Were we feeling anxious at the prospect of leaving a semi sane nation (did we refer to the USA as semi-sane)? Yes we were. Did we dread our arrival into Lima at 4am? Of course. But did it turn out to be a hoot? Sort of. The odour of disinfectant hit our nostrels as soon as we entered our first hotel room on this stage of the trip. Smelling much like a hospital after a Legionaires scare, we reassured each other that this was a good thing. Riding the dunes on a buggy was an absolute blast. The driver had a startling resemblence to Robin Kamark (for those who know him). Drove like him too. Launching off the top of ultra high dunes we plumeted down towards our fate. Or so it seemed. The sandboarding, too, was a thrill. Caught on a video clip, we will save that one for later. Moving on from this oasis town, Huacachina, we headed for Nazca. Without thinking about it, we headed for the regional Cockerel Fighting Finals, as a way of passing time. What we didnt realise when we entered the arena was they tie razor sharp knifes to their feet, maybe to add some spice? We made it through three of the executions before coming to the conclusion blood sports aren't really for us. Making our excuses, we left, much to perplexity of those in the queue outside waiting to get in. Nazca is on the tourist trail for one reason alone - the Nazca Lines. Never heard of them? Neither had we, though caught up in the moment it seemed impossible to ignore the chance to fly over them. Now up until this point, we had been struck by the friendliness and obvious concern of the locals as we wandered down 'the wrong street' or placed our bags in the overheads on local buses (a no-no it transpires due to theft issues). Unfortunately, not everyone shows so much love towards foreigners. The glass eyed old git running the show at our scenic flight company, for one. He deceived us and blatently lied to our faces to the point where Phill lost his rag. Its a long a tiring story, but in essence some other tourists short on time turned up, flashed some cash and took our slot. We were kept in the dark and ended up waiting 5 hours at the airstrip for our turn. In an explosion of frustration, Phill called the ceramic eyed fool 'an idiot', to which he retaliated 'you f··king white trash'. This was an improvement as we at least had his attention. Soon we were in the air. Sue turned green with motion sickness and Phill, he later learned, had sustained heat stroke. The lesson in all this, is don't believe anything anyone tells you. Thats it. They can lie to their mothers. Most distressing. Still, the one eyed idiot did appologise. Bygons. Now in Arequipa, an exceptionally pleasant town set below the Andes at around 2300 meters. Our second all-night bus in three days follows tomorrow as we head for Cuzco and onwards to the Lost City of the Inca's. We'll keep ya posted. PaS