Huacachino

First day in Huacachina was kicked off with moonbuggying in the desert! Absolutely incredible engines on these vehicles. Was like a rollercoaster, but without the perceived safety regulations. We sped up and down sand dunes at incredible speeds, wearing nothing but a loose seat belt, designed in such a way as to seriously put your manhood at risk.

Then every 10 minutes we would park at the top of a dune and launch ourselves down the steepest hill we could find with a “sandboard” velcroed to our feet. I can´t recommend it enough! From my enthusiastic, yet rather unimpressive attempts, I think it mainly differs from snowboarding in the sense that there seems to be no conceivable way to control your direction on a sandboard (please correct me if this is also the case on a snowboard). You only hope that there will be no long-term damage when you eventually fail to maintain balance at ever increasing velocity and hit the surprisingly hard sand face first.

We finished the afternoon watching the sun set over the desert. This was so striking when all you could see was sand for miles in every direction. Our hotel lay nearby, in a mini complex surrounding a natural oasis, situated deep in the desert. This was our home for the next 6 days.

Spanish lessons started here again, but this time with a lot more focus on conversation practise. Each day we had a two hour lesson followed by an hour of one-on-one Spanish conversation. Very intense, but really rewarding.

Mads, John and I decided to make dinner for the group one day. I should mention, we weren´t the first to do this, nor the most successful, but we would argue we got the most positive reaction. Cooking for 19 (15 plus 2 leaders and 2 spanish teachers) is no easy task, but the others did an incredible job with some succulently appetising cuisine. We however went simple with something we knew was craved the most: good old fashioned English bangers and mash with onion gravy. It went down a treat.

The final night in Huacachino the group went wine tasting at a local winery. We each tried shot-glass sized tasters of a range of different wines, as well as a drink known as Pisco. The wines were deliciously fruity and at a price equivalent to 3 sterling pounds per gallon, we couldn´t really resist buying as much as we could carry.

On the way to the brewery everyone had spotted a bar nearby with a neon sign representing the figure of a rather skimpily dressed woman in a compromising position. The group was quickly convinced that an evening in this establishment was essential to fully appreciate Peruvian culture. All our girls, in particular our two Spanish teachers, were very excited by the prospect of such a visit. Especially as women entering a strip club is completely unheard of in most of South America. Luckily for us, a group of around 15 has a significant amount of bargaining power. So at 9:30 in the evening we were all sat together around a table covered in half empty pitchers of Peruvian Cristal beer (my favourite), while unexpectedly modestly dressed girls paraded around finding excited middle-aged men to dance with. In fact, so modestly dressed were these women that after a while, one of our so-far-disappointed Spanish teachers approached the manager asking if one of the girls might be persuaded to remove her clothing and maybe even perform a little dance. We couldn´t believe this was happening. After promising him that our group, which in all fairness made up half their clientele, would buy another round of drinks, the seedy music soon hit. Following a quick clothing removal exercise involving a pole, a totally nude woman was strolling around the room, paying particular attention to the men in our group who had apparently been recommended by our faithful teacher.

Apart from this fruitful event, prompted by our now very giggly teacher, the bar turned out to resemble a completely regular Spanish club, with lots of cheesy 80´s hits, lots of Shakira and the odd Salsa track thrown in. A great night was had by all and regrettably, embarrassing stories were at a minimum the following day.

Pisco

Our next destination was Pisco; home of the Ballestas islands and a desert that was once at the bottom of the ocean. The Ballestas islands are a group of rocky islands covered entirely in birds, and consequently, large volumes of bird excrement. Apparently, as a fertiliser it is more valuable than oil in the tonne load, though I have a sneaking suspicion that our tour guide was exaggerating, just a tad. The desert seemed similar to any usual desert, the only difference being that the rocks jotted about were not made of rock but were large clumps of salt forced together over hundreds of years.

After only one night in Pisco we took the local bus (together with all 17 of our rucksacks) to Ica, then taxis to Huanchaco. This is where the fun really started. The only sore point about this place occurred before we´d even walked through the door to our hotel. As our taxi pulled up to the hotel, I made the critical mistake of paying the taxi fare before we had emptied the boot. As we stepped out, the driver pulled the door closed and rapidly pulled off with all of Aaron´s possessions stashed in the back. Aaron gave chase in another taxi, but his bag was long gone.

Unfortunately this wasn´t the first thing to be lost on our expedition. On an average week at least two members of our group will complain of getting something stolen (mainly cameras, jewellery, clothing and money). It´s crazy, but it really takes something as extreme as this to faze us (hence the mention here). In Mancora, James, a friend often assumed to be my brother (based on charm and good looks, I´m sure...), had his wristwatch stolen poolside. Later that day we found it nailed to a wall as a wall clock in a family´s front room. James walked in and removed it. The family barely bashed an eyelid.

Theft is so common here, as the possessions that mean so little to us are worth a month´s wages to the average Peruvian. Aaron´s main regret in losing his luggage was that it contained a travel journal with two years worth of entries and souvenirs; the only thing that couldn´t be sold.

Ecuador

Only four of us dared to, but we were prepared. We emptied our pockets of anything valuable, holding only our passport and enough money to get us there and back. Our plan: to cross the border. Our motivation: to get an Ecuadorian stamp. In travel, only the man with the most passport stamps is king!

The only problem with this border is that it has a well-established reputation for con men, muggers and kidnappings. As insurance I brought my credit card (My assumption was that most kidnappers are likely to accept Visa…).

We grabbed the first taxi from outside our hostel and headed into the desert. Quickly there was nothing to see but sand and road, plus a few sets of road works here and there. Directing traffic at these road works seemed like quite a prestigious job; always performed by pretty women, all dressed up in attractive clothing, wearing make-up and large hoop earrings. They waved their flags with pride.

The first stop was Peruvian immigration. Explaining in Spanish to the officer in charge that we only planned to spend ten minutes in Ecuador was the main challenge. He seemed convinced that we were confused. To get our stamps we stamp out of Peru, into Ecuador, out of Ecuador, then back into Peru. My Ecuadorian entry visa welcomes me for up to 90 days. My exit visa was stamped 30 seconds later.

The most amazing part was the border itself. In the middle of nowhere a dried-out man-made river defines the line where the two adjacent countries meet. A rather battered looking bridge joins the two. One end welcomes you to Peru while the other welcomes to Ecuador. As we walked warily across, knowing that our taxi driver had refused to join us, we couldn´t help but wonder who would take responsibility, were we to be pillaged here and now in no man´s land. On either side of this bridge was the most densely packed market I had ever seen. At every point we were pushing through, attempting to look as uncompromising as we could, while well-practiced hands regularly explored our pockets for expensive goodies. Unfortunately, but for good reason, we have no photo evidence of this bustling trading arena.

The road to Tombes

Today we left Mancora behind and headed north to Tombes. The minibus we booked only had seats for 3/4 of us, but after some serious persuasion by Aaron, the driver agreed that it was better to squeeze us all in, than to sit the remaining three on the roof with the bags. We even had to pay to buy extra seats so they wouldn´t sell the so-called “spaces” to a couple more passengers. Within a matter of half an hour the vehicle gave in under the weight, steam fizzling from the engine. The driver explained it was all part of the experience, so we all rolled out while the driver used our spare drinking water to cool down the engine. In all fairness to him, we did break down twice more, but none-the-less arrived fully in tact.

Huanchaco and Mancora

Our first overnight coach of the trip took us to Huanchaco, a small coastal holiday town, very quiet in this winter season. Visited the ruined remains of a few lost civilisations, all of which had been wiped out by the Incas hundreds of years before the Spaniards ever set foot on Peru. But mostly we just took advantage of the TV in our room, watching dubbed spanish TV while tucked up in bed, feeling sorry for ourselves. I for one definitely felt this was the best route to recovery. Before you judge too harshly… bear in mind that TV is the closest thing we have to home (now that I read this back… it sounds kinda sad!).

Mostly we just watched Fox News for its entertainment value. My favourite quote, on the morning after a suicide bomber failed to blow up a Merc outside London´s Tiger Tiger nightclub, was the following: “So John (English Correspondent), what will be the English response to this shocking incident? In particular, have they revealed yet if the investigation will be led by the police, or will Scotland Yard take charge?” “Well Bill, Scotland Yard is actually just the name of a building here in London, so the investigation will be fully controlled by the police…”

We went for dinner one night at a Hill Billy restaurant started by and run by a genuine red-neck. Proper country western music played in the background while we were served ice tea poured into our glasses straight from a bucket. We were given a plastic tray, similar to those in prison movies, with a dollop of corn bread, a sea of refried beans and some other indistinguishable mush (apparently vegetables). We could then have as much BBQ meat as we wanted, provided of course that we could find any among the layers of fatty rind. And yes, this was in fact equally as appetising as it sounds. This was Aaron, our American tour leader´s, idea of getting his reminder of home.

From Huanchaco we took our second 8 hour overnight coach to Mancora. Our room sat facing a gorgeous surfing beach. The sun shone hot, the water was clear and the waves were strong. During the day we swam, played volley ball and had spanish lessons in the sunshine. At night countless bars opened up onto the beach. Small bonfires were lit and logs and blankets formed seating around each while candles of varying size provided additional lighting. The music wasn´t exactly authentic, generated through large amplified speakers placed tactically in the sand, but with the crashing waves and a starlit sky the overall result was a cosy and comfortable atmosphere. We were here for the next 10 days. I already want to go back.

Huaraz

The last five days have been intense. After an 8 hour bus ride we were in Huaraz, 3000m above sea level. From this base, a town surrounded by a stunning ice-tipped mountain range, we set off each day to explore what is considered some of the most beautiful scenery in the Andes. We saw lakes and mountains, and climbed to the top of a glacier.

One town we passed through had a fascinating tradition. The women wear red skirts if married and green otherwise. However, if their husbands are away they raise a green flag above their house. I’m sure there’s a tasteful explanation for this…

Another trip took us to Yungay Hermosura; a town that 35 years ago had been covered by an avalanche in a matter of 3 minutes. This place had a particularly sad feel to it. It had never been excavated and only a few remains reach out from below the soil, under which most the town people are still buried. The only survivors were the town’s children who were out of town at a circus for the day.

After the 4th day it all went downhill however. We had all just climbed to the top of a glacier; no one went with the lazy option of a having a porter carry them to the top. At 5000m, altitude sickness hit us hard. That evening 11 of 15 of us were in bed with migraine and vomiting. Two days later I was in hospital connected to an IV drip. I’m sure that’s one of those experiences everyone should be able to tick off before they reach 30. Anyway, I’m currently on an all-soup diet and the doctor predicts diarrhoea tomorrow; another first for me. Can’t wait!

(I love this little guy)