pisco
Back again in the hot and dry desert. Our driver attempted to take a sneaky shortcut and only succeeded in getting the truck stuck in the sand. Numerous attempts were made to dislodge her but all failed. Shamefully we almost dismantled a nearby solitary dwelling for bricks. The bricks were put under the wheels to give some traction. Another failure. We were fortunate in that some Peruvians came to our rescue and towed the truck out of the hole. As we were leaving I saw a women stratching her head in disbelieve as she looked at her little home.
We travelled through the desert to reach the Chauchilla cemetery to pay our respects to some ancient mummies. There are several pits where the deceased where laid to rest. Always in the foetal position (in readiness for rebirth) and facing east. Around them were gathered some possessions for use in the afterlife. The amazing thing is that after centuries some still have their skin and hair intact. The dry conditions enable it. One of our gormless fellow tour members paced ahead of everyone else and climbed into one of the tombs to take a picture of herself side-by-side with a mummy. There was quite an outcry.
Further up the coast we got to Pisco. The town, not the drink. I've grown quite fond of the fiery white grape brandy. Pisco means little bird although the hangovers are not quite so cute. Pisco sour being the most typical serving. It amuses me to think that the Peruvians and Chileans have been locked in a dispute for years about the cultural ownership of the drink. Chile produces and exports the greater volume of Pisco. Fair enough. But the town of Pisco lies with Peru so I deem it their cultural property. In my humble opinion. Apologies to the Chileans. Although when I reach their country I will, of course, insist that the drink belongs to them.
The coastal town of Pisco hasn´t got a lot going for it. It is merely a base for tourists on their way to see the Ballestas islands. The island is home to an incredible variety and huge concentration of marine animals and birds. Some call it the ‘Peruvian Galapagos’. It took the best part of two hours to reach the island. The boat was fast but as I was close to the engine I had a great time slowly suffocating on diesel fumes. It was a damp, foggy day so the views weren't as good as they could have been. But that didn't stop the incessant photography on board.
That said it is a sight. So much life in such concentration. The rocks are alive with thousands of migratory and resident sea birds, including pelicans, flamingos, penguins, cormorants, red boobies ( a personal favourite) and terns. There are colonies of sea lions, turtles and dolphins. The island thrives because man is many miles away I suppose.
We travelled through the desert to reach the Chauchilla cemetery to pay our respects to some ancient mummies. There are several pits where the deceased where laid to rest. Always in the foetal position (in readiness for rebirth) and facing east. Around them were gathered some possessions for use in the afterlife. The amazing thing is that after centuries some still have their skin and hair intact. The dry conditions enable it. One of our gormless fellow tour members paced ahead of everyone else and climbed into one of the tombs to take a picture of herself side-by-side with a mummy. There was quite an outcry.
Further up the coast we got to Pisco. The town, not the drink. I've grown quite fond of the fiery white grape brandy. Pisco means little bird although the hangovers are not quite so cute. Pisco sour being the most typical serving. It amuses me to think that the Peruvians and Chileans have been locked in a dispute for years about the cultural ownership of the drink. Chile produces and exports the greater volume of Pisco. Fair enough. But the town of Pisco lies with Peru so I deem it their cultural property. In my humble opinion. Apologies to the Chileans. Although when I reach their country I will, of course, insist that the drink belongs to them.
The coastal town of Pisco hasn´t got a lot going for it. It is merely a base for tourists on their way to see the Ballestas islands. The island is home to an incredible variety and huge concentration of marine animals and birds. Some call it the ‘Peruvian Galapagos’. It took the best part of two hours to reach the island. The boat was fast but as I was close to the engine I had a great time slowly suffocating on diesel fumes. It was a damp, foggy day so the views weren't as good as they could have been. But that didn't stop the incessant photography on board.
That said it is a sight. So much life in such concentration. The rocks are alive with thousands of migratory and resident sea birds, including pelicans, flamingos, penguins, cormorants, red boobies ( a personal favourite) and terns. There are colonies of sea lions, turtles and dolphins. The island thrives because man is many miles away I suppose.
posted by Ciarán at 8:16 p.m.
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