Nazca (remains of the day), Huacachina and Lima

Gah! I genuinely thought this last week was going to be boring, but in true South American style, I have been inundated with excitement, adventures, near death, protests, skeletons and the Spanish inquisition. Hark! I hear the sound of many fascinating stories approaching. I shall try and keep them short, snappy and ete-catching...

So, remember I decided to do a four hour trek through the desert to sandboard down the HIGHEST (known) DUNE IN THE WORLD? Remember that? Yeah? Well, I did. But that's not all. I went with the most disgustingly, sickeningly amorous Croate-Argentinian couple in the world, who were the impetus for Emma's Adventure in The Desert. First up, they were about half an hour late. We were on kind of a tight schedule re: sunset. Then, they walked super slow: he was fat, she was an embarrassment to the female sex and they hadn't realised that walking for four hours in the desert meant WALKING FOR FOUR HOURS IN THE DESERT, PEOPLE! It's not going to be a stroll in the park. And yet they strolled. And stopped every 10-20 minutes not only to profess their undying love for each other and to make out, but also to take photos of themselves with desert backgrounds and of themselves making out in front of desert backgrounds. Guess who was the photographer... me, right. I have a big future in the international porn industry. I took some good photos.

But we were kinda on a tight schedule re: impending pitch blackness in the middle of the desert.

So we got to the dunes and threw ourselves down them, I quite stylishly, the couple like a couple of imbeciles (their words, not mine. I did not disagree), and got pockets full of sand and then we took on the 1km dune. The last one. The mac daddy. That's 1,000m of sand everyone. 10,000cm. At the top, I looked at our little guide Enrique and said 'Really? 1km? It doesn't look that high.' How wrong I was. So very, very wrong. I think after about 300m I sat down on my bum and just slid down. Then, when that got too difficult, I took the board off and walked down. Because walking down dunes is pretty fun, actually. Better than walking up them.

And the sunset was beautiful. So beautiful that the couple had to have a photo in front of it. Little did they realise (because they clearly didn't have a brain cell between them), that we were still in the middle of the desert and the sun was setting.

We walked for just over an hour in the dark. In the desert. With one tiny torch between the four of us.

Now I was actually thinking 'This is AWESOME', because I am British and that's how they make us in the U of K: optimistic and stoic and reliable. And slightly crazy. I had been in the sun all day. Plus, I had complete faith in little Enrique and simply followed him step for step and eventually we got to the road. But oh dear, oh dear. For more than an hour, I had heard no aclamations of love and affection from the couple. Something told me that a certain fat, lazy Argentinian was none too happy. It got worse when we got to the road because little Enrique's transport had abandoned him. So the Argentinian let rip and claimed he was dying from the walk (because he was fat) and that everything had been badly organised (because they were late and had to stop every 10-20 minutes for PDA) and that everything was terrible, terrible! And if there's something I really can't stand, it's fuss pots. The only person with the right to fuss and complain in the world is ME!

So we waited, and we waited but nothing conspired. I had now lost faith in little Enrique and, when a bus stopped (for some reason) about 50m away from us, I decided to show these people how things were done, ran up to the bus driver and jabbered away: Señor there are four of us, we are lost, in the middle of the desert, are you going to Nazca do you have space for us? Pretty impressive Spanish nowadays, hey? The poor bus driver, completely bewildered, began to tell me how dangerous it was to be out in the desert in the middle of nowhere after dark. Blahdeblahdeblah do I look like I don't realise? So he agrees to take us, I run back to the others but they say to me: don't worry, we have called the police, they are coming.

Now, I feel, this is logic that helped me to earn my first: I could see a bus. It said Nazca. They said they would take me. I could see no police car. How was I to know a police car would really be coming? How long would I have to wait for this police car when there was a bus right there? How did I know the policemen would not do something scary like take my passport away from me? So, I metaphorically flashed them the Vs and ran back to the bus. Poor bus driver: they're not coming Señor, I don't know why, I don't understand them, it's just me, let's go, forget about them! Leave them in the desert for the scorpions and the buzzards. (That last bit I didn't say in Spanish, but I feel the sentiment was internationally understood).

So I made it back to Nazca in time for pizza and palta and then moved on to Huacachina where I did absolutely nothing but lie by a pool and write my bestseller for two days. Sweet.

Then I took a 4 1/2 hour bus journey to Lima that took TWELVE HOURS because we had to sit outside a town called Cañete for six and a half hours because they wanted a university and the government wouldn't give it to them, so they closed off the whole town. Now I'm big on education, but that seemed a little childish to me. They did, however, give us free rice to apologise for the delay.

So now I am in Lima and thought I was going to another Loki hostel. The hostel the taxi driver dropped me off at, however, was called Pariwana and it was like stepping into an alternate universe: everything was exactly the same as Loki - the beds, the 'this bed is reserved sign', the rules, the dinner menu, the stock in the bar, the check out time, the activities board, the breakfast, everything - and yet they were telling me it was not Loki. So I stayed there, waiting to see what would happen. So far no dwarves have told me my favourite gum has come back into fashion, so maybe it is just a coincidence?

And today, to honour Laura's birthday, I went and did things I thought she would enjoy: I visited a monastery where, in the catacombs, they have on display the bones of between 30-40,000 people, neatly arranged femurs with femurs, skulls with skulls, and in one circular pit, in a spiral of femurs and also skulls. I only realised on the way out, that this means that someone actually sat for hours, lovingly placing the bones artistically together. Imagine that. I mean, really, imagine if that was your job? Also, the guide dropped her keys into a PIT OF SKULLS, which I found amusing, if somewhat distressing. Everywhere smelt of bones. And it's also a little upsetting that I recognised that smell.

Guest: Ah, what is that musty, old smell?
Emma: oh, that's the smell of bones. I'd know it anywhere.
Guest: What? You are sick and disgusting.

Then I visited the Spanish Inquisition museum where they have life-size how-to replicas of torture victims, so you can re-enact the Spanish Inquisition in your own time, and also access to the tiny cells they kept prisoners in as they suffered. Suffered! But the most interesting thing, of course, according to our guide, was the network of irrigation tracts that clearly indicates that this was one of the only buildings in Lima in the 16th century to have running water! Gosh!

And now I shall go and look at art. So far nothing has beaten Cordoba, but after this morning's jaunts, you never know, Lima might deliver.

Hasta pronto peeps x