"Huanchaco, Huanchaco!" comes the shrill cry from a young woman leaning periously out of the collectivo door. The bus is lined with trinkets of all descriptions and old and battered, it grumbles down the highway to the tune of poppy (annoying) Reggaeton. "Huanchacho, Huanchaco!" Leaning my head against the window, I watch the Peruvian desert roll by, met onimously by the mighty Pacific. Over the next few days, I will learn the subtle intracies of this small coastal town; the cheap set menus of fresh seafood, the small bars that line the dusty backstreets, glorious sunsets that conclude each day, the traditional reed fishing boats (still used practically) thought to have been the origins of surfing and, the primary reason for my stay, the rich history of the area. Between the main city of Trujillo
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