Chapter 25

“A Merry Christmas to all my friends except two.”

W.C.Fields (attrib)

The speedboat bounced over the waves as if they were made of steel instead of water, hitting them hard and leaping into the air before flopping back down into the trough before the next one. It felt as if we were on a very rough ocean but it was an illusion bought on by the speed for when we rounded the small section of the peninsula which was not part of the Paracus National Park (it contains an oil refinery) and the boatman cut the engine we glided to a stop bobbing up and down relatively gently. He pointed to the hillside where our maps had mysteriously been marked with the word ‘Candelabra’. The meaning was suddenly clear, carved into the side of the hill, rather like the giant white chalk horses we see in England was an enormous geometric design that did indeed resemble a candelabra. Apparently no-one knows who carved this or why. There are all sorts of theories about it but a collective national amnesia when it comes to hard facts. No-one can even agree on when it was first seen. It is, according to your sources, either a) very old or b) quite old or c) fairly modern. Similarly it was carved by Pre-Colombian Indians or possibly pirates or perhaps the liberation army in the early eighteen hundreds. It represents anything from stylised animals to a Masonic emblem. For my money it’s far to crude and ill proportioned to have been made by the pre-Colombians who I’m sure would have done a better job of it so that leaves the pirates and the army. To me it has the look of a pointless army training exercise to it, after all why would the pirates bother? Wouldn’t they have been too busy spending their ill-gotten gains.
After a few minutes contemplating this peculiar fifty metre line drawing the engine roared back into life and we were all bruised and battered by the wooden seats again as the boat took off for the Ballestas Islands.

Even with my legendary bird-blindness I couldn’t miss the ones on the islands which were once - and you can see why - the worlds leading producer of guano. The islands are covered with a writhing black mass of birds, although apparently not as many now as there once were, and all of them busily producing guano for all they’re worth. There are condors by the thousand, pelicans, Inca Tern, penguins and - my favourite, if only for it’s name - the Peruvian Booby. Even I couldn’t miss them. Added to the birds every time we stopped the boat it was surrounded in moments by sea-lions, their heads bobbing up and down in the water and grunting and barking at us even though on any given day they must see dozens of boatloads of tourists if not hundreds. I could see at least one boat ahead of us and two more following in our wake. The islands themselves are also impressive, carved by the wind and the sea into ragged arches and tunnels, constantly battered by enormous waves so that approaching too close to them would be suicidally perilous.

We had spent the night camped in the Paracus National park, on the other side of the peninsula and the sea while it had been rough hadn’t seemed too bad. I’d managed to further alienate myself from the group by getting into one of my solitary moods and wandering off down the beach to sit on my own and think things through. All day I’d found things going round and round in my head that I’d really rather not have had there, memories, worries about home and family and that kind of thing. I’d wandered off to sit on the rocks and watch the ocean to try to clear my head. Even as I’d gone I’d known that this was bound to be interpreted as being anti-social again but if you need to be alone you need to be alone.
Besides by now the feelings of hostility from some quarters were starting to feel oppressive. There was a real sense of isolation from about half the group and the idea of leaving the trip altogether was starting to float around in the back of my mind although I was reluctant to write off several months because a few people had taken a dislike to me. Out on the rocks watching the tide come in I reached the conclusion that while I wouldn’t leave the trip for any length of time I did need a break from it. The ideal opportunity was Cusco which we were to visit twice with a four day hike up the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu in between. I had done that trail before and although I had been looking forward to doing it again I really couldn’t see myself enjoying it in my current frame of mind. The idea formed to spend the whole Christmas and New Year period in Cusco and not do the hike, although I might take the train out to Aguas Calientes and revisit the ruins. I wasn’t definite about it but if things failed to improve then it was either that or leave altogether.
With a course of action, however tentatively formed, in mind I felt brighter on my boat ride out to the Ballestas than I had in days and the enjoyable nature of the ride itself buoyed me further so that I wondered if perhaps I was suffering from a paranoia that really didn’t deserve to be there, maybe made worse if not actually caused by the anti-malarial tablets that I was still taking. One of the well known side effects is that they can send you bonkers. I had until Cusco to decide.

Before Cusco though there was Nasca.

If the Candelabra had looked like the work of squaddies the same couldn’t be said of the Nasca Lines which are all but invisible from the ground but incredible from the air. They cover an enormous area of desert to the north of Nasca and there are complicated geometric designs that resemble runways, animals, birds, a spider, a tree and dozens of others. The only way to see them is from the air. I took my place in the co-pilot seat of a small plane and soon we were airborne The first things that we saw were geometrical designs, long straight lines forming isosceles triangles hundreds of metres long, parallel lines and complicated intersecting patterns. They were impressive but I could imagine how they might have been made. You don’t need to see it from the air to do it, you can mark them out by the simplest of surveying techniques. The figures are something else again. An enormous spider lies on the side of a hill, a vast design known as Alcatraz looks like the roads and streets of some strange city, there is a bird with a hundred metre wing span and a monkey with a tightly spiralled tail. These figures go far beyond impressive. How could people who could not see what they were working on possibly have produced such accurate designs. They are incredible in the true sense of the word. The German scientist Maria Reiche devoted over forty years of her life to studying them. She worked out possible construction techniques and developed the theory that they represent a vast astronomical calculator, pointing to the positions of constellations in the sky, marking the passing of the seasons. It’s as good a theory as any although other, less credible, scientists still prefer to see them as landing ground for alien spaceships. Why exactly an alien would want to draw a picture of a monkey or a spider isn’t exactly clear and how you could land on them without destroying them is even less apparent.

The pilot circled for about half an hour, giving us every possible view of these enormous artworks and then asked if we’d like to go round again. I was about to agree when I realised that not everyone shared my enthusiasm. The other four passengers behind me all unanimously and virtually simultaneously said no. I was puzzled by why they wanted to go back but when we landed one look at the collection of assorted shades of green that their faces had turned made it all clear. I’d felt my own stomach lurch a couple of times on the tighter banks and turns but it had been a mild discomfort. The others had suffered more, worse in fact than any of the groups that had gone up. I couldn’t blame them for wanting to feel solid ground under their feet again. If I’d felt as ill as they looked I’d never have wanted to set foot in an aeroplane again.

There were other stops on our ride south to Cusco. Puerto Inca was a nice beach with a few good walks around it.

Arequipa was a city where we all drew names from hats of someone on the trip to buy a Christmas present for so that even though we were travelling we would still get something. (I drew Mark and bought an ‘Incas vs. Spanish’ chess set that I liked enough to also buy one for myself).

Colca Canyon was where my paranoia really kicked into high gear. I’d done my research with the guide books. I knew it was twice as deep as the Grand Canyon and that the roads we were driving along were 4,000 m above sea level. I knew we could expect to see condors riding the thermals high above us although I have to admit the dead and decayed horse at the canyon rim was something of a surprise. The other thing I hadn’t expected was that the whole time we were walking along the rim no-one, and I mean no-one, spoke a word to me. Those few who were still talking to me had chosen to stay with the bus rather than take the walk. The views were magnificent, the condors out in force - sometimes swooping a few metres above our heads - and the short walk along the canyon rim, which took no more than an hour even at a very gentle pace, would with good company have been thoroughly enjoyable. I could feel myself sliding into depression and I couldn’t work out what the hell I’d done to deserve it. As I walked my decision to not do the Inca Trail crystallised. If no-one wanted my company then I wouldn’t inflict it on them. I wanted to spend more time in Cusco anyway. Last time I was there I really didn’t have time to get to know what I regarded as a beautiful city. The decision was made.

Cusco really is lovely. We arrived at the perfect time to see it at its best. Our hotel was on one of the streets that leads off from Plaza de Armas and only a few minutes walk from the centre of the city. The Plaza and our street were closed off and filled with market stalls for Cusco’s annual Christmas Market - the Santuranticuy festival, the 'buying of saints'. Many of them were covered with colourful plaster statues of the saints or of nativity figures and the model stables to put them in. One common statue, of a crying child with a thorn in its blood soaked foot was, I was told, a representation of a child who supposedly preached from village to village in the nearby hills. It may or may not also have been a representation of the infant Jesus. I heard both variations.
There were of course secular goods to be had too:- jewellery, alpaca sweaters, more Incas versus Spaniards Chess sets, pottery, figures ranging from Buddha to Mickey Mouse, brightly patterned textiles. From early morning until well past Midnight it was so filled with people that crossing its two hundred yards could take half an hour.

Almost every Peruvian City has a Plaza de Armas as its central square but Cusco has one of the nicest. The Cathedral on the North East side is complimented by another church - La Campaña - to the South East and while the other sides may be full of shops and restaurants they occupy original buildings which have the mix of Colonial architecture on top of Inca stonework that gives the city so much of its appeal. It's a wonderful place to simply sit on one of the balconies sipping a coffee and watching the colour and vibrancy of the square below, especially in the run up to Christmas. We arrived on the day before Christmas Eve and in the evening the group met up in the Cross Keys bar on the west side of the Plaza, which is the main backpacker and overlander hang out in the city. Beer and I were first in and sat near the bar. As the others arrived they both of us, not even greeting us with a ‘Hello’, and sat at the other end of the room.
It was the last straw. I started contemplating leaving the damned trip altogether but before I could take that step Gnomes came over and asked why we weren’t sitting with the group. I looked at Beer and he looked at me. I was the one who replied.
“Got that backwards.” I said “The group isn’t sitting with us and personally if I know there is somewhere that I’m not wanted I don’t go there.”
She looked genuinely puzzled though I saw her as as much a part of the problem as any of the others.
“What do you mean ‘not wanted’?” she asked.
“Better ask the people who don’t want us. You’ve got quite a few to pick from.”
She went back to the group and there were a number of glances over in our direction and for what remained of the evening whenever anyone passed us - as they inevitably had to (we were seated between them and the lavatory) - they made a rather too obvious show of saying ‘hello’ and stopping to chat. It all looked a bit forced but at least they were making an effort. It wasn’t enough to change my mind about staying in Cusco while they went off on the trail but I might, I decided, not leave the trip altogether. I’d see how it all went between now and the New Year.