make sure I got home ok. Shame I didn´t try and get people to do this the next night...

The next day, was largely filled with lazing around and swimming. Amanda had put me down for her birthday dinner in Loki that night. Because of the elections in Peru, there was to be no music played or alcohol sold that weekend. However, the alcohol rule didn´t seem to apply to hostels.

The dinner was good, but there was no real atmosphere without any music. I decided to call it a night early, I was catching a bus the next day to Quito.

I asked the receptionist in Loki to get me a good taxi, which in Mancora, are just tuc-tuc´s. This involved him just walking out the door and picking one of the many tuc-tuc drivers standing around, who, by the way, are always trying to sell you cocaine. Dodgy.
The drive back to my hostel is well lit up until the end, where theres one long dark road. This is the point where one gets a little nervy, especially when there´s another tuc-tuc following closely behind. This trailing tuc-tuc starts flashing its lights, and mine slows down to let it over take. It stops beside mine and a guy jumps from his to mine and starts grabbing for my bag, which, I don´t have. I´d gone out that night with money down my bra and my little camera in my hand. I suddenly realise whats going on and start screaming and kicking and pushing him until I successfully push him out. My drivers slow to react and I´m unsure on whether he´s in on it or not and just start screaming at him to drive fast to my hostel, scared that he´d stop, in which case I´d be stuck in the middle of nowhere in the dark with mr. mugger. Finally he drives fast, and I get to my hostel, unmugged. I go straight to the bar, tell my hostel friends the story, which results in many a shot and a laugh at the hardiness of Irish women.

That night I felt fine, but the next day I realised I was turning into the nervy traveller I despised, constantly looking over my shoulder and on edge. What made things worse was I was crossing into Equador alone that day/night and heading to one of South America´s most dangerous cities for tourist, Quito.