THE WORST DAY - THE BEST DAY –
ON THE JOB.
© By Ric Polansky
Dear friends:
The American’s have a quaint expression that summarizes a typical bad day at the office-- it’s “a Bummer of a trip.” Because to them, each day is on the job training, whether you’re on vacation or experiencing a typical work day. And so it is with travel, there just had to be one bad day, worse than all the rest; and of course, one day better than all the rest. Mine came: back to back.
Rising well before dawn to take Juan Canto to the airport to return to Spain, the Great Fox and I headed south to pay a visit on another of Peru’s remarkable civilizations: the Paracas culture, located near Pisco. Famed for their textiles and specifically for their weaving, they too were inculcated into the Incan Imperial Empire. Paracas flourished on the desert coast, directly south of Lima by some 300 kms. between 400-1200 AD. Because climatic conditions were so dry much of their handiwork has been preserved in the mummied remains that kept almost perfectly intact; stitching, of some 400 needle points per square inch, embroidery so fine that only kings were allowed to wear it. Recently, some of their very unusual colorful ceramics have been released for public viewing for the first time ever. I was captivated by what I saw, so, we decided to travel south for a better look.
The day was unusually hot, and as driving in Peru is like swimming in a shark invested sea, precarious at the best of times, we made our way in spurts and stutters, as the thermometer gradually rose to 43 degrees inside the car for the next two hours. Our destiny was the coastal town of Pisco, where the unheralded national drink, Pisco is made. But in reality this town and it neighbor, San Andreas should really be infamous for the unbelievable bad smells caused by all their fish processing plants. You could scent the odor some 20 kms. upwind, and the closer we got, the worse the pungency became. When we finally arrived I can truthfully say that it was like visiting a toilet where 15,000 still survived; garbage was strewn everywhere, and worse yet, the people sauntered about pretending they didn’t notice the rubbish or the fragrance. It was a hell hole that did more than take your breath away; a “wrenching place,” if you’ll forgive the pun. My fantasies of viewing a special historical and beguiling monuments were dashed in but a few moments.
Somehow we made it through the town to the other side and to the flashy Tourist Hotel of Paracas that repeatedly misquoted us prices on everything. For the room they charged us almost double and then added on the mandatory 28% in taxes. This happened at the evening meal (this time their excuse was that the prices on the menu were wrong) and the breakfast the next day, the same trick. Then they tried to add 35% on to the price of the air ticket that we had hoped to buy to enable us to inspect the fabled Lines of Nazca by flying from nearby. The Tourist Hotel made well use of the surrounding circumstances and conditions, if you wanted a bed away from the town bog--you had to pay their appropriate ransom. We decided to have a few drinks at their exorbitant prices and forget the matter, the next day would be different. And it was.
The new sunrise brought with it the chance for life to begin again fresh. Up at 5:30 AM we paid up and left that damn hotel, never to look back in fear that we might have been turned into salt. We chartered a launch to take us far out into Paracas Bay to hopefully view a sealion or two. The trip was enthralling. The bay is the perfect stopping place for many different forms of migratory fish and fauna as it is located along the warm Humbolt current from the south that meets that colder Pacific flow arriving from the north. It is not unusual to see whales or Penguins but today we saw hundreds and --hundreds of seals, sealions and pelicans along with many other rare and exotic birds, whose excrement (guano) has fashioned islands, right in the middle of the sea. We went around and around the island, my camera never stopped clicking, I was sincerely dumbfounded by the spectacle of the celestial majesty of nature existing so close to man created Hell.
Then, in spite of the hotel, we drove to Nazca. We stopped half way there in Ica and purchased 12 apples, (three different varieties) two large hands (manos) of bananas and a kilo of delicious grapes (this is also wine growing country) all for the price of $2 (260 pesetas). On and on we drove across the nameless desert. Large forlorn sand dunes bordered us on either side of the road, windswept and beautiful to my eyes. I kept thinking of the one lonely dune in Cabo de Gata National Park back home that has fences all around it and here there was nothing but dunes extending as far as the human eye could behold. For two hours we happily motored on, then we came to a hand-cut single lane tunnel that actually is still part of the Pan-American hiway. In front of us a truck with market goods perilously piled high miraculously scraped through, with our tiny car wedged just behind it. Just a few miles further the scenery opened up to reveal an ethereal valley. I have never known the color green to delight my soul so much or stimulate my imagination. The Palpa valley is surrounded by high and incredibly rugged mountains, a Shangri-La of a place, that actually yields no escape other than returning to that damn tunnel or possibly the flat plateau on the far south of town, the Nazca plains; our pilgrimage.
We bought a nine kilo watermelon for $1.85 (230 pesetas) to quench our thirst, but couldn’t tarry long, we wanted to see, just had to witness those famed hieroglyphics and “runways designed for extraterrestrial visits” before they disappeared. We raced through Palpa over a twisting turning road that climbed slowly but assuredly to the summit. Once there we were greeted by a massive sign that pleased my eyes: THE NAZCA LINES. Whew! At last, but... but neither of us could see anything. We stopped the car and climbed on the roof, still nothing (nada). Were they gone? We quickly drove ahead to Nazca but were told that we’d have to wait until climatic conditions were better to allow us to go up in a small plane to view the geometric enigmatic designs. Not us, we frantically drove to the airport, we were on a mission; and had to fly right away. We had to continue to make this day … the perfect day.
I couldn’t really explain my urgency, but tried to. The pilot blinked a lot but everyone else seemed to understand-- so in we climbed into the small single engine plane and up up we ascended above the rock-strewn plains to behold the spectacle of the hummingbird, the monkey, the whale, the alligator, the dog with two tails, and of course the lines, the “runways that invaders from outer space needed” or so fabricated a fraudulent writer, who at one time did sell many copies of his deceitful works, CHARIOTS OF THE GODS, but who later went to jail for extortion and theft. But, there they were, all perfectly drawn and transversing far off into the distance. Each renown symbol unfolded before our bedazzled eyes, and even some new designs that we were unfamiliar with. Thirty miles of drawings, of mystery and riddle that still haven’t been solved. Who put them there? Why? When? And to what purpose?
The flight was really bumpy, we’d be coasting along, then drop like a stone for a good hundred meters before the pilot could regain control. Not good for my acute vertigo. I don’t recommend afternoon flights over the desert, nor does the pilot--but we had to do it and were enthralled by doing so. Whee! I repeatedly shouted in exaltation; HELLLP frequently in desperation. But the real words to be said witnessing those apparitions won’t truly be written here--and you will never know yourself until you actually see them too. But adventure it was!
Even before we landed I had already concocted my own theory on who, what, when and why, and to add to my knowledge I immediately set out to buy all the books that I could; but I didn’t find one bookstore open and the local museum was also closed for repairs. No one in the town had ever been up in a plane to see the lines, so, not much conversation there. Tom and I had apparently used up all the Karma and good luck that we were gonna have that wonderful day. But it was inspiring and the best day I’ve had in the office for a long, long time.
This is Ric Polansky, “on the job training” in Nazca, Peru.
