How would you explain the concept of tourism to an elderly man who  had spent his life on 4600m, in a secluded valley, in company of his lamas and alpacas? We did our best - and failed. "What do you want here?" He repeated his question with skepticism. We tried to break down the reasons for our presence: "We are just spending the night here in the tent and tomorrow we will move on without leaving any traces, is that ok?"  Again, the shepherd shook his head, muttering something about "algo raro" and we realized, we were more than suspicious to him. Frustrated we exchanged a glance.

We were exhausted. What was our everyday life almost two years ago had become hard work again. Result of the comfortable life at home. We were not expecting anything else when we planned this year's summer holidays. Six weeks through the Peruvian Andes, as remote as possible on trails and paths, which back in 2006 (has it really been so long ago?) were not yet open to us traveling with fully loaded touring bikes, inaccurate paper maps and little touring experience. Obvious, that with the lack of training it would not be a child‘s play. And yet, the first days we were riding in a radiant mood. We enjoyed the day rhythm dictated by the sun, food breaks forced by hunger, casual chats with friendly locals, time for us and room for own thoughts. After only a few kilometers life in Switzerland was miles away. We again lived in the moment.

The two-day climb from the hot Tambo gorge up over the first five-thousand-meter pass had been hard enough and the thin mountain air made us feeling dizzy. All we wanted was to polish away this spaghetti pot, brush our teeth and then crawl into the sleeping bag before it was getting really cold. Back to the basics. But then this shepherd had discovered us when collecting his lamas and he was obviously not happy with us being here. No more basics, but a challenging encounter. We had already met shlightly concerned locals in isolated regions before, but this open mistrust was something new.

We tried to bring the encounter to a personal level and asked for his name. A trick that we often used in delicate situations in order to create trust, which ultimately puts us under the law of hospitality. "Mario", he replied and as Ivo shook his hand and told him that he has a brother of the same name, we thought for a moment we had broken the ice. The wrinkled face gave way to a slight smile. But - no. "God tells me something strange is going on here," Mario insisted again, tapping his temples. "God protects you and us this night, there will be no problem at all," we jumped on the religious train without any scruples. But Mario shook his head emphatically. "God is watching us, but he does not protect us. There are bad people, people who steal." With these words he turned around and drove his llamas away to his well hidden stone hut. Was that meant for us or was it more of a warning? We did not know and so we started with the obvious: Eating up, packing the tent, riding on in the dark. We did not want to spend the night in this place, the promise for our safety was too daring.

With the Altiplano we reached well-known terrain. How little had changed here! The time almost seemed to stand still when we checked in to the same hostal in Copacabana as we did thirteen years ago. The blue water of the lake Titicaca - all the same. But a look in the mirror tought us better. Bolivia may not have changed, but we did. The slight wrinkles in the corners of the eyes were new. And that a day later we were not already bursting with new energy- that too was different.

After a few rest days, we were ready for the sequel. The first pass led us up to 5100 meters, deep into the loneliness of the high Andes. Abra Calzadas was covered with fresh snow. Unsure we followed a lonely motorcycle track. Glaciers and rugged mountain peaks were within our reach. And as if to complete the cliché, a condor drawed its circles in the sky. We had forgotten how the altitude rushes in the ears. Forgotten how pleasant the first rays of sunshine feel on the skin after a cold night in the tent, what it is like to suck ice out of the frozen water bottle. It was a terrific loop that we discovered on satellite maps and that led us around the Nevado Illampu, the "God of Storms".  A loop that makes you addicted. And so we changed our plans spontanously in Sorata. Instead of riding north through hills to Cusco, we aimed for a route to La Paz through the Cordillera Real. Freely after Tolkien: "I always like going south, somehow it feels like going downhill.“

Downhill - pff... for once we were following a route already documented by other bikepackers. Seduced by the photos on Instagram and still with lots of endorphin of the Illampu Circuit in our blood, we gave it a go without a second control of the route. What followed was a three days push of our bikes along an imaginary GPS line, trailless on an average of 4500 meters. Through sharp Andean grass, which cut our legs. The white giants of the Cordillera Real, a distant promise on the horizon. We have nothing against a strenous hike-a-bike, but it has to be worth it. But this route seemed more like the behaviour of a three-year-old baby, stomping on the floor and shouting: "I want, I want, but I want there to be a connecting trail..."

On the fourth day, at Laguna Q'ara Kota, the longed-for change happened. Finally we rode on a dirt road towards Condoriri and Huayna Potosi, both prominent glaciated six-thousanders of the Cordillera Real. A fat bunny was hopping over the track. Longing, we looked after him - how would it taste, crunchy roasted on a bonfire? And anyway: llama or alpaca - which meat would be tastier? A thigh or rather the neck piece? Due to the long hike-a-bike sections, we needed much longer than expected and our food bag was almost empty. Then we rode around another bend and we spotted a simple serviced mountain hut. Gonzalez greeted us warmly and thirty minutes later we sat in front of a plate of rice, papas fritas and a fried egg - a feast. We skipped any thoughts about the grilled Andean wildlife. When it turned out there was even hot water for a shower, we called it a day.

The next morning made up for all the hardships of the past few days. We crossed the Zongo Pass and rolled into Huayna Potosi Basecamp.  Eye to eye we stood with the mightiest peaks of the Royal Cordillera and so we reconciled ourselves with the route within a few minutes. What a brilliant tour! The pointless hike-a-bike passages faded in the bright midday sun.

From La Paz we took the night bus to Cusco. To end our trip, we had picked up a special treat: The Ausangate traverse, a true bikepacking classic. For three days we cycled on the trekking route around the sacred mountain, in close contact with stunning glaciers and dark blue lagoons. Almost all downhills turned out to be flowy singletracks. Faster than planned we reached again the trailhead. What now?

Ad hoc, we planned a final route, crossing the largest ice field of the tropics, the Quelccaya ice cap on a lonely 5200m high nameless passroad. The evening sun colored the glaciers pink, the yellow Andean grass gloomed golden in the black lava sand and a few vicunas ran across the track. Once again we were standing high up, giving a high five while the shadows reached for us and we quickly dressed warmly. The best is known last, otherwise it is not the end. What a downhill.