Having bravely (¨you didn’t go to ... and ... but they're BEAUTIFUL!!!¨) and sensibly decided to skip a couple of Southern Peru’s more famous attractions on the all too well trodden tourist trail (lack of time provided a rather handy justification) our next stop after Cuzco was to be Ica and nearby Huacachina.
Ica for many travellers, ourselves included, is but a bus stop and thus with a taxi secured we made our way to Huacachina. Leaving the city behind we headed for the towering sand dunes that dominate, surround and threaten to envelop all that stands in their way. Winding our way between the dunes a sign en route proclaimed, rather modestly, that we were about to see - The Oasis of America - and as we rounded the final bend thus it proved. For, revealed in all its quite breathtaking glory, was truly a sight to behold. Nestled deep amongst the dunes was an emerald green lake shimmering in the morning sun, framed by lush tropical vegetation growing with abandon in this otherwise arid landscape. For once the whole scene was complimented rather than insulted by the hotels - luxurious yet rustic their presence was subtle but somehow just right.
Really? This is Peru, of course not.
Rounding the final corner the ´Oasis of America´ was revealed as a dirty puddle (maybe green, maybe brown) surrounded by dying palm trees and ill-planned and badly made hotels which seemed to compete for the title of most inappropriate.
Never judge a book by its cover though (unless the cover is written in ......) and with the promise of sun and fun - in all the various forms offered - spirits were far from dented.
And truth be told (currently my phrase du jour) Huacachina proved to be a rather enjoyable stopping point. Bathed in sun for at least a couple of hours a day many an hour (at least 2 or 3) was wiled away sat around the pool enjoying the antics of others - the rather overweight gentleman who had come to the conclusion that the physical repulsion he induced in others would be negated, not by the losing of some bulk, but rather through platting and then beading his goatee was a highlight. Alas, to my regret the Joey and Glenn semi-Synchronised Diving Team (JGs-SDT for short) made no appearance - after such a successful debut in Mexico this can only be seen as a shame.
Deciding rather unwisely that merely laying in the sun was not the thing to do (far from my decision) we alighted upon the idea of a little tour of the Ica vineyards. Not internationally renowned for its wines the next three hours would prove without any shadow of a doubt why this is the case. Visiting three vineyards the wines (red, white and rose) progressed from a level of sweetness akin to licking the inside of a sugar bowl to somewhere just north of what is safe for human consumption. Forcing smiles and making appreciative noises I can truly say that not one wine that we tasted was fit for anything other than perhaps, er, erm, nope, words fail me. Moving onto Pisco our logic in trying some of Peru’s indigenous spirit was simply that things could get no worse than the wine - and they didn’t - but alas they got no better either. There is a reason that Pisco rarely travels beyond Peru’s borders and that is because it doesn’t taste very nice (yes, despite my hatred I used the word nice - thinking of Pisco and the wine debacle has reduced me to that level).
In addition to the consumption of the sweetest wines known to man the box to tick (there is always one) in Huacachina is a tour of the sand dunes. Blessed with a seemingly jet propelled buggy and a driver who although advancing in years seemed immune to adrenaline and thus became compelled to take ever greater risks to get his fix - this was to be quite an experience. All but one of our number (She had asked the lady at reception if we could go slowly...the driver laughed knowingly) were willing participants in a journey that travelled further vertically than ever it did horizontally.
Flying over bumps, careering down dunes our driver knew and pushed the limits of our aging buggy as far as they would go. Even when occasionally a halt to proceedings was called it was far from time to relax. Rather the sand boards (a plank with Velcro) were unloaded doused liberally in lubricant (focus...) and we were invited to negotiate the steeper dunes quite by ourselves - sometimes on the board, sometimes not - the sand, well, that went everywhere...
To end a rather enjoyable day (the buggying as opposed to the vineyards) we indulged in an all you can eat (not a challenge) and drink BBQ and thus Huacachina provided all that we could ask for - er, in terms of food and drink I mean. After three weeks of travelling together and having conquered a variety of afflictions (some self-inflicted and some, yep, self-inflicted) Joseph and myself spent the night getting quite pleasantly tipsy and, heaven forefend, meeting new people!
- So Joe - looking back on the last three weeks - any regrets? Anything you wouldn’t do again?
- Erm, yes.
- I should co co.
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