20 May 2013
This morning started with a boat ride out to the Ballesteros Islands, where there were such a ridiculous number of birds that Hitchcock could film a sequel there (if he were still alive).
More than 200,000 boobies, cormorants, Inca terns, penguins, pelicans and other varieties call the Ballesteros and nearby boats their home, and you are greeted by the delightful scent of wet feathers and bird poo. Speaking of which, the entrepreneurial Peruvians harvest the poo and sell it to the English, Canadians and Americans for fertiliser. The first time they harvested it, it was some 10 metres deep. (This is probably where the joke about being in deep... trouble... originated.)
The islands also featured more sea lions basking, swimming and fishing in the sea. These big, wet Labrador-like animals are still my favourites so far. From the boats we could also see huge drawings of what kind of resembled candlesticks on nearby mountains, a little like the Nazca lines.
It was morning tea time by the time we reached shore again, so a winery tour and Pisco taste test was in order. The winery was in a desolate area, surrounded by sand dunes. The guide told us it hadn’t rained there in 16 years. Yep. And we think we have water problems here. They nourish the plants and themselves with water from underground rivers.
We learned the how pisco is made – from harvesting the grapes in March and crushing them with feet (or machinery for the more hygienic among us), to fermentation for two weeks, distillation, and eventual maturation, which takes three to four months. Seven kilos of grapes make one litre of pisco. This alcoholic treat is made into a variety of beverages, including pre-mixed pisco sours for the youngens, a range of wines, and a delicious Bailey’s-like mix involving pisco, figs and milk. The kids on our tour didn’t fare so well with the samples, especially when they entered into drinking competitions with the locals.
The winery also stocks local jams made from custard apple, lucuma, mango and fig (all rather tasty). And lots of different chocolates (our favourite being a pecan–soft caramel combo).
Not far from the winery was a little town called Ica, where we stopped for lunch (salad and asparagus ceviche, if you’re interested). Ica is essentially an oasis in the desert, built around a spring that feeds a little lake and surrounded by huge sand dunes. Some of the others on our tour went surfing on the sand dunes and driving around in buggies, but we just chilled and walked around, and swam in the hotel’s pool.
Ica seems like a forgotten town. The buildings are tired and run down. Skinny, weather-beaten dogs lie in the street, hot and thirsty, and covered in sand and twigs. The people look so tired and weather beaten too, worn and almost defeated. And yet, Ica looks like it would have once been a beautiful and elegant town, with huge bougainvilleas still climbing up archways, covered in gorgeous purple and pink blooms, and palm trees lining the promenade. You can even hire paddle boats to take out on the lake. You could almost imagine ladies in big skirts with sun umbrellas and men in straw hats walking along the promenade together, or laughing out on the water in boats, or sipping on Pisco Sours at a café by the water.
The bus trip to Nasca took about two and a half hours, with stunning scenery of great expanses of pretty much nothing but sand. Sand edged with mountains of sand, so white it looked like snow. The sand was peppered with the odd house or shop, and by house or shop, I mean shanty made from reeds and sticks, or the odd concrete block. It looks like such a hard place to live, and such a harsh life to lead. At sunset, we passed over the mountain ridge, the sky and clouds hot pink above the rugged ranges as we descended the other side. The land was rippled and rough. On the other side of the mountain range was a town. And in huge contrast to the sandy desert we’d just driven across, the town was well built and ever so green, its fields filled with vegetables and fruit.
We stopped at a tall tower overlooking some of the Nasca lines. It was getting dark and very cold by then, so we didn’t stay long. We climbed to the top of the tower, to see the highly prized, strange, white cartoons drawn on the land. Lines that have somehow survived for thousands of years and whose true meaning is probably lost. The only one we could really see was a candelabra or cactus-like image, similar to the one we saw on the Ballestros hillside.
The hotel was basic and quite out of town, so we had a simple dinner there, with lemon juice and bad wine. Not able to catch up on the latest episode of Criminal Minds or CSI due to the lack of cable, we made do with conversation and reading to pass the time before bed. So very quaint! At least we had a room though – people on different tours were camping in the hotel garden.
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