I was bemused as Hayley chose to sit next to me, and true to form, spread her gear across the seat, so no one could fit next to us. Thinking back now, the pattern for transport seating was set there, on that journey, as it seemed the group intuitively filed to allotted places on whatever mode of transportation we travelled on for the whole trip. I tried repeatedly to subvert the order but never fully succeeded.
We sped south through the grey desert moonscape, overtaking every vehicle we encountered without exception, ‘til we turned off to a set of huge golden sand dunes, surrounding a verdant oasis, punctuated by a generous pond.
The tree lined pond served as a focal point for a gaggle of restaurants, with the paths around and between lined with tiny shop stalls, each with complete a woman fanning herself and selling Peruvian souvenirs…the ubiquitous llamas, sun hats embroidered with ‘Peru’, miniature pan pipe brooches and the most colourful fabric on the planet with rainbows woven into each bolt. The main attraction here though was the sand, and one could opt to go careening up and down the tall, steep dunes in a sand buggy, as well as surf the sand hills. My companions all took up this unique opportunity, but it was not for me. Speeding crazily up and down sand dunes sounded like torture and I chose instead to explore the oasis, and to drink a cool beer in the shade while escaping the oppressive heat. Two beers and an hour or so later I was rejoined by my exhilarated and sandy friends, who at that moment no doubt thought me a boring killjoy as we ate lunch together over their stories of the amazing fun I had just missed. Yeah right, I thought!
Back on the bus – yes in our unofficially allotted seats, leaving the non-communicative Americans to the dunes, our next stop was at a Pisco distillery for a taste of the main ingredient of the famed Pisco Sour. Made from grapes, we were told that the fruit in Pisco is squashed by foot, in large concrete receptacles by salsa dancing, dusky maidens wearing micro mini skirts! It’s true! I saw the pictures! After quite a lengthy process the distilled Pisco goes into huge person sized earthenware jars with pointy ends to be bottled elsewhere. We tried 4 types of Pisco and they all tasted like rocket fuel. One was just a bit sweeter and we were told it helped to cause pregnancy (presumably with all the concurrent factors being optimal). Nonetheless Tedy, Hayley and I went thirds in a bottle to make some Pisco Sours at a later moment. For this section of the journey we had a new young couple come aboard the bus; Andreas and Andrea from the Canary Islands, him Spanish and her German. We all became friends instantly and met them variously all around Peru, becoming increasingly excited every time we saw them over the ensuing 3 weeks.
From the Pisco distillery it was on to the town of Nasca, deep in the desert. Enroute we stopped at a tall metal tower that cost 2 sol to climb where we tried to make out the outline of two the ancient desert drawings, or geoglyphs, known as the Nasca Lines. It was hard to see a hand and a tree at such a low level, so it wasn’t surprising to read that the Nasca Lines were only discovered by modern society in the 1930’s when they were overflown by a light aircraft.
Not unlike the candelabra at the Ballestas Islands, these 100’s of giant drawings across 500 square kilometres are still a mystery. They were created by the Nasca people a couple of thousand years ago by removing the top layer of red gravel, exposing the white gravel underneath, and no one has the answers to why they were produced in the first place. Modern scholars have worked out how the ancients drew these huge markers – the largest being over 270m long, but no one has figured out what was to be achieved by constructing these enduring and monumental sized depictions. The desert has protected the secret all this time as surely as it as protected the drawings themselves.
It was at Nasca Hayley realised she had lost her passport, although she insisted it had been stolen. If her bag had been emptied before in our room, it was comprehensively emptied this time, and although I felt sorry for her predicament I was not at all surprised by this revelation. Anyone who spread their gear out so broadly is sure to leave behind bits and pieces here and there. I guess they just hope it isn’t going to be their passport. Both Tedy and I offered support and advice but in the end using his computer and my iphone was all she was interested in. I was happy to help on the basis I would want this type of assistance should such a problem ever befall me. Unfortunately she was so distressed she forgot to thank either of us, for our technology or interest. Hmmm.
At Nasca we drove out into the desert to visit the pre Incan cemetery at Chauchilla that was uncovered and virtually destroyed by ancient grave robbers searching for treasure among the grave goods given to the dead to speed them comfortably on to the next world. So now just the desecrated, desiccated mummies bear witness to the past and scare the life out of the living. The desert has provided the protection for these 900 year old plus corpses, most still complete with hair and in some cases skin. A guide interpreted the site for us and by the 18th grave we were all corpse weary and happy to get out of the windy, sandy, dry desert and onto the bus.
On the way back to Nasca our eagle eyed bus driver spotted a pair of burrowing owls and a pair of Peruvian Thick-knees in the desert by the road. I was in raptures. Tedy was bemused and we all teased him that he hated birds. The next day while contemplating a swim in the pool at our hotel I noticed a small bright red bird flitting from branch to branch above the water. I manically chased it trying to get a better view when a voice from the pool calmly intoned – ‘vermillion flycatcher’. I turned to see a rather hairy fat man watching me trying to watch the bird. “Sorry?” I asked, not sure if I heard correctly. He repeated slowly ‘vermillion flycatcher’ as if I was impaired. I thanked him and as we struck up a conversation about birds, a tiny jade green and tan hummingbird hovered at eye level behind his head. Noticing my distraction he turned and identified it as a Peruvian hummingbird. It seemed I had hit on the mother lode. The hairy almost naked gentleman was a bird watching guide and friend to the foremost Peruvian ornithologist who had co-authored the field guide on Peruvian birds. I gasped as he told me Peru had 1,817 species of birds. He asked me what I had seen so far and reeled off a dozen birds that we were likely to see whilst in Nasca. With that he informed me that it was his day off, and invited me to join him in the pool. I blushed vermillion and ran off into the heat of the day after stammering a flimsy excuse to find myself a notebook to begin a bird list.
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