Paracas!

The funny thing about Peru is there’s a lot of good stuff to see but there’s a lot of bad stuff to wade through to get to it! That said at least two unexpected good moments in our travels here happened on the way to somewhere else. Sillustani was a quick stop on the way to the airport. We didn’t really know what to expect and were totally blown away by this amazing place. For me anyway, the same can be said for the Isla Balleastas. After staying in Pisco near to the Nazca desert to ‘do the lines’ we had to return the next day to Lima to fly to Iquitos to start our Amazon adventure (see next blog for details!!). To get from Pisco to Lima you have to travel through the Paracas National Reserve. This had always been on our Peruvian schedule, put there by our lovely agent Lilia and up until this moment we had not thought to ask what this involved. On returning from Nazca we asked the infamous Rosada how our schedule for the next day panned out as we did not fly until the afternoon from Lima and yet had a strict 8.00am start for a 3 hour road trip. She simply replied ‘Boat trip’.

However we were rid of Rosada. This was to be a day with just quiet, unassuming Martin. Alas how wrong. As we have said, she appeared like the spectre of death at the side of the road despite our not-very-fond farewells the night before. What WAS it about Rosada? Was it the fact she was continuously hurrying us along (“the BUS is waiting!” like that is the end of the world) or was it the fact that she didn’t answer any of our questions, or was it indeed the fact that the sights she pointed out were such Peruvian glories as the concrete factory? OK she wasn’t as bad as the lady on the bus to Puno who couldn’t stop talking about urine, for some reason. That would have been OK if it weren’t for the fact we were sitting next to the toilet (“only for the urination” she explained) which stank to high heaven and regurgitated its contents to flush away the next. However we digress. Rosada was not so bad, but we just couldn’t stand her. Once again, we said our goodbyes. We got the impression she kept coming back for a tip, and heavens knows we tipped Martin enough (perhaps they were married and he’d told her how generous we were?). But we just kept saying goodbye. Perhaps she misinterpreted our grateful looks as gratitude to her. No. It was simply gratitude she was leaving.

At 9.00am the next morning after a quick trip to the Paracas National Reserve we found ourselves with about 20 others boarding a long sleek boat powered by 2 huge Yamaha 140bhp engines to go to the Isla Balleastas. Whatever they were? All we knew was that we had a 2 hour boat trip and then a mad dash to the airport to make the flight.

The boat headed out across a sea like a mill pond, it was quite speedy and breezy, the kids loving the fact hat they were back in the wind and the spray (they have gotten quite a taste for speed boats). After a few miles the boat slowed to a stop alongside a jutting mountainous headland, that looked like an enormous sand dune. On the side, some two hundred feet tall, like some giant child’s drawing in the sand was a huge picture of a candelabra/cactus.

The picture is not, as Rachel believed, just made in the sand, remaining because of the lack or rain, but in fact hewn out of the stone, constantly covered by the shifting sands but always visible for miles around.

There are several theories as to why the candelabra/cactus is there: some say it is actually a cactus, carved by a pre-Inca relative to the Nazcans and actually denotes the start of the Nazca lines. Some say it is a candelabra, the emblem of a 14th century Spanish overload and that the angles within its structure represent his Masonic connections. Others believe it to be a marker left by the pirates who frequented this coastline in the 15th & 16th centuries. Take your pick, whatever it is, it’s certainly up there with the ‘white horse of Uffington’ as mystic symbols on the sides of hills go.

And then we sped on. We passed the end of the headland, and the millpond became a raging sea. No warning of this at all from the beloved Rosada of course, no “oh, it can get a bit rough, perhaps you ought to take a seasickness tablet”. This is Rachel butting in by the way, and as you know by now I am the world’s greatest wuss when it comes to all things rollercoaster-ish. As we watched enormous Pacific waves looming towards us side on, I tried hurriedly to take some rescue remedy, find the seasickness tablets and water, hold on to Rhys who was flying up and down and shouting with glee, and keep my eyes closed at the same time. It was absolutely stomach churningly bad. Even Joe, who loves this sort of thing, realised it was a bit extreme and tried to ascertain if I was OK. I couldn’t move so just shook my head. I tried watching the horizon, but as it kept disappearing behind 15-20 foot waves, I gave up and put my head down, waiting for the end. I did ask once whether Joe could see anything in sight, as we were just zooming straight out to the middle of the Pacific, and he assured me there seemed to be some tiny rocks only a kilometre or so away. It was one of the longest rides of my life, right up there with sitting in a glorious white leather speed boat on the way to our honeymoon island in the Maldives with one of the worst cases of food poisoning on record, trying desperately to keep any stomach contents escaping from either end.

Much to Rachel’s dismay there was no getting off at the islands for some respite from the waves. There was no sign of any human inhabitation but more birds than you could shake a stick at. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many birds in one place in my life. Alfred Hitchcock had nothing on this and the smell of guano was almost overpowering (which coupled with the seething sea crashing against the islands really did Rachel’s appreciation of the place no end of good). The islands themselves were beautiful, huge carved arches, coves and soaring cliffs (Rachel’s note: or just great big rocks in the middle of the ocean which you sit perilously close to, held in place only by some piddling engines as massive waves conspire to pound you against them.)

True the ‘driver’ did a sterling job keeping us away from the rocks and navigating around the bays and coves against some tremendous tides and currents. The marine life was amazing, even after Galapagos. It was fantastic to see colonies of sea lions hundreds strong basking on the beaches or playing and tumbling in the sea filled caves. Flocks of Pelicans sitting on the cliffs or soaring in lines of 5 or 6, inches from the surface of the sea. Even a small group of penguins came to see who was bobbing precariously feet away from their rocks. The air was absolutely thick with marine birds, and you could not see the surface of the islands for the flocks nesting on them. In Galapagos, we’d seen solitary penguins and boobies (maybe its more exclusive, like the boats). Here, they were there by the thousand. For sheer proliferation, it could not be beat.

But I, Rachel, was mighty glad when the engines roared into life and we turned around. I couldn’t focus on the nature bit, only on the ever-churning sea that plunged us down one side of a huge wave, and then up on top so you could see land again. It’s hard to appreciate the wonders when you wonder whether you’re going to survive or not. But, as always, it was just me thinking like this. Rowan had got absolutely drenched on the way out to the islands, but found it all immensely funny. Even sickie Jenna didn’t seem to mind. Luckily I just shut up and sat still … very keen not to transfer any of these paranoias onto the kids.

The way back was better, mainly because I knew it was finite and as soon as we rounded the headland, we’d be OK. Of course, having caught all the waves face on, on the way out, Rowan was dry as a bone on the way back. So who was sitting in the place to catch the brunt of it? Yes, moi. However, it distracts you from the nausea, or maybe the seasickness pills had kicked in by then.

Gratefully we regained dry land, with relief and joy, until we saw … Rosada. She was back AGAIN. Apparently she had come to tell us that our flight was delayed, so no hurry. Excellent, says I, no hurry then, we’re off to get a coffee or stiff gin. Goodbye Rosada, we said. Firmly. We were treated to another unexpected surprise: dolphins were playing just offshore around the boats, jumping and splashing. Jenna, Rhys and I saw these clearly, but Joe remains unconvinced to this day. However I will swear here in writing that they were definitively dolphins, that our dolphin dearth was ended, even if they were slightly out to sea. I even checked with another boat guide who confirmed “si, delfines” like I was stupid to even ask.

After several coffees Rosada, inevitably, appeared again. “The car is WAITING!” she said frantically. I really had had enough by this point and politely explained we were paying, doing toilets stops and getting snacks, and that was that. I think she got it right about then and quietly disappeared. When we were ready, we unhurriedly made our way back to the van and there sat Martin, happy, calm and even vaguely surprised to see us so soon. It was time for yet another long ride to the airport for the next adventure.