Paracas: Sea, Ceviche and Sand Boarding

Our first of three buses picked us up from the hotel at midday. Shabby buildings, graffiti and older men sitting by the curb became increasingly common the closer we got to the Lima bus station. One notable sight was a ramshackle jenga stack of sticks, which turned out to be the foundations of a half-finished building. I'm no engineer, but I'm pretty sure Mel and I achieve greater stability in gingerbread houses using skewers and icing. 

The second bus drove us out of the city and along the coast to Paracas, a desert-edged seaside town. Along the four hour drive, the landscape switched it up from stark monotone desert to green paddocks, earthquake-surviving rubble houses with cacti out front, and ocean. Stepping off the luxury air-conditioned bus in Paracas, I looked around and got a bit of a shock. There were collarless dogs everywhere, wandering across roads and digging through garbage, many with patches of skin exposed and dangling teats and possible rabies. The streets were dusty and potholed, and more than a little rubbish blew down the road. What sort of hostel were we heading to?

A seriously nice one, actually. A minibus picked us up and rattled speedily through a good proportion of those potholes. (Where's a sports bra when you need it?) The road showcased a series of pungent smells, from seaweed to manure to something in between. And then we arrived, and what do you know? We were staying at a fully four-star resort equipped with a pool, deck chairs and a strong set of gates.

We chucked stuff in our rooms and headed out for a walk along the shore in the early evening breeze. We had to duck a volleyball net erected right across the main road, which kind of made me wonder what would happen in the event of actual traffic. The boardwalk by the sea was beautiful as the sun set, and it wasn't hard to see why Peru's millionaires had chosen this place for their fancy Sorrento-style holiday houses. 

We ate dinner at a seaside restaurant which remained disconcertingly empty of all patrons save ourselves for the duration of our visit. Niki, Kathy and I all chose to try the national dish, ceviche, which consists of lime-cooked fish accompanied by sweet potato, yam, enormous albino corn and onion. It was... interesting. Wouldn't choose it again, but that's cultural immersion for you. 

On the third morning of our tour, we took a speed boat out to see the Paracas national wildlife reserve and the Ballestas islands. I expected the boat to break into pieces every time it slammed down on a wave, which was often. Our thin, flimsy, cavernous life vests also left something to be desired - like all promise of life preservation. 

But when a Nasca line in the shape of a cactus came into view, all was forgotten. This ancient etching is visible from 10 to 12 kilometers away, and was used by pre-Incan shaman for ceremonial purposes. The lines are around 30 centimeters deep and owe their survival to the rarity of rainfall in the Pisco region. 

But even sacred lines pale in comparison to smelly, fantastic wildlife. Everyone snapped to attention the moment the first sea lions came into view, followed closely by penguiniños (a breed called 'humble penguins'), seals, starfish, sea spiders (big red crabs), massive pelicans and about a million sea birds. The islands must smell like money to the guano-selling government, but 'money' wasn't the word that came to mind as we floated by. 

The second activity of the day was a winery tour and tasting. Here we discovered the secrets of making pisco sour, the national drink. We then admired the pisco taste several times, and wound up the proceedings with a chocolate pecan tester. 

All in all, this was not the best way to prepare for what followed: a rollercoaster dune buggy ride up and horrifyingly down mammoth sand dunes. Who convinced me to put up my hand for sand boarding? I'm sure it's all Niki's fault. As the sand buggy roared its way up, up, up into the desert, I completely disgraced myself by yelling my lungs out for a good twenty minutes. I hadn't realized what I was signing up for, though the extreme strap-around seatbelts and the hugely visible sand dune forest should have given me a clue. 

Once up at the peak of a sand dune, the view made everything worthwhile. The actual sand boarding was good fun, too. I lay flat on my stomach on a repurposed snowboard, held on to Velcro straps for dear life, squeezed my elbows in, flung my legs to either side, and over the crest I went! I beat everyone's distances on the third and steepest slope, yes indeed. 

Before heading back down the final dune to the little resort town, we parked briefly and looked at the desert oasis below. I couldn't quite believe that the spread of blue water was naturally occurring. It was like I'd stepped into that Tintin comic, you know, the one where Thompson and Thomson have the crazy beard bubbles. 

Such an action-packed day could hardly finish there. Having acted the massive klutz all day, dropping my camera four times and flipping a fork on myself, I could hardly avoid that first bout of Peruvian food poisoning, could I? Alas. Thus was under-refrigerated dairy added to the Fiona-Killing list.