Sluuuuuurp shlop. Sluuuuuurp shlop… the sound of my mud laden boots sucking and slopping my way across the North Sea flats.
Wadlopen is a most famous Dutch activity in the summer months. There are few other places in the world where you can leave an island 10km’s away and walk back to the mainland. This is the north sea wilderness

I met Katrina, my Rotary buddy, on the train, along with the rest of the meetup group. It was only 7:30am and our transport plan to the start point went bike > train> bus > ferry > tractor > walk. Fifty or so people made the start and a couple of rugged Dutch guides led the way. The tide was apparently falling but it felt utterly counter-intuitive walking deeper, deeper into the sea. Water surrounded us for kilometres and was by now above our waists…

But the guides weren’t concerned in the slightest as they sought to angle our path through the sea. The speed at which the water disappeared was spooky – like a ghost it was soon gone. Left behind was a gluggy black and brown mud and kilometres further to walk. Shoes needed to be re-tied to keep them on our feet and in good company we continued across these beautiful tidal flats, encountering occasional mud crabs or mussel beds. Deep into the evening the dark mood of the clouds lightened up sending down shards of evening light, reflecting magically off the glistening surface.

It took us four hours but everyone eventually made it, caked in mud. But who cares, mud washes off, and even your clothes and shoes don’t stink if you wash them for a week! I was still smiling anyway

More photos here:

‘Bloody tourists!’ I swerve as another person steps blindly out onto the cycleway and fly on by. Two weeks in, and I’m no tourist anymore; I’m an Amsterdamer and lovin it! I’m feeling rather well settled in Amsterdam and sampling all this vibrant/crazy/cool city has to offer. I’m proud to call Amsterdam home.

I started out as a tourist my first few days, wandering the lanes and canals, eating old cheeses, drinking at traditional brown bars, and taking in all Amsterdam had to offer. To orientate myself I had joined a couple of walking tours, one of the city centre which is steeped in history, and another of the red light district, which aside from getting an eye-full was a brilliant backgrounder on all you could wonder about. Anne Frank’s house surprised and impressed me with the quality of the exhibition and the length of queues outside. But since then I have rather left the coffee shop hopping, red light gazing tourists to their own devices, just like the other Amsterdamers.

I can report that everything is great and thanks for the emails asking how I’m getting on. The lecturers and facitlities at Amsterdam University are spot on and already we students have become a tight knit group who work hard and play hard. With so much going on getting that work/play balance right will be a knack. It has been a little energy consuming setting up house, bank accounts, insurance and social security numbers but thats life and it’s slowly coming together. I’ve also met up with my Rotary host councillor, Wilko, and I’m looking forward to getting to know the Amsterdam Rotary clubs in the coming weeks.

A few events of note:
Amsterdam hosting an annual gaypride event which brought a liberal dose of outrageousness to the city.The highlight was the daylong canal parade of boats along Prinsengraght packed with more boats and people than I would’ve believed possible. Beats, glam, colour.

Also this Wednesday I managed to get my hand on some tickets to see the Netherlands vs England at the Amsterdam Arena. For me this was a real football spectacle as I’d never seen so many household names at a game before. They were all there, Beckham, Rooney, Lampard, Terry, Ferdinand etc and for the dutch, Van Persie, Robbin, Khuyt etc. The full house was awash with orange except for the far corner of rowdy white. The quality of play in the first half was pretty even but the dutch jumped out to a 2-0 lead as the capitalised on some poor defending. We in the Oranje crowd we buzzing, and even sang “always look on the bright side of life” accross to our English visitors. But the Pommes fought back and an unbiased person would say they fully deserved their comeback to 2-2 and could’ve even snatched a win. Typical dutch complacency. BBC report.

Amsterdam photos here:

Antwerp? ‘I thought you were in Amsterdam’, I hear you say. Ah, this is true but here is how my story goes… Indeed I did arrive jet-lagged in Amsterdam, as did the lovely Lana soon after, passing through on her own intrepid travels. I did my best to orientate myself in Amsterdam that first day (cheese shop beside the canal, another one! doh!) but my update from Amsterdam will have to wait till the following post. You see Lana and I had the bright idea to skip the expensive weekend rates of Amsterdam and hop on a train for Antwerp for a few short days. Little did I know of the risk that I could end up running away with a circus…

Antwept *sigh* lovely Antwerp. For a city whose English name squirts off the tongue, Antwerp central is a little gem. Where else can you stay for a fair price on a lane just off an old town square, under the gaze (and bells, I admit) of a grand cathedral? We ate long breakfasts, long lunches and drank long Hoegaardens in between taking our time wondering through old streets, a museum of music and Ruben’s house, before returning again to Madame Hoegaarden. The next day also coasted by in similar bliss, with the addition of a chocolate + caramel + ice cream + cream waffle.

Then around the corner we heard the call of the circus! An Aussie girl, Tahmour, was inviting all comers to roll up to her amazing streetshow extravaganza. And so, waffle in hand, we did. The show began with 50 or so people sitting on the chalked out stage when a call for a volunteer went out. The sun must’ve caught a twinkle in my eye or something because before I knew it I was there on stage, Live in Antwerp! My role was as side kick – all I had to do was learn to bow, use my powers of strength, help undress her while she hoola hooped, and skillfully throw 20, I say 20, hoola hoops around Tahmour’s swinging hips. …18, 19, 20!! Success! pride! fame! …and fortune? Alas no, I even tipped Tahmour for an awesome show which, if just for a moment, made me think of running away to join the circus. Only photos can really paint the picture: view here

With some choice selections of Belgium chocolate we journeyed back to my new home in Amsterdam.

I gathered my luggage and feigned super-gaijin strength as I lugged 30-something kg’s through Shinjuku station, catching the coos of ‘sugoiiii! yabaiiiii!’ in my wake. Folks, it was heavier than I made it look, but in those bags was my entire life which I would bring to Amsterdam the next week. At the station Mike was waiting, what a dude. I was home.

My plan was to leave for Gifu, my Japanese hometown, the next evening. But first there was the Tokyo playground to run around in for the day. We found Hachiko still waiting at Shibuya station and we wove through the Shibuya crosswalk and into department stores, pachinko parlours and ramen halls. Eri joined us as we headed into the freaky world of Harajuju, mingling with youth dressed in various styles of gothic lolita, visual kei, decora, and cosplay (costume play). I bought a shirt. ‘Nuf said. No trip to Harajuku is complete without a crepe and a trip to Meji Jinja and a wee written prayer for you all and my year ahead. I’m sure it’s still hanging in the shrine now.

The day had raced by and I had a Bullet Train to catch. Less than two hours later I stepped into my old Gifu drinking hole, Bierhall, to familiar faces who looked as happy to see me as I was to see them. *shucks*. Guys you don’t look a day older; Japan is good like that. Somehow (actually I know exactly how) the night dragged out to 5ish when I crashed out on Marcel’s couch for the night.

There’s no time for hangovers on a whirlwind stopover, and at some ridiculous time mid morning we were on the road to Suginoko campgrounds in the Gifu wilderness. We peered down from the cliff to the furious whitewater rapids below and then loaded our gear into a wooden box to send across the river on a precarious wire. Marcel, Konomi, Tomo and I walked the long way down to the campground. Aside from a brief downpour (read torrential rain) the party and bbq were a riot and in all it was an awesome few days with good people – the baseball and intensely refreshing swim in the waterfall being highlights.

Back then in Gifu city for a few more days was a trip down memory lane wherever I went. Yup it even twigged at the ‘ol heartstrings and teased me to wonder if I could come back and live. I relived nearly every Gifu experience and touched so many natsukashi landmarks – the Gifu Bhudda, Inaba shrine, Gifu Park, the Natural Cafe and Iwao, a swim in the river, and gazed up at Gifu castle lit up at night. But really what made it a great feeling to be back were friends- like Izumi sensei, Takesan and Kei, Marcel, Konomi, Tomo, Warren and Momomi, Mandy, Sean, Jeff, Andre, Dak, Bill and Mineko, Hatsumi and Master, Shy and Hiro… Shame I couldn’t find Naomi. That’s a shout out, love to all.

I wasn’t yet done with Japan. I shot back up to Tokyo for a few more days and had the pleasure to meet up with a number of the Peaceboat posse – Aarif, Aichan, Yuko and Yumi, and to be spotted on the street by Nishi, a one in 35,000,000 chance! I wiled away my days meeting up with friends for lunches, and catching an exhibition of Mexican art (Frida Kahlo, Diago Riviera, et al) before capping off a most awesome stopover in the most appropriate way – Karaoke!! Tsunchan, Mike and Eri, that was solid gold.

Friends, I’m off to Amsterdam.

Photos here

‘Sydney is one of the 3 most beautiful ports in the world’, we were told by our eccentric cruise director Naosan. We docked in Clarke Quay, prime real estate. To my right was the Sydney Opera house, on the left the Sydney harbour bridge. The day was not entirely mine; I’d volunteered for the GET challenge tour, basically a day round Sydney with students. I made the most of a few free hours in the morning though, and saw the central sights with Risa. With the students, the idea was we cruise the city with a check list of things to do and find, and speak only in English. My lads did well and although it wasn’t free time, we made our own fun. We finished up in the late afternoon at Coojie beach and we had a bit of free time before beer and burgers with the others. I seized the chance to have a swim and was loving it for all of 30 seconds. I felt a sharp, stinging pain shoot through my left arm. I was shocked to see a blue bottle wrapped completely around it. I pulled the bugger’s tentacles off with my other hand and swam in. Some people say pee on it, others say ice. The ice didn’t work, but some gels that the restaurant had on hand cooled the burning feeling.

Fed and watered, we later headed back to the Opera House bar for a beer ‘on the Peace Boat’. Chibi Bonita, J, Aarif and I tried to make a night of it and headed into Kings Cross. I can’t say town was pumping on a Thursday night, but we did ok to find a few decent places to sample the night life.

Waving fairwell to Sydney

I did get up in the morning to have a fry up breakfast at a little café at the Rocks. My arm was swollen something awesome from the blue bottle sting. The Australian newspaper had interviewed the cruise director and featured an article plastered across the 3rd page. The headline read: ‘Japanese activists said in to back anti-whaling effort’. Reading on…’As Japanese ships continue to hunt for whales in the Southern Ocean, an ocean liner packed with Japanese activists opposed to “scientific” whaling has docked in Australia. The Peace Boat – a vessel carrying 1000 Japanese passengers on a 110-day voyage to promote human rights and environmental issues – is demanding the Japan ends its scientific whaling program…’ WHAT THE?? Activists? Demanding what? The story goes on to link our arrival with the departure of the activist boat Sea Shepherd and the anti whaling movement. On the boat I had heard little of this controversy in the media, let alone seen any anti whaling activists! I am personally opposed to the Japanese ‘scientific’ whaling program, but this story was a complete cook up by journalist Matthew Knot.

I wish I had the time to put together a jishukikaku (self planned event) about 1) Media reporting and 2) international whaling issues.

But I didn’t have the time. I was busy as a tanto (leader) organising the speech contest and, of course, writing my own speech in Japanese. It was a character building and emotional experience for many of our students who had never given a speech to an audience, let alone in a foreign language.

New Years – We had a stonking party on the boat, and muchos thanks goes to Sam and Kane for putting together a wicked slide show and DJ Sam for spinning the vinyl well into the morning

Here’s my speech in Japanese Romaji (so you can actually read it)
***

Kiwis are well represented on the 59th voyage. We rock! On the South Seas to Auckland, I noticed familiar changes: the sun’s light was sharper, the weather became changeable, and the Southern Cross appeared in the night sky.Risa, P and I woke early before dawn. The Peace Boat silently passed by Rangitoto and the first shards of morning light began to emanate over Auckland’s Eastern Suburbs. This was a special sunrise (ok, the only sunrise), that we woke for on the voyage. I was coming home for Christmas.

I’d organised for family to come on the boat, check it out and join me for a typical Peace Boat buffet breakfast on the deck. It’s hardly haute cuisine, but it does the job. We did a little tour of the floating village and then headed into town. Where were the all decorations? Only the famous Whicoulls Santa stood out. I picked up a few Christmas presents and then split my time for the rest of the day with family. It’s an easy feeling coming home. Nothing has changed as much as you have. It’s comfortable, familiar. My dog remembers me and doesn’t hold any grudges. We opened some Christmas presents together, and I announced that the money in my card is going towards my next diving trip in Papua New Guinea. Dinner was especially nice down on St Heliers beach. Before boarding I made sure I stocked up on assorted kiwi goodies – Jaffas, Pineapple lumps, Hubbards cereal, and a few bottles of Lindaur for Christmas and New Years. That was my day, but I knew I’d be back in a few weeks for my sisters wedding.

In Japan, Christmas Eve is celebrated more than Christmas day. For a first, I joined a carolling group led by the sweet voice of Bethan to bring out my Christmas spirit. We performed Come o ye Faithful, Joy to the World and The 12 days of Christmas at the Topaz restaurant on board. Then most of us partied into the late hours of the morning at Sports Bar. The GETs nursed hangovers together on Christmas day and enjoyed doing a whole lot of nothing, other than exchanging Secret Santa gifts, eating lollies and watching movies.

Classes have finished! The on board teaching program we’d set up was a great success, judged by feedback from students. Without a doubt, my students have grown in confidence, expanded their vocabularies and learned how to use new language structures. I’d say my Japanese has also improved along the way. But we’re far from finished – coming up is a GET challenge program around Sydney, a speech contest, graduation ceremony and of course a final party!

How cruel to sail across the vast Pacific Ocean to stop in tropical Tahiti for only one day. We ferried straight to Moorea Island, some 40 minutes from Papeete. Meg had sleuthed out a dive shop and they drove us around coast of the island. We gazed out to the intense teal colour of the shallow reef and craned our necks to marvel at Moorea’s cliffs, jagging vertically up from the dense tropical jungle. It might just be the most perfect tropical island I’ve seen in my life. It was about to get better.

French Polynesia is expensive. At $80 a pop we decided on just one dive. We quickly geared up, were given our briefing in a thick French accent and hummed 500 metres off shore to our dive location. From the boat, I caught sight of a menacing shadow. ‘Don’t panic’, we were assured, ‘they don’t bite’. Should I trust a Frenchman? Why not, he still had all his fingers! We descended to about 15 metres and looked out through fantastic visibility. And then the scene just unfolded. One blacktip reef shark became two, then five… until there were maybe 12 around us. We watched, mesmerised, suspended above the reef. Some weren’t interested in us, another swam straight at me before darting away at the last moment. Others passed over me and I touched their bellies. I glanced to my right and only an arms reach away was another, just cruising, like he was my brother. This was some mad-cool shit. And there was more to this dive than just sharks; large schools of surgeon fish, caves with lion fish and an aggressive trigger fish. I rued not being able to borrow an underwater camera case for this, my best and longest dive (56min). (see videos here)

Hez and Julia with Stingrays

Back on shore we had only 2 hours before the last ferry. Missing it would mean a costly private plane back to Papeete. Our gang were keen to check out Stingray Point so we ran down the road, rented some tandem kayaks and headed out to where the reef meets the channel. We dropped our kayak’s anchors on the shallow sandy bottom next to another boat and grabbed our snorkels. In seconds we were surrounded by a dozen curious Stingrays. Just getting out of the kayak, I had to check not to step on one. The friendly rays, about a metre in diameter, didn’t mind us touching their velvety wings. They were obviously used to people feeding them fishy snacks. Awesome snorkelling.

We cut it fine and just made the ferry. I wish we missed it. We’d only been on Moorea some 6 hours and there wasn’t a whole lot going on in downtown Papeete. I drank my beer and looked at the Hinano girl… Moorea would’ve been a great place to be stranded.

Oh, the sacred sight of land! The Peace Boat anchored a mile off the exposed coast of Rapa Nui, Easter Island. The weather and swells cooperated and tender boats shuttled tour groups to the island 8 at a time. I hoped I would be just as lucky the next day when I had my chance to get off. So, for a day I just hung out on board and watched the coast near Hanga Roa. A Rasta local came on board to teach the Japanese how to stone carve for $30. The day’s highlight (other than just relaxing beside the pool) was the stonking cultural performance that night by a Polynesian cultural group. It rates as one of the best I’ve seen.

Rapa Nui cultural performance

The next morning, the gods were smiling and the GET teachers were able to get off the Peace Boat at last. From the boat I had organised a dive with 3 Japanese friends. We prepared our gear and headed back out to a site in sight of the Peace Boat. The visibility was exceptionally good as major currents don’t flow to Easter Island carrying plankton. We saw some nice morays, big yellow fin tuna, a school of jackfish and a turtle amongst the hard coral on the volcanic sea floor. Down at 20 meters there was a surprise – an underwater Moai. It was, of course, a replica. How else would an ancient 6 meter Moai get out to sea? I read on the web it was made for Kevin Costner’s flop ‘Rapa Nui’, though the dive master told us it was dropped down there by a local as a remembrance.

Underwater Moai

On dry land our dive master turned guide and we headed off to Rano Raraku, a kind of quarry from which the original Moai were carved centuries ago. It’s a strange place and the remnant of an extinct volcano. Wild horses drink in its crater lake. Dozens of <a href=”http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moai” target=”blank”>Moai</a> are scattered in the vicinity; the ones that never made it to their intended resting places. Now, some stand half buried, others have fallen and many more remain unfinished, part carved from the mountainside. Most are about 6-8 metres tall, though the largest is unfinished and a whopping 21 metres. No metal tools were used to create the Moai, instead they were carved using stone on stone. How the Moai came to stand at their various resting places around the island remains a mystery, though 3 theories stand out: a) wooden rollers used for rolling the Moai down the mountainside b) a ‘V’ shaped sled to slide the Moai, and c) Aliens. All are theoretically possible

Moai being carved from the rock

The view from Rano Raraku’s perilous cliff top looked out across the barren land to the ocean and the 15 standing Moai of Ahu Tongariki. Standing at the foot of the ahu the Moai are impressive. Facing inland, the Moai are the “living faces” (aringa ora) and representations of chiefly, deified ancestors. Although many Moai are similar, few or none are the same.

From Ahu Tongariki we headed to the white sands and green palms of Anakena beach. Here 7 more Moai stand proudly on the shore. Behind their backs nice surf breaks near the shore where I had a bitofa body surf. The last group of Moai we visited were exceptions, facing out to see. Possibly they watch for islanders sent out to sea by the king in search for new lands.

Ahu Tongariki

***
Back on the Peace Boat, the joke is I look like a Moai. An honour, I think. It’s something about my ‘high’ nose and ‘longer than Japanese’ face. (Its funny in that many Japanese think foreigners all look alike just as kiwis think the opposite is true). Anyway to put this myth straight, or rather for a laugh, I organised a Moai Mitai (look-a-like) contest with CCC Yuko. We took some pics of willing passengers and juxtaposed them with Moai shots on the computer. There was a big vote and CCC Yuko and I tied for 3rd. Nakahara-san now has the honorific ‘Moai’ after his name and I nicknamed Yuko ‘CCC Moai’ too.

There are many events and happenings everyday. We held awareness events on AIDS day, and celebrated Human Rights day on December 10th with a number of different events, movies and discussions topped with a toast to freedom. I did my bit in the Culture Festival; Aotearoa represent! We demonstrated the Haka, Maori stick games, touch rugby and boat cricket. We had a manabi night raising money for reforestation projects in the Galapagos (think drag). We’ve just had the Summer Festival, Yukatta contest and a Polynesian night. At the Summer Festival participants could stand on the preverbial soap box and below anything they wished. There weren’t many takers, and most were just to wish for a boyfriend or say Happy Birthday to a friend. I got the crowd to bellow out a FREEDOM call, ala Mikey Havoc. Fleeeedooooooooooomu! Speech contests are coming up and mine is going to be in Japanese. And tomorrow is the ship soccer tournament. Christmas is a busy time of year, and the boat life is no exception. It feels like I’m coming down the home straight now to be with family for Christmas in Auckland. It’s a great feeling.

(For more photos click the ‘Photos’ link at the top of the page)

I was pumped for Peru. This was one of those all too rare overnight ports. Risa and I jumped off the Peace Boat at 7am and into a taxi. From the notoriously dodging port area we cruised into central Lima overtaking loaded people movers painted up like football team buses. Inconveniently there is no central bus terminal in Lima, so after getting it wrong once Risa fluently asked for the right directions. In no time we were charging down the dry and barren coastal desert watching a ripped DVD of Troy. After 4 1/2 hours we changed to a taxi in Ica, which took us to the doorstep of a little slice of paradise.

Huacachina Oasis

Huacachina is an oasis lying in a bowl of sand. Picaresque palm trees surround the small lake. With big smiles we pulled up a restaurant table beside the lake and ordered whatever we pleased…with cervecas of course. As we ate we watched a few dots inching up the surrounding dunes. We decided to rent snowboards and began our own climb of Mt Sanddune. It was hot and each step plugged into the sand. Maybe the more expensive idea of renting sand buggies would’ve been smarter. From the top of the dunes we looked down on one side to the oasis and on the other to a small town in the middle of the sandy nowhere. I wondered who on earth would want to live there. Then we strapped on our dodgy boards and went for it, laughing and riding on the soft sand. We couldn’t quite get the same speed as on snow, but the wipe-out sure was a lot softer!

On a tight schedule, we caught a bus up to Pisco. From the main road we caught a taxi into the dark streets to the door of our guesthouse. We sipped our Pisco Sours with our dinner and then waited for a guide to turn up to discuss the next day’s options. When he did, we booked in for a $35 trip to the Ballestos Islands next morning and private car around the Paracas national park. As we chatted to this friendly guy conversation turned to ‘the earthquake’.

Pisco Earthquake

What earthquake? Well, The one that knocked out the street lights, keeping us in the dark when we entered Pisco. On August 15 this year, Pisco was literally shaken to pieces by a 8.0 quake. Tragically, 430 people died in Pisco, 138 of them when the roof of the central San Clemente Cathedral of Pisco collapsed during mass. The clean up has been disaster for the survivors. Our guide told us $90 million was pledged by the international community but there is precious little to show for it. He is frustrated by the government response, and underneath I sensed a simmering anger. Turkey pledged some basic kit set houses to those who lost their home. He accuses the government of selling these back to the people – profiting from the disaster. Venezuela too offered food and housing but these were turned down by the Peruvian government. The reason? Charvez had put his face on the stickers of the fruit and in the corner of the houses. ‘The people don’t care who helps us’, our guide told us. ‘In a short time the fruit would be eaten and his face painted over anyway!’ The government of Peru did offer 20000 peso in compensation. Then the figure dropped to 10000 peso. Now, the people are still waiting for 2000 pesos ($600) in compensation. Significant amounts of international food and clothes aid also arrived. We were shocked to be told that when this arrives at ports in Lima the military have first pickings. What are left for the people who need it most are the scraps.

A car picked us up a 7:00am and in the beautiful morning light we saw the ugly extent of the damage. How lucky we were to have even slept with a roof over our heads last night. About 40% of the houses we passed were flat to the ground, another 40% had substantial visible damage. We passed the colonial style cathedral, a gaping hole where its roof had been. I saw one of the Turkish aid kitset shacks. Now, 4 months on from the day, we still saw people living in tents. There was no earth moving equipment. Rubble was stacked by hand in piles beside the road. Pisco, previously a thriving city of 400,000 was in ruin.

Ballestas Sea Lions

We arrived at the docks near the entrance of Paracas National Park. After a bit of hanging around, as is the Peruvian way, we boarded our small boat and were stunned to find… life jackets! (Now there’s something not easily found in Asia.) As we headed out to sea 3 pelicans swooped out from in front of the bow. A short way out we pulled up near the Paracas Peninsula to puzzle over El Candelabro, a giant geoglyph. Just like the famous Nasca lines further south, it is difficult to say much for certain about the Candelabra; who made it, when, why… I’m told that it isn’t even a depiction of a candelabrum, but a cactus. Nearing Las Islas Ballestas, ribbons of pelicans and boobies draped across the sky. Then we saw why the islands are known as the little Galapagos – these birds blanketed the islands and penguins dipped into the water. Before we could see them, we heard the roars of sea lions echoing from the caves. For much of the 19th and 20th centuries this delicate ecosystem was mined for guano, also known as bird shit, and valuable for its potassium and phosphorus. The taste of salt spray mixed with the pong of bird shit baked onto the rocks. Our boat gentled idled around rock stacks where throngs of sea lions sunbathed. In the water, sea lions lept and played close to our boat. Prohibited from landing, we kept a respectful distance from the colonies that lined the pebble beaches. These are their islands.

Paracas Red Beach

Back on shore we met our driver who would take us around Paracas National Park. He gave English his best shot but Risa needed to CC. The roads looked like tarmac but weren’t. We stopped to see that they were made only by compacting the salty earth. Risa couldn’t resist eating the road. The park’s landscape was unique; a dry, lunar surface, in places dusty white. We made a number of stops in the park including ‘The Cathedral’ a geographical sea cave feature destroyed in the earthquake (before pic). We walked the cliffs looking onto a red sand beach and stopped into the Laguna. Here too the famous seaside restaurants were destroyed and only 1 remained. We took our seafood platters and cervecas onto the idyllic and deserted beach and swam in the warm waters. Another little paradise. I asked our driver again about the flamingos that feed in the shallow waters of the park. They’re gone. The silt kicked up from the earthquake has muddied their feeding area.

Ever conscious of kisen limito we left the park, thanking our driver, and made for the bus station. For just shear fun, Peru was the best port so far and still I’m yet to experience the marvels of Machu Pichu and the Inca trail, the Nasca lines or the Andes!