For the insomniac travel reader,

Yep, The earth moved for us.

But not right away in Lima it didn't.

Nice enough city from what little we saw of it and certainly more pleasant than the mostly negative reports of other travellers. Though I should admit that our few days were spent almost exclusively in the suburbs of Miraflores, San Isidro and Barranco which, for those familiar with London, is on a par with saying you've only visited Fulham, Chelsea and Kensington !

The signs hadn't been too promising upon arrival - the (usually-late) bus pulling into its walled, central Lima compound at 4.30 instead of 6 in the morning following our all-night trip south from Huaraz. As always though, cabbies jostled for our business. Unfortunately, both hostal signs and even street numbers appear surplus to requirements in Miraflores, with the result that we were still cruising around well over an hour later as in vain we tried to locate fourth or fifth-choice venues. Fair play to the long-suffering driver who somehow managed to resist the temptation simply to order the two unwashed gringos from his cab (bearing in mind that bartered, not metered fares are the norm across South America and he'd still only be receiving a couple of dollars for his time).

There was a happy ending however when finally he remembered some Chinese-run hostelry - intriguingly named Foch Ti which, when you consider that 'ti' is Spanish for 'you' , perhaps explains why it finally sprang to mind ?! Now, as we'll be returning to Lima for our final few days before flying to Spain, overall impressions of the place will have to wait.

Next stop was Arequipa to the south, reached by one of our longest (14 hours) but most amusing bus journies to date. The non-stop service had an on-board hostess who rustled up a microwave oven and proceeded to dispense veritable mounds of tupperware into the lap of each passenger. After dinner, as I desperately tried to fit myriad tubs and boxes together to hand back, out came the obvious highlight of the evening - bingo ! To her credit, the hostess handled the microphone without appearing overly embarrassed by the whole thing. Eventually, the Bus Bingo Champion turned out to be a woman with a considerably more comprehensive grasp of Spanish numbers than was obviously present in our row ! Like someone summoned down from the audience on `The Price is Right`, she waved her arms around a lot as she barged her way to the front of the bus to receive first prize - a return ticket to Lima (well, we wouldn`t have wanted to win anyway, mutter mutter). Breathle

Arequipa is a very attractive city bursting with yet more fantastic colonial architecture and stunning courtyards carved from the dazzlingly white sillar stone. Its good burghers however seemed, to a man or woman, intent on ensuring life was made as difficult as possible for overseas visitors. No sooner could you set foot in the beautiful main plaza, for example, before you were besieged by a host of menu-wielding, pidgeon-speaking maniacs, each desperately urging you to visit their terraced restaurant.

And then there was the large, centrally-located public park, Selva Alegre. Which just happens to be closed to members of the public four days of the week. Which they cuningly demonstrate by leaving some of the gates open ! Innocently (as always), in we strolled, only to be yelled at by a couple of scary-looking women from the other side of the boating pond. A trifle strange we thought, continuing our merry way, before happening upon a group of schoolgirls collecting leaves for their Biology project. Keen supporter of free education, I`d barely begun ripping handfuls from a particularly tall tree (hardly ecologically-sound practice, admittedly) when the park keeper appeared. This signalled a miraculous disappearing act from the girls through iron bars fencing in the park while, sure enough, we were sent packing with a flea in our ears.

They were much friendlier in the Santa Catalina Convent, a magnificently huge place which has been successfully churning out nuns for hundreds of years. We were blessed with a knowledgeable guide who spoke excellent English - certainly not a given over here. Touring its many streets, courtyards and buildings bounded by high walls, we were given a tantalising glimpse into the spartan lifestyle endured by its occupants. The young novices in particular seemed to have it tough, despite the beautiful location, once confined there by their families. A fascinating place, highly recommended should you ever be in the vicinity. And the cakes baked by the current crop of nuns weren`t half bad either !

All that could be seen from within the convent walls were the three largest mountains towering above Arequipa. Most impressive was Misti, a 6000 plus metre volcano permanently smoking away next to the city. Isn`t that a little dangerous, I`d asked our guide. Not really, she`d replied reassuringly, residents hardly notice the volcano. They`re far more concerned with all the earthquakes ! Indeed, there had been a fairly major one not long before our arrival (thanks for your email reports to stir us up - you know who you are !) which sadly had reduced one steeple on the main cathedral to a pile of rubble at its feet. Some two months on, we were informed, there were still some 60 small aftershocks each and every day - considerably more than the norm, even for this tectonic hotspot. Which cheered us up no end as well you can imagine.

Back in Inca times they`d gone to extraordinary lengths to appease the gods who, they believed, resided in the mountains, spitting fire and tearing up the land whenever angered by the mortals. In skimpy clothes and leather sandals they would trek up these huge hillsides, bringing with them a young girl or boy who would then be drugged and sacrificed at the crater rim. Several bodies have been located at locations around the huge Inca empire, which at its zenith stretched from Ecuador/Colombia in the north to Chile and Argentina in the south. In one of the city`s museums we saw the mummified body of 'Juanita', a tiny thing estimated at eight or nine years old, who was killed by a sharp blow above the right eye and then left to die of exposure. Her remains were all the more gruesome as at some stage it had toppled into the crater and then been scalded by hot ash from a nearby volcanic explosion.

Our next expedition was to the Colca Canyon - for some time thought to be the world's, though that distinction seems to have been passed to another canyon system elsewhere in Peru. Some six hours away by bus, the journey took us up amongst the snowline for the first time, which sits at around 50000 metres here due to its proximity to the equator, unlike in Europe where it lies kilometres lower. En route we had our first view of vicunyas, timid llama-like animals that at first glance ressemble deer, endangered in these parts due to the extremely soft coats that they wear. Before they become worn by tourists, that is.

The night before descending into the Colca Canyon began uneventfully enough. On the bus we`d hooked up with a couple from Manchester who we`d last met in Cuenca, Ecuador. Hearing that accommodation was something of a premium at our destination, Cabanaconde, we`d sent Bruiser Breda rushing off once the coach halted in the main square to locate us all a room. To say that Cabanaconde was considerably below freezing would probably be an exaggeration, but it was cold enough for us to go to bed in every item of clothing we`d brought - only a tiny part of our faces peeping out from beneath woolly hats and the hoods of our sleeping bags.

Not that there was too much sleeping going on once the earth tremor struck ! We later heard it had 'only' rated a 2 or 3 on the Richter Scale and, thankfully, its epicentre was some distance away. Nevertheless we both awoke in a split second, wondering why someone was driving a freight train through our bedroom. Mud brick walls swayed and rattled as if about to collapse around our (padded) heads. They didn`t, but the few seconds that the tremor lasted for seemed considerably longer to us - and were sufficient to bring down the remaining cathedral steeple back by the time we returned to Arequipa, as well as causing rock slides on the road back. The two, smaller aftershocks over the next few hours were enough to ensure neither of us caught much more rest that night.

Trying not to ponder why the hell we were heading off into one of the steepest collections of loose rock on the planet, we nevertheless set out in the morning with Dave and Esther and began the steep and, in places, treacherous two and a half hour descent. Inexplicably I felt completely drained of energy that day, so really struggled up the other side after stopping for lunch and to dangle feet in the river. It wasn`t really the day to become lost, but we managed it and needed to backtrack more kilometres than I care to recall. At one point I succeded in stumbling into and partially breaching a small wall of stones some local farmer had built to divert a stream. We managed a patch-up-job but, some minutes later to our horror, as we were trekking lower down a torrent of water came hurling past us. Rushing back up the hill, to my eternal relief it turned out to have been caused by a farmer.

Eventually, with me part-walking and part-crawling, we came into a tiny village, San Juan, and soon found the only lodgings. The Sheraton it clearly wasn`t (unless that fine establishment has taken to hanging chunks of rabbit out to dry on the lines - in full view of a hutch of live bunnies?). Politely refusing the hostess`offer of supper, we feasted instead on vegetable curry cooked on Dave and Esther`s camp stove while Breda and myself got into pyromania mode and kept the fire burning for hours.

The next morning we continued along the canyon floor to a place (justifiably) called The Oasis - peaceful bamboo huts surrounding a swimming pool filled each morning from a natural spring. A few hours of absolute bliss later, we pointed our sparkingly-clean bodies back up the mountainside. Not a very clever idea ! We later discovered that groups on guided tours leave at four or five in the morning to avoid doing the climb in the heat of the day. Three and a quarter hours of sheer, shadeless hell later, we staggered over the final ridge to see flat countryside spreading its way back to Cabanaconde. Cold, fizzy beer was unquestionably the worst thing I could have poured down my neck as soon as I arrived, but pour I did anyway.

Up early the following morning once again, we managed to reach the Cruz del Condor lookout in time for the 8 am. show. Apparently something to do with air currents, the sacred condors are only visible between the hours of eight and nine. We`d already seen what the Ecuadorians had described as condors, but these were the real thing - monstrous black and white machines with wingspans of two to three metres, just gliding around the thermals seemingly for their own pleaseure (and ours of course). Magnificent.

Wearily, we caught a coach back to Arequipa and to the beautifully-detailed Hotel Posada del Fraile which we`d been calling home. As soon as possible we winged our way to pricy but excellent coffee and churros at Manolos coffee-shop, our 'local' which had swiftly acquired the nickname of "Barry`s". As soon as we`d had some of our revolting clothes laundered, we`d be on our way by train to Puno and then over the border into Bolivia ...

-- Anonymous, October 03, 2001

Answers

All Presented as received, no names changed to protect anyone.

-- Anonymous, October 03, 2001