Nazca lines

The tourists were not the only thing lacking in this desert - from the top of the mirador we were afforded a vaguely impressive look at what was apparently a tree (I thought it looked more like an inbred octopus) and something else which was either hands or a lizard but appeared to be neither. Slightly disheartened, we climbed a small hill which also promised a better perspective but in fact delivered the opposite. We were looking at nothing but an endless expanse of desert. I had already done this tour. It was still only 7.30am. Eventually we returned to he hostel for breakfast where we studied the Nazca lines in much more detail on a souvenir sugar bowl.

The city of Nazca is nice enough and seemed particularly well maintained after Pisco. Before our evening bus to Cuzco we hung around the streets drinking mate de coca (which I hoped would help with the impending altitude sickness) and spent an hour in the Museo Antolina. The museum was very informative and managed to arouse the enthusiasm towards archaelogy which had eluded me during my scathing analysis of the lines the day before. They even had a scaled down model of the lines so you can wander around them feeling like Gulliver and finally get a sense of their complexity.

Full of tea and anticipation, we got on our bus. This was to be the most arduous journey so far in spite of our coca consumption which continued on the bus in the form of leaves. When we came finally came over the mountains and looked down upon the huge sprawling Inca capital it was a beautiful site to see, even whilst miserably trying to solve the problem of how to shit and throw up at the same time.

Allow me to interrup that image with a more uplifting diversion. So far I am aware that I have represented the effects of altitude in a rather negative light. However, some of the less hysically devastating effects are actually quite funny. Your spongebag, for example, becomes boobytrapped - full of exciting surprises when you next take a shower or brush your teeth. The pressure is such that when you open a sealed container, the contents are often lavishly ejaculated in whichever direction it happens to be facing. My favourite incident so far was when my roll-on deoderant fired its plastic ball at me. The pop of this fragrant little plastic cannon was one of those comedy noises that you don´t imagine actually exist in real life and it made me very happy. Incidentally- with regard to the aforementioned problem on the bus - I managed, after much soul searching and pre-natal style breathing exercises, to keep my bodily fluids to myself.

written by  steve_stamp on June 22, 2009 from Nazca, Peru
from the travel blog: The art of being lost
tagged NazcaLines and AltitudeBoobytraps
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