I left the airport by taxi which took me to a stop where an...essentially hollowed out van with "Chosico" written on the front stopped, with promise from my taxi driver that they would take me to my destination, the ruins of Puruchuco. I asked the driver of the hollowed-out-van how long it would take to get there, and he said about twenty more minutes. Forty minutes later, I arrived at a dirt road off of the highway, walked 10 minutes to the entrance of the ruins only to find out...CLOSED!...on Mondays, but open the rest of the week. I walked back to the highway area and ended up chatting with a travel agent (Ruben) for most of the morning, talking about my potential travel plans, so all was not lost. Ruben told me that because Huaraz (where I'm headed in two days) is situated at such a high altitude, many people get altitude sickness right in the bus and get headaches, start vomiting O.O (<<that's the look I gave him), but he claimed I'd be all right because it's just people who never leave their house that get sick...I hope I don't get sick on the bus... I was starving by noon what with all the conversation and lack of breakfast, and one of the guys accompanied me across the scarily large and busy highway and to the supermarket where I got such necessities as pretzels, water, fruit, and chocolate wafers.
[The cook-lady at my hostel I'm at is wearing a garbage bag as an apron. She's very nice. #McGiver cook]
I then made the spur-of-the moment decision to leave Lima and I headed south to Ica. I fell asleep for all of two hours, and when I awoke, we were in desert-country. Sand dunes rose to towering heights just next to the highway as the bus continued on quite smoothly. Scattered among the desolate landscape were not only homes but sometimes even fields of crops growing!
We arrived in Ica an hour later than scheduled (the ride was from 3pm-8pm), and I got a taxi to the nearby town of Huacachina and finally arrived at the Hostal Roche where I laid my backpack down and grabbed some drinks out back. I chatted with some Peruvians (the bar-guy and his friend) until a girl from Holland and another Peruvian joined us, and I chatted with the girl for quite some time about her Guatemala adventures. After playing a few rounds of cards with the Peruvians (Reinar and Cuki??), I went to bed, tired and content.
Today, then, I had a s/6 (6 soles; the exchange rate is about 2.8 soles = 1 dollar) breakfast at the hostel, served by the nicest lady, sporting her garbage-bag apron. I had a fried egg, bread with jam & butter, fruit, and coffee in the company of a kitten, three parrots, AND two French guys! Both were from Paris and spoke somewhat limited Spanish, so we spoke in French most of the time. They were really nice, but are heading south to the Nazca Lines whereas I'll be heading north next, so they said maybe we'd see each other in Paree.
The view of some of the dunes from my hostel room.
I was told that the hostel has hot water todo el tiempo, and, though this claim is slightly exaggerated (there is, at best, temperate water, but the surrounding air is cold and I had to catch my breath every time I went under the water), I showered seeing as I'll be heading to a high, i.e. cold, city tomorrow. I had to be out of my room by noon, so I headed outside to take in the beautiful dunes that are on either side of the hostel. I grabbed a taxi to go into Ica to find out more about bus prices/schedules (I still have no idea how I'm getting back to Lima tomorrow morning...) and my taxi-driver (Martin) talked me into taking a couple bodega-tours, so here I am, back at my hostel, all wine-tasted up and awaiting my dune-buggy/sand-boarding tour (at 4pm).
I've been feeling pretty safe and really outgoing, chatting with everybody who's around and asking advice from everybody about must-sees, which always leaves me more confused with the conflicting opinions. Everyone I come into contact with praises my Spanish, and I do feel pretty at ease chatting, discussing, bargaining, etc in Spanish. The people who speak no Spanish and sometimes very limited English are the ones I am most impressed with, and I admire their bravery and endurance in traveling throughout a country in which they can't communicate.
Hostal Roche - this is where I was writing this journal entry. You know, with pen and paper :)
I'm going to get going on this sandboarding adventure; I'm not quite sure what I've gotten myself into, but it sounds as if it is a combination of a thrill-ride in the dune-buggy, and an adventure sliding down the dunes on the snowboards, finishing off with a maravilla of a sunset over the dunes.
I'm excited =)
