Don't Stop Believing

After our great sand boarding adventures this morning, we returned to our hostel to take much needed showers and pack up. We headed out for lunch at the nearby wineries.

The winery we chose had a lovely shaded patio. We order our food before embarking on our education walk. Pancho took us past several rows of grapes to the vats where they make the wine and pisco. He showed us a huge cement vat where each March there is a festival to squish all the grapes. I hoped they cleaned the vats before then. He showed us pictures and told us how people dance around and mash the grapes with their bare feet. I wished I could have been there for that.

Next, he showed us another huge cement vat where the wine and pisco are drained into tall ceramic pots. The old reddish-brown pots were about up to my shoulders and were fat the top and narrow at the bottom. Clearly, these were the traditional jars that were used because many looked extremely worn. Some had to be more than 100 years old.

After the wine fermented in the huge pots, it was poured into a deep hole with a huge kettle at the bottom. I am still not entirely sure of this process, but I gathered that this was now the making pisco part. The liquid would then be heated with a hug fire underneath and allowed to cool and drain through a long skinny tube. We walked around to a little dirt floor room where there was a faucet for the pisco to drain. Above the faucet there was big cross covered with flowers in order to bring a blessing on the whole process. Pancho explained that the liquid would would come out in three different levels. The first that would come out would be blue, and then the liquid would be clear. This clear liquid is the liquid that could be drunk as pisco. Last, it becomes blue again and that would be thrown away.

Finally, we got to try some of this pisco. Our pisco "somalie" handed us tiny clear plastic cups. First, a pisco sour mix (minus the froathy egg whites)-delicious...a little like a margarita. Next, pure pisco (the good stuff though)-yuck! Are you sure you didn't just serve me rubbing alcohol? I'd hate to try the bad stuff. Next, "Peruvian Bailey's" pisco mixed with milk and sugar among some other things-again, delicious! Some sweet wine next and I found out why Peru is not known for their wine-no good. Last, a delicious pecan covered in carmel and chocolate called a tejas--right up my alley!

We enjoyed our lunch on the patio on our yellow table cloth covered table and after a few purchases we headed out. Before leaving Ica though we drove down a bumpy dirt road to a "witch village." All of us expecting extremely weird things, we were a little disappointed.

First stop at the witch village was an old palm tree where three local boys who were maybe about 9 or 10 scrambled to be our guides. Pancho chose one of them and he began telling us about this "seven-headed" tree. The other two boys sat back clearly looking jealous and disgruntled that this first boy got chosen.

It was quite a weird sight as the huge tree had several different "stalks" each growing in different directions. A few of them had even grown under ground only to reemerge to make that part of the tree look like a serpent coming out of the water. There was an elaborate legend which was somewhat hard to decipher as Pancho was translating what the boy said and adding his own ideas in his faulty English. Something about a witch jumping from the top of the old palm tree and maybe a curse somewhere in there. The end of the legend required a lot of imagination. The boy was pointing out different "animals" that parts of the tree looked like. And when I say a lot of imagination, I mean a lot.

Last stop was a "shaman/healer". The outside of his shop was painted with bright colors advertising his services, and while it didn't seem so authentic, I had to give him the benefit of the doubt because he had to make a living too. We entered the "shop" and it was a dark room with a dirt floor. I was frightened by the bookcase containing two rows about about 10 human skulls. The was one candle burning in front of the skull shelf on the floor and a vase of flowers. Creeeepy. I looked around another low table covered with all sorts of jars, shells, carved wooden sticks, potions, small figurines and who knows what else. There was also a doorway leading to another room that had a thin cloth covering the entrance. I wondered what was back there. Finally, I saw the "shaman" and my ever growing doubts were confirmed. This guy was wearing jeans, a button down shirt, and white tennis shoes. What kind of shaman was this? He didn't look like any kind of shaman I had ever pictured. While I guess Peruvian people don't stop believing just because of what he was wearing, I sure did.

We piled back into our van, passing on the option for him to tell our future, and settled in for our two hour drive to Nazca. We watched the sunset over the hazy sand dunes while we drove and it was beautiful.

Don't Stop Believing, Journey

Into the Great Wide Open

After seven hours of driving yesterday afternoon, we arrived in Ica which is on the Southern coast of Peru. We spent the night in a town called Huacachina, which is the most stereotypical oasis in the middle of the desert I have ever seen. The town wasn´t super nice, but the setting was unique.

I was with six other volunteers and our leader was Pancho, the CCS tour guide. My roommate was Elizabeth, a Senior at the University of Georgia who happens to be a Phi Mu (sound similar to anyone else we know?!).

We woke up this morning to some cool weather and some low clouds. We couldn´t see the sun and it was much colder than we had anticipated on the coast, so we decided to have a long breakfast and kill some time before our first adventure. While the bread, jam, butter, and coffee and tea we were given were good, all of us wanted a little more for breakfast. Thus, after asking nicely we enjoyed some eggs too. Poor Pancho had to put up with some picky American eaters this weekend (a vegetarian, a girl who is allergic to gluten, and a girl who just had surgery who can only eat really bland things).

Finally it was time for the adventures to begin and we piled into a huge dune buggy to go sandboarding. We put on our glasses, similar to the kind you had to wear in high school chemistry class, and fastened our safety belts like we were getting ready for a ride at Six Flags. This picture to the left is NOT our group, but it is a picture that I found that looks exactly like the one we rode in.

The engine roared and we headed out over the dunes. We picked up speed and soon came to the top of a huge dune. As we headed over the top I expected to see the ocean, but instead there was a vast expanse of huge sand dunes. We quickly went over the top and the driver sped up as we went straight down the other side of the dune. We all screamed and I was now certain this would be like a roller coaster at Six Flags.

We sped through, over, and around the dunes. The wind was cool and the fog looked beautful over the dunes in the distance. I loved riding. I was laughing and screaming and fully enjoying this. We stopped for some pictures and the grey mist was gorgeous in the distance.

Next, our driver drove us to a tall dune and started getting the sand boards out of the back. We walked to the edge and he put wax on the bottom of the boards. I was reminded of the huge grass hill near our old house my sister and I would slide down on cardboard boxes when we were in elementary school. But this was much taller. And steeper. Pancho and the driver tell us we are going to go down the hill on our stomachs with our heads first. This went against everything I was ever told when sliding down anything.

Nervously (and quite skeptical) I watch the first volunteer give this a try. It was our favorite little Asian with a British accent Vincent who went first. He dragged his feet in the sand to slow himself down. He survived. Next, DAnn, a tall cross country runner from San Antonio. She survived and even went faster than Vincent. Ok, I was ready! I could do this. Adam the sarcastic British guy who lives in New York went next. Another survivor. Thus, I put my board down and took a deep breath. After a little push from the driver, I was off down the hill going faster than I imagined. It was great! Thrilling and fun. My board slowed and came to a hault. I stood up with a cheer and with the relief I had survived. I was ready for more!

Our sand buggy driver picked us up at the bottom and drove us to several more tall dunes. We took turns and each went down. We learned quickly to keep our mouths closed despite the urge to yell in order to keep the flying sand out of our mouths. DAnn and Jesse were brave enough to try sandboarding standing up. I was good on my stomach. Seemed more fun that way.

After sliding down several dunes, we got back in the sand buggy for a drive around. We waved at other groups as we passed. We screamed over hills and I put my hands in the air. I nearly couldn´t control my laughter when my seatbelt/harness came loose a few times on some big bumps...defeating the purpose of the seat belt.

We stopped at another smaller oasis and took some pictures and then our driver drove us around. I loved this part. I was reminded of favorite times tubing behind a ski boat. I pictured my Aunt Dorothy driving us on her ski boat as we clung to the tube behind the boat desperately hanging on as she tried to throw us off. It was so much fun and so was this!

The ride came to an end much too quickly (I could have done it all day) and we piled out to take showers before our next activity. What a fun morning!

Into the Great Wide Open, Tom Petty