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.

nazca

We returned to the desert and among the massive, rolling sand dunes is found the Huacachina oasis. I have never seen a real life oasis before and it is an unusual sight. To look down on the town from one of the high sand dunes is quite amazing. All the trees, vegetation and lush greenery look so out of place. The oasis itself is on the tourist trail as they cater to those looking to do a spot of sand boarding or ride a sand buggy. I was crap at snow boarding some years ago and the same applies to my sand boarding. It was fun though. The sand buggy was also quite a thrill but with each vertical drop or climb, it just created a desire for more daring theatrics. In the end I was caked in sand. Everywhere.

Another few hours up the coast is the town of Nazca. It was a pleasure to pitch my tent this time as I knew it would be the last time. I had wanted to 'upgrade' to a room but none were available. I suppose that saved me some dough. The only thing in Nazca is the lines. All tourism is geared for that purpose. As we arrived in the late afternoon, the fly over would take place next day.

As usual the party animals that make up my tour group where safely tucked away in bed by 9pm. The campsite was close to the airport and some distance from the main town but I decided to see it anyway. Nazca is a typical south american town of the type I have described before. There were plenty of people milling about and curiously a large congregation of men sitting in one corner of the square. I couldn't figure out what they were doing. Probably escaping their wives. And shock horror, there wasn´t an Irish pub.

The flights over the lines last about 30 minutes. They are light aircraft with seating for six. I have not travelled in such a small airplane before and truthfully I was a little concerned as to its stability and safety. Oh, there was a concern that I might puke up or even worse, someone pukes on me. These were groundless worries. The take off and landing were better than manyI have had on commercial airlines. Mind you, it was noisey. That said there is no other way to truly see the lines than from high above.

The flight path covers the main gigantic geoglyphs. They were created by the Nazca peoples between 200 BC and 600 AD. There are hundreds of individual figures, ranging in complexity from simple lines to stylized hummingbirds, spiders, monkeys, and lizards. No one is quite sure of their significance or indeed how they were made. After all there were no airplanes back then for them to assess their work. Naturally there are many competing theories.

It is incredible to see them. So many of them. After a short time I realised photography was a bit pointless so I just sat back and enjoyed the view. I got a good picture of the monkey though. I won´t pretend than the Nazca lines capture my imagination to the same degree as say, Machu Picchu but it was a thoroughly worthwhile and inspiring experience.

puerto inca

This stop was thoroughly pointless. The tour literature made mention that 'some regard the beach as one of the finest in Peru'. What! Maybe Stevie Wonder harbours this opinion. It is a dreadful beach. It was no more than a small bay that did a good job of attracting heaps of seaweed on to the shore. There was also some nonsense of it being the main fishing port of the Inca's. Hence the name. No mention of it is made in any of the three guide books I consulted. As a resort, it was barren, featureless and with limited facilities. I can't imagine that they get very many tourists. I heard on the grapevine that the stop was justified solely on the basis that someone back at the office was getting a backhander. Stacks up!

There was nearly a riot of the truck over it. But pointedly we were told that if we were unhappy about then we would have to leave the tour. There was no alternative. Very professional. This place was 9km from anything resembling life. And by life I also include animals and vegetation. On one evening there was almost a fight between the tour leader and one of the group. I stood between them as fighting talk escalated and violence threatened. I was surprised that the chap was allowed to continue on the tour as I thought such behaviour would be strictly no-no. Apparently they kissed and made up.

So there was nothing to do but tolerate the two days of minding boggling boredom. Pitch my tent, read a book and bide my time. There was table tennis though. I could recount of youthful prowess at the game with a steady series of victories. Oh, and there was a playground and a swing. In competition with one of the girls to see who could achieve the greatest height, I flew off the seat at the highest possible trajectory and landed with a bang. Nice bruises all along my arms. Another distraction was teaching the resident parrot some swear words. I hope he still uses them.

And that was it, Puerto Inca, Peru's finest beach!