After our time with the Incan decendants it was time to head towards the coast, but first we were off to see the Colca Canyon. We flew from Quito to Arequipa where we met up with a local guide.

We were based in a small, seemingly uninhabited town called Coporaque made of narrow cobblestone streets, closed in by adobe structures crumbling with character. I hesitate calling them houses because I hope people didn´t have to live in them during the colder months of the year. I saw more pigs peering our of unhinged doorways and donkeys in roofless living rooms than people. The most vocal and friendly person I met was a weather beaten old man who rushed out of the ¨pub¨ to ask me where I was from and whether I liked his town with a chicha (fermented corn drink) stained accent.

Barely making it around the tight, crumbling corners our bus dropped us off in front of a very out of place, new hotel. It was a pleasant enough lodging apart from being bitterly cold at night and, as usual, inconsistent in the delivery of hot water. The lack of a restaurant meant we had to jump aboard the bus to squeeze back out of town to eat nearby. This wasn´t such a problem except I´m pretty sure that one of our commutes cost a little dog it´s life as we pushed past a family herding its small flock of sheep up one of the narrow streets in our big bus.

The town lay in the shadow of a large cliff face that marked the beginning of the Colca Valley, that in turn fed into the gaping Colca Canyon. On our first afternoon, a few of us trekked up the slope to the cliff face in which were originally entombed the important members of the nearby communities, but now brave the cold night like the rest of us since their resting places have been exposed by looters. Any valuables that may have been there are missing but many bones lay huddled together, their bright white a stark contrast to the dark rock that surrounded them.

The next day, our local guide,"rock star Rambo", or Daniel to his family, donning his tight black jeans, studded belt, army jacket laden with badges of various American law enforcement agencies, and his big, headband controlled jet black hair, lead us to the attraction of the day. The Colca Canyon. With more facts, figures, names and dates then Rocky Balboa had comebacks he educated us to the Condor Cross, the best viewing point of the Condors in all the Andes.The geological structures there provide air currents perfect for the condor to soar for hours without flapping a wing. We were rewarded for our early start with prime postion and first glimpse of the giant "scavengers of the dead and rotting" as they glided majestically along the steep cliff faces that fell from where we stood. The true size of these masters of flight was only evident when they swooped past with the snap happy tourists in the foreground. Their wing span stretching over 6 or 7 gawking onlookers.

Flat tyres saw us board another tour groups bus for a short trip to the next town where we saw yet another house of the invading religion, as well as photogenic eagles held captive for their talent of making gringos part with their money as they perched on head after head.

Our last night in the ice box was spent huddled around 2 electric heaters while we dined on peanuts, crackers, bananas and yogurt, all washed down with a nice bottle of red in the company of our friends Lisa and Michael, while the others had the best meal they´d had in ages. Remembering Robyn´s love of cake, some of the girls brought back a few slices for her and Lisa, both of whom enjoyed it for breaky the next morning.

Back in Arequipa the next day we happened apon an elusive copy of New Moon in a book exchange/laundry/internet cafe. This one treasure brought more joy to Robyn then all the silver in Potosi (and we certainly bought most of it!!) could ever hope to.

We toured the Santa Catalina Monastery where the second daughters of the wealthy Spanish families in the area were sent to become nuns. Girls were sent here from the age of 12, where for 2 or 3 years they were isolated from even contact with each other except for an hour a day in mass, and an hour a day contemplating the paintings in the cloister. The rest of the day they were kept in their rooms, with the 20 items they had been allowed to bring with them. This number also included their necessities, such as a bed, clothing, chamber pot, pillow etc. I´m very glad second daughters do not do this today! The "monastery", which was only ever a convent, is like a city within the city. Once the nuns had devoted themselves to God, life got much better for them. They left the novices cloister and moved out into the main area, where they had houses and maids. It was absolutely beautiful, and today the new convent, which is built inside the walls, still runs. After several earthquakes a lot of the buildings have been destroyed, so the nuns had to move, and in 1951 it was opened to the public as a museum.

After Arequipa we bussed it to Nasca, home of the mysterious gigantic figures, carved into the desert floor by no one knows who, sometime around 200AD. They were only dicovered after the invention of the airplane when someone had time and reason to fly over this part of the world. With a line up of 6 seater aircraft backed up on the tarmac the majority of our group scrambled aboard several planes and were whisked into the air to view these geometric wonders. Personally, I enjoyed the flight more for the flight itself than the view. The pilot banked hard left and right to give the passengers on either side of the plane a good look at the various animals and complicated shapes. While some of the designs were cool, like the monkey and the whale, a freaked out looking dog and the condor, others where a little suspect. Like the astronaut. My theory is that some kids just carved his blobby shape into the side of a hill. Also the ever invasive signs of ¨civilisation¨, like roads and survey lines kept interrupting the view of the alien landscape, not allowing you to let your imagination take you to the other planet these symbols could very well have been marking.

After leaving Nazca we visited another Pisco distillery, and spent the afternoon at an oasis in the desert called Huacachina, near Ica, surrounded by enormous sand dunes.

Our next destination was Paracas, the first of the towns we were to travel through on the Peruvian coast. During this short stay a few of us boarded a boat to visit one of the ¨poor man´s Galapagos´¨ the Ballestas Islands. These were rocks just off the coast piled high with bird s***, a major export for Peru back in the day, but more eloquently called guano. Apparently in places the guano is up to 50m deep!! As well as the millions of depositers of the rich natural resource, the cormorants and, my favourite, the Booby (don´t worry I got all the jokes out of my system while we were there, much to Robyn entertainment........or disgust. I was too entertained by my witty self to register all the eye rolling and slaps on the arm.)

The density of the animal life on the islands was amazing. Humboldt penguins fighting it out over their lifelong partners honour (well more slapping each other silly, literally). Sea lions barking at each other as they clambered over one another for space to sun themselves, working on the their tans to impress the ladies. It seems women cause a lot of problems, both in the 4 flippered and the 2 footed animal kingdoms.