Lines in the sand
Nice to see Gary concerned about the fate of the Catholic Church. I'm sure they'll apreciate his carefully considered comments. Having said that, I'm fairly certain that they won't give a toss because I don't believe that dogs have souls in the catholic faith. Still, good points, strangely made.

Back to the truck trip, and the truck is getting smaller. Or at least the number of seats has decreased to about two (backwards facing ones) since nine new guys joined us in Lima. Again, the group is a good one, handily seeing as we're all now in much closer proximity to each other. It's only really been a few days, but everyone's as friendly as they were before, which is nice. For those who are keeping spreadsheets charting the ages and nationalities of the group so far, note that there are now an extra Dutch guy, a Norwegian, another from Wales, one from Ireland, a Japanese guy and a few English bods, no idea about ages as I'm polite and didn't ask. Now go off and seek psychiatric help.

After leaving Lima, following a traditional get-to-know-everyone meal and drink. Or two. We set off for the town of Pisco, home of the (in)famous Pisco Sours. Actually finding a Pisco sour in the place proved as difficult as finding a Guiness in an Ecuadorian Irish pub. We eventually found a rather dreary place which sold them, but a second round wasn't possible as they had "run out". Various theories abounded, most suggested that they just wanted to keep the stuff to themselves and feed us the rather grim (but oddly moorish) local beer instead. That evening we were taken on the (now amusingly rowdy due to plenty of non-pisco alochol) bus, to a nearby sea-front resturant where we were liberally plyed with fish.
Gary and I both opted for the local delecacy, that is, raw marrinated sea bass. The result was curious, the raw fish was served in its marinade which was so limey and spicey that you couldn't taste the fish at all. Various others in the group weren't too impressed either, but I suspect I just ordered the wrong thing. An interesting experience, let's put it that way, and at least here the Pisco was in ready supply.

The following morning, we were whisked off back to the sea front and squeezed in a speed boat. Our destination was the ... damn, I knew I should have brought my guide book to this internet cafe ... the something or other islands. Begins with B. Anyway, big rock off the coast, which is the home to thousands of thousands of sea birds and a moderately smaller number of sea lions. It is also the number one spot in Peru for harvesting Guarna (spelling?), that is, special bird shit. Which is chipped off every ten years an exported to Britain, American and various other places with a penchant for avian excrement. Our guide in the sea boat gamely showed us around from the comfort of the boat, stopping it and spinning it in the choppy waves.
I've never really had too much of a problem with sea sickeness before, but I suppose there's a first time for everything. This could have been down to the driving style of the boat (aim for the big waves and stop on them!), it may have been the hangover from the night before, it could have been the thick smell of bird crap and exhaust fumes, it may have been the raw fish I had consumed the previous evening wanting to go back home, I did't throw up, oh fans of gory details, but I did feel distinctly green. The horizon became far more fascinating to me than any of the bloody penguins, seals and other creatures.
That afternoon, we stopped off at a nearby Oasis, whose name, once more escapes me.This was the resort responsible for "discovering" the "world famous" craze of sand boarding. Which is exactly what you'd expect really. You get a sort of snowboard, get taken up to the top of the sand dunes and then throw yourself down them.
Not being a snow boarder, skier or anything equivalent at the other end of the temperature scale, I was a complete novice to this and predictably fell of plenty of times. Beginners were advised to sit on the boards on the first slopes, rather than stand. This suited me, but staying upright, or indeed in a straight line, proved a challenge. What's more, the sand is hot as you would expect desert sand to be, so falling off was the last thing you wanted to do, not because it was uncool, but because it was uncool. If that makes any sense.
A second run was offered, this time head down and much higher and faster. Given my performace on the baby slopes I passed on this one, but Gary had no such reservations. I wish I'd gone ahead now, I only heard afterwards that that slope was far easier. Tsk.
Between the sandboard slopes, we were driven around in dune buggies at breakneck speeds just for the hell of it. This was fantastic fun, a sort of natural rollercoaster, the passengers of the buggies whooping and squealing when we were pitched over a particularly high and steep slope. Our final run was in the smallest buggy, and was clearly driven by the show off of the driving team, which led to some fantastic high speed circuits down into valleys and swooping up the other side.

We spent the night in a campsite in Nazca, just across the road from the airport which the following morning, we trooped across to get in a tiny plane and get a good view of the famous Nazca lines.
The previous day, we had stopped at a viewing platform which offered a rather oblique view of two of the lines (we had no ideas which ones), it was generally unimpressive, but only cost one Sole, so was hardly breaking the bank. The plane flight proved far more spectacular though, although a few problems with our plane's communication system didn't really inspire confidence.
Once we were off the ground however, things really took off. Being so early in the morning, the sun was still rising over the mountains in the distance and the effect was eery, Gary said spiritual and I can see where he's coming from. The pamas, the flat land on which the lines are constructed, is a vast, flat landscape, hemmed in by the horizon and a row of mountains, turned into graduated silhuettes by the early morning sun. The lines themselves cover the entire area. Not just the shapes of animals, fish, birds and even one dubbed the "astronaut", but great long lines and shapes criss crossing the desert floor. How they were constructed on such a scale is anyone's guess, inspiring all kinds of hare brained theories (we were advised not to mention the "alien" theory while in Nazca itself, it not being very popular).
The distinct shapes are pretty extraordinary too, a monkey with a spiral tail, a stylised hummingbird, a condor, a squiggly tree and a bizzare pair of disembodied hands. Our pilot accomodatingly allowed both sides of the plane (housing only three passengers and him, I desperatedly tried to not accidentally kick the "stop flying" button) to see the shapes, by banking sharply on each side in turn, creating another rollercoaster effect.
This went down quite well until we came to the monkey, here the pilot spun round on each side above the geoglyph, giving us ample views, but the tight spins above a large spiral shaped object meant that one of the guys on my trip suddenly became as interested in the horizon as I had done on the boat.
I was fine though, although landing the tiny plane was a relief, I admit.

Next stop, the beach again, although Puerta Inca is a fair bit further south and sea there is a hell of a lot colder. We had two nights here, and like the last time we camped for two nights on the beach, the first night was spent getting drunk and throwing people into the sea, and the second was spent being very quiet and hungover. A heroically cheesy disco was also on hand, unwisely supplying us with free cuba libres and forcing us to dance like pillocks. Well, me anyway.
The second day was far more subdued, but I spent a fair bit of time bobbing about in the sea, which was terrific, I want one. The cold was crippling when it first hit you, but once you had gone under for the first time, it became rather pleasant. Also, the waves were far more agressive here, which was a sort of masochistic pleasure in itself.
- posted by Vince @ 1:38 PM