The Lines of Nasca

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After a surprisingly sound nights sleep on the coach from Cusco, I woke up minutes before we arrived in Nasca. I had got a fright last night when I was told that we would be arriving at 4am rather than 8am as planned. Thankfully the crew-member was wrong and we arrived a little ahead of schedule at 7.30am. According to my instructions from Green Toad Buses I was to be met on arrival in Nasca and whisked straight to the airport for my flight across the world famous Nasca Lines.

In fact, no sooner had I stepped off the coach to collect my bags I could hear my name being called from a far. I was greeted at the gate of the Cruz del Sur terminal by Manuel, who escorted me a hundred metres up the road to his tour agency. Manuel gave me a brief explanation of which of the geometric figures and drawings I would see during my flight as well as making sure I didn't suffer from motion sickness. Although I still felt half asleep as he was talking to me, I was compos mentis enough to decline his kind offer of an additional excursion to the Cemetery of Chauchilla.

Leaving my bags behind, we hopped into his car for the short journey to Nasca airport. As we drove through the town, it reminded me of the many small communities that I passed through on my travels through India. Comprised mainly of potholed dirt roads on the outskirts of town, it seemed to have little to it, touristically speaking other than the Lines. When arrived at the airport, Manuel left me at the Aeroparacas stand telling me he would be back to pick me up after my flight. After being weighed and paying my S/.25 (£6.05) airport tax I was walking across the runway to the tiny aircraft.

I was seated at the front of the plane, I'm guessing due to my weight, and as I strapped myself into the six seater plane I couldn't help but think of my Dad and laugh. Pops has never been a good flyer, and if he had been on this part of my adventure with me, I think he would have preferred to sit and watch from the aerodrome. I barely had room to turn around in my tiny seat, and I was thankful for my short pins once the co-pilot took the seat in front of me and we taxied along the runway to prepare for takeoff.

For a small single engine plane, it was an incredibly smooth take off. We banked right and began to climb into the sky above the desert. It was a beautifully sunny, cloudless day and the temperature was beginning to slowly rise. I could see the long Panamericana highway disappearing into the distance, through the strange rocky desert. Suddenly, the pilot dipped to the right and told us to look us to look towards the tip of the right wing. As I searched the ground below, I could just make out the shape of the 'Whale', the first of the geometric figures in the great desert. As we flew from here to the 'Astronaut', it seemed impossible to me that a race of people who had lived hundreds of years ago had designed these lines without anyway of knowing what they looked like from an aerial view.

We passed from the 'Astronaut' to the 'Monkey' and the 'Dog', dipping both to the right and left so that both side of the plane could see the amazing, yet abstract depictions. As I glanced at the pilot, I noticed that he was motioning towards the ground below rather than having his hands firmly on the yoke - I was amazed and concerned all at the same time. It wasn't until I noticed the sat-nav like device atop the yoke, that I realised that this was what must be guiding us through the skies rather than the steady hand of our pilot. Safe in the knowledge that we weren't about to spiral out of control towards the ground I began to search the desert once again for the mysterious shapes which lay beneath us. I couldn't help but wonder how the lines had remained so unchanged for thousands of years, given the sometimes severe weather patterns we had suffered over the last few years. It was a true testament to the ancient Nasca people that the lines had lasted so long.

Once we had banked left over the final set of lines for our tour, we headed back to the airport. I glanced at my watch and noticed that the flight had been less than forty-five minutes from start to finish. I knew I had paid quite a lot for the flight through Green Toad Buses and was sure that I hadn't seen half the lines and geometric figures that I had read about. As I was driven back into town by Manuel's wife, I couldn't help but feel a little cheated from my experience, and was determined to find out what had happened.

By the time I had walked to Pirwa Backpackers I had calmed down significantly, and was grateful to the dear little Peruvian lady who checked me in and offered me breakfast. I sent Green Toad Buses an email and browsed the internet whilst I ate, discovering that there really wasn't a lot else to do in Nasca, other than seeing the lines. Keen to make sure I wasn't missing out on anything important, I headed to Plaza de Armas and found the tourist information office. I was greeted by George, who although he was local, had spent time in the Lake District and sounded more like Harry Endfields Stavros character than a Peruvian. George pointed out a couple of points of interest, but was very honest in that the Lines were the only reason people came to Nasca.

Having thanked George, I wandered through the town and killed some time surfing the internet trying to verify the information I had been given. The only thing that I could find was the towns Maria Reiche Planetarium, which opened at 7pm and anything else that warranted a visit was quite some way from town. My increasingly tight budget meant that I was forced to return to the hostel to spend the afternoon sunbathing in the privacy of my garret dormitory... a tough option!

Having enjoyed sitting and doing nothing in the comfort of the hostel, I went once again into town to rustle up some dinner. I found a burger stall on the corner of Plaza Bolognesi, and once I had ordered, thought fondly about Tim and Harrison and wondered how their travels were going now we had gone our separate ways. With burger in hand I made the short walk to the Maria Reiche Planetarium, to see if I could still get into the 7pm showing. Unfortunately, the planetarium was run by the Nasca Lines Hotel who couldn't have organised a piss-up in a brewery. As much as I waited for help from the already harassed receptionist, I gave it up as a bad job having waited for almost half-an-hour.

I returned to the hostel for the final time and made myself ready for bed. With only four days left in the country and a lot to do in that time, I wanted to make sure I was rested and ready for what lay ahead.

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