From high to low. Altitude, that is!

Hand-made tables and chairs...

Time to move on.  We spent one more night in Arequipa, after the Colca Canyon trip, missing our friends Jess and Sally, who had moved onto Lago Titicaca while we went to the Colcan Canyon (see the last post).  I was looking forward to getting to a lower altitude, getting to the coast for some beach time and getting away from the energy of a big city.   Part of making good memories is knowing when to move on.  Planning our own trip, not trying to include 6 countries in 6 weeks means we can be very flexible .

The trip across the mountains was a bit tortured.  Arequipa is in the desert, but being in the middle of the city camoflages the immediate evidence.  It is also on the east side of the giant sandy/rocky mountains.  The road twisted every 50 feet it seemed.  Thankfully, we were on a Big Bus, which meant the driver couldn't easily throw the bus around curves.  The scene from my window was bare, rocky, dry, stark.  I imagine the moon's surface to look like this.  Almost no evidence of life, either human or plant. We did cross a river a few times, and when we did, suddenly a few trees and crops, along with a few very humble houses would appear. 

About 3 hours into the trip, the driver pulled into a roadside restaurant, standing alone along the coastal road.  I was grateful for the relief of the twisting and turning road.  While some folks went inside to eat, I walked across the road to see and touch the Pacific ocean, and to get a closer look at the lighthouse on top of a cliff.  I hoped the road would straighten itself out a little, but the mountains ran themselves right to the waves, very unlike our southern US flat coast.  So we twisted through the desert mountains along the coast for a couple more hours before arriving in Camana.

We had planned to spend the night at the beach, close to Camana, but after getting a taxi the 5 miles there, we learned that absolutely no motels and only one or two restaurants were open.  Another 3 weeks, that place would look like Myrtle Beach in July!  Our taxi driver, like so many people, talked to us about his family and children, asking about our family.  We went back to Camana, and found a hostel.  The little town was blissfully quiet, the air was heavenly thicker with humidity.  After almost a month in high and dry air, I gulped huge breaths of air and moisture.  We took a walking tour of the tiny town, mostly consisting of the mercado.  The town is a coastal crossroad, and fields surrounded the town.  Coming into town, we passed fields of corn, tomatoes and, to our amazed eyes,  rice.  The waves washing on one side of the road, rice fields on the other!  Each field was dammed with hand-shoveled levees.  The water table is very high here, less than 30 feet, so irrigation is easy.  In the market in town, we saw many 50 pound bags of the locally grown rice and corn, most of which was sold for chicken feed. 

    We found a small parrillada restaurant, a barbeque place, and while we had couple of beers, sketched a plan for the next part of our adventure.  The first photo in this post is of the chairs and tables in that restaurant, which were made from tree limbs. Ever resourceful, everything is used, in anyway possible.

The next day, we thought we'd go a little further north, still hoping to find a beach town.  Catching a bus from here was not easy.  The next morning, I asked at no less than 6 bus stations for a ticket to the next town, about 3 hours north.  There is no central bus station, the locals knew the system...eventually, we found the correct bus, and luckily even got a seat.  The road was curvy, but thankfully not as tortured as yesterday's road from inland.  Again, we passed narrow strips of irrigated land, with shacks for housing, all along the way.  If there was electricity, it was from generators, we saw no power lines.  Corn, melons, onions, rice and a couple of olive groves.  We also passed many miles of newly planted fruit trees, irrigation lines snaking past each little tree.  In a few years, this area will support more jobs for pickers and packers.

Got off the bus in a tiny unforgettably  named coastal town, not pretty at all.  We walked across the road, looking for comida, lunch.  We found a little restaurant, with a window no one seemed to notice, that looked over the ocean.  We ordered this gorgeous plate of mixed seafood, with french fries, of course.  It was about the most delicious meal I've ever tasted!

The idea of spending an afternoon and night here was not appealing, so after lunch, we found the collectivo station, the place to get a ride to the next town.  For some reason, we're in no-man's-land here, the buses come from the south, but don't continue to the north.  So, 10 adults, 3 children, and all our luggage crammed into a mini-van for the two and a half hour drive to Nasca.  At least the music the driver chose was nice!

Nasca was dusty and dry, but we knew it would be more accomodating than the last town.  We found a clean, cheap hostel, who promised hot water (not), and then found a beer.  Cristal, another new-to-us beer.  A lager, but it was so pleasant to sit outside in the warm, easily breathed air!  Later, we found a "nice" restaurant for dinner.  I ordered ceviche, again. I can't seem to get enough of it!  Being a "nice" restaurant, the presentation was as beautiful as it was tasty.  The pisco sour was beautiful, too, but I didn't take much time to look at it!

We talked about seeing the famous Nasca lines tomorrow, but the small plane ticket is very pricey, and it is very, um, twisty/turny trip.  Not for me, after the last two days in the bus.  I'm sorry to miss this national treasure, but not sorry enough for the torture of the plane trip.  We will move on to Paracas, and the giant sand dunes.  Nasca is a pleasant town, with a pleasant plaza.  Glad to have stayed here.