A flight above the Nazca lines and a hike up the dunes around a desert oasis.
Diego was waiting for me when I descended to the lobby at 8:00am. The desk attendant told me he had been waiting after I said good morning to him. By the time I had made it outside Diego had the door open for me. A tablet computer was suspended under the rear-view mirror and the speakers were filled with a voice describing the history of the Nazca lines. I slipped into the back seat and prepared myself for the 3+ hour ride to the Pisco airport.
A few minutes into the ride Diego asked if I wanted to turn the video off. I said yes and he put the tablet away. I asked if I could sit in the front seat. Diego agreed and at a stoplight I made the switch.
I told him he was welcome to play music if he wanted. He held out his phone but I told him I wanted to hear what he wanted to play. He fiddled with it for a minute; soon the car was filled with easy listening sounds with a sax taking the lead. I offered him some bananas as a snack and he readily agreed.
We drove through the desert, past toll stations and beach towns. Nearing Asia, stalls littered the side of the road selling inflatable toys. At first I was confused until I saw the entrance to the beach. It seemed to be the closest to Lima.
Here and there some towns sprouted like lush oases where rivers fed irrigation. It was almost a shock to suddenly see such green vegetation after kilometers and kilometers of arid desertscape. Farms appeared, growing cotton and corn. I flashed back to Uzbekistan and the Aral Sea and thought about the amount of water cotton requires. I wondered how sustainable the crop would be in years to come.
Pisco and the airport.
We turned off the highway at Pisco and drove along the ocean before turning down a small road to the airport. The town was a fishing village and boats filled the harbor. After the flight I’d end up eating at a seafood restaurant with views out towards the sea, but for now, I caught only a quick glimpse.
We were the first to arrive at the airport. It was deserted save for some ground crew hanging on a bench. There was no one at the check-in desk and Diego told me to sit tight.
As we waited, other tourists started trickling in. There’s a joke about the airport being an international airport, not for the flights they bring in but for the fact that everyone who flies from there is an international tourist.
As people trickled in, the counter opened. I checked in for the flight and was issued a boarding pass on a slip of paper and then I was lead to pay my airport tax. A woman opened a small counter selling souvenirs. As I approached she gave me a candy as a gift.
After we had all checked in we continued to wait. Eventually, security arrived and let us into the gate area where we again waited. And waited. And continued to wait. I had lost track of time when a woman walked into the waiting area from the tarmac.
She came to each of us individually and told us that there was an issue with the refueling truck and that we were delayed until the plane could refuel. She said it wasn’t an issue with the airline; it was an issue with the gas provider.
And then the issue was resolved. Almost as soon as she had finished telling the last set of passengers she announced that the truck had arrived and the plane was fueling. She checked us in and led us out to the plane.
Towards The Nazca lines.
As soon as we had all boarded, the plane taxied for takeoff. There were six rows of seats; each person with a window view. We flew east over the desert, skirting the mountains and towns. Occasionally we could see dry riverbeds, shadows outlining the banks of the rivers that once were.
The flight was uneventful and yet I found myself fascinated by the landscape and shot pictures at regular intervals to capture the land beneath us.
The nazca lines.
And then suddenly the appeared, first as a series of trapezoids and rectangles and then as characters. An astronaut, a monkey, a hummingbird and then a spider. A lizard with its tail cut off by a road that ran from one end of the horizon to the other.
The plane banked sharply left and right, circling over each drawing so that each side had perfect views of the lines. The man next to me had pulled a plastic bag out from the seat pocket in front of him; soon he had reason to use it.
Alarms went off in the cockpit as the pilot pointed out each creature and drawing. First directing us which side of the aircraft to look out of; then pointing out when the drawing was directly under the wing, banking so that we were practically looking down right on top of it before banking again in the opposite direction so that the people on the other side of the plane could see.
At the end, we flew over the Royal Family, an example of the Palpa lines, designs that were made in the side of mountains by a different group of people in a different style.
No one knows exactly why the lines were drawn. It’s something that’s been puzzling archeologists for quite some time. The video in the car offered some explanations but none that seem to be widely accepted.
Back at the airport, I was met by Eduardo, who introduced himself as my local guide. He took me to lunch at a local restaurant in Paracas and filled me in on some of the details of the area.
I asked him about the farms and he said that they grow cotton as well as asparagus, though the latter primarily for export. He said Peruvians don’t eat much asparagus. He also told me that there was a lot of sardine fishing and canning in the area, also for export.
He said that for the small percentage of the ocean that Peru sits on, they produce an outside portion of the fish consumed in the world. He was rightly proud of his country and he extolled the various activities one can do in Paracas. He told me that one could hire boats to go sport fishing and that there was a scallop farm just across the bay that one can visit.
He told me he had plans to expand his footprint in tourism before the pandemic, but had to put his plans on hold. He said that tourism was coming back, but it was taking time to rebuild.
A change of plans.
After lunch we drove to Paracas National Park. At the gate, an attendant told us the park was closed for the day. Eduardo looked surprised. It’s supposed to close at 5pm, no? No, at 4pm. It was 4:05. Eduardo asked Diego to take us to the office to talk with the park officials.
Back at the car he said there was some mistake. Diego drove us to the nearby monument to San Martin to let Eduardo make some calls.
After speaking with the head office, Eduardo returned to the car and apologized profusely. He asked me if I’d be interested in seeing the Huacachina Oasis instead. It was an hour away and it would mean that I wouldn’t get back to Lima until 11:30pm.
I said I was game but asked Diego if he was ok driving the extra time. He said he didn’t mind and we were off. Headed towards the Pan-America highway headed east towards Ica. If we drove for another 16 hours, we’d find ourselves in Cusco.
As we drove, I asked about the vineyards that we passed. Eduardo told me that the oldest vineyard in Latin America was near Ica. I asked if we could visit it, and he said it wasn’t that close. But if I was interested in a wine tasting, his brother worked at a winery in Ica and he’d be happy to show us around. I was very interested.
An impromptu wine tasting.
At Nietto, Eduardo and his brother explained that Peruvians prefer sweet wines, and that all the wines we’d be tasting would be of the sweeter variety. We would also be tasting Pisco by itself, and he told us of a group in Ica where, to join, you had to down an entire water class of Pisco without changing your facial expression for a minute; Pisco is up to 48% alcohol.
The wines were new to me but delicious, sweet without being cloying. When we got to the Pisco, Eduardo showed us how to drink, taking our time to savor and breathe. It was surprisingly good, but I couldn’t imagine drinking an entire water glass of it.
We closed out the tasting with a few creamas, delicious blends incorporating fruits and other flavors before Eduardo brought me out to show me the traditional vessels in which they age the wine and the old press. He said that there were a few different wineries in the region, as the family had splintered their production into different houses. Family businesses have a way of spinning themselves off.
The sun had started to set by the time we were back in the car, and it was dusk as we drove through town. At one point, Eduardo pointed to a series of stacked concrete blocks to the left of the car. It was a cemetery, he told me. In Ica they bury their dead above the ground. I asked if they built higher but he said they tend not to.
Huacachina Oasis.
We arrived at the oasis after the sun had set, but a fiery glow filled the sky. We walked around the oasis itself, past restaurants and bars towards the sand dunes that rose above its western end. Eduardo asked if I was interested in climbing some dunes. I said yes and took my shoes off for better grip. Still, with the alcohol running through my veins, I was panting by the time we reached the ridge.
Dune buggies spoiled the atmosphere somewhat, their loud engines revved as they made their way over the sand. Eduardo said that they weren’t supposed to run after sunset but there was no one really policing the situation.
Looking back out over the oasis I asked where the water came from. Eduardo said it used to be a natural aquifer and that there used to be 12 in the area. Now it was just the one, and water was now artificially pumped into it by the city since it had become such a tourist attraction.
I asked if he ever came out here with his friends. He said he was a workaholic, but even so it wasn’t a place he’d really hang out in, beautiful as it was.
He did mention camping in Paracas National Park, and seeing the stars. I said that sounded like something to see, and that the next time I came, I’d look to book a camping trip in the national park, and that perhaps missing it this time would encourage me to return.
Return to Lima.
We dropped Eduardo back in town and began the long drive back. Stopping at a gas station, I bought peanut M&Ms for Diego and I and we ate them quietly as the road stretched before us deep into the night.
At a toll booth I saw a flaming tire and wondered what it meant. Later, I would realize it was a sign of the protests against rising fuel prices and the lack of fertilizer as a result of the sanctions on Russia for attacking Ukraine.
In another week there would be protests in central Lima and President Castillo would announce a 24 hour lockdown on the day after. Protests of the lockdown would have him rescind it seven hours before it was to conclude. Pots and pans would clang from apartment building windows in support of the protests.
But this night was quiet, as were the streets coming back into the city. I asked Diego if he were spending the night in Lima. No, he said. He was driving home to Paracas. I tipped him and told him to drive safely. He smiled and got back into his car. His taillights drove once around the traffic circle and then disappeared. 👩🏼🚀
