I must apologise, dear readers, for leaving you stranded in Arequipa. I finally feel able to put fingers to keyboard to relate what happened next. By Friday morning it was clear that my body could not cope at 2000 metres above sea level. All the remainder of our trip was to be at this level or considerably higher, so the common sense thing to do was to go home. We bade a fond farewell to our fellow travellers and got a taxi to Arequipa airport. It was all a bit manyana but eventually we took off, heading back to Lima. I start to feel a bit better, which was a relief. This was the easy part. We reclaimed our baggage and my case appeared wrapped in a polythene bag. The zip had come apart a little but it seems nothing was lost. We spent half an hour queuing and another half an hour at Lima airport’s Latam desk, trying to rearrange our flights home. There were no spaces before Monday. We needed to find somewhere to stay until then. Our guide had given us the name of a suitable hotel in case of this eventuality but neither of us could remember it. My internet security refused to let me access the airport wifi so I could look for something. A random taxi driver offered to take us to a hotel. It transpired he was one of the unofficial drivers we had been warned about, although not as unofficial as one we encountered later. He did at least have an ID badge and a certificate of something or other in his car. His choice of hotel would not have been ours but we were exhausted by this time and couldn’t think how else to find a hotel with vacancies. He also charged us significantly over the odds for the journey.

The one advantage of the hotel was that was cheap; our stock of sols was running low. We did have a travel card with US $ on but access to funds relied on us finding a reliable ATM, unlikely in this decidedly dodgy part of the city. Yuri’s comment that 9% of Lima’s population are criminals was ringing in our ears. Have we been sold into white slavery? Are we staying in a crack den? We have three days to spend skulking here. There is an on site ‘restaurant’. We do eat there on the first evening. Once was probably enough. No one spoke English and the menu seemed to be chicken, chicken or chicken. We had chicken. We feel it was probably purchased from a market similar to the one in Nazca. The hotel seems to be used by Peruvians on their way to and from the airport. They arrive and depart at all hours of the day and night, loudly. Some are unpleasantly unwell during their stay; those are the ones in the neighbouring room. Soundproofing is not a strong point.

We are by a main road and the hooting from the cars is constant. It is 32 degrees outside. We could at least open the window and the air conditioning was noisy but efficient. The hot water was slightly more reliable than in some of the more up-market hotels we had stayed in. We knew we needed water and food. We weighed up the twin hazards of braving the back streets and abandoning our belongings in our room. We hastily sneaked round the block and found a small food store. We were looking for things that were recognisable and not likely to give us food poisoning. We purchased a stash of water, Ritz crackers, cereal bars and wrapped cake. There was no fruit in sight. We lived on these for three days of our incarceration. Sufficient to say I probably don’t want any more Ritz crackers any time soon. Night three in this ‘delightful’ hotel and there was a distinct smell of burning. We were on the fifth floor. The chances of there being any kind of fire escape were somewhat less than nil. The hotel did not seem to be on fire.

 

I played endless games of patience, did a bit of proof reading and sorted out my holiday photos. There was intermittent internet access but the single plug socket was too far from the bed, which was the only place to sit. The plug socket also sparked alarmingly when it was used. There was a seriously unpleasant smell at night. Our room was not cleaned during our stay, remember what we are doing with our toilet paper in a windowless, fanless ensuite. To be fair, the smell probably wasn’t coming from our room. I am glad that the miasmic theory of disease has been discredited. We dream of Hotel Antigua Miraflores and realise how dependant we have been on our wonderful tour guide Yuri for keeping us safe.

I tried to check in for our rearranged flights online. It seemed that there was a problem. We have been recorded as US citizens. This despite my handing over our clearly UK passports. We hoped that this wouldn’t lead to yet more days stranded in Lima. Finally, Monday arrived. I must say that, for all its faults, this establishment did seem to have a more reliable hot water system than some we have stayed in and the towels were slightly larger. ‘Larger’ is a relative term. All the towels we have been provided with in the hotels here barely reach round me and I am hardly huge. In our haste to escape I forgot to apply deodorant. Not the best idea when I had 48 hours in these clothes and the first twelve were in a hot country. We mimed ‘taxi to airport’ at the front desk. This resulted in some passing chap off the street loading our cases in his car. Fortunately the zip on my case seemed to be fixed. We arrived at the airport in one piece and began the ten hour wait for our flight. We decided the airport was preferable to yet more time in the dodgy hotel and we also had the check in problem to sort out. Thankfully the mistaken nationality was not an insuperable problem and we watched the world go by, playing yet more games of patience. Our day was enlivened by the appearance of the bomb squad and explosives dogs. We were herded to one side of the airport and a fuse was laid in case the suspect package needed to be blown up. The dog gave it the all clear and we managed to retain our hard one seats, which are in short supply.

7pm and with great relief, we watched the lights of Lima recede into the distance. One skill I have acquired on this trip is the ability to get at least a little sleep on a long haul flight. This time our enforced sleep began at 10pm Lima time. Seven hours later we were allowed to wake up. A lady a couple of rows in front of us had problems with her Latam breakfast. She hadn’t worked out that she had been given a packet containing what passes for cutlery. She was using her fingers. That worked well for her toasted sandwich thingy but yoghurt – more tricky. Ah, she solved it by using the little stirry stick thing that she had been given for her coffee. Numerous games of Bejewelled later and we were at Madrid airport. The pilot said it was 45 degrees outside but it certainly wasn’t.

Then the joys of automated passport control. I have to take my glasses off to be recognised by the machine. This means that I then can’t read the instructions but we passed through unscathed. It was then time to get on the coach from Heathrow. I had rebooked this using the erratic hotel internet. I had no way of printing the ticket so I precariously waved my laptop under the nose of the driver. He peered at the teeny tiny print and informed me that in my stress I have booked us on a coach that goes …… tomorrow. I looked pathetic, I begged. He has room, he took pity on us, we were on our way. 1am and we were at home at last, five days after we left Arequipa. I slept until 9.45am! 9.45am! This is unheard of, I also slept through the night without waking, something I have only ever done a handful of times in my life. I did still have falling bejewelled jewels before my eyes but it was good to be home.

Intellectually and as a spurious geography teacher, I knew what I thought Peru would be like but you really do need to see it to comprehend just how different it is. Our tour was designed to give us an impression of the real Peru and was endorsed by National Geographic, as it supported local communities and industries and it was interesting and informative. Now I am home I am truly thankful for many things: a clean water supply, living somewhere where air con is not necessary, being able to understand what I am hearing/reading, rain, being able to cross the road in relative safety, the fact that I no longer need to continually apply hand sanitizer, silence! Do I wish I’d stayed at home? No. Would I go somewhere ‘adventurous’ again? Probably also no but it has been an experience. Next stop New Zealand!

Today is the long drive south-east to the mountains of Arequipa. We set off at 6.30am. On leaving Nazca we see an Incan fort, marking their occupation as far as Nazca, where they benefitted from the Nazca people’s hydrological engineering expertise.

We learn that, in 1575, Spanish was made the first official language, with only Quechua, of the native languages, being allowed. It is still spoken. We see a windfarm. This and Hydro-electric power from the Andes make electricity very cheap. A home for four people pay the equivalent of about £10 a month. There are three main train lines in Peru, constructed in the early twentieth century. As they lacked suitable wood for railway timbers fast-growing eucalyptus trees were introduced for the purpose.

Most people have begun to take their altitude sickness medication, which is a diuretic, making frequent stops necessary during our twelve hour journey. The first is by a street olive stall, free samples are offered. Some of the olives have been stuffed with chilli. Brian discovers this the hard way. The olive trees were introduced by the Spanish and some of the trees are 400 years old. We purchase some honey coca sweets, allegedly helpful with altitude. Coca is the plant from which cocaine is derived. We are encouraged to chew the leaves but somehow sweets seem more innocuous. Our first toilet experience leaves some of us confused as the toilet paper is situated outside the cubicles. It helps to be aware of this before entering the cubicle. Not everyone was.

Most of the traffic on this stretch of the Pan-American highway is heavy commercial vehicles. There are a fair few hairpin bends and sheer cliffs but thankfully not quite as bad as the extreme roads television programme. We are assured that this is the ‘straight bit’. There are political slogans painted on the cliff sides. Toilet stop two incorporates ice cream eating. Ice cream, like ice and salads is something else you have to take care consuming here. We are opting for wrapped, branded ice cream and are surviving so far. So, this stop’s toilet – well there is certainly a toilet bowl. It and the accompanying basin do not however appear to be connected to any kind of water supply. Outside is a hose and bucket. Periodically, someone fills the bucket and flings water down the toilet bowl!

We encounter toll gates along the Pan-American highway. We are pulled over by the police and our driver has to rattle off the nationalities of all on board. That seems to satisfy the officer and we are waved on our way. There is definitely more vegetation now and even rice fields, irrigated by the Cotahuasi river.

We stop for a lovely lunch, which is our reward for enduring such a long journey. It includes fritters, plantar (a type of banana, which tastes a bit like parsnip) and delicious cake. There are fully functioning toilets here. As we leave the coast, there is more vegetation and we see our first cows and sheep. Volcanic ashlar has been used for construction here. Arequipa is known as the white city, partly from the use of white ashlar and also because there were many light skinned people, due to intermarriage with the European settlers. It was founded in 1540 by Garci Manuel de Carbajal and is now Peru’s second city, having been the capital for part of the nineteenth century. At our final toilet stop we pay 1sol to be issued with our toilet paper; randomly, some of the cubicle doors don’t fit their respective door frames. We cross a bridge designed by Eiffel, of tower fame. We are now officially ‘at altitude’, as Arequipa is 2335 metres above sea level, although we will be going much higher. My chest is beginning to hurt. We reach the hotel, our second in the Casa Andina chain. I scoff a double dose of altitude tablets and drink quarts of the complimentary and seriously revolting coca tea. I had been warned that I might feel as if I was having a heart attack. In the hopes that I am not actually having a heart attack I settle down for the night. I am not scheduling this post ahead of time so, if it appears, I survived!

Today is officially day one, so that the diary coincides with our official itinerary. We awake to the sounds of strange bird calls. I hope we can see some of the wildlife. We follow a circuitous route to the restaurant for breakfast. Breakfast is the only meal that we are assured of each day but if they are all like this one we won’t starve. It is now over twenty four hours since we last ate, as we were too tired to seek food last night but surprisingly, I don’t feel particularly hungry. I sample some lovely fruit juice, natural yoghurt that is beautifully un-sweet and a rather dry granola that is probably better for me than the granola I have at home but not so pleasant. This is followed by fresh fruit and a cooked dish. I pass on the weird textured scrambled egg, which my companion assures me was very nice but I try the ‘fries’ which are sweet potato, this is served with cold ham and cheese and red pepper salad with cold mushrooms. There are also rolls and jam and I brave the very strong but lovely, caffeinated coffee, resolving to ration myself. My companion mutters about the lack of black pudding and bacon. I do sympathise with him over the ‘tea’ that he chose though. It was hardly traditional English breakfast tea.

To be honest, I would have settled for a relaxing day in the shade of the hotel but my intrepid travelling companion is of the opinion that we should brave the streets of Lima and who am I to gainsay him. We walk four blocks down to the clifftop overlooking Lima Bay. Miraflores appears to be one of the better cared for districts but each property has massive security gates and we spot discarded syringes on our walk. There is a pleasant park along the cliff top, with large numbers of dogs, mostly of breeds that are recognisable to us. We have been told to avoid dogs on account of deciding to forego rabies vaccines. Fortunately none of them seem to be foaming at the mouth or out of control! The park is set up like an outdoor gym, with appropriate equipment and there are plenty of joggers and a couple of exercise classes going on. One of these appears to involve waving unsheathed swords about. A man is hanging upside down on some parallel bars in a very insecure fashion. Underneath his head is solid concrete! We spot some drab birds with shrill cries and enjoy the warm temperatures. The cliffs are covered with purple morning glory. We chat to a retired American teacher who appears to now live in Lima, then it is back to the hotel.

Our Australian friends, with whom we are sharing this adventure (we are blaming them for everything!), arrive. They have already spent two months in South America. We stroll back down to the park in the afternoon. There are street sellers trying to con gullible tourists; we do succumb to an official looking ice cream salesman, who is unperturbed by us paying with a 50Sol note. The lollies were unusual but refreshing and the ‘choc-ice’ was ice cream sandwiched between bourbon like biscuits. The extreme gymnasts and joggers have mostly given up due to the heat but there are tightrope walkers who have strung ropes between the trees. I have already developed some interesting blisters from my first walk in sandals for six months.

At 6pm we meet the rest of our select group of eleven and our effusive tour guide Yuri. I am thinking of renaming this blog ‘How to kill yourself in Peru’. We are on a G Adventures tour and I am trying to embrace the ‘adventures’ part, honestly I am. Poor Pam and Brian are having to act like nannys. I was feeling proud of myself for remembering to don factor 50 before our afternoon walk. I haven’t worn sunscreen since our neobuild adventure several years ago. Our insect repellent is not compatible with the sunscreen, so we will have to choose between sunburn and being bitten but there are no bitey things here. Then it turns out I shouldn’t have been drinking the tap water or cleaning my teeth with it. I do feel a bit naïve. I guess I thought that in an immaculate looking hotel in the capital city we’d be fine. Actually, to be honest, I hadn’t thought at all. There are warning notices everywhere but not one that says ‘Danger of death – don’t drink the tap water’. Does this means you can’t lick your arms after having a shower? Not that I do lick my arms – why would you? – but you get the idea.

Then I got locked in the toilet in the hotel lobby. Fortunately my banging and cries of help brought rescue. You know that thing about me not being fit to be let out! Yuri takes our party to a local open air restaurant El Parquetito. I judge that I haven’t eaten outside in the evening for more than 40 years. The musical accompaniment relies heavily on 1970’s British pop. It is very agreeable and we get to know our fellow travellers. Mostly of early retirement age, there are three are from Canada, two from the US, an Estonian, a Swede, Pam & Brian from Australia and us. We are given a complimentary Pisco Sour, the national drink, which is a brandy like spirit, with lemon and egg white. It tastes good but we are normally very occasional drinkers, so it will probably make the walk back to the hotel interesting. I resist the unadventurous temptation to order lasagna from the menu and go for something that is basically chicken and chips in a tomato and onion sauce. It does at least have a foreign sounding name. It is certainly edible but it is late for eating by our terms and our bodies still think it is 2.30am, which makes it even harder. Chris opts for a beef thingy.

We have been warned that we have to use copious amounts of hand-sanitizer so we don’t get something dire. We have no hand sanitizer. I have an allergic reaction to hand sanitizer, my hands will be raw by the end of the holiday. I guess raw hands are preferable to an unpleasant illness so we stop at a late night shop to buy some hand sanitizer and some water. There are several ‘flavours’ of hand sanitizer but the shop assistant makes the choice. I am given ‘Exotic Romance, Sensual Beauty’. I can’t read anything into this. The male American ahead of me in the queue has been given the same. Allegedly it is coins that are the danger. I resolve to let my travelling companion be the keeper of the coins. Why can’t we adopt the seventeenth century custom of passing them though buckets of vinegar in times of plague?