Where to begin, how to begin, when did we begin? When does it end? What are we talking about?
Time is such an enigma. The way it moves is indescribable. We are all masters of time and we don’t even know it. Just to live and continue living proves more and more this fact and the time passing hones ones individual skill until it becomes something we don’t notice and completely take for granted. In the beginning we don’t Appreciate because we don’t have a lot to look back on and and we’re constantly dreaming of the future and what it might be like, what could be or may happen, or hope to become. The dream. The imagination, so pure in its early stages, free of condition, boundary, practicality, rationality, we are free to dream up whatever we can imagine. Time is our canvas, and we blast it without reservation. Fast forward into adulthood and at some point we start to realize what was the future then is now the past, and we are free to look back on any moment in our lives and compare it to the dreams we once had. Does it check out? Are we happy with the outcome? What would we do differently? The experiences we gather just add to our developing skill as dreamers and magicians. We blaze our trails through life like comets through outer space. Powerful they are, but will eventually burn out. Not after passing through unknown realms and seeing beautiful scenes unique to that moment. Time is like space, it seems to have no beginning, no end. The ever constant present presently awaits you. Never stops, always present.

Space. Allow us to reflect. It seems to me now that the space is more valuable than the objects that occupy. Without space, we can keep nothing material. Of course you can leave anything anywhere, but factor in how safe and how valuable is the object you’re keeping. Who knows what may happen? For thousands of years we have been warring over territory, boundaries, even headspace. Forcing ideology into each others skulls, pushing our way not only into other peoples lands, but their brains. An unquenchable desire for more space. What do we do with it? Not much, we just want it and that’s it. A significant amount of the space we occupy is left to rot, trashed, and or just unused and abandoned. Did you know you if you put all the people in the world standing shoulder to shoulder they would take up a space the size of Los Angeles? So many beautiful places on this amazing planet and we choose to live in towns and cities, staring at man made garbage, decay, noise pollution, rarely seeing the stars in the sky, just glimpses of the natural world here and there. Paying overly inflated prices for perfectly natural resources like water, shelter, food, heat, air-conditioning, fuel, energy in general. Forgive my brash rambling, these are the thoughts that years of living and traveling in a van will bring. I assume my fellow over-landers will relate. At this moment, we are well past the end of this trip and looking back with a rapidly becoming distant perspective allows me to consider how I was and what I was thinking then, compared to now. I will now deliberate to take us back to the beginning of the second half of our journey, though it rightly may be considered the third and final part, if this were a screenplay or an act.

We left Lima at night. We packed the van and Gaby’s car, heading for Pulpos. Ingrid was driving, and I had grabbed a small bottle of Smirnoff, the kind they give you on an airplane. Gabby had a collection of assorted liquors in bottles of this size and since we had been helping her clean out her house, making one of the last efforts of my overall contribution to this project, I smashed it just before we stopped for gas on the Pan-American. This moment was for me when we were officially back on the road. A lot had happened since we finally arrived to Lima, until this moment when we were now finally leaving. It was a bittersweet experience overall, that is Lima. The buzz was strong, having finished half a bottle of absolute limon just before getting in the van was adding to it. Also being back in the van and the headspace required was adding to the focus I had, or lack thereof. I believe it was the following morning that we said goodbye to Ralph, Gabby, Soquta, and Fergus. When I say morning, I really mean after mid-day, and the plan was to drive to Chilca and spend the night there to surf in the morning.

I remember the feeling of driving away, and noting the interactions I was having with the people in the area. Stopping to fill our water on the PanAm, getting some bananas and mandarins in Chilca, we ate them for breakfast after spending the night at the beach. We were pretty sketched out, south of Lima on the coast is a mix of high class and super gnar. A curious mix, Chilca leans more on the side of gnar than high class. But as usual, we asked around and found a kindred owner of a restaurant on the beach who said we could park behind which was great because it blocked the relentless salty ocean breeze, that spells destruction for any type of metal. Gratefully, we bought a cold beer and drank it on the spot. Somewhat sleepless night, some guys pulled up late parked next to us. Turns out they were fishermen preparing for the following day which was not obvious, but well upon us. We searched for the legendary beach break that I had heard about, were within a stones throw of it I now realize, but the swell was lackluster and the mighty Pacific chose not to throw out that morning, which was fine because we weren’t at the proper beach anyways and as secluded as we were, neither of us were feeling so comfortable sticking around for long. Actually, I remember scoring a couple of good ones. Some small bombs coming through, surfing completely solo, due respect to the SPAC.

We left Chilca and made our way to Cerro Azul, our last surf before heading away from the coast, in the rough direction of Cuzco. Cerro Azul is a great town, a classic surf spot, and an ideal beach scene. The only downside is the amount of garbage that this type of scene creates. Aside from that, where else can you go to the beach where they bring out a huge umbrella, chairs and a table upon request and then serve you cold beer and all the best Peruvian seafood you can imagine for a great price? And let you park overnight right up front for free. (In other words, at your own risk). We pulled out our own table and chairs, splurged on a couple of beers and ceviche watching the waves and the sunset. Full on happy hour. A swell rolled in, Ingrid’s cousin Izumi showed up with some friends to catch it. We all scored some good ones, Ingrid loves that spot. We stayed a few days to soak it up before packing the boards away for a while. From there, we made our way south towards the famed Paracas. A vast desert of its own, surrounded by desert, one of the first national parks established in Peru.

Paracas is a Quechua word meaning ‘winds of sand’. It can blow Gail force here, picking up the sand and filling the air with it. The sound of it is timeless and fierce. It moans and wails, musically and lyrically setting the mood. The original inhabitants would dig into the sand and live underground to hide from the elements. We drove into this immense land, desert stretching as far as the eye can see. Spectacularly, we pushed beast to its limit as we traversed through the park, our chosen route, taking the backdoor into Ica, the capital of Peruvian vineyards and distillation. Birthplace of the famous Pisco, a liquor created from grapes, a pride of coastal Peruvians.

The winds of Paracas sculpted into my memory, also a layer of sand and dust that penetrated into the depths of our van and scalps. The desert holds natural phenomenons that the ancient people must have interpreted as supernatural. Were they wrong? Were we trespassing into sacred land? We humbly made our way through these awe-inspiring scenes, testing both our dependence and independence. I felt it was a sign that we had chosen a true path when we made it back to civilization without any significant complications.

Ica, a disgrace in the desert, is home to a true natural oasis. Just outside of the city limits is the blessed Huacachina, a beautiful lake of subterranean waters nestled into the giant dunes. Completely defying geography and the norm, it must have been truly amazing. Still is, but inevitably the locals and visitors alike have despoiled it to the point of near ruin. It’s still a sight to see, and some of the old concrete structures surrounding the small lake elude to a time when there were less people and it was truly a peaceful landscape still a part of the precious and fragile ecosystem.

You can take advantage of the surrounding dunes by renting snowboards converted to sandboards, wax the bottom of the board and sail down the mountain spraying sand to your hearts desire, if you dare. People have died doing this here, novices be warned. Of course, if you aren’t athletic enough you can take a ride in a dune buggy and participate in the defiling of the desert with an army of other like-minded people, while enjoying a beautiful sunset at the same time. Best of both worlds. Of course if you see the desert as something not worthy of conservation, pay no heed to my lament. In defense of the motorized dune buggies, despite the noise, and pollution, they look fun. Says the guy who just drove his gas guzzling 4x4 Ford van through the Parque Nacional Paracas. In my defense, we were on a specified road, and rarely went off it. ‘History will absolve me.’ -Fidel Castro.

We had some mechanical issues in Huacachina, and just before that we had the brakes worked on in Ica. There are a lot of mechanics in the city and one in particular was very good for us. A large 4x4 shop that we found through a recommendation of some guy I met on the street who was admiring our van, while we were waiting for another mechanic to arrive from lunch to his ‘Taller’. Hot in the city. Then, the same problem that we’ve had since Costa Rica happened again, the van mysteriously didn’t want to start. Blowing out the air filter and checking the fuel filter, though neither were the problem, took care of it for the time being. The mechanical issues didn’t stop us from going on a Vineyard tour, one of the main attractions in the area. The vineyards are beautiful, the wine is fine, and the Pisco is excellent. For an affordable price we were able to enjoy them all. Satisfied, we left the historic Huacachina, making our way to Nazca.

To get to Nazca you have to drive across the desert to a great Mountain range, pass through it, then through another vast desert on the other side. About 4 hours drive, but a lifetime away no matter how you look at it. Time and space twist and warp perspective in the desert, distance creates illusion. The acclaimed Nazca lines are the attraction, the second most visited site in Peru after Machu Picchu. I remember Ingrid and I were at odds for what reason, I don’t recall. It got to the point that when we arrived, she took off walking, or I took off walking, or we took turns, something like that. Parked on the main street just outside the square, we temporarily reconciled and went out to dinner celebrating our arrival to such a legendary tourist town and historic site. Not to mention it was 2 days before Christmas. Nazca is a rough town, if it weren’t for the lines there would be no reason to go there. However, the past civilizations have left such an impressive feat of engineering and craftsmanship that to this day it still isn’t understood exactly how they managed to do what they did, and how these marks have stood up to the test of time.

The Nazca culture thrived in the desert. They found water, then channeled it via underground tunnels that they built themselves, earthquake proof, to the point that these canals still exist today and water still runs through them. The local people use this water on a daily basis, subsidized by the government, as they are required to annually clean out the build up of sand if they want the flow to continue. Thus specified by the Nazca who were completing the same procedure one thousand years ago. The sand comes with the rainy season and a steady and dependable flow of water. After the rainy season the water slows down and men are sent to crawl through on their stomach and somehow disperse the sand. The Nazca people built open-aired access points for this reason. These canals are equally as fascinating as the lines themselves.

The lines, are hard to describe. They seem to have multiple functions, many theories have been built upon their existence but no one knows for certain. They drew lines in the desert by removing the darker stones, revealing a lighter colored earth beneath. With this process they managed to draw considerable sized images of plants, animals, bugs, and people. Some claim one of these figures to be an astronaut wearing a space helmet, others say it’s a priest with the head of an owl. Could be either, who am I to say? The lines and images are constructed on such a large scale they can only be seen from a certain height, hence the viewing platforms strategically placed. But they leave you with only a glimpse of what’s really going on. The field of view is from much higher and really can only be seen from a great height. Why did they make these lines so big? Who were they made for?

We slept outside the airport in order to wake up early the next morning to be one of the first arrivals. You get a better price that way, especially if you speak Spanish. Ingrid lined up some tickets, and we jumped into a Cessna with a couple of Japanese people and took off. The views are incredible, the ride is fantastic, that is if you like flying in tight circles figure-eight style so that both sides of the airplane get a proper view. A bit like a rollercoaster ride but a once in a lifetime experience. Hard not to think of the Nazca people and what they would have thought of riding in an airplane surveying their creations. Did they make them for future generations like us? Are we the gods? Masters of our own fates? It’s hard not to feel like a god for a brief moment when you see these lines from the intended perspective.

We finally came down from our tour and reconsidered life from our original ant-like perspective. How difficult it must have been to create. How hot it is in the desert. Moving stones? In the desert? Maybe they didn’t have anything better to do, or couldn’t think of anything better. I guess life really seems insignificant without lap-tops and smart phones, may as well dig a whole and bury yourself if you don’t have one. If you do, well then think the opposite. Short and sweet is the experience of the Nazca lines, completely unforgettable. It seems that my phone took better images than my go-pro, a rare but true fact. Nice to have options.

There is also a well-stocked museum with some really scruffy looking cats outside, definitely worth the visit. As with all of Peru, there’s way more history in this location than just the Nazca culture, also the museum is very cool and quiet. I recommend going mid-day to get a break from the beating sun and heat.

From here, there is a road that takes you into the mountains, eventually climbing to peaks of the Andes. This is where we chose to enter the highlands, the sights and scenes immediately begin to impress the first few meters you climb. We drove or should I say climbed until sunset, engine racing the whole way up. Passing giant trucks with heavy loads driving the opposite direction, black smoke billowing out of their brakes. They were just ending their descent as we were just beginning. We pulled over at a strategic location thanks to I-Overlander, enjoyed a majestic sunset, and found a nice French couple in a Uni-mog already parked for the night. Since it was Christmas Eve, we agreed to go out to dinner at the truck stop restaurant we happened to be parked next to. They were open and we all ordered the same thing which was they only meal they had to offer. Delicious pollo al horno with hand cut papas fritas con arroz blanco y ensalada fresca. It was excellent, hot and fresh. The French couple had a bottle of wine which we shared, I think we brought one too. From here, our desert adventure ended for the time being as we ascended to the lands of llamas, pumas, and condors.