A Journey to Peru

Part 1

Foreword

I cannot simply tell you that I went to Peru, throw twenty pictures here and leave...
So I decided to try and describe this journey, recall the feelings and the memories. I tried to say something about the photos you will find here, about the ones that didn't make it into this page and about those that were not taken at all.
If you are interested, or just curious, enough to read the whole story, I hope I did manage to communicate these feelings and memories: I would be delighted to know that we shared a similar experience, that you felt prompted to visit these places, or simply that you like the pictures.
if nothing of this happens, then well... thanks for coming anyway -and for not telling anyone how bad this page is...

I had dreamed of visiting the Andes for a long time.
Peru is certainly a place worth more than a visit, for its history, for the vastness of the highlands and the beauty of the mountains, for its traditions, for the musica folklorica (although not everyone likes it) not to mention, above everything else, Machu Picchu. I was actually attracted by all of this.

Of course, as soon as I boarded the plane, full of enthusiasm and anticipation, I met with a lot of people who almost routinely travel to the most exotic places, whose passport -their second or third booklet obviously- is full of stamps and visas. They didn't seem to be too thrilled, and looked upon my excitement with fatherly condescension.

I hope I will someday be able to talk about hundreds of travels, like these lucky souls do. This was my first real journey, and I consider it as a major achievement: I had to wait for a lot of time and to break up with my girlfriend -among other things- before I could make it. It was June 2001.

Peru is a large country

And I did not visit all of its corners; still, it was a very intense tour. If you are willing to forgive me a little guidebook-style paragraph, I will quickly describe it.

It started from Lima, where I arrived on a flight from Europe through the United States.
Incidentally, I discovered on that occasion that Delta will always show you the same movies on the same leg -so if you have seen Miss Congeniality between Atlanta and Lima, you are going to see it again on the way back. I quite like the movie, but I think I have seen it at least seven times -and always on an airplane...

From Lima I followed the coast southwards to Paracas and Nazca. At Caman� I turned inland towards Arequipa, whence I went to visit the marvelous Ca�on del Colca.
I then continued south-east to Puno and the lake Titicaca, and finally to Bolivia. La Paz was the turning point of the voyage: from there I went north again to Tiawanaku, Cuzco, Machu Picchu.
The travel ended with the Fiesta del Sol in Cuzco, about three weeks after arriving in Peru; when the fiesta finished, I slowly returned to Lima to take my flight back home -and my last dose of Miss Congeniality.

Lima

Lima is a large, chaotic city. It almost feels like one of "our" cities, even though one can perceive something different -an experienced traveler would say it is a "typical south-american city", whatever that means.

I remember the excitement of the landing. It was the feeling of starting an adventure, the promise and the expectation; it was also my fear of flying, most of all of the landing phase.
As an aerospace engineer, I should probably feel ashamed of this, but everyone has his own little weakness, I am afraid.

I only spent a few days in Lima, but I still managed to visit its museums, see the Plaza de Armas, walk along the streets and markets.
I even became addicted to Inca Cola, and went so far as to bring two bottles of this unlikely yellow beverage back with me; the larger one is two liters and a quarter (which must mean half a gallon to make any sense), and it was a bit embarrassing to explain what it was to the Italian customs officers.

I loved the liveliness of this city and its frightening traffic jams, but I found the climate a bit depressing.
The garua, the mist that wraps the city for about three quarters of the year, gives everything a gloomy appearance. Streets and buildings are always wet from this combination of mist and smog; pavements are often slippery (as I had a chance to test on myself, ahem), and the grayish sky is not really inviting one to take pictures.
I do have one, actually: it was taken in Plaza de Armas, and it would show you both the architecture and the garua. But I don't like it very much, and space on Yahoo is limited, so...

After a few days, I found myself longing for the Cordillera. I wanted to see the mountains: it was a good feeling when I finally started moving along the Carretera Panamericana.

The Coast

The guide will tell you that the region is full of tombs, most of which were looted by huaqueros who sell all the treasures to (typically western) private collectors. Incidentally, Italy used to have the same problem.
They will also explain you the history of the people that lived in the area long ago; I haven't heard two guides tell me the same story throughout this journey -and none of them ever said anything that was even close to what I had read on the books, but this was part of the fun.

Studying the history of Andean peoples is actually as intriguing as it is difficult. They didn't use an alphabet: written reports or annals simply do not exist until the arrival of the Spaniards. After that, what documents we have are rather biased by some strong religious and political opinions.
Anyway, I am not an expert in Peruvian history nor have I got any chance to become one. I did some reading on the subject before leaving, and it gave me all the information that I can probably handle on the subject.
If you are interested, my favourite reference is a book written by Nigel Davies and edited by Penguin; I do not think it is the most comprehensive nor the most updated on the subject, but I liked it a lot (and no, Penguin don't even know that this web-page exists, so this is not a paid advertisement).

Nazca

If you were starting to wonder whether I visited Nazca or not, well -yes, I did. I obviously took a flight to see the famous lines from above, and I survived it.

Did I mention that flying scares me? And I was talking about big, reliable civil jet airplanes. I had never, ever dreamed of boarding a small single-engine Cessna. I actually did not want to do that, but I could not escape it.

I will not bother you will all that crossed my mind during those minutes; I remember sitting in the front seat, hearing the pilot as he named all the shapes in the desert and made all sorts of acrobatics to let us see them better.
I was more than satisfied with the first couple of images, but he mercilessly showed us all of them; I think that I only felt worse than that on the dentist's chair of tortures...
I also remember the distinct suspect that he switched off the engine right before the landing. He cannot have done it, I know (you do not remove your only chance of climbing up again should anything go wrong with the landing)... But right then, my heart stopped beating as the aircraft bounced on the ground to a complete stop.

To be honest, nothing horrible happened: the pilot clearly knew his job and the plane seemed to be well looked after. And the lines are really worth the price.