Pilgrimage to Peru - a travel diary 1978 - 1979

The Real Reason I Travelled to South America

Long before I ever set foot in Peru, the journey had already begun. In the mid‑1970s, when I was still in my early twenties, a slim metaphysical book found its way into my hands — The Secret of the Andes. I didn’t know it then, but that book planted something in me. Not an idea, not a plan, but a direction.

It spoke of hidden sanctuaries high in the Andes, of ancient wisdom preserved in places that existed half in this world and half in another. It whispered of Lake Titicaca — not as a tourist destination, but as a place of mystery, a place where something waited. I couldn’t explain why it affected me the way it did. All I knew was that it stirred a longing I had no language for.

Looking back, that was the moment the thread was tied — the quiet pull toward a landscape I had never seen, a culture I didn’t yet understand, and a destiny I couldn’t have named. I didn’t think of it as destiny then. I just felt compelled.

So I bought my one-way flights. Christchurch to Auckland. Auckland to San Francisco. And from there, the long overland road through Mexico, Central America, and down the Andean spine toward Peru.

People may have assumed I was travelling for adventure. But the truth is simpler and stranger: I was following something that had already begun inside me years earlier — a summons I didn’t fully understand, but couldn’t ignore.

That is the real reason I went to South America.

The First Page of the Journey

I still have the diary I carried with me — a ruled Mexican exercise book with three carved stone figures on the cover.

On the first page, in the careful lettering of a young man trying to name something he didn’t yet understand, I wrote: PILGRIMAGE TO PERU.

Puebla, Mexico - December 1978

“This story should begin in Puebla, for it is here that began the adventures and moments of travel that are characteristic of being free‑floating in the world. To travel is to live, and to be alive in the protoplasm of the planet. It is to experience the unity and quality of life.”

Reading those lines now, I see a truth I couldn’t have articulated then: the pilgrimage had already begun.

Even before I reached Peru, before the jungles of Ecuador, before the long road south, something in me was already moving toward the Andes — toward the lake, the mystery, the call that had been planted years earlier by The Secret of the Andes. I wasn’t just travelling. I was answering something.

Constable John Gillespie

I am descended from a Scottish immigrant - a John Gillespie - who voyaged to the other side of the world in the late 19th Century.

My great‑grandfather, Constable John Gillespie became a pioneering policeman in Palmerston North, New Zealand, in the late 1800s.

In the district’s early records, one line captures his character: “zeal, energy and thorough impartiality ever displayed by Constable Gillespie in the discharge of his duties.”

He built a large family home — a house that still stands today on a road now called Gillespie’s Line— and raised twelve children as the young settlement grew around him.

I carry his surname, and I’ve always felt a quiet connection to him. Perhaps that instinct for stepping beyond the known, for moving toward the edges of the map, is something that travelled down the generations.

Leaving a legacy

And now, nearly fifty years after my own journey through the Americas, I find myself reconstructing it digitally — building a bridge that one day my great‑grandchildren may cross, just as I once reached back to him.

Guatemala 1979

By the time I reached Guatemala in early January 1979, the journey had already taken on its own rhythm — border crossings, long roads, small towns, and the slow drift deeper into Central America. I was moving day by day, often without knowing exactly what lay ahead, guided mostly by instinct and the simple momentum of travel.

This diary excerpt covers five days of travel in Guatemala — beginning with river travel, then a solitary hike through the jungle to reach a hidden Mayan temple, and finally the onward road toward Tikal in the north.

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Miercoles 10 Enero (Wednesday 10 January) Sebol —> El Pato

A River of Passion?

This morning I caught my first glimpse of the Rio de la Pasion. At Sebol the river is a strong flowing, muddy affair. There were several cayucos tied to stumps on the sloshy river bank. Jörn & I left on a large cayuco which also carried another canoe across the front. We did not have time or opportunity to prepare for the trip with food supplies but just carried on.

So where are the crocodiles?

It was quite an incredible feeling beginning the ride on the river - my first through jungle of any type. I began scanning the banks and river for crocodiles & other such wildlife, but it turned out that the river was pretty tame. The most I saw were birds, some lizard type animals perched on branches overhanging the river & hundreds of tiny fish everywhere in the river. They seemed to hang around the boat waiting for throw overs.

Riverine life

The river was much more civilised than one would imagine. There were haciendas & villages regularly along the river. Instead of tigers & crocodiles there were cows, horses and police checkpoints. At one point the boat was run into a muddy bank and everybody had to get out & show their passport or papers to some soldiers who made out they could understand all the documents.

Arrival at El Pato

The boat arrived at El Pato about 3pm. We payed our Q2 which seemed a reasonable regular fare that everyone had to pay. The boat owner insisted that we join him for a beer at El Pato so we stood at a tienda and drank a bottle.

A well‑worn Gringo route

It quickly became obvious that the Rio de la Pasion was a well known Gringo traveller’s route. At El Pato we joined two other German guys & two Swiss girls who waiting for further transport down the river. In the morning of the same day six others had left on a boat they had negotiated.

The Gringo encampment

The Gringo encampment was an open, thatched roof building in a plot of land surrounded by a barbed wire fence. This was a hammock swinging place, but for me I had to sleep on the ground, with my sleeping bag on top of my groundsheet (plastic rain poncho).

Comedor in the village

I walked around the village of El Pato and ended up at a comedor of sorts. I asked for a meal & received some nicely cooked beans, and eggs, tortillas & coffee. Spoke with a friendly girl from Belice who spoke English. Her husband had brought her to El Pato, where she was lonely & missing Belice.

Macaroni and drunk visitors

Later in the evening I went out to eat again with Jörn & one of the Swiss girls. We went to the regular comedor & dined on macarroni. Sat around a fire back at the hut & talked with Jorn. Later in the evening we had to deal with a group of very drunk men who came nosing over, but were quite amiable - just drunk.

Jueves 11 Enero (Thursday 11 January) El Pato —>

Waiting for a boat to Sayaché

Woke up early and took watch on the river for a boat leaving for Sayache, the town that connects to Flores by road. No sign of boats so resigned to having a relaxing day at El Pato, catching up on my reading and writing. Still waiting for a spell of non-costing time for learning Spanish.

Breakfast and travellers’ tales

Had breakfast of frejoles y huevos back at the comedor & read a travellers book there. Some pitiful stories about how long folk had been stuck in El Pato & how terrible things had been for them. But I was enjoying it.

Draughts — El Pato style

In the afternoon the tienda conjured up some fresh sweet bread. They also sold juices in cans, sweets, salt biscuits, etc. Played draughts El Pato style with two kids at the tienda. Soon caught onto their rules which gave an interesting challenge to the game. the king or crown was obtained in the normal manner, had powers of movement & taking more akin to the Queen of Chess. It could zoom up a diagonal, jump a piece, and land anywhere on the diagonal. It could also switch direction and do a right or left jump (a second one) on the other diagonal, if there was an opponents piece to take. I won the first game that I played with one boy which I think impressed them quite a bit. Then we had a draw & finally he bet me back. They both played very well.

Unexpected departure

As I was getting engrossed in the game and about to consume a beer, a cayuco arrived at El Pato (The Duck!) with a load of Gringos going upstream. But the boat owner was heading back to Sayache and agreed to take all of us (6) for Q4.50 each. So at 5pm we hurriedly packed & left El Pato.

Moonlit journey down La Pasión

We motored down the river into the dark moonlit river. For me and Jorn it was to be a very quick journey down La Pasion compared with the stories of some other travellers, who had been stuck at El Pato or somewhere for days on end, waiting for a boat.

Candlelit meal on the riverbank

We were all off loaded at some house on the river bank. After sloshing our way up the bank and through the trees in the dark, with our packs we made ourselves comfortable on the porch of the house. We were served some eggs and beans and ate by candlelight.

Sleeping on the porch

After borrowing my last candle the Germans decided to play amongst themselves some card game very similar to 500. I slept on the mud floor of the porch.

Viernes 12 Enero (Friday 12 Jan)

RIO DE LA PASION —> EL CEIBAL [small sketch of a Mayan temple at El Ceibal]

The riverside trader

An excellent day slowly cruising down stream towards Sayache with the same boat we started off on last night. The owner was a kind of riverside trader and he made frequent stops at villages & just houses on the bank to sell, biscuits, potatoes, tomatoes, beer, softdrink, chicles. He also transported sacks of corn, rolls of barbed wire and one hen which really suffered from being trodden on. At one stage the hen decided to go for a swim & just about strangled and/or drowned itself until I lept over to rescue it. We diverted up a tributary for 1 km to trade with an interesting village up there. Talked a bit more with Ana & Kathy on the boat, the two Swiss sisters. Spent some time practicing Spanish.

The night before Ceibal

The Mayan ruins of El Ceibal were about 25km before Sayache and I decided to leave the boat & walk to these ruins. All the others changed their minds due to the uncertainty of getting back to Sayache, I think. Anyway I climbed out of the boat beside some thick mountainous jungle in the dark and said Adios. I was going to walk to the ruins along whatever kind of track existed, but in the dark of night that would have been impossible.

I slept the night on the floor of a little house right by the river. There was an older man, his wife & a son (possibly) living there. They gave me a small piece of fish in a soup, which tasted very good, and some coffee. I tryed to communicate a little but it was difficult for us to understand each other. My night was disturbed by many mosquitos and was rather uncomfortable. Woke up with a tick imbedded in my forehead and had to snap it off.

Sabado 13 Enero El Ceibal —» Sayache

Alone among the ruins

Early in the morning the man at the house led me away through the trees and across his paddock of maize and through a jungle track up a hill, in the direction of las ruinas del Ceibal. I gave him a quetzal for his hospitality and walked off into the Gautemalan jungle, alone and happy.

Followed only by the mosquitos I carefully walked through the trees and vines making sure not to go off the narrow track. I came eventually to a wider track of road size proportions, chose to go in one direction & walked for some time in the mud.

Finally it happened ! It was a tremendous sense of achievement and discovery. A large green mound appeared on my left and then unfolded the view of a stone temple and magnificent carved stone stela.

It was as if I had discovered the ruins myself for the first time, and having journeyed for so far by river & walked through jungle just added so much to that sense of discovery.

I was excited. Here I was alone amidst some incredible structures that had been lost to the jungle by an intelligent civilisation centuries & centuries ago.

I headed for the most outstanding temple, which had been cleaned of growth and the jungle had been cleared away as well. Climbed to the top and put down my pack against the temple. I then went on a discovery mission with just my camera, climbing up a few other overgrown temples and standing awestruck in front of beautifully carved and preserved stellae.

It was almost a religious experience when I contemplated the people who lived here and built these temples.

The sacrifice?

There were a few huts of modern man & 3 men walking around. After spending an hour or so alone amongst the ruins I went to say hello to these caretakers. I signed their visitors book, which had recorded a surprising number of tourists but I seemed to be the first New Zealander since May 78.

They told me about a circular temple in another direction so I went off to find that. A large flat surfaced structure with some kind of sacrificial stone in the front. I took a time-exposed photograph of myself on the stone.

Back to civilisation

There was no town and no traffic leading away from the ruins, only a dirt road. I was told that there were buses or something at a town 7km along the road, so pack and all I walked for the 7km along a reasonable sort of road. Only had to tread carefully to avoid the armies of ants carrying leaves across the road.

I eventually walked up behind a police checkpoint. I surprised them somewhat as they weren’t expecting anyone to walk in from behind, but they were quick enough to want to see inside my pack. I opened it up, they had a fish around & that was enough. I walked on until I spotted what looked like a possible comedor. It was! Quenched my thirst with two hugos, then ate some scrambled eggs.

Walked on another km and came to a tienda where a few chaps were waiting for a camion. Eventually I got a ride in the back of a Toyota van to Sayaché. Went to a hotel and rested up. No water but at least a comfortable bed. Ate beans and eggs with an American couple.

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That’s one small step for man, a giant leap for mankind; mankind went to the moon almost 50 years ago (1969) then returned (Artemis) in 2026!

My journey to and through South America was almost 50 years ago too; and now I have returned. This time I haven’t returned physically but I have returned in my mind.

I have reopened the door to my past.

The dust has been blown off my travel journal of 1978/1979. It has revealed who I was as a young traveller. I feel almost exhausted, not by reading or transcribing it - I feel an imaginary exhaustion from simply reading my own story - about how energetic I was at the age of 23; trudging through the Guatemalan jungle - alone with the jaguar and snakes - with the potential of getting lost - carrying a heavy pack, climbing Mayan temples that I have discovered in the heart of the jungle - temples that are still just green mounds, not even excavated.

The Guatemala segment is part of a wider journey; a journey of 11 months in the Americas, but mainly in Mexico, Central America and South America. It takes me as far south as 53 degrees latitude, in the middle of the Magellan Strait, with Tierra del Fuego on one side, Chile on the other.

There is a theme to all of this travel; a spiritual quest. It’s complex, as these things often are. On the one hand I long to catch a ride on a cargo ship, on the other I am drawn towards Peru to discover either a lost Incan city in the jungle, or a mythical monastery at Lake Titicaca - or both.

It’s a perfect journey. Despite travelling solo I am never alone; there are new friends to be made all along the journey.

Looking back, from the perspective of 2026, I now realise that my journey matches very closely those of the young shepherd boy in Paulo Coelho’s classic story - The Alchemist. This story is one of being tested by the Universe. A story of following your dream. When you really, really want something, all the Universe conspires to help you.

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More of this story unfolds in Ecuador: I trudge in to the Ecuadorian jungle to visit an Indian tribe known as the Auca. It turns out to be a risky trip as I get caught out in a flooded river and almost come to grief.

Later I reach Uruguay and from there another adventure unfolds - voyaging on a banana boat all the way back to Ecuador.