Pondering Peru …

By this point we were getting used to cold showers and no running water, toilets that seem to recycle their contents for flushing purposes rather than flush them away … you do adapt frighteningly quickly. As my Uncle Dave said, welcome to the Third World. It’s like the Rhondda, but on a grander scale. But with flashes of utter brilliance, and the next one was one of those unplanned wonders. Lilia, our fab organiser, had arranged for us to stop at the Sillustani Chullpas on our way to the airport the next morning. We hadn’t even heard of them, but this remote, high place is now firmly established in my list of 20 places you must see before you die. Only 40 minutes from Puno and less from the appalling slum that is Juliaca, this is a spot surrounded by a lake, almost like a moat, high, high up on the Alto Plano. Here, for thousands of years palaeothic man through to and including the Incas buried their honoured dead. Only ten years ago did people stop using the sun temple for making offerings to the gods, and then only at the insistence of the management to preserve the ruins. It’s not the ruins themselves that are so special (but yup we did see more of those inexorable terraces and perfectly carved stones perfectly fitted without mortar). Its all about the location, and the stunning views. It is one of the most tranquil places we have had the privelege to visit and I have little doubt it sits on some kind of ley line. We were pretty much alone up there, with an unobtrusive guide who was hushed in respect for the place, and let us spend a lot of time just gazing.

It was a very welcome respite in what became an almost stupid schedule. From there to the airport for a couple of hours flight back to Lima, to be met by our big old private jeep that was to be our transport for the next couple of days, complete with laid back driver Martin who we loved, and not just because he let us smoke out the window! He just gauged us right, it was just us and him, and we had loads of room. It was just as well, as we jumped off the plane and straight into yet another 4 hour journey to get us down the coast to Pisco. I’m afraid we can’t rave about Pisco either … see Puno, Juliaca etc for details. But the next day was our trip to Nasca. And guess what? It wasn’t just round the corner, oh no. More than 7 hours we spent in the bus getting to and from the lines. We just hadn’t done enough homework on the sheer size of Peru, and I am stunned that the kids took it so easily in their stride. Jenna and I had never planned to overfly the lines, and Rhys subsequently decided he didn’t want to either, so the three of us basically spent an entire day sweating through the desert to sit and watch a BBC video about the mysteries of the Nascas and their incredible, unexplained pictures visible only from the air. We did also climb the observation tower. I was determined to do it, though it was almost as hard for me as the similar iron staircase I had frozen on at Sigirya in Sri Lanka on our honeymoon – my first ever vertigo experience! Still, I wasn’t coming all that way not to see a single line. Now Rowan is desperate to blog about Nasca and I certainly don’t want to spoil it … blinking amazing, though.

We then sweated back through the hundreds and hundreds of kilometers of proper, barren desert that lie here, south of Lima, squashed between the Pacific and the Andes. Now we had been looking forward to what Lilia had described, word for word in the itinerary as “Later on, transportation to The Restaurant “Las Dunas Hotel” in Ica for lunch and relaxing time for your children (Include recreational services in the hotel).” Well the lunch came, but our driver Martin was that day accompanied by the extremely irritating Rosada, our “guide” with whom we had reckoned without. Where Martin got the balance just right, she didn’t click with us at all. We think she was there because she spoke some English, whereas Martin spoke none. But we could have so done without it. While we gazed longingly at the pools, giant chessboards, bar, gardens and play park at the hotel, Rosada informed us we had one hour to eat our lunch and then we had to return to Pisco as we were having a city tour. We should have refused, but she was an unstoppable train of a woman and I think by this point we were just too flabbergasted and too darned tired. I was extremely crochety, and once again I can only marvel at the kids for their tolerance, patience and sheer good natures. They did ask several times WHY we couldn’t just stay and play … and we really had no good answer. I was sulky and horrid. We also saw that there are some really quite pukkha places to stay, Las Dunas being one, and the nearby natural oasis amongst the sand dunes being another. We were staying in anything like this luxury and though our lot wasn’t bad, you don’t want your nose rubbed in it by having all these glimpses!

Joe was masterful on the return journey and point blank refused the city tour. It was 5.00pm when we got back and we all just crawled into comatose vegging mode.

The next day we were supposed to be rid of the accursed Rosada, and be back in the quiet with good old Martin. But no: she flagged us down at the side of the road and hopped in!! We groaned inwardly as she jollily road with us on our quick trip to Paracas (again as proposed by the fabulous Lilia) on our way back to Lima and the airport once again. Well thank goodness she did not come with us on the speedboat as I think I would have had to throttle her. We said our goodbyes once again, and she did redeem herself slightly by commenting how well behaved our kids were. Gratefully we climbed into a panga with no real idea of what we were going to look at or what Paracas was all about, we just knew that after another ridiculously early start we would be rejoining Martin as 10.00am.

I think at this point I had better let Joe rave about Paracas and the Islas Balleastas, as my view of them was slightly marred by keeping my eyes firmly shut for the most part … all shall become clear …