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We are collected by a different mini-bus which then has made it’s way down the narrow dirt road to the Wifala Hotel. Once on a main road, we stop to connect to the trailer carrying our mountain bikes and continue to climb up to the divide over which all the rivers flow into the Amazon. The weather is grey with rain threatening. Apparently, it can be quite mystical cycling out of the mist into the sunshine. We are briefed to wear layers and that we will complete the journey in shorts and tee shirts.

A short distance over the divide at over 4,000 metres, we come across ‘The Airport’. It is a large paved area between the road and a sheer cliff below which fluffy clouds swirl obscuring an almost certainly vertiginous view. The large H in the middle of this space is a clue that this so-called Airport is in fact a helicopter pad. There is no sign of rain and we proceed to get acquainted with our bikes as they are unloaded by the team supplying the bus, trailer and bikes.

The bikes seem huge with very wide handlebars and very fierce disc brakes.  It’s cold up here and I’ve got my down jacket on plus the first outing for my waterproof Mac, bright blue for visibility. There is a selection of helmets and find myself choosing between a bright yellow one and a blue helmet to match my Mac. It looks smart and has a visor at the front.

Our briefing is: No overtaking and to ride in single file, keeping a good distance between riders and definitely no overtaking our leader. We set off with patches of mist on both sides and I’m grateful for that as looking down brings on the vertigo and It’s clear that I have to concentrate on the road.

It just happens that I am first out behind our leader Roco – but he speeds on ahead – obviously used to leading a much younger party. I take it slowly to get used to the bike and the conditions.

The Hairpin bends are a huge challenge and about five minutes into the ride there is a shout to stop just around one of these bends and I see that Ann has fallen off and everyone except Rico, who is already around the next bend, has stopped. Anne has been caught by the gravel on the side of the road and is shocked and in pain. As she is a Doctor, she knows that she has broken something in her wrist and suspects multiple breaks in writs and hand. Eventually our support vehicle arrives, having taken a while to get the un-used bikes loaded up onto the trailer. We all help to carry Ann to the bus on a stretcher where she joins the four of our party who have declined to cycle. The plan is to take her and partner Ingo to the nearest town where they can get a taxi to Cusco and a hospital.

Somewhat shaken, we set out again with Richard (our tour guide) as the back and Charlie leading. Angela (our local guide for the Inca section) has gone ahead with the minibus to arrange for Ann to be transported to hospital.

We now descend into thick fog which turns to cold rain. The road is wet and quite scary and I can’t see more than fifteen to twenty metres ahead. We are overtaken by a car – a woman in the back has wound down her window and shouts ‘Where are your lights?’ She has a point and I’m quite glad to have my bright blue rain jacket – most of the other cyclists have no high viz gear at all. The hairpin bends are treacherous and Charlie loses control and looks ready to fall into the V-shaped ditch on the inside of the road. He manages to stay out of the ditch, but falls in the process. As I catch up, I break too hard and also fall off. No harm is done and we wait for the others to catch up. After a few minutes it is clear that Rico is not coming back, so we re-mount and continue cautiously and find him waiting several hairpin bends away.  We ask him to slow down.

It gradually gets warmer and there are now numerous fords over the road where small rivers flow, wetting our shoes as we ride through them. A car overtakes me on one such ford – they are always on a hairpin bend – forcing me off the road into another minor fall.

Slowly the fog and rain disperses and we all begin to enjoy the ride. We pass banana trees (not indigenous to the Americas) indicating that we are now in a tropical climate. Until now we have been free-wheeling down the Andes with the breaks on all the time and both hands on the wide handlebars. The strain on shoulders and neck is considerable. Now that there is some peddling to do, the unaccustomed exercise is welcome. Suddenly we see the rest of our party and the minibus waiting for us. I do a small wave and immediately apply the brakes, only to flip head over heels. The visor on my helmet breaks  as I hit the ground and I feel it graze my  forehead, plough into the bridge of my nose and continue downwards to graze the end of my nose and chin. I end up with one leg tangled in the bike. Nigel, who is a nurse rushes to the rescue with tissues to mop up the blood and someone else picks up the offending visor. I don’t think I’ve broken anything and the helmet has saved any contact with the ground. I’m able to stand and walk, but Angela is convinced that I will need a stich on my nose and after applying a pad of gauze with tape tells me there is a clinic at a nearby town. Richard is convinced I will need ice as he expects to see my eyes puff up and sets of – I have to shout after him not to bother. Ice will only delay the healing and I’m not convinced that my eyes will puff up anyway. Angela has Iodine which she liberally dabs on my superficial wounds. It reminds me of my childhood, when Iodine was the go-to antiseptic. I think that my knees will also need looking at – they have both been grazed through my jeans. They both get the Iodine treatment. We wait for the bikes to be loaded up onto the trailer on what seems to be more Inca constructions. This is a resting post for the runners who carried vital information to the Inca.

There is no queue at the clinic emergency room. Two nurses clean me up and plaster antiseptic cream on everything. It’s the equivalent of Savlon, which I have never liked. The three of us have a laugh as they try to find out if my nose is broken or if I am in pain – neither is the case. They do agree with Angela that I need stitches but they don’t have any fine enough thread for this job and we have to do to a larger hospital at the regional City forty minutes away. It is decided to try it but we have a tight window of opportunity to get to Santa Theresa. There are major roadworks and we’ve already missed the 3 – 4 pm slot and now have to make the 6 -7pm to get to our hotel for the night.

Angela and I arrive at the Emergency department, which seems very quiet, and are directed to Triage. Poking our heads though the open doorway we can see a man on a bed with cathodes on his chest. It looks like he’s had a heart attack and two men, possible relatives, are running in and out looking very anxious. After ten minutes we can go in, but first the paper-work has to be completed and my height, weight and blood pressure measured. Predictably the latter is on the high side.

There is no bustle – everything is calm and seems slow. It’s my turn on the bed and the middle aged, kindly nurse, who has done the paper work examines and cleans my wounds. She cuts a diagonal out of a green cloth and places over my face, then patiently delivers a local anaesthetic. We wait. The cock ticks. Will we make to portal between 6 and 7? Finally, the stiches come and I still don’t know how many. More than one – maybe three or four.

‘Muchas gracious Señora,’ I say as she finishes. I’m handed anti-inflammatory and paracetamol tablets with instructions. Angela has gone ahead with 100 Soules from me, to pay but she also has to get the prescription for antibacterial cream form the pharmacy. There is change from the S100 for the whole procedure (£22) so no point even sending in an insurance claim. We now rush out to find our minibus. Our companions have been relaxing, having coffee which they allege is the best so far found in Peru.

Walter (our driver) drives heroically, getting to our portal by ten past six and we will make it to our hotel. The major roadworks are creating a highway to Santa Theresa and it’s pretty hard going over rocky dirt roads with traffic going in both directions, sheer drops and single file sections. It’s dark by the time we get to the Eco Lodge, having missed the turnoff. There is a steep climb up crazy paved steps carrying our luggage. We have just made it in time to eat a meal before the staff leave at Eight-thirty. I treat myself to a beer.

Our bus snakes up the steep Andean mountains and delivers us to a well preserved and extensive hillside of Inca terraces. We have glimpses of this amazing site on the way up and struggle to photograph it from below as the trees along the road hide the full splendour.

My first observation is how closely the terraces hug the contours of the mountain, reminding me of similar terraces in South East Asia and China.

Working with the rural landscape is common around the world and different cultures have discovered the same solutions in spite of having no contact. They started at the bottom of the mountain and worked their way up almost to the top. What is different about these Inca terraces is the construction of the walls which, like their buildings, slope inwards towards the mountain slope.

This part of the world is where two massive continental plates have crashed together to create The Andes Mountain range. They still shake today and yet the terraces have held.

The retaining wall above is founded on the rock base below the current level of the terrace. It’s like a huge raised bed and as a gardener, I know the benefits of growing in raised beds. Each one has a base of porous rocks, then a layer of sand, carried from Amazonian rivers and finally topsoil. Irrigation from the top terraces trickles down feeding the ones below, unlike trickle down economics. The walls absorb heat during the warm sunny days allowing crops to be kept warm though the very cold nights.

We circle around the top of these impressive terraces looking down to the valley, where crops are still grown and animals grazed. During the Inca time there was not enough land in these narrow valleys to feed the empire, so a solution had to be found.

At regular intervals in the retaining walls, there are stone steps jutting out, exactly as you would find in an English Dry-stone-wall in Yorkshire. Here is another example of a solution arrived at by different cultures. The gaps between Inca steps are huge – astonishing, as they had short legs. By all accounts these people were very strong and this persists in the present population, who are also acclimatised to the high altitude. Babies here are born with larger lungs and people have much larger chests to accommodate. A great example of evolution and adaptation.

As we approach the gateway to the settlement on top of the hill, we can see the way high-class walls have been built to indicate importance and these walls always follow the contours of the rock below. About half of our group are going to do the tramp down to the valley below.

It’s been a struggle getting the breath in the heat of the day to get to the top and I’m never comfortable going downhill, so several of us go back to our minibus and descend in comfort.

 

Once reunited, we travel on to Urubamba. Instead of a town with a main square, we find ourselves travelling though dusty roads, hardly wide enough for our minibus. We seem to be in the middle of nowhere, when suddenly we are alongside a white wall with a door. It’s the Wifala Harmony Hotel, which opens up to a Gaudi-esque Aladin’s cave.

Newly opened, this has been designed and built by a local architect inspired by the work of Gaudi. We are delighted by the contrast from other traditional Haciendas we have stayed in and spend time looking at everyone’s rooms – they are all different. There is time to explore the outside, but it’s a shame that the swimming pool and jacuzzi is still under construction. Dinner is even more of a surprise and the chef has produced the most elegantly presented nouvelle cuisine with just the right portions for us. There was a rush with phones to capture the food. Breakfast is likewise a work of art.

After a breakfast of eggs at the homestay we say goodbye to our hosts and make for the Parque Arquelogico of Raqchi. This is our first major encounter with the Inca civilisation and it’s an impressive start.

 

 

 

But first I need to make this ‘Inca’ thing clear. The word Inca means ruler. This civilisation was reaching it’s peak around 1400 AD. They had no written language so no one knows what this tribe of people called themselves. We only have observations made by some of the Spanish invaders plus archaeological detection and hypothesis. So, for convenience, I’m going to talk about Inca Culture. I had got the impression on Titicaca that there was some pride and identification about being ‘Inca’ emerging but Angela tells me this is not the case. It’s a long and complicated story as empire and the legacy usually are. As invaders themselves, the people of the Inca were not generally liked and as already mentioned, there were plenty of similar civilisations in South America at the time of the Inca rise. The people of the Inca were dark and short and their empire revolved around food production. They expanded not so much by brute force but by stealth and innovation.

They had an advantage in that most of the other tribes were also sun worshipers so changes in religious practices would not have been huge – unlike the swich to Christianity – aka Spanish Catholicism. The Inc people were also very good at taking the ideas of others and making them better, developing systems and procedures, so that conquered people could see that they were better off.  Here at Raqchi, we find an irrigation system still flowing and there is the remains of a huge temple.

Behind this are scores of round stone walls, the remains of food storage buildings that once would have had steep thatched roofs. They were very well ventilated to keep piles of corn and potatoes cool. This was one of the food stores built to feed the empire. The Incas (rulers) understood that well fed people are more content.

However, the diet of carbohydrates meant that life expectancy was about forty and a seventeen-year-old could find himself as an Inca. Because the culture took the long view, projects begun by one Inca were expected to be completed by subsequent Incas. None of this modern-day cancelling by the next ruler that impedes progress.

The astonishing thing about Inca construction is that no mortar was used. Stones were fitted closely together and tied in. The granite stones were painstakingly hewed using harder stone tools – they didn’t have steel. The huge blocks were smoothed using sand mixed with Agave to give an ultra-smooth surface and the joints were so aligned, that you can’t even get a credit card between the blocks. The longer the wall took to build the higher the class of building. Time was no object.

Our next stop of the day is at Andahuayli-llas to see the so-called Sistine Chapel of The Americas. It is nothing like the Sistine Chapel of The Vatican. The biblical paintings are unremarkable – not even close to the brilliance of Michael Angelo, and hung in frames along the nave.

However, there are several important features which makes this church worth a visit. The painted wooden roof beams are beautiful and a reminder of other mediaeval cathedrals – you just need to block out all the gilt and glitter from the tasteless shrines dotted around. These colourful and overly decorated pieces are typical of Catholic churches here.

What is most important are the examples of how the Peruvians smuggled their own culture past the Spanish Catholic authorities. Images of Christ are darker than their European counterparts and often clothed in bright Peruvian colours. Imagine my surprise on seeing my patron saint carrying the Christ Child – both dressed in high-viz green.

Christ on the cross is often depicted with a bright red skirt (Inca style) instead of the standard loin cloth. In some cases, the church chose to ignore such travesties so that some of the ancient culture today co-exists with Catholicism. The people switch to whichever practice suits their purpose.

We arrive in Pisaq at our hacienda- type hotel in time to check in laundry and to get a private view of the attached botanical gardens. The grandfather of the current owner of the hotel was a botanist and created this amazing and wild garden. The cacti collection is amazing and there is a collection of potato varieties. Peru boasts over four thousand different potatoes. The garden is alive with birds and if you are lucky, you might just get a glimpse of a hummingbird. My hotel window looks out over this garden.

Day 4.

I have the morning to myself and return to the main square, to find the buildings are white in daylight. People are sunning themselves on the benches as the temperature rises. At 2,335 metres above sea level, the temperature drops at night. I return to La Compania De San Ignacio Cloisters, just off the square to explore.

Church is open, so I divert. It’s gloomy and I get about five metres in the door and turn around. The Cloisters are light grey, almost white and are deserted. The artist stalls Richard mentioned last night have all gone. Apparently many things have not returned after COVID, all that remains here are a couple of Alpaca shops and a few cafés, which are not yet open. I climb up stairs to a walkway overlooking the cloister – it is beautiful and calm looking down.

I wander back to the square looking for a bench in the shade of a tree, but none are vacant, so it’s on to the balcony where all the coffee places are. I order a cappuccino and chose a seat looking out on the Square, get out my laptop and begin to write. When the cappuccino comes it is dreadful and I soon order agua con gas to clear my palette. Suddenly, I hear my name, Richard and another are three cafés along to my right and four others from our group are two cafés to my left.

Some time later my concentration is broken by drumming and lout hailing. I suspect another demonstration. It is, but in favour of a local mayoral candidate. It’s time to pack up and return to the ice-cream place opposite San Ignacio. It’s only mid-day and an ice-cream alone won’t sustain me through the afternoon so I start with a ham and cheese empanada. It is all puffed up – filled with air – a thin layer of cheese is melted into bits of ham. These are not as I remembered in Argentina a few years ago. The traditional Peruvian Ice Cream, Queso Helado, is unusual and delicious.

The afternoon is devoted to the Monastery of Santa Catalina, an order of Dominican nuns established in the sixteenth century. Our guide speaks good English but is initially a bit brisk , but warms up when we start asking questions. She is grateful to be back at work after COVID as during the pandemic there were no tourists. Peru was particularly badly hit initially, one guide claimed they were the worst in the world and even now masks are mandatory and a majority still wear them.

The nunnery is like a large village and covers between five and seven acres. It was a closed order with no contact to the outside world and there remain sixteen nuns in a modern closed of area of the compound. There is s video of them happily cooking, sewing, praying, singing and playing musical instruments. The products from their cooking are on sale.

From the 16^th century, the second daughter of every wealthy family went into the monastery, there was no choice. If the second daughters were twins, they went in as well. Families paid large amounts of money plus gifts of carpets and art works for the privilege of having a family member serving God. Most of their time was spent praying but they were forbidden to read the Bible as that might have led them to question the Catholic doctrine. That makes sense to me as my interpretation of the New Testament as a child and teenager, was that Jesus was a socialist.

The nuns lived in ‘houses’ which were little more than one room, even the Mother Superior lived in one room, albeit a larger room. Kitchens were attached – there are kitchens everywhere – and lower class nuns, those from poor families, did the work for the upper class nuns – cooking, washing and so on. You can see why they were denied access to the bible.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The 16^th century was not a safe time for girls and young women as those who married had to work hard, were usually abused by husbands and often died in childbirth. Only the eldest son inherited for the father – the other sons would go to be soldiers.

Our guide painted a grim picture of the lack of choice for young people. The colours painted on the walls look stunning and may have been similar in the 16^th century and may have helped to foster a sense of safety.

 

Small revolving doors allowed messages to be sent out to families and presents to be given to the Monastery. Often these presents were abandoned babies, who were adopted by the nuns. The girl, were brought up to be nuns while the boys left when they were about 8 -10.

 

Many of us are experiencing fuzzy heads as a result of the high altitude.  Paracetamol and keeping hydrated is the key.  After dinner and walking back to the hotel, the pedestrian streets are alive with sellers. Their wares are displayed on mats which can be easily collected up in a bundle and removed if the police sirens are heard. One of our party comes across a book-seller and is intrigued. The man says he is not Peruvian but Arequipian – a bit of regional pride doing on?

Peru Day 3 The Heart of the City

Our  guide today is Giermo. He tells us that every city has a heart, a centre or central square  where people gather to identify, communicate and protest. Does Aotea Square do this for Auckland? Perhaps for protests. London has many hearts depending on your interest. Trafalgar Square for celebrations and demonstrations, the financial heart is now split between Bank and Canary Wharf in the old Docklands. Theatres are in Soho and so on. But today we are off to find the heart of Lima and perhaps Peru. A minibus collects us and all our luggage and we ride as Giermo tells us that Lima is a city of eleven million, but only one hundred and forty metres above the sea. There are forty-two mayors  who govern the different districts of the city. Each mayor has a cabinet of councillors, so there is a lot of politics in the City which also has a top mayor. Only twenty percent of Peruvian politicians are women and there are now one hundred and thirty  in Congress. Election posters with images of friendly-faced men can be seen everywhere as there is an election soon.

We learn that Peru exports mangos and asparagus – to be found most of the year in British supermarkets. Coffee beans from the Amazon are also exported as Peruvians don’t drink much coffee, preferring coca tea, the leaves of which also come from the Amazon. There is not much smoking here, though we did smell weed on the cliffs yesterday, just as one does walking around London. There are one and a half-million Venezuelans  in Peru and they do smoke, according to Giermo.

Inca culture (centred in Cusco) spread extensively over  neighbouring areas  of what is now Columbia, Bolivia, Chile and northern Argentina. It was the dominant rule until the Spanish turned up, but it’s important to know that there were great civilisations here before the Inca and our first stop is at one of many pre-Inca temples around the city and according to Giermo, human sacrifices were made here. The temples have survived two thousand years because there is no rain to wash away the mud bricks. Giermo doesn’t remember rain in his lifetime – the last downpour being in 1978. The ancients also understood earthquakes and employed anti-seismic construction methods, so that the buildings moved with the undulations of the Earth. Now we drive through the historic upper-class suburbs built by the Spanish. The whole area is planted with Olive trees brought from Spain and planted in the green spaces between the houses. The olives are harvested, pressed and the oil given to local people. Some of the trees are four-hundred years-old and an ancient oil press is preserved and on show.

The main square is home to the usual colonial architecture of the period: solid,impressive and grand but nothing outstanding.

It is dominated by an equestrian statue of  General Grau. In the other, more colourful square, there is a Cathedral, the Presidential Palace, a Theatre  and various government buildings. It’s not crowded with people, so I suspect that any talking here happens indoors. It also says nothing of Peru, from what I’ve seen so far.

The group is to visit the museum to look at Inca gold in a vault, but we all need to have our vaccination passports to show, plus a mask. I can’t find where I’ve stored it on my phone and my NHS app doesn’t work here.

I just wait and another of our party, desperate for coffee also gives it a miss.

 

Suddenly, we come upon a very loud demonstration. Peruvian people are demonstrating in lines, chanting and blowing very loud plastic horns. The protest is against the corruption of the current Top Mayor. They are supervised by the police and the only violence is on the ear-drum. Suddenly police reinforcements arrive, but it seems they are to relieve the current force. The demonstration seems to be on the move and we find ourselves walking along side them in the opposite direction.

This central part of Lima is awash  with protected historic buildings built by the Spanish. Many of these have wooden balconies which are shuttered with lattice-work so their inhabitants can see out but no one can see in.

Around the corner is the Basilica Neustra Sénora La Merced. It is, like many South American Catholic churches, packed with gruesome imagery with bloody statues of Christ, emphasising his suffering. The message is clear that the suffering poor are better of than the Saviour. The grandeur is designed to intimidate.

 

Opposite the church is a building which once housed the Inquisition, so that once tortured and converted, the victim could be escorted across the road to be guided in the faith.

 

 

 

 

We have time for a visit to the catacombs. The Spanish were here for 300 years and buried their dead under the church above. We are required to wear our masks to get in and descend into the earth and walk along tunnels either side of which are bones (mostly femurs) and skulls. Bodies were buried in lime and after a time, the remains were fished out for a new lot. Gruesome remains are displayed and lit. No photography is allowed.

Everywhere people are wearing masks, in busses and on the street. Peru was severely affected by Covid and it looks as if masks have been their main weapon. Peruvians are gregarious and gather in public spaces, but you can see the apprehension in some when a non-masked person approaches.

We walk to our minibus and are taken to the airport for our flight to Arequipa. Showing my boarding pass on my phone works just like most other places in the world. It’s a short flight but the Hotel transport has failed to arrive, so we taxi into the city through ugly looking suburbs of half finished houses and other unidentifiable buildings. It takes forever as this is the second largest city in Peru.

Once settled into our hotel, we venture out for an evening stroll – straight down the hill to the main square.

It is busy with people and with the buildings lit up, looks very beautiful.  It is dominated by the Cathedral and the other three sides have arched walkways where small shops are plying their trade. On the bottom side of the square there are balconies with inviting looking cafés. Young people with menus are trying to entice us upstairs. Further around is another interesting-looking church, closed now but the cloister looks worth an explore tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

 

We are off to a recommended restaurant in the other direction.

I try a lemonade made from a berry found in the Amazon, it is delicious and it goes with my fresh-water shrimp dish. We are in a covered courtyard surrounded by heaters like the ones in London and everywhere else in the world. Suddenly a man at the next table falls backwards onto the floor. Doctor Ann, who is our tour group, leaps to help, asking questions, inspecting the back of his head for wounds and dispensing empathy. He looks pale but is otherwise unharmed. Dr Ann returns in time for her food. A few minutes later the man’s partner also faints and collapses to the ground. She also recovers and they continue their dinner as if nothing had happened. A mystery.

The first thing I notice about Lima is the morning fog which, like San Francisco, rolls off the sea, blocks out the sunshine and heat. At this time of year (September) it burns off by lunchtime but around dusk at 6.30pm the temperature plumets to below ten degrees or colder. This requires up to three changes of clothes or layers which can be added or removed.

All this is caused  by the cold Humboldt current which shoots up from Antarctica scooping up nutrients from the Pacific Ocean floor as it goes, to feed the plankton. Consequently the seas are rich with fish and seafood. The Humboldt eventually meets a warm current travelling south at the Galapagos Islands resulting in incredible diversity of flora and fauna.

Arturo is our guide today and explains the weather of Peru to us. We are playing at being locals by jumping on one of the numerous busses which are the main method of public transport. We travel out of the suburb of Milefiori  to pick up tuk tuks. They are forbidden in the posh areas of Lima. We make for the sea past expensive apartment blocks with views of the mist-shrouded sea. We travel south along the coastal road to observe that the land is indeed a desert. Nothing grows in Lima that hasn’t been watered daily – fed by reservoirs and rivers from inland rain and snow from the Andes. Because the mountains are only ten kilometres inland and extremely high, they prevent the fog from drifting inland and dispersing.

We stop to observe the Pacific Ocean. Arturo spent a few years in Aotearoa and points in a south westerly direction with some fondness. There is a statue of General Miguel Grau splattered with guano. He is one of the heroes of Peru, even though he didn’t quite win the Pacific War in 1879 when Chile invaded and grabbed some of Peru and Bolivia lost its access to the sea. Originally Bolivia asked Peru for help but later withdrew leaving Peru to put up resistance to the incursion. A story currently playing out in Eastern Europe. Below is a sea wall, which encloses an open water course in the cold Pacific Ocean. One swimmer in a wet suit is doing the circuit. There is a small boat with people fishing, but no sign of a life guard. I haven’t got my swimming gear and there seems no way down from here.

Arturo tells us about the conquest of the Inca Empire by the Catholic Church. A cross by the cliff edge includes many of the Christian symbols. Far above on the hills is a pylon-style cross which lights up at night and can be seen from afar. This was made for the visit of the Pope Francis.

Further on is a rocky promontory where a young man is struggling to get into his white monk’s costume whilst removing his red pants. Legend has it that a young monk fell in love with a beautiful girl. Her family took her away, leaving the monk so heartbroken that he jumped to his death from the rocks. Our young man has managed to remove his red pants and now stands on the rock with a knotted rope attached to him. We wait – video buttons poised. He might be waiting for the waves to be at the right level or perhaps he is psyching himself up for his dive. Whatever his motive he has created suspense and anticipation in his audience. I miss the start, but notice that he bends his knees so that his lower legs will retard his entry into the sea. A great strategy to avoid breaking his neck on the bottom. He surfaces, quickly hauls himself up the knotted rope and scampers up to collect our money. There’s a group watching from the road, so he has to get there before they all drive off in their cars.

Onwards to Horseshoe Bay, once the most beautiful beach. The mayor of this region had ambitions to create a highway right around the coast. The hillside was blown away, resulting in rocks and pebbles covering the beach. The highway was never built.

Lunch is at Tacu Tacu – a no fuss restaurant where we are served jugs of Chicha Morada and Passion Fruit juice. They are both delicious, the former being made by boiling purple corn and adding some pineapple juice. Looking like the darkest red wine you ever saw, it originates in the Andes and is now ubiquitous in Peru. Our meal begins with two traditional starters: Ceviche – made from  fresh raw fish marinade in lime, with corn and salad. I’ve never liked the idea of raw fish and am unsure about large chunks of it. It was fantastic – add fresh finely sliced red chilis to give it a bite. Causa – which looks like a small cake has layers of yellow mashed potato (there are over 4000 varieties of potato in Peru) then a layer of seafood or chicken then Avocado (native to the Americas from Mexico to the Andes) and finally  another potato layer. Our main is grilled fish with rice and corn with spices – a tasty way to brighten up these inexpensive grains left over from yesterday.  Filling and delicious.

We walk it off through the market area bright with multi-coloured fruit and vegetables and onwards past a mansion which was, in colonial times, part of a ranch retreat overlooking the sea. Not far away and behind a grim looking brown fence topped with electrified wire is the second best steak restaurant in the world. It seems the Peruvians are proud to be second best – there is quite a list. What comes across is the politics of Spanish colonisation and the legacy of the Incas and their empire which is still remembered. Not forgotten are former great civilisations thriving around the time of the Romans. There will be more to learn I’m sure.

Another local bus takes us to The Barranco district. We are looking at a valley going down to the sea. A recent earthquake has destroyed the roof of a church on the other side and other buildings made from adobe bricks are also damaged. Many years ago, this was a route the fishermen took down to the sea. The fog was so heavy that often they could not make out the path back up with their catch. One night they saw a light at the top and followed it to find a burning cross. This was a sign and the place became holy. We follow the path to discover the most amazing art on walls. Many artists are commissioned to paint on buildings by local governments and companies. Near the top of the Barranco is the work of Jade Rivera and his studio/shop. Jade has murals all over the world – it’s evocative work and this mural is stunning – a popular location for photo shoots. The photographer and model had infinite patience waiting for a shot clear from other people.

The underside of a bridge has become a mass portrait demonstrating the diversity of people in Peru. There’s an interesting mural representing The Amazon and the drug Ayahausca  – a hallucinogenic concoction used by Samans to heal. The essential ingredient is like the synthetic drug DMT and patients must fast for three days before taking it and then only under the close supervision of the Shaman, who strongly disapprove of casual use. Lastly and most importantly, the woman who multitasks and holds the rest of the world on her shoulders

In the evening we visit the Aqua Park – water fountains by night. We have no expectations an discover a delight that rivals Bellagio’s in Vegas. I’ll just let the pictures tell the story.