29th August: Goodbye to Mater Admirabilis

In the blink of an eye, my time at Mater Admirabilis school has come to an end. Yesterday was my last day volunteering, since Thursday and Friday are days off and on Monday I begin my adventures around the south of Peru.

Eleanor, Alex and I were thrown into the week as soon as we arrived on Monday morning, when we found out the presentation we were meant to be preparing was due to be performed in the next twenty minutes. It was just as well that I’d been prepared and had written out most of what I needed to say the day before, giving me just enough time to print it all off and run back downstairs in time for assembly.

This time, the weekly assembly had to start without the group of Fifth Graders marching in with the flag, since they were all away in Cusco - including Natsumi. They’d all gone on a trip from Saturday to Wednesday on what’s known as the ‘promoción’, to celebrate their imminent graduation. For this reason, assembly started straight away with the speeches, prayers, national anthem and hymn.

Soon it was time for us to get up and do our bit. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt quite so unprepared, but for some reason, even though I had to lead the whole thing and talk in front of over 600 people, I didn’t feel at all fazed by it. In the end, it all turned out surprisingly well, and the three parts of the presentation, which we hadn’t even practiced, fitted together seamlessly. I handled the introduction, with a bit of history on El día del Árbol (the equivalent of our National Tree Week); then Alex and Eleanor followed with more details. The aim was to raise awareness about the importance of trees for our environment - and to do this, we divided up tasks throughout the day to create a Giving Tree.

The Giving Tree consisted of a large cardboard trunk (generously supplied by the Art Department) Blu-Tacked onto a board in the SUM Room. We cut out templates of leaves and distributed them to each class in the school, and each student was asked to write a message (in English) on the leaf, and to tack it to the tree until it was in full bloom. Cutting out over 600 leaves was an epic task but the end result was lovely.

That day, as well as attending a Humanities class in which I learnt a surprising amount about the EU economy, I went to two English classes. One was with Ursula, whose English is excellent and who all the kids love. Her class consisted of the hearing of the song ‘What’s Going On?’ by 4 Non Blondes - filling in the gaps and analysing the content. 

The other class, however, was a different story altogether. The teacher, whose knowledge of spoken English is fairly good, was left completely out of her depth when faced with explaining the conditional mood. It was obvious from the moment the class began that she didn’t have a clue, as she tried to begin using an incorrect example. Fortunately, I am embarrassingly keen on grammar and happen to know this topic inside out in both English and Spanish, so was able to step in. At first, I tried to stay back, not wanting to embarrass the teacher, but eventually, when all the girls were asking me to explain it to them, the poor teacher had to admit defeat and asked me to take the rest of the class. With the help of some Spanish and English examples and a bit of context to go with the rules, I soon had everyone coming up and having a go with their own sentences on the board. By the end of the lesson I felt like I’d made a real breakthrough. The blackboard was covered in a colourful array of conditional sentences, and I had to have a photo with all the girls in front of it (even if one sentence did say, “If I had been born earlier, I would have married Harry Styles”). I can’t believe even Peru hasn’t escaped the One Direction mania; they’re coming here in concert, and all the girls are obsessed and have got all the merchandise.

After school, I had a phone call from Pily to say she was on her way to drop off Nicole’s lunch, since Nicole forgotten to take it with her, so did I want a lift home. Never one to turn down a free ride, I gladly accepted. I then spent the afternoon writing up the last epic blog entry, writing postcards and doing online orders for people back home (who will remain nameless for obvious reasons).

The next day, as soon as I arrived I set about sticking up the Giving Tree with the other two volunteers, and initiated the sticking of the leaves. Then I had to go and help in 3A, who were doing plurals of animals. By the end of the lesson, even I was unsure of the spelling of ‘chickens’, I’d seen it written out so many times. I also had to explain the concept of the Giving Tree and draw examples on the board in several classrooms to help give the children - and the teachers - a better idea of the concept.

After the first break, I skipped French to wait for one of the teachers, who was going to record a video of me. The school does this for every volunteer who comes to them on the VolunTeach programme; we have to make a video talking about ourselves, our experiences in Peru and what we think of the school and the country. I hate seeing myself on film so this was quite a traumatic experience; I was genuinely shocked when I heard how posh I sounded. Not only that, but I had to recite the whole thing by heart, which was unbelievably nerve-racking. It didn’t take very long, but afterwards I realised I’d made an embarrassing mistake in the last few minutes and needed to redo it.

My last lesson of the day was in First Grade, who were, as always, ecstatic to see me. This time, it being my last lesson with them, I was mobbed even more than usual and at one point a fight almost broke out about who was allowed to sit on my lap (a pile-on ensued). Miss Cruz, who is only 19 but a lot better at handling a group of twenty tiny kids than I am even now, let me take over the lesson and teach the kids some songs. When I began to run short, I resorted to the classic ‘Five Fish’ - which I’ve come to realise no one actually knows apart from me, but it is epic nevertheless. The lyrics are as follows:

“Five fish, they swam in the ocean blue,

Up, and down, and to, and fro,

They flapped their flippers and wiggled their tails,

Nobody knows if they’re frightened of whales.

How many fish,

How many fish,

How many fish have we?”

The song then continues until there are no fish left. Evidently the lyrics were a bit complicated for the five-year-old Peruvian girls, but they watched me sing in absolute awe.  I soon had them all taking turns to be fish, which they loved.

As soon as we all finished class at 1.05, Alex and I went to collect Amy from her school ten minutes down the road, before we met Eleanor back at our school and took a taxi into town together.

Our first stop in Lima central was the Cathedral, since we’d all been trying to make the time to see it since we’d arrived. For S./10 (£2.50) per person, we got a personal guided tour, in English, of the whole cathedral, which lasted over half an hour. It was well worth the visit; the Cathedral has a fascinating history. It was inaugurated on 18th January 1535, the very day of the foundation of the city of Lima. The first church was relatively simple, but constant repairs due to the damages caused by numerous earthquakes led to expansions including three additional naves and a side chapel. By the 17th century, the building had grown into an immense Baroque cathedral, a reflection of the importance of the Catholic Church in colonial times.

These works were continued over the course of the following centuries. Eventually the architects decided on a lighter structure, with pillars and ceiling arches constructed from, incredibly, wood and coated in plaster, enabling more flexibility of movement during earthquakes. The resulting structure is an impressive combination of styles from Renaissance to Neoclassical, and now consists of a central nave with two side aisles and thirteen chapels. The first of these chapels is home to the grave of Francisco Pizarro, a Spanish conquistador and the founder of Lima, who was responsible for the original church’s design and layout. Unfortunately he was brutally assassinated by his own people, and analysis of his skeleton has shown he was stabbed an impressive fourteen times. The other chapels hold immense sculptures to the saints, as well as their relics (a small part of the body which is preserved after their death). Most important is the chapel of Rose de Lima, who was the first person of the Americas to be canonized by the Catholic Church. Her relic is part of her little finger.

After seeing the magnificent organ, which is now out of use (since repair works would cost an excessive 9 million euros), we were taken through the old sacristy and the adjoining rooms, which house the Religious Art Museum of the Cathedral of Lima. Here we saw religious art created in Peru. The interesting part of this was the different perspective the Peruvian artists had taken on the religious scenes to make it more accessible to the Peruvian public. For example, in all the works from Cusco, the religious figures had the bright rosy cheeks characteristic of the local people.

We were then taken down into the crypt - which I was slightly wary about, given the unpleasant surprise I’d had last time I’d gone underneath a church. Fortunately, it appeared that there were no skeletons in sight - until our guide told us to take a look behind us. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw the massive glass cabinet full of skulls. 

By the time we’d finished the tour we were starving, so we decided to head straight into the centre to grab some lunch. After being approached by two guys from two restaurants that were right next door to each other and had almost identical menus, resulting in a stressful and prolonged decision, we finally sat down at one of them to order. It was an impressive selection, with three sets of three-course meals - vegetarian, seafood and meat - each with over ten options to choose from. Deciding to make the most of the opportunity to try more Peruvian food, I opted for the seafood menu and ordered causa de langostinos (Peruvian yellow potato, mashed, with shrimps and a mayonnaise-like sauce) and sudado de pescado (boiled fish with onions, peppers, garlic and tomatoes in a rich red sauce). To drink, we each had a small complimentary Pisco sour and a chicha morada, a Peruvian soft drink made from purple maize, boiled with chunks of pineapple, quinces, cinnamon and cloves.

It was after 5 o’clock when we’d finished lunch, so all the tourist attractions were closing. We all needed to buy a few things, so walked to Gran Vía. Whilst there, we stopped off at the supermarket (where, unfortunately, the over-friendly security guard recognised me from last time) and bought ginger ale, grenadine, Pisco and limes to make cocktails later.

At around 7.30 we took a taxi together to Evelyn’s flat. Evelyn is the psychology teacher I met during my first week at the school but I hadn’t had chance to meet up with  her until then. She’d invited us all round for drinks, as her friend Javier had arrived from Spain that day to stay in Peru for three months. It also happened to be his birthday, giving us twice the excuses for celebration.

Evelyn lives with her husband in an attractive and modern block of flats right on the  Lima sea front. We stayed for a few hours, chatting, drinking and eating an incredible Peruvian take on birthday cake called torta helada. This cake consists of three layers: sponge cake, followed by jelly mixed with milk, followed by strawberry jelly. It may sound a bit bizarre but it really does work.

When it started getting late, I had a phone call from Pily, wondering what time I’d be back. I’d texted her earlier in the day with a rough time but she must have got worried after not hearing from me since then. At any rate, I felt a bit guilty at the thought of them waiting up for me, so decided to make my excuses. All the other VolunTeach girls did the same, and Evelyn accompanied us downstairs to hail us a taxi.

It so happened that the taxi we ended up in was driven by a young guy who was up for a bit of laugh. He had pop music on the radio and it wasn’t long before we had Flo Rider blasting and were all dancing and singing along. When we starting singing Adele at the top of our voices, I did feel a bit sorry for his poor ears, and Eleanor found it hilarious that I was the only one managing to sing it in tune.

I was almost reluctant to get out the taxi when we arrived at my apartment, but once I was there dived straight into bed. I would have to get up especially early the next day since I hadn’t had chance to wash my hair before bed.

Yesterday was my last day at Mater Admirabilis. As soon as I arrived, I met Oscar to re-film the last part of my video. Then, my first class was with Third Grade of secondary school, who were having a debate on religion. As you can imagine, in a catholic country like Peru, this got fairly fraught and it was a relief when it was over. Then I had ten minutes to show the class some pictures of me and my family and some videos of the family bands, which they’d been bursting to see. Both the Third Grade classes seem to have developed a strange and inexplicable crush on my brother, which started when they found out he was a musician and is now bordering on an obsession.

After break, I had my last French lesson. The lovely French teacher had finally found his files on verb conjugation I’d asked him for and had brought his USB drive to lend me - but of course, by this time, it was too late. He asked me to write down my email address so he could send it to me. I’m such a swot.

Both Eleanor and I were at a loose end after the next break, so decided to go with the lovely Tina Cruz, the teacher I know from First Grade, over the road to help in kindergarten. The kids had no idea about English but they were really quite cute. After that, we had a bit of free time before the last two periods, which I was spending with the other Third Grade secondary class. 

They were doing the same lesson as the other group but their debate was even more intense. The problem with both groups, but particularly this one, was that they were all taking the topic way too seriously and were getting genuinely offended by each other’s comments. The topic was “Religion plays an important role in modern society”, but they started arguing about whether God actually exists. As you can imagine, things got a bit tense.

Before I knew it, the bell was ringing and my last day at Mater Admirabilis was over. I went down to the playground to meet the others, who were already sitting eating lunch. It’s no wonder we’re always cold here; it’s such an outdoor culture that we eat outside and have all the windows open even though it’s the middle of winter.

After lunch, we all went our separate ways for a few hours before meeting back at the school at 6.30 for the despedida (farewell party) that the school was hosting for me. Apparently, this is the first depedida the school has ever hosted for a VolunTeach student, so it’s quite nice to be the one to start the tradition. I arrived with Pily and Natsumi, who had returned from Cusco that day. I hadn’t been expecting any of this until I was informed on Monday, and it was lovely to see all the effort they’d gone to. It had all been set up in the SUM room - a big table of drinks and snacks; balloons tied to the ceiling and scattered about the room, and a massive display with photos and posters that people had signed with well-wishing farewell messages. On the top of the board Ursula had written, on behalf of the First Grade, “We will miss our Shakira!” She couldn’t wait to tell everyone the story of how they’d insisted I looked like Shakira and had ordered me to sing.

Lots of teachers and some students from Upper School had turned out for the little gathering, as well as the other volunteers, their families and Evelyn and her husband and friend, who was also being welcomed to the school as a new teacher. Ursula had everyone write a message on a balloon, then made a speech thanking me, after which I had to read some of the messages aloud. They presented me with a CD made by students of the school, then it was time for the toast and a few snacks before people started to drift home.

When the three of us got back to the flat, Natsumi and I set out all the balloons, photos and posters in my room and took photos. Then I sat and chatted with Nicole before sitting down for a family dinner. I can’t believe I have to say goodbye to everyone so soon; I’m really going to miss them.

25th August: Another Amazing Weekend

It’s Sunday evening and the end of another incredible weekend in Peru. I’d never imagined it possible to experience such a variety of cultures and landscapes in one country but Peru has exceeded all my expectations. I feel like I could spend three months here and still not see it all.

Firstly, I should mention my last day at school this week. I woke up at 6am sharp to talk to my mum on Skype about my project. After a considerable amount of stress and confusion we finally managed to get one part finished - with the most difficult part left to go. By this time, it was 6.30 and I couldn’t afford to spend any more time on it, or I’d be late to school.

I arrived at school and went straight to the computer room as usual, to check some more of my project. Then, in first period I had my favourite class, the First Grade. As always, there was great excitement when I entered the room, closely followed by an immense group hug, generous offerings of yet more stickers and another round of compliments. I was given Barbie stickers that day, since I look so much like her, apparently. One of the girls is also insistent that her mum is going to make me a dress and a crown because I’m a princess.

In second period I had French (which I’m beginning to get quite good at, surprisingly). This was followed by Fourth Grade English, with whom I haven’t actually had a full lesson yet - as last week was the celebration of El Día del Niño and this week was El Día Mundial del Folklore. International Folklore Day, as it is in English, was initiated by UNESCO in 1846, when the British archeologist William G. Thorns first used the term ‘folklore’ in an article for the London magazine ‘Atheneum’.

Folklore is the authentic expression of a civilization’s traditions, legends, customs, music, dance, etc., which distinguish one culture from another. The term was created through the combination of the words ‘folk’ (people) and ‘lore’ (knowledge) to refer to the ancestral manifestation of the world’s cultures, which still exist today, passed down the generations.

In Peru, which probably has the most rich folklore of all the Americas, celebration of this day is encouraged, especially in schools. The education system is trying to ensure that, with the influx of Western culture, Peruvians don’t forget their own heritage. In Mater Admirabilis, where I teach, we therefore hosted a performance of traditional Peruvian music and dance from a local troop. Benches and chairs were set out on the playground and the whole school came to watch the traditional performances representing the three aspects of Peru: coast, mountains and jungle.

We were lucky enough that, that very afternoon, the sun decided to come out properly for the first time since I’d been in Lima, and it was warm enough even to take off my jacket and gloves. The performance was fascinating, and more incredible still is the fact that the dances and costumes came from tribes that still exist in Peru today. The thought of sharing a country with such ancient tribes, who speak no modern languages and are completely cut off from the outside world, is unfathomable. At the end of the performance, the audience was invited to get up and join the dance - and before I knew it, I was being dragged up by Eleanor and Alex. Being the only gringas in sight, we attracted the attention of the dancers, who gave us their hats and crowns and showed us how to copy their dance.

That afternoon, the cultural experience continued when my Upper School English class was interrupted for us to pay a visit to the small folklore exhibition that had been set up downstairs. It only took a few minutes to walk around, but it was interesting to see the little collection of crafts and artifacts from traditional areas of Peru.

The rest of the afternoon was spent helping in the Second Grade of Upper School, who were doing a comprehension exercise on English poetry. When you consider that they are only the equivalent of Year 8 and are doing comprehension exercises on William Blake, this is pretty impressive - especially considering the antiquated language used and complex concepts explored by this eighteenth century poet. 

After school, I had to rush back to the flat to talk to my mum on Skype again before it got too late in England. Over an hour and a half later, we’d finally finished up, and although I was still a little concerned, I knew this was the best we were going to get. I trust my mum entirely; there’s a reason why I myself am this organised, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t come from my dad’s side, much as I love him.

At any rate, my poor mum had got herself into such a state with it all, trying to get it all in the right order and up to my standards of presentation, that I felt awful. To cheer her up, I decided to introduce her to Rex the house bunny, who was hopping around the living room, playing with a plastic football bigger than he is. When Natsumi came in, it seemed only right to introduce her too, and it was at this point that she spontaneously came out with such spotless American English that I nearly fell off my chair in shock. How could I not have know this, all this time?

By this time it was getting late in England so we soon said our goodbyes. I then had just a few hours to shower and get ready before leaving for the bus station, where I was meeting Amy and catching an eight-hour bus north to Huaraz. Since I had a bit of time to spare and Nicole was bored and lonely, I sat and watched Disney’s Teen Movie with her, which she’d already told me about excitedly a few days before and which she was desperate for me to see.

At 9.30 Rafael, Pily’s nephew, came to pick me up in his taxi again. This time, since it wasn’t a ridiculous time in the morning, we managed to have a nice long chat all the way to the station - about Lima, about politics, about racism - anything we could think of. Apparently, racism is a big issue in Peru - and contrary to what you might think, the lighter the skin, the better, even here. Rafael, who is quite pale by Hispanic standards, told me that he gets to take advantage of this because customers are more likely to choose a taxi driver with lighter skin and to pay him more.

He explained the expression to me: “El que no tiene de Inga tiene de Mandinga”, which basically means that every Peruvian has either some indigenous or African blood. This is because the country has built up a huge mix of races, beginning with the arrival of the Spanish Conquistadors in the sixteenth century and continuing with the influx of African slaves, Chinese labourers and migrants from Japan and Europe. Despite this mix, there is a deep-rooted racism issue here, meaning that people of certain races can only aspire to certain professions. The biggest issue, apparently, is that it’s seen as a joke and is therefore so common, even in the national media, that people don’t fight against it.

Anyway, after this brief Peruvian social education lesson, it was time to catch the bus. Amy was already sitting waiting in the terminal and it wasn’t long before we were on our way. The bus was modern and comfortable, with plenty of legroom, reclining seats and even our own blankets and pillows. Nevertheless, it was a long, restless night, with the draught from the window constantly waking me from my light sleep.

When 6am came around, it felt like I’d hardly slept at all, but there was nothing for it but to power through. Since we were only in Huaraz for two days, we needed to make the most of it. Once we had waited in the queue and collected our bags, we took a taxi to the hostel, which was up a steep cobbled street just five minutes up the road.

The hostel, which was called Alpes Huaraz, was a cute little B&B-type place tucked away in a narrow side street. When we arrived, we pressed the buzzer to be let in and were greeted in English by a cheerful guy who let us check in straight away. We were also able to book both the tours we wanted to do over the two days: Chavín and a horse-riding tour.  

Once we’d sorted ourselves out in our room, which was a triple room all to ourselves, sharing a bathroom with one other room (all for S./25 (less than £6)), we went downstairs to grab some much-needed breakfast. We sat down to discover that our breakfast was also included in the ridiculous price, consisting of orange juice, a hot drink of our choice, two flatbread rolls with fresh jam, and a banana. We couldn’t believe our luck.

At 9am we were picked up to go on our tour of Chavín de Huantar. The full-day minibus trip, which involved a six-hour round trip, took us to the ancient ruins via the Callejón de Huayas, the valley between the spectacular Andean mountain ranges, the Cordilla Blanca and Cordilla Negra. We were accompanied by an expert guide (called Juan, of course), who provided us with constant updates about the scenery as we were passing through. Apparently, these mountains are so called due to their contrasting colours, since one is white due to the snow on its peaks, and the other appears dark due to the vegetation that covers it.

We broke up our journey to Chavín with several stops. The first was just at a small isolated cafe on the side of the road, where we had the opportunity to buy a coca tea - a necessity if we were going to cope in the high altitudes to which we were about to ascend. It’s something I’d never really considered before, but altitude sickness, or soroche, can be a huge problem when you ascend above 2,400 metres (8,000 feet), and is caused by the low partial pressure of oxygen. This can create, in some people, symptoms similar to a flu or hangover, such as nausea, fatigue, dizziness, swelling, shallow breathing and a rapid pulse, amongst others. In more serious cases, it can cause cerebral or pulmonary edemas (swelling of the brain or fluid in the lungs).

Fortunately, Amy had come prepared with altitude sickness tablets (for those interested, they’re called ‘Acetazolamida’) and all the local people had plenty of tips for us. The best local cure is anything coca-based, hence the tea stop. We’d also stopped off on the way to buy coca-flavoured boiled sweets, which apart from the interesting aftertaste, weren’t as awful as we’d expected. Coca is yet another plant native to South America and is the raw ingredient used for cocaine - although, obviously, in small doses it doesn’t get you high. The same coca leaf is used in Coca Cola and has medicinal uses such as against headaches, rheumatisms and broken bones and to prevent bleeding, as well as alleviating hunger, thirst and altitude sickness.

Whilst we were drinking our excessively-sweetened coca tea at the little shack-like cafe in the mountains with the rest of the tourist group, we got our first long look at the spectacular scenery. Our next stop gave us another spectacular view of the snow-topped mountains, and the next was at Lago Querococha. The lake, which is at 3,980m above sea level, nestled in the valley amongst the great, rocky mountains, is as still as glass and absolutely stunning. We took our time walking the slope right down to the banks and out to the peer to appreciate the view, ignoring the mountain people who had come to offer tourists a picture with them with lambs in their arms.

Our next and final stop before reaching Chavín de Huantar was at a traditional restaurant, slightly beyond a tiny village. We’d passed several tiny provincial villages on the way, like nothing I’d seen before, with buildings made out of scrap materials, inhabited by people who looked like they’d never experienced real civilization before. Some of them were even wearing the traditional costume of the Peruvian mountain communities: bright red and purple shawls and skirts with peculiar top hats. I couldn’t get over the fact they were walking down the street in these outfits - that they had got ready that morning and thought, “Yes, these colours and this top hat is definitely the look I’m going for.” It’s incredible.

The restaurant was tucked away on its own and consisted of a series of wooden gazebos with wicker rooves, scattered about amongst in a beautiful garden of bright, exotic flowers and stone paths. The surroundings more than made up for the fact that there was little on the menu for me, let alone for poor Amy, who eats neither meat nor fish. In the end, she had to ask for rice and salad, whilst I opted for trout, since this is the local delicacy. Little did I know that, apart from the light batter, it would literally be served as a dead fish: fins, bones, tail and all. I had to get some poor Australian guy from our tour, who happened to be on the table next to us, to take out the bones for me. Luckily, we had already got talking to him and his companion so it wasn’t as random as it might seem. He’d been travelling for four years, and counting, and had some incredible stories to tell.

After lunch, it was time to head to Chavín. We’d already been through several microclimates by this point - from so hot we needed to take our jackets off, to so cold we needed to put on two more. When we got to Chavín, it was cold and windy and pouring with rain. Nevertheless, we went ahead with our walking tour - and it was definitely worth braving the weather.

Chavín de Huantar is a pre-Incan archeological site and UNESCO World Heritage Site dating back to around 1200BC, although occupation of the site has been carbon dated to at least 3000 BC. It stands at an elevation of 3,180m and served as a large ceremonial centre for the Chavín people, for rituals, consulting oracles and entering cults. The site is, for obvious reasons, now in ruins, although a significant part of it still remains. For instance, the enormous flat-topped pyramid is still over 10 metres high and has survived multiple earthquakes that have left the modern-day town in ruins. 

Our guide, Juan, was a fountain of knowledge about the place, coming out with facts that, now, I can’t even seem to find on the Internet. I greedily took in all the information at the time, asking nerdy questions and translating for the people who were struggling to follow. The Chavín people, it seems, were as bloody an ancient civilisation as many others like the Aztecs and Egyptians, and just as obsessively religious and misogynistic, to add to the mix. 

There is much reference in their art and sculptures to the male and female form, which suggests an acute awareness of sexuality. One such example is the pair of anthropomorphic statues Estela Raimondi, and the sacred Obelisco Tello which is housed beneath one of the stone temples. On the four sides of the obelisk are the carved drawings of two lizards: male and female, who each live on one half of the universe. They were believed to exercise their power on earth through messengers in the form of the jaguar and the eagle. 

The gods they worshipped, therefore, took the form of animals, and included condors, snakes, felines and many more. In the centre of the square auditorium there once stood two caiman statues, which were devoutly worshipped. It was around these statues that many rituals were performed - including the routine sacrifice of young women, who were drained of their blood whilst drugged with the juice from the cactus plant, to numb their pain. (Juan added that this could still be purchased on site for S./ 70, should it take our fancy). It’s for this reason that the spot on which the statues once stood is said to maintain a sacred aura to this day. Of course, I had to try it out - but who can say if it really does have a special power or whether it just seems that way because everyone has told you it should?

Nevertheless, I didn’t need a sacred spot to be mystified by the place. The guide went on to describe how all the dimensions of the site inexplicably divide into 7; the auditorium is an exact square of 49m x 49m; it has 7 steps; the temple was 14m high; there are so many examples, it’s difficult to pass it off as coincidence. Eerier still is the existence of a singular rock on the site which has not been found in any other location in the world. This is in addition to the fact that the temples were constructed with enormous boulders that are only found miles away, and are placed together with such exactitude that, even without the use of any mortar, the constructions have remained standing for thousands of years.

We walked around the site, receiving more information at every point. The most fascinating part of it all was the mystery that still surrounds the site to this day, as there is still an ongoing debate as to purpose of some of the elements. Just one example is an enormous stone block with concave circles carved into its surface; some historians claim it was another site of sacrifice, whilst others claim (more accurately, according to Juan), that the hollows were filled with water and used as mirrors to read the stars and therefore formulate calendars.

To end the tour, we descended some steep stone steps to gain access to the tunnels and chambers beneath the temple. It was here that meditation and rituals took place, and where the highest ranking priests lived - although the whole site was inhabited exclusively by the higher classes. The dark stone tunnels were narrow, low and sinister, and pervaded with the sinister traces of the rituals that had gone on there. At the end of the last tunnel we were allowed a glimpse of the Obelisk, which was lit up and protected behind a glass screen. 

As we emerged back into the daylight, we were taken to see a stone statue of a god’s head, protruding from the outside wall. Then it was time to make our way back to the minibus to begin the long journey back to the hostel - but not before stopping to take photos of the llamas who were casually wandering the grounds. We also took a sneaky peak at some of the stalls, but there were no llama jumpers to be found.

Our amigo Juan (to whom everyone was an amigo and everything was impresionante) recommended us a restaurant for dinner and it was perfect. After a satisfying dinner we made our way back to the hostel, since it was getting late by this point and it had been a long day. When we arrived at the hostel, all we wanted was a quiet drink before bed, but the guys working there couldn’t believe we wanted hot drinks and not alcohol. Another group of guys tried to get us to go out, but we weren’t convinced the run-down town of Huaraz would make for a wild night out and, at any rate, one of them was just a little bit weird and kept repeating himself, which was slightly suspicious.

We woke up the next day to have the luxury of hot showers, before grabbing breakfast and waiting for our guide to arrive, who was going to take us horse-riding. Typically, it was 10.30 rather than 10 by the time he turned up, and when he did, it wasn’t at all what we’d expected. We were led, without a clue where we were going, to the outskirts of Huaraz and abandoned on a street corner whilst the guy disappeared into some shops down the road.

Ten minutes later he popped up behind us and told us to get into the minibus which was parked in the car wash garage we’d been standing in front of. We obediently obeyed, at a complete loss to what was actually going on. It appeared this was the usual form of public transport here, and we were wedged in amongst all the locals, even a couple of old women in the traditional dress - although somehow we, the two white girls, stood out much more. Before we knew it, we were careering through the mountain roads out of Huaraz, stopping only when the conductor, who was about ten years old, spotted potential passengers on the side of the road.

Half an hour later, the minibus stopped and we followed our guide’s instructions to get off. We were now literally in the middle of nowhere and had no idea what was coming next. Then, we were told to wait on the dirt path on the other side of the road, and two minutes later, two mountain ponies were led over to us by some mountain people. Since I had told the guide I was an experienced rider, he told me to mount up first whilst he helped Amy; I had a feeling this was going to be a quick initiation into riding for her.

Slightly horrified at how things were turning out - being put on a horse with no hat ,and stirrups and reins made from rope and left to fend for ourselves in the Peruvian mountains - I asked anxiously if we weren’t going to be accompanied by a guide. It was at this point that another horse appeared and the guy, who was dressed in suit trousers, smart shoes and a shirt, casually mounted up as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

Before I had time to protest, I was leading the way up the mountain path and leaving civilisation behind. Thankfully, the horses seemed like they were old hands at this so they already knew their route and wouldn’t attempt to stray. I’d expected an exciting ride, galloping through the hills, but under the circumstances I was quite glad to be on a little plod.

The views we encountered on our trail up the Cordillera Negra were spectacular; we could see the snow-topped peaks of Huascarán, at 6,768m heigh, and the entire valley below. The horses were bred to scale steep slopes so we were able to ascend heigh into the mountainside; the views were so stunning that it didn’t matter I wasn’t getting my adrenaline rush. This was a once in a lifetime experience.

Halfway up, we stopped off at a tiny stone shack to buy the local flatbread for lunch, at less than half a sol each. We tied our bags of food to our saddles, along with our water, like proper mountain trekkers. We were just relaxing into the ride when we passed a little house with dogs outside, barking to defend their territory. Suddenly, they were running at us and trying to bite the horses, whose flight instinct kicked in. Before we knew it, we were galloping up the mountainside, heading at full speed for the cliff face. 

I couldn’t even look behind me to check if Amy had stayed on, I was so intent on pulling back before we hit the edge. But once we’d outrun the dogs it didn’t take me long to pull my horse back, and the other horses, who were slightly behind, soon followed suit. We’d all survived to tell the tale.

We probably should have been shaken up by the ordeal, but after we’d pulled up our horses we carried on the trail as though nothing had happened. Our guide told us, as we passed more peculiar adobe houses and some fields filled with rectangular blocks of soil, that these houses were constructed from these very same blocks, composed of clay, water and organic material such as straw or dung. It’s incredible to think that these people build their own houses and simply live off the land that surrounds them, even today. Our guide’s parents, who have nine more children besides him, also live at the top of that very same mountain.

When we reached the lookout point, we stopped to have lunch and the guide went to share the food he’d bought with his younger siblings, who were playing on the mountain. We also met his dog, a poor skinny-looking Border Collie, who we couldn’t resist sharing some lunch with.

After lunch, the descent was much easier, and we reached the bottom in much less time than we’d reached the top. There, we were told to await our guide whilst he put the horses away. It was now mid-afternoon and the sun was blazing, not only rendering our two jackets useless but almost making us wish we had shorts on.

We caught the minibus back into town, where we were given some vague directions from the guide but miraculously found our own way back to the hostel. From there, we headed straight back into town, where we stopped off for some delicious fresh mixed fruit smoothies, ridiculously cheap and served in a huge glass.

Then we set off the explore Huaraz, which had a pleasant central square but unfortunately, due to the many earthquakes that have struck the town, the residential areas have been left all but destroyed. We walked all around the town, including the less-visited areas and a huge local market selling fruits and vegetables, clothes and even live chicks. We stood out as uncomfortably foreign and I could feel all eyes on us; even walking through the streets, people were constantly trying to talk to us or just shouting “¡Hola, gringas!” Some of the areas were so poor, and the houses so dilapidated, that it felt like just by walking through them, we were making ourselves easy targets.

We soon made our way back into the centre, by which time we were ready to find somewhere to eat. Of course, there was nowhere with a vegetarian menu to be found, and after asking at the tiny tourist office, we ascertained that our best option was to go to an Italian restaurant. On the way, we happened to glimpse what we’d been searching so hard for: llama jumpers! Mission accomplished.

Whilst we were waiting for our dinner we had the added entertainment of a little Peruvian girl who was absolutely fascinated by us. She was at that age where the best question in the world seems to start with “Why?” and end in a chain of “whys” until every possible answer has been exhausted. It was in this way that we somehow got from telling her what was in our shopping bags to explaining the existence of seasons. It was entertaining but exhausting at the same time, especially when we got onto the questions like, “Why do you talk like that?” Sigh.

The bus back wasn’t until 10pm, so we had an hour or so to kill at the hostel before getting a taxi to the station. The taxi driver was lovely and told us to come back to Huaraz whenever we wanted, as though it was his invitation to give out. The man on the desk at the bus station was equally chatty and lovely, which made for a nice end to the trip.

The negative side, obviously, was the horrendous seven-hour bus journey back - which, again, seemed to go desperately slowly but yet I didn’t seem to get any sleep. We arrived at Lima bus station at just after 5am, and it was nearly 6 by the time we’d queued to collect our bags and negotiated a fare with a taxi driver. The taxi drivers refused to understand the notion of dropping us off at two different addresses, which I was sure would work out cheaper and probably be safer too. We actually drove past the turning into my road before I was able to get the driver to understand the concept. Luckily, both Amy and I did eventually arrive at the correct addresses. By this time we were exhausted, but travelling at night had definitely been the best way to make the most of the weekend.

When I got back to the apartment complex, the guards let me into my block and I tried to let myself in the front door to the flat. I’d already spoken to Pily twice and she knew I would be arriving in the early hours, but they had put the safety lock on the door anyway in the knowledge they would have to get up to let me in. Omar came to the door almost immediately and seemed genuinely pleased to see me rather than annoyed at being woken up at such an obscene time on a Sunday morning. He carried my case upstairs before we both went back to bed.

I easily fell back into a deep sleep, fully clothed on top of my bed, and didn’t wake up until my alarm went off at 11. Then it was time for breakfast and to organize some work for the school that I needed to complete for the next day. Before I knew it, 1.30 arrived and so did half of Omar’s family, much to my surprise. There had been a mention of a family lunch, but I’d assumed it wasn’t going to happen since I hadn’t heard any more about it. Now, when they arrived, I was taken completely by surprise, and after being introduced, had to run upstairs to make myself presentable.

I soon got into conversation with Omar’s father, who was keen to talk to me and get to know me, and couldn’t believe my level of Spanish (although he did have a laugh about my Spanish accent). The rest of the family were similarly lovely, and everyone made me feel incredibly welcome. They kept asking me what I thought about different aspects of Peru and when I was going to return. By the end of the afternoon, almost all of Omar’s side of the family was there - his parents and the families of two of his three brothers.

For the late afternoon lunch, Pily served a vast array of dishes. There was no meat to be seen, only vegetables and fish that she knew I would eat. Not only that, but she’d gone out of her way to make special dishes just for me that were made with less chili than everyone else’s. I felt so grateful for all the effort she’d gone to, I tried to eat as much as I could: ceviche, tiradito (like ceviche but with a creamy orange sauce), chicharrón de pescado (fish lightly fried into a crispy batter), boiled sweet potato and yuca (a white-yellow root vegetable), choclo (Peruvian corn) and cancha (toasted corn). To drink, Omar kept me topped up with Chilcano de Pisco, a Peruvian cocktail made with Pisco, lemon juice, ice, bitters and ginger ale.

I had been so engaged in conversation with everyone all day that I didn’t even think about the time until I noticed it was getting dark. After dessert and coffee, we watched some home videos on the iPad, which Omar had made by putting family photos to music and uploading them to YouTube. Before I knew it, everyone was saying their goodbyes and giving me their heartfelt wishes of good luck for my travels and my journey back home, telling me to come back and visit whenever I wanted.

It had been another amazing weekend, full of variety and new experiences. I can’t believe I only have three days left at school and two days left in Peru. I have to make every moment last.

21st August: A Stressful Few Days

The next day, my alarm went off at 6.20 and it was time to start another week. Monday was a slow day, since I wasn’t involved in any particularly interesting classes and had a free period. A new teaching assistant, Alexandra, who’s German but who’s lived all over the world, arrived that day, which was interesting at least. I finished early that afternoon and, after walking home, discovered that no one was there, and had to wait over an hour for anyone to arrive. Luckily, as always, I had my book with me, but waiting on the stone floor in the cold corridor wasn’t ideal.

I spent the rest of the day booking various elements of trips I have planned for the next few weeks and communicating my plans to other people. When Omar returned from work at 4.20, we had to rush to the clinic, which closed at 5, to get my vaccinations done for the jungle. We drove all the way there in the horrendous Lima traffic only to discover that the vaccination section was only open from 8 until 2. So, after a wasted hour we went to pick Nicole up from hockey at school. When we got back, I spent the whole evening on my Year Abroad and still didn’t finish, and went to bed completely stressed.

The next day wasn’t any less stressful. Pily had kindly agreed to take me to the clinic again first thing to get my Yellow Fever injection, which meant leaving at normal time to drop the others off and get to the clinic for 8. It took us over half an hour to find the clinic, which was in a run-down wooden-fronted building coated in chipped blue paint. I’m glad Pily was with me because, on my own, I would have doubted the clinic was actually a safe place to get vaccinated. 

Fortunately, I trust my Peruvian parents entirely and if Pily said it was ok, I knew it was ok. In the waiting room, we chatted amicably, about her family, about Lima, and about a hilarious documentary she’d seen on Discovery about a gringo learning to drive in Lima. The American presenter had come to Lima to document his experiences learning to drive the various forms of transport in the capital, and couldn’t believe the absolute chaos on the road. An extract from this same documentary then came on the news on the waiting room television; it seems the whole country is loving the idea of this naive gringo and his hilarious attempts at living like a peruano.

After a long wait, it was finally time for me to go in (at least, I thought it was, but the pronunciation of my name was less than convincing). I felt it necessary to double check my name and the name of the injection with the nurse when I went in, not wanting to take any chances with mixed-up vaccinations. Once I was certain I was in the right place, I followed the nurse’s instructions; it wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d been warned and, at any rate, I’m still alive.

I got to school only an hour late and I had my favourite class that morning, the First Graders, who are adorable and spend the whole lesson hugging me, giving me things and plying me with compliments. To make things even better, I got full marks on my French test - which I was a little overly proud of considering I left school three years ago.

At 1 o’clock we were meeting Shadia - not to go to Pamplona, as she was ill with a stomach infection, but to go to Plaza San Miguel, where she’d promised to help us make our payments for the Machu Picchu tour. The whole thing involved yet more stress because, although Shadia seemed experienced at it and relaxed about it all, I’d never done anything like it before and was terrified it was going to go wrong. Not only that, but the Amazon tour I’d been planning had suddenly started to sound suspicious so I had to abort at the last minute.

Then, it was back to the drawing board with my jungle plans, so I got Shadia to drop me back at the school so I could work on their computers for the rest of the afternoon. I managed to email Loki Travel, who I’d booked the Machu Picchu tour with and who Shadia assures me are 100% reliable. Then, typically, the computer system broke down so I barely got any work done yet again.

I met Natsumi as I was leaving school and, after waiting in the cold for the bus, decided to walk and meet her back at the apartment. We ended up meeting halfway as she got off the bus. Once back at the apartment, I spent the rest of the day working, finally finishing at just before midnight.

Today, I woke up at 6.10 to talk to my mum before going to school. She’s saving my life yet again by printing off and posting my Year Abroad Project, which involves an immense amount of stress for both of us. The university system is a nightmare even for the students, so handing in someone else’s work must be unbelievably stressful. I literally don’t know what I’d do without her. 

Once at school, I checked my emails yet again - still no reply from Loki. After my lesson with my favourite class from Upper School, who were making posters in English about religion, I dashed back up to check again - still nothing. I wanted to get it booked and out the way, so after French, when there was still no word from them, I found the phone number in my free period and gave them a call from the school office. By the end of the hour the tour was reserved. 

After the next break I was assisting in another Upper School class, who were performing presentations on religion. Their level of English is really quite impressive considering they’re only in the equivalent of Year 8 or 9. The main thing they struggle with is pronunciation (‘Hinduism’ and ‘Judaism’ caused real difficulties). Even the teachers are constantly asking me the pronunciation of things - as well as vocabulary and grammar. I never quite know what to do when they make a mistake in front of the class. The good thing is that they seem grateful for my help rather than resentful of it.

We decided to get our lunch at 2.50 today, after our last classes, which seems to be the peak time amongst the staff. The lunch staff apparently even praised Eleanor for ordering our food a bit later than usual. It was nice getting chance to sit with some of the staff, and we had a long conversation with Ursula before school ended. She wants us to think about what we can do as a presentation for the school - this, on top of the YouTube video that one of the other teachers has asked us to make. Apparently, all the volunteers do this, but I’m personally not too convinced I’m going to like appearing on film.

After school, Alex’s Peruvian mum offered to take us to Western Union to make our payments for our tours (Alex for Machu Picchu, me for the jungle). After a lot of stress trying to find out if I had the right amount and the correct account details, we stood anxiously in a huge line to make the payment. I didn’t even have time to get out the extra money I needed, so Alex’s Peruvian mum lent me $100 dollars on the spot, without a second thought. I couldn’t believe how trusting she was, and promised to pay her back the next day.

The payments successfully completed, I was dropped back at the apartment, where Natsumi was waiting to let me in. It turns out she has a spare key which she forgot about, so I’m going to use that in the future.

Since then I’ve been finalizing my travel arrangements for the weekend and catching up on work. Tomorrow morning I’m going to talk to my mum on Skype about my project and check that everything is ok before she sends it off. It seems that after a few stressful days, everything is finally falling into place.

19th August: A Varied Weekend

The rest of the week flew by. On Wednesday, after school, Eleanor and I took a taxi into the centre of Lima. We’d intended to take the bus, but after being advised against it by some concerned staff in the school office, decided to take a taxi, as suggested by one man who seemed convinced that we were embarking on some sort of life-threatening expedition. After ascertaining that we were, in fact, fully capable of going into town in the middle of the afternoon, he printed us off a map and walked with us to the end of the road to see us into a taxi. He’d even taken Eleanor’s number and phoned twice to check on us before we’d even arrived.

Fortunately we did arrive perfectly safely, but only to find that the cathedral was  already closing to visitors. Since we had a few things to do in the city anyway, it wasn’t too much of a problem and we decided to come back to see the cathedral another day. Our shopping trip was relaxing and, thankfully, uneventful, since neither of us had anything robbed. I managed to buy a phone and, finally, the appropriate materials for school. The only slightly awkward moment occurred whilst I was waiting for Eleanor to pay in the supermarket. I’m beginning to notice that huge, slow-moving queues are quite normal here, so I’d decided to wait slightly outside. I was casually standing eating my dried fruit when one of the security guards ambushed me and started a conversation. Before I knew  what was happening, he was introducing me to his friend and arranging a double date. By the time Eleanor finally appeared, I was running out of excuses and just had to grab her and say “Run!”

On Thursday, we were celebrating El día del niño (Children’s Day) at school, which is apparently quite a widely-spread festival in countries where there doesn’t always have to be a very well thought-out and justified reason for celebration. Although it was officially on the Sunday of that week, celebrations were held in school on the Thursday so the children could enjoy it with their friends. This was fine with me; I happened to be assisting in the Third Grade during the period that had been designated for parties for the Lower School. As a consequence, I spent the whole of fourth period drinking Inca Cola and eating chocolate cake with an excited bunch of eight-year-olds - and it was good cake, too.

The rest of the day also went well. By now I was even getting to grips with the French class, even if my conversations with the teacher are a bit comical; I can understand exactly what he’s saying, but when I reply it just automatically comes out in Spanish. It’s incredibly frustrating because even though my written work is good, when I seem to be completely incapable of responding in the correct language, I must seem like a complete cretin. On the plus side, I woke up yesterday morning suddenly able to recite all the numbers in French, and with a peculiarly extended vocabulary. I tend to learn quite a lot when I’m not actually conscious; a couple of months ago, for instance, I dreamt an entire documentary on the history of Scotland.

Anyway, on Thursday evening, I helped Nicole with her English homework (we did some exercises and then wrote a fantastic story about a girl and a piano), before going back, yet again, to my travel plans, which are still not confirmed. Then it was time for an early night in preparation for the next day.

The following morning, when my alarm went off at 5am, there was very little that would have dragged me out of my bed into the cold other than the thought of being in the warmth very, very soon. At 6.30am, Joe, Amy and I were taking a bus to Ica for the weekend, where the temperature was a balmy 28 degrees.

My concerned Peruvian parents had already booked me a taxi with Pily’s nephew (who happens to be a taxi driver) the night before, and when he arrived, Omar walked me to the gate and saw me into the taxi. I’d tried to tell him he didn’t have to get up, and I felt awful when he even insisted on carrying my travel case down the ten flights of stairs (since the lift was still broken). He even asked Pily’s nephew to walk into the bus station with me to exchange my receipt for tickets, but when we arrived and I saw that Joe and Amy were already there, I assured him I would be fine.

The bus journey exceeded all my expectations, especially since I’d only paid 19 sol (£5) for my outbound ticket. The bus was modern and comfortable, with TVs scattered about playing Pitch Perfect followed by Thor. Not only that, but you have to check your baggage in at a separate desk like at the airport, so there’s no worry about getting your bag nicked. 

We arrived in Ica at around 11.30 and, having retrieved my luggage, left the station in search of a taxi. We were barely out of the terminal building when we were approached by a guy offering us one. I’d realised on the bus that I had no idea of the actual address of the hostel we were staying at, which was in the neighbouring town, Huacachina, so had  texted my mum, who always seems to be getting me out of these kinds of scrapes, even from the other side of the world. She’d not only sent me the full address, but a few handy travel tips. Consequently, when the taxi driver asked me which Casa de Arena I meant, uno or dos, I could tell him with absolute authority that I knew full well there was only one. I was also able to successfully barter down the next taxi driver, who was asking for S/.10 when the journey was only worth five.

Slightly perturbed by the fact we had nearly been involved in a scam within ten minutes of arriving at our destination, when we got to the hostel we were more than a little suspicious of the guy on the front desk. When I told him I had been quoted S/40 (£10) for the room, he said we could have it for S/.25 (£6) which just seemed too good to be true. He showed us up to our room, which was a private triple with its own bathroom, and we couldn’t believe our luck; there had to be a catch.

Not wanting to waste valuable sun-bathing time worrying about money, we were back down at the pool in a flash. We spent the rest of the afternoon soaking up some much-needed sun before it was time to go for the main event of the weekend: sand boarding and sand buggies in the desert.

I should probably take this opportunity to explain a little about Ica and Huacachina. Ica is the capital of the Ica Region and is situated along the Ica River, along the desert coast of southern Peru. It’s also home to the famous Pisco liqueur that the Peruvians love so much. Huacachina is a small town built around a small natural desert oasis, which incidentally appears on the back of the S/.50 note. It’s a tiny little tourist town in the middle of the desert: beautiful and surreal.

At 4.30 we were picked up by some giant sand buggies with room to seat some ten people, and headed off in a big fleet into the desert. At first, it was quite a relaxing ride, but as soon as the driver realised we were getting complacent, it turned into some sort of sand buggy roller-coaster - the only difference from an actual roller-coaster being that, if we turned over in that thing, we probably would actually die. To make matters worse, my seatbelt had clearly been designed for someone who eats about ten more Big Macs a day than I do, so I was literally being flung two feet in the air every time we careered down a near-vertical drop.

The sand boarding itself, in comparison, was relatively tame, although it did seem equally terrifying in the beginning. We were simply abandoned in the desert, left with the immensely unhelpful advise of “Lie down on the board and hold onto the straps. Do not stand up, you will break your bones. Keep your legs together.” He said this whilst doing a physical demonstration with his legs wide open.

Needless to say, when we all lined up at the top of a very high, very steep dune, I was more than a little apprehensive. After a couple of others had managed to descend to the bottom without incurring any fatal injuries, I decided to test it out - and it was incredible. After that, we quickly got into it, and it wasn’t long before our driver came to pick us up and take us to some more slopes.

At each new location we had the opportunity to see yet another spectacular view and take some incredible photos; this was a welcome relief after the battering I was taking during the physical activities. By the end of it, I’d scraped away the skin on nearly all my fingers, ripped both knees on the seat in front of me in the buggy, and banged my head extremely hard on the metal bar behind. Sitting at the back had not been the best choice.

That evening, we went out to a barbecue that was being run by one of the hostels down the road, which turned out to be a complete rip-off, by Peruvian standards at least. After eating as much as we could from the buffet to get our money’s worth and trying our best to get through the disgusting free drinks, we decided to cut our losses and look for somewhere else. It just so happened that a few doors from our hostel was a promising-looking establishment simply named ‘Pub’, with a Happy Hour selling two cocktails for S/.15 (less than £4). it seemed the perfect opportunity to try out the exciting variant on the Pisco Sour, the Maracuya Sour (made with passionfruit).

The next morning we were up at the ungodly hour of 5.45 ready to go on our trip to the Islas Ballestas. Typically, the event was apparently running on Peruvian time, which meant that we were the only ones ready at the arranged time of 6.30. In our efforts to catch a sneaky bit of breakfast, not only did I have to down a pint of orange juice but we missed the transfer - luckily they came around again, but we ended up with the last seats and a less than impressed driver. Joe and I were put in the front seats next to him, and even our cheerful and well-meant attempts at banter weren’t going to cheer him up.

Arriving at the town of Paracas (near the Pisco Province) and emerging into cold coastal air was a bit of a shock, especially at 8 o’clock in the morning, but we were soon on the boat on the way to the islands, which we hoped would make it all worthwhile. Our boat, which was a large speedboat under the name of Pingüino III, was totally open to the elements, but the advantage of this was that we got a completely unobstructed view of the surroundings.

As we were speeding towards the island, the guide informed us that we were about to see over half a million birds, which seemed slightly optimistic. However, as we got closer, I saw that we were approaching one of the most enormous flocks of birds I’d ever seen, diving down to the water like rockets to catch their prey. I realised that maybe we shouldn’t have scoffed at the guide after all. When I spotted several seals swimming close to the boat, I felt like the tour couldn’t get any better.

Then, when passing the Paracas Peninsula, we were able to see El Candelabro (‘The Candlestick’), a large-scale geoglyph, in the hillside. A geoglyph is a large design on the landscape formed by rocks or other durable elements, and Peru is home to the most remarkable geoglyphs in the world, the Nazca Lines. Despite ongoing speculation, their origin and significance remain a mystery to experts. El Candelabro gets its name from its form, which bares a striking resemblance to a candlestick. It’s almost impossible to describe, but amazing to see. 

When we reached the islands themselves, the first thing we were confronted with was the sight of thousands more birds nesting on the cliff face. Throughout the trip, we saw thousands more; most were guano birds like pelicans, cormorants, Inca terns, gulls, patillos and some birds that are called, I kid you not, Peruvian boobies. The highlight was seeing several groups of tiny Peruvian penguins, as well as the many pods of seals and sea lions fishing, playing and sleeping on the rocks. 

I could have stayed watching the wildlife for hours, had it not been for the cold and  the insistence of all the boat drivers to get as close as possible to the unsuspecting sleeping seals, which sparked the niggling doubt that maybe this ‘nature reserve’ wasn’t quite as kind to the wildlife as they might have us believe. Fortunately, the animals didn’t appear to bothered by it all, and I didn’t want to let it spoil the otherwise amazing experience.

When we got back the the shore, we were told we had twenty minutes to look around before heading back to Huacachina (which, of course, meant forty minutes in Peruvian time). We passed the time looking at the seaside stalls in search of a woolly llama jumper like Joe’s, which we have strangely become slightly obsessed with finding. When we arrived at the meeting point and no one was there, we bought cake from one of the street sellers (who, by the way, patrol the streets carrying a whole cake on a tray), as well as a slightly peculiar banana milkshake clearly made from Peruvian condensed milk.

Eventually we decided to head back to the minibus, thinking that maybe we had missed something and we had to meet there instead. When we got there it was almost full; we’d obviously missed the memo because we’d definitely been at the designated meeting point five minutes early. Anyway, it appeared that there was no room for Amy or me on the bus, so we were instructed to stand back and wait. When Joe looked around, we’d completely disappeared from sight as we’d been escorted to another bus, and we could see him through the window, looking around, completely bemused.

Getting back to the heat of Huacachina was absolute bliss, even though it wasn’t as warm as the day before. We sat by the pool until lunchtime, when we walked around the corner into town to eat in a restaurant next to the oasis. After eating lunch, having a quick explore of the souvenir shops and making a hasty escape from some dodgy-looking guys, Amy and I walked around the oasis, which was stunning. Then we had fresh passionfruit juice overlooking the water and chatted to the cafe owner.

By this time, it was late afternoon and I decided I’d better go to the Internet cafe to contact my mum, who’d been texting me all weekend with increasingly frantic messages as my replies weren’t getting through. At least I’m better than Joe, whose only update to his mum since his arrival in Peru has been an email containing a copy of this blog. Then, after another relaxing hour or so by the pool, I watched the sun set beneath the dunes and sat out on the terrace until the chill of the evening set in. 

We were ready to go out before it even got to 7 o’clock, so we decided to go for a drink by the oasis before dinner. It was like pre-drinks with a Peruvian twist, drinking vodka and Inca Cola amongst the dunes of Huacachina. It was all very nice and civilised, if you discount the guy who asked to take a photo of us with his drunken granddad, and the dodgy guy who came cycling up to us for a chat. Joe informed us afterwards that he was trying to peddle cocaine; if Joe hadn’t told us, Amy and I would have been none the wiser. I still wonder why he came up to us, of all people; we don’t exactly look like your usual suspects.

For dinner, we found a bustling Peruvian restaurant on the other side of the oasis, where I, for some unknown reason, opted for a salad. This is really an epic error when you consider that a) I was in the middle of the Peruvian desert, where tap water actually comes out brown until you let it run for a bit, and b) I’d been drinking vodka and Inca Cola, two drinks that, even consumed alone, aren’t advisable to put into your body, so combined with a near-empty stomach, could prove disastrous.

Needless to say, the rest of the night passed in pretty much a blur. We had a hilarious conversation with our tiny waiter, who had his sights on both Amy and me until I pretended (almost too convincingly, I think) that I was a lesbian and pointed to my Gay Pride band. I was actually quite concerned at how ready he was to believe I was a lesbian.  I had decided it was a necessary measure of protection after he attacked me with a hug, then saying he’d have to stop, or he’d “have an orgasm”.

When we got back to the hostel and sat outside by the bar, we made some slightly more normal Peruvian friends. Our hostel happened to have its own club, which appeared to be the only form of entertainment in the little desert town. So, there was nothing for it but to head up there with our new Peruvian friends - and then buy whole bottles of tequila and pisco, of course. The walk home was the shortest I’ve ever had, literally down one set of steps and up another. 

The next day, I woke up from an amazingly deep sleep at just after 10, dreading the onset of an epic hangover worsened by a possibly anemia-based, possibly intolerance-based, hangover. When I got up to discover that I wasn’t showing any of the usual symptoms, I couldn’t believe it (not that I was feeling absolutely my brightest, healthiest self). Thinking that the cool water would be the ultimate cure, Joe and I dived into the pool before tucking into breakfast with Amy.

A few hours later, after a spot of sunbathing, I realised that one of my bracelets was missing and went to the office to enquire about it. I was mid-question when I felt myself blacking out and had to lie down. Before I knew it, I was being proffered a bottle of water by another guest and an unidentified plant to sniff by the hostel owner.

An hour later, Amy returned from town and we decided to take a taxi back to Ica, in the hope that finding something substantial to eat would make us feel better. When we got there, however, all we could find were chicken restaurants and we started to lose hope. Catching sight of a tiny shack-like restaurant selling Chinese food was like a heavenly sign, as I really could have eaten anything by that point, and I knew Chinese places were quite good at vegetarian food. In hindsight, it really was a dingy little shack, but we got a two-course meal of soup and sweet and sour rice for S/.8 (£2) each, which actually tasted pretty good (or maybe I was just craving carbohydrates by this point).

The bus back was pretty horrific, as by this stage I just wanted my bed, but we made it back to Lima in one piece at any rate. From there, I took a taxi back to the apartment. Pily and Omar were out and I was stuck in typical Lima traffic, so I received a worried phone call to make sure I was on my way. Pily had phoned a couple of times during the weekend too, just to check I was ok.

When I got back to the flat, I sat and ate with Nicole, who was bursting to tell me about El día del niño. She showed me her present and couldn’t contain her excitement when she told me about all she’d done that day. Apparently, the custom is to go out for a family lunch and then to go to the shops so the children can choose their present. Nicole had been given little packets of biscuits and mini chocolates too, two of which she gave to me as they had Despicable Me on the cover. I think she thinks I really love this film now, as she gave me a Despicable Me sticker, too.

When Omar and Pily came home, we met downstairs to chat about our weekends over picarones, the Peruvian answer to donuts. They originated in the colonial period, to replace the Spanish buñelos, which were too expensive to make. A new dessert was therefore formed out of squash and sweet potatoes, pressed into a ring shape and covered in chancaca, a sweet sauce made of raw unrefined sugar crystallized with honey. So, we all sat around the table and shared the picarones whilst exchanging our stories. It had been such an incredible weekend, and now it was strange and comforting to be back in the care of my Peruvian family.