In which Layla and Roz have startorial shame at Machu Picchu and biking shame in the Sacred Valley

By Layla

We had a pleasant evening of pizza in a cute little restaurant, and iPad film viewing, before an early bed for the next day was to start at an early with a visit to the most famous Peruvian sight: Machu Pichhu. And we'd booked a train for some ungodly hour. This was made worse by the lack of hot water in the shower, and a delay in the hotel providing our promised breakfast bag - so it was with some harassment that we leapt into a rickshaw/tuk tuk type thing and zoomed to the train station.

Of course I always worry too much - we had time to spare, but soon we were off, admiring the lovely scenery and watching it change from farmlands to more jungly/mountainy. And the weather change from bright and sunny to grey and rainy. We looked down at our sandals and felt a bit silly. The train arrived 90 minutes later, and with toes that were rapidly turning blue, I pulled Roz over to a stall selling alpaca socks, laughed in the face of her sartorial disapproval, and purchased a woolly pair to wear under my sandals - desperate times call for desperate measures. As I'm sure Roz would agree, had she not forbidden me from discussing any desperate sartorial choices she may have made herself.

We eventually found the buses to Machu Pichhu itself - it's a ridiculously expensive hassle to get there with obscenely expensive trains, expensive entrance tickets, and now $17 obligatory buses! Sigh. I was preparing to find Machu Pichhu an overrated, tourist-filled disappointment. But hooray, it was not to be. We entered the complex, high in the mountains with clouds swirling around us (thank goodness for the alpaca socks!) and climbed for 15 minutes to a lookout point over the whole ruins - a spectacular and compelling sight. After the obligatory pictures, we descended and spent the next couple of hours wandering around this massive complex - nobody's quite sure what its purpose was, but it's like a small city. It was quite fascinating. After we'd had our fill of the royal quarters, tombs, sacred stones, civilians' quarters etc, we climbed high above the ruins into the mountains and went on a little hike to an Inca bridge which was really lovely.

All of which, of course, is hungry work - so we descended by bus to the little touristy town at the base of the mountain, and headed to the Tree House, a posh-ish restaurant, where we feasted on quinoa, falafel, and squash soup, then retired to another cafe for ice cream and internetting til it was time to take the train home to Ollantaytambo. And what a train it was! First we were given snacks and drinks. Then a man dressed as a brightly coloured lion started dancing up and down the carriage to very loud music. Next, the music changed to that of a fashion show as the train staff donned various alpaca-based garments and walked up and down the cabin, to the music, while all the passengers clapped (including the lion). A completely surreal experience.

We had dinner at a lovely restaurant near the station, then went home via a tour place to organise a bike ride for the following day. Little did we know what we were getting ourselves into...

This morning we turned up for our bike ride in pretty tops and sandals - only to meet our 3 Lycra-clad biking companions who looked at us askance, and enquired as to our mountain biking experience. It turned the bike company had ignored our information about being beginners. It started off well, with a drive up into the mountains in the sun, and our first stop at Moray, a weird Inca ruin of concentric circles, thought to be used for agricultural experimentation. Interesting. Sadly it went wrong at that point - we hopped on our mountain bikes and within moments our companions were but dots on the horizon. We got to grips with the unfortunate fact that we're too unfit to cycle up steep hills, too scared to cycle down steep hills, and the entire thing was steep hills. We did a lot of walking. The altitude sucked away Roz's breath. We barely noticed the spectacular scenery as we staggered onwards. We were a panting, sorry pair by the time we caught up with the others. Eventually we got to the little mountain town of Maras, at which point it was clear that we were not mountain biking gurus. Our guide firmly loaded our bikes onto the van and told us to hop in - then while the others cycled to the salt flats, we were driven there. The shame.

The salt flats (aka Salineras) were actually extremely cool - row upon row of square water enclosures at varying stages of salination. White and cool, like snow. We were able to walk along a little ledge through the salt baths or whatever they're called. Our concern was that at the start the Spanish speaking driver had pointed vaguely in the distance and told us to walk to the village where he'd pick us up. No village was in sight, but we set off gamely. After walking the full length of the salt flats, we found a little path, and followed it as it wound its way down the mountain. At last we were able to really enjoy the scenery as we hiked down the hill, feeling cheery - tempered with a fear that we'd never see our tour group again. On and on we walked, getting increasingly nervous that we were lost forever. We entered what seemed to be a totally deserted village. A hen popped out from the village shop, which appeared to be closed, judging from the chair in the doorway. On we walked, and then suddenly, unbelievably, our tour group appeared. Looking a tad battered and bloody and proclaiming the technical difficulty of the ride. A beginners' route it clearly was not. We felt smug at having enjoyed the alternative plan so much.

A tasty lunch at the Coffee Tree on Ollantaytambo's main square, overlooking Inca ruins, and it was into a shared minivan and back to Cusco, where I'm writing this from our new hotel. Dinner time now!

In which Roz and Layla see a march and Inca ruins

In which Layla and Roz start their Inca adventure properly.

By Layla

A quick return to the hotel room to grab some warmer clothes and we strolled down a cute little pedestrianised, cobbled street examining our various dining options. We settled on a nice little pizza place that was full of people - always a good sign - and had a very satisfactory dinner before heading home to bed.

Up bright and early the next day, with me still barely able to walk post-canyon, we decided to spend the day in downtown Cusco. This turned into a cheery day. First, we found ourselves in the main square in the midst of a major parade, whose purpose we failed to ascertain despite my best Spanish efforts. A small platform held some uniformed men, elevated above the procession of police, army, schoolchildren, and inexplicable others, almost all goose stepping and saluting as the passed the platform. We hopped into a little cafe overlooking the square, but no matter how much we watched, we never did manage to figure it out.

Next, after a wild goose chase thanks to Google Maps, we bought the ridiculously expensive tourist tickets needed to see any of the main sights in and around Cusco, and proceeded to the first - the museum of popular art. This museum is populated by the work of local artists who compete for the privilege of being featured every year. It was fairly rubbish, but also quite cheery, and we rather enjoyed going around the artworks, using our own grading system. 

All that mocking is hungry work so we retired to Jack's Cafe for pumpkin soup (Roz) and a big avocado and tomato wrap thing (me), and a long scrutiny of Ellen and Portia's glamorous Beverly Hills home, as featured in a random Architectural Digest magazine near our table. And then we headed to the big Inca site of Cusco - Qorikancha. This was originally an Inca temple, then the Christians built their temple on top of it, so it's an intriguing combination of styles. It was filled with tourists, so we skipped upstairs to see their quirky modern art collection, mocked their art installation of plastic juice bottles filled with the fluorescent yellow Inca cola, and pottered in their little garden, before heading back up one of these cobbled streets. 

We found ourselves in a bar/restaurant called Los Perros and settled ourselves down for what turned out to be the entire night, fuelled by wine, beer, potato skins, sandwiches, wontons, dominoes, and Scrabble with about 4 bags of tiles crammed into one. It was a long game. I won with a seven-letter word over the triple word score; Roz was unimpressed.

This morning we had breakfast at the hotel, then left, dragging our suitcases up and down streets til we got to the place from which I'd heard one could get a minibus to Ollantaytambo. Sure enough, one appeared, and conveyed us to this sunny little mountain town en route to Machu Pichhu, in what's known as the Sacred Valley. We were immediately charmed by its cobbles and quaintness, and our nice little hotel. We had some tasty sandwiches in Hearts Cafe, run by an NGO that improves local children's nutrition - apt, considering my current job. We had a stroll round the main square. And then the main attraction: Ollantaytambo's Inca ruins. These are quite impressive - essentially a massive fortress with a temple at the top, surrounded by glorious mountain scenery. I forced my aching leg muscles into compliance, and we climbed all over the ruins, including a pleasant 20 minutes perched on a fortress wall, reading our books. 

After having a lovely time, we returned to the main square, then to Hearts Cafe, where Roz had tea imported from the UK with scones, and I had banoffee pie. An excellent conclusion to the afternoon.

In which Layla and Roz take a bike ride and fall in love against their will.

Having checked into our delightfully upgraded room, we went out in search of dinner.  Our first stop was to hunt for a potato restaurant, well reviewed on Tripadvisor and which we had failed to find before. But this time Layla was "sure" she knew where it was. Having, yet again, failed to find the potato restaurant, we contemplated a couple of options before admitting that what we really wanted to do was to go to the delightful creperie in the Alliance Francais. Once we had admitted that to ourselves, life got a lot easier, and we both indulged ourselves.  But I should explain that this creperie is no ordinary place - it is a lovely combination of wine bar / cool place for trendy Peruvians to hang out / top date choice.  We people-watched and I drank delicious mohitos whilst Layla looked more abstemious with her local beer. And it was very jolly.  We headed back for the night, contemplating without immense enthusiasm our relatively early start for cycling the next morning.  

Next morning, Layla was barely able to walk. To get downstairs, she clutched the banisters and did an excellent impression of a very old lady.  Possibly an old lady who had recently broken a leg and was afraid of falling.  But, naturally, that wasn't any reason not to cycle - and so I assured Layla robustly.  We met a very cute boy in reception who had come to take us on our cycle tour.  He hid his perplexedness at Layla's crippled state moderately well and we hopped in a cab to go to his partner's house to pick up our bikes.  A 15 minute cab ride later and we were in the depths of Arequipa's suburbia.  And delightful it was - pretty pedestrianized streets and so forth. Bikes were brought out for us by his partner who told us that "there are a few hills in this ride...have no pride, get off any time you want, he has all the time in the world". We found this reassuring. Not that I have a lot of pride when it comes to cycling up big hills anyway...

And so we set off, with Layla barely able to mount the bike due to her sore legs.  The ride started off through the suburbs of Arequipa and I was struck / traumatized to find that it doesn't seem to be the mission of every car driver in Arequipa to kill 

passing cyclists.  Revelatory! We then headed off-road - my first experience of doing so.  I would like to say that I took to it like a duck to water, but I must confess that I couldn't get used to the idea that mountain bikes are built to go over rocks and therefore squealing when approaching a large stone isn't absolutely necessary... We wove our way by the sides of very pretty fields, with the picturesque volcanoes as our backdrop. Very lovely.  Less lovely was heading back on to the road and going sharply uphill.  This was a moment where I was able to demonstrate my lack of pride.  As was Layla (who definitely had more excuse than me, being still able to barely walk). At the top of the hill we found ourselves at the top of some terraced agricultural land which had been created by the Incas, who had put in place the irrigation, the walls and, frankly, everything. The majority of the rest of the ride was weaving our way through these terraces, by the side of people still working on the fields now, together with llamas, sheep and other random animals.  We also passed a water mill (and we both cycled through water for the first time).  Very jolly indeed.  Going downhill was not unpleasant either... 

Depositing our bikes after a brilliant morning, we got a taxi back to town and assured ourselves that it didn't matter if Layla's legs were a bit more broken after the cycling.  We then headed out for a delightful lunch of falafel and hummus and so forth, lingering over a beer / fizzy water to contemplate our plans for the rest of the holiday and reading a little.  Eventually we headed back to the hotel and asked them to recommend somewhere for a massage - my guilt at Layla's sore legs suggesting to me that something needed to happen. An appointment was booked for us and we were soon whizzing out to what turned out to be a moderately posh spa where ladies who lunch in Arequipa go for their massages / pedicures and so forth.  We both opted for a massage (my legs, though not as bad as Layla's, were not unaware of the demands that had been put upon them) and we found ourselves being massaged simultaneously by two very pleasant ladies who then told Layla that her legs were sore because of sunburn, not exertion.  Whilst I was entirely willing to believe this might be a contributing factor, I did rather doubt this...but who am I to argue. We ordered a cab back to town and whilst waiting for it amused ourselves with translating Peruvian magazines covering the Royal wedding...

Back at the hotel, eventually, we decided to have one last attempt at finding the much looked for potato restaurant.  Against the odds (poor google mapping and so forth) we did indeed find it and had a very jolly night in this hole in the wall place, packed with locals for at least part of the time who were watching the Peruvian equivalent of X Factor. Wandering home at the end of the night, passing lots of beautifully tempting looking bars and restaurants, we bemoaned the fact that we were leaving Arequipa the next day - and resolved that we definitely wouldn't like Cusco, our next destination, nearly as much. After all, we told each other, the weather isn't as good there and it sounds much more touristy. And so, resolved to dislike Cusco, we went to bed.  

And yet this morning we were up bright and early for our flight to Cusco. We touched down here at 9.15, to find ourselves in a chilly and grey place.  We told ourselves we had been right to bemoan leaving Arequipa.  Having arrived at our hotel, we decided to settle down in a nearby coffee shop with books. And then we couldn't find an appropriate coffee shop. "Aha", we said "not nearly as good as Arequipa". We ended up taking refuge in a very pretty Starbucks, to take advantage of their wifi to try and plan our time over the next few days.  We then meandered in the direction of an odd sounding cafe, which was essentially a bit like entering a children's story book - on crack. In a good way.  We had a delightful lunch and I had a fabulous time reading my book, until Layla reminded me we had seen nothing of Cusco yet.  Having dumped some of our stuff in our hotel, we then embarked on a Lonely Planet walking tour of the city.  And - against my will - I found myself entirely seduced by the place. Even though it rained a bit.  And even though it was chilly.  We wandered through cobbled streets to a market (where we seemed the only tourists and we ordered fresh juice mixes to be whipped up for us) and then past the Justice Palace (I had missed the one in Arequipa, to my sorrow). We meandered past Inca walls, and staggered (in Layla's case anyway) up pretty alleyways. We speculated where Cusco reminded us of and then agreed that it was a mix of the prettiest old European capitals - Montmartre mixed with old Amsterdam, mixed with Rome.We stopped for cocktails in a cool bar and played dominos and then walked home in the twilight admitting that, after all, Cusco is really very lovely indeed.  

In which Layla and Roz climb into (and out of) one of the world's deepest canyons

By Layla

We left you in the Kuntur Wassi hotel, with me clutching my head and wailing in agony, convinced I had finally succumbed to the famed altitude sickness (we were at 3300m, having been at 4950m earlier in the day). Roz masterfully strode out into the dark of the night to find medication that would save me. Accompanied thankfully by our tour guide, she braved giant dogs and multiple closed pharmacies before ending up at the local hospital and procuring some paracetamol for me. She returned a hero, and within 10 mins of taking the tablets I felt fine. Roz peered at me suspiciously: "your face is the colour of a tomato - are you sure it isn't sunstroke?" Ahem. I shamefacedly joined Roz, our guide, and our driver for a dinner that would have been more pleasant if not forced into impossible social niceties, before retreating to our room and watching the first part of the movie Giant before falling sound asleep.

Up bright and early, we had a tasty hotel breakfast with last night's loquacious dining companions before setting off with our guide and a random dog on our expedition - to the bottom of Colca Canyon! This bad boy is far deeper than the Grand Canyon and at the very bottom, the dusty cliff face gives way to an unexpected oasis - Sangalle - and it was to this oasis - currently a spec of green far, far below - that we were headed. Cue a rather nice 3 1/2 hour zig zag down the face of the canyon (overtaken by old ladies who live there - this cliff face is their main access to Cabanaconde, the tiny village that to them is the big city). The scenery was fab, the sky a brilliant blue, and the path quite pleasant, in a knee-crunching way. Indeed, by the time we eventually got to the bottom, I was clutching my knees in agony and feeling very old indeed.

The oasis at the bottom of the canyon was a treat - lovely swimming pool surrounded by grassy areas, with the massive canyon wall looming just beyond. We had a quick swim, then read our books in hammocks. Followed by a quick lunch, more reading, and then a realization that the oasis lacked electricity, it was a cloudy night, and our "bungalow" was a stone hut with a bed on the mud floor, a pitch black walk down a rocky stairway to the eating area and the toilets. Clutching our torch and each other as we made our way to these destinations once more made me feel old. En suite bathroom with light, please! We watched the rest of Giant in our pitch black bungalow, had some dinner, got huffy with our guide who made us buy our own water for walking up the canyon despite having promised to the contrary, played some cards, and finished the evening reading our kindles by torchlight.

This morning our alarm went off at the ungodly hour of 5.15 (and only after a fight - our guide wanted to leave at 3 or 4!) and hauled ourselves in the darkness out of bed and to the start of the trail. What is with people wanting to trek in darkness! I was rather dreading it - I'm not that fit and struggle to climb big hills, and there was the option of hiring a mule, but Roz wanted to walk, and her little plaintive face persuaded me that I should too. It was just as unpleasant as you might imagine an unfit person climbing steeply uphill for 5 hours would find the experience. I thought I was going to die. Roz, sporting a splitting headache and horrible cold, fared little better. By the time we finally staggered out of that picturesque canyon, it seemed we had a competition as to who felt worse. We dispatched the guide back to the hospital to get Roz some painkillers, and replenished ourselves at a dingy cafe with triangle bread and cheese.

Onwards, past glorious, spectacular scenery, to the Caldera Hot Springs, which were just what my protesting leg muscles wanted. We floated dreamily in the outdoor hot swimming pool, with hot water from the local volcano, and mountains all around - beautiful. And then had some lunch in Chivay before the long drive back to Arequipa, punctuated by llamas, alpacas and vicunas. We were met by the owner of the travel company who had been advised of our discontent over the water - a man who is clearly obsessed with his Tripsdvisor rating! And then retired to our new room at Los Tambos - a much appreciated upgrade: hooray! Tomorrow we're going cycling. Hope my legs start working in time!

In which Roz and Layla try to give themselves psychosomatic altitude sickness in city and country

Our first move on Monday morning was, naturally, breakfast. So we headed upstairs in our hotel to find ourselves offered a delightful selection, including pancakes made with quinoa (which Layla had) and a yoghurt, fruit and granola combination (which I had) together with some delicious local "triangular" bread (which only disappointed by not being triangular). Have lingered a while, we headed down to reception where we were to meet Carlitos, the man who runs the top rated tour company on Tripadvisor who was to be taking us to the Colca Canyon over the course of the next three days. Carlitos arrived about ten minutes late, and it was immediately apparent that his top rating on Tripadvisor was not something he wore lightly - he apologized for being late many many times, giving some complicated but very reasonable excuse as to his lateness.  He then took us to a cafe and bought us coffee (again the guilt at being late) and talked us through our tour.  In some ways it was a little odd - the information he had come to impart was all information that had already been covered before we booked. And in many ways it was a shame that we had to confirm - again - that we really did want a "matrimonial" bed whilst on the tour. But quite funny.  He then asked (with some horror) if we would mind delaying our tour of Arequipa (included in the price of the tour) until later on in the day, due to some medical emergency.  Fearing that this rather over-enthusiastic man might start giving us unfortunate details of his medical issues, we quickly agreed. As it happened, we had no plans for the day except acclimatizing to the altitude (which Layla had managed to get us both over-worried about). So he pointed us in the direction of the Santa Catharina monastery, built centuries ago, telling us it was well worth seeing, and hurried off.  

So with no other plans in mind, we did indeed head over to the monastery, which turned out to be this huge complex (the size of a city, we were told) whereo nuns had once lived.  This confused the Catholic schoolgirl in me (I thought nuns' habitations were always convents) but I was later able to prove my schooling in correctly identifying a "monstrance" and explaining its purpose to Layla.  Strange the things one feels proud of...  It was fun going round the place, contemplating that these nuns, at least, had fairly spacious "cells" and unexpectedly stumbling across pretty views of the city and surrounding mountains / volcanos.  

After this, assuring ourselves that we needed to take things easy to help with the acclimatizing, we headed to a pretty courtyard for a crepe and a salad in a place affiliated to the Alliance Francaise.  We also drank a remarkable amount of Coca tea, allegedly excellent for altitude sickness, and this proved an excellent excuse for sitting in the lovely warm sun under a brilliant blue sky and reading our books.  Eventually we tore ourselves away and headed back to the hotel for our city tour by the excitable Carlitos.  

A apologetic Carlitos turned up again late to find us somewhat grumpy (not least because we'd been enjoying our books) but he then did take us on a very pleasant wander round the city, taking in views from a pretty bridge and  satisfying my urge (albeit in a very dodgy location) to purchase earphones (having left mine at home). But the highlight was undoubtedly the market which he took us to: bustling, full of locals and with more variety - of everything - than I've seen before.  Having shuddered at the animal foetuses which were being sold at the medicine stall, marveled at the number of variety of potatoes which exist, neatly avoided going to the meat part of the market (whole guinea-pigs not being either of our cup of tea) we headed to a juice stall where I had a fabulous juice made largely of fruit that I hadn't heard of before, whilst Layla struggled over a drink also made of a mysterious fruit (but which tasted of cold caramel custard, which she somewhat struggled with). During the course of the juice stop, Carlitos made a quite sweet but very awkward reference to having a gay employee (and a pink music player myself) having clearly just put two and two together about us.  Cute.

Having left Carlitos, Layla put in a plea for a "normal" drink to take away the taste of her custard-ish drink, and so we headed back to the Alliance Francaise creperie, to linger over drinks and ice cream.  This delightful experience concluded somewhat abruptly when I finished my book and began to sob my heart out at the apocalyptic ending - clearly time to head back to the hotel.  I distracted myself when at the hotel, by contemplating food options for the evening (which was fast approaching) and was almost back to normal when we headed out, in search of a potato restaurant (which gets very good reviews indeed).  Alas Lonely Planet let us down in its mapping of the restaurant, and so we wandered the streets somewhat at a loss.  But we then stumbled across the fanciest restaurant in Arequipa, and persuaded them to let us in (they were almost fully booked) and to serve us a potato quinoa gnocchi item (preceded, I am not proud to admit) by some cheese. But we enjoyed ourselves immensely and stumbled across the potato restaurant on our wander home - something for a future night.  

Neither of us slept well (my sleep was disturbed by random dreams of the world coming to an end - I must choose my holiday reading more carefully in future!) but we woke up excited at the prospect of our 2 night / 3 day tour of Colca Canyon - almost the deepest in the world (for a while it was thought to be the deepest - but then two deeper ones were found in Japan, though it sounds as though this isn't something which the Peruvians have necessarily come to terms with yet!). After another delicious hotel breakfast, we met our guide and set off.

Having got out of Arequipa (morning traffic being more exciting than one might have expected) we began to head up into the mountains.  Both of us immediately developed psychosomatic altitude sickness symptoms. The mind is a curious thing.  But we didn't let these distract us from the remarkable landscape - it was like nothing I have ever seen before.  At times it felt as though we were in the desert - until you looked up and saw snow-capped volcanos, getting ever-closer.  And previous eruptions had left their mark, with massive cliffs of stalagmite randomly popping up every now and then.  Although it felt warm, the few bits of water which there were had turned to ice and it was fun to see birds skating around... We stopped often to take far too many photos, particularly of llamas, alpacas and vicunas, but nevertheless arrived in Chivay (the largest town in the Colca area) in time for an early lunch. Apparently almost 1000 tourists descend on Chivay every day, which is all the more remarkable when you contemplate that the town itself has a population of around 5000. But we had arrived before any of them, which had the double benefit of not feeling as though we were somewhere touristy and also of getting first dibs on the really excellent buffet which we'd come to for lunch.  During lunch, our guide informed us that we definitely didn't have altitude sickness - first because he'd be able to tell, and second because we would have fallen "like chickens" to the ground at one of our stops (almost 5000 meters) if we had.  We then went for a meander round a blissfully tourist-free Chivay before hopping back in the car / van. 

Continuing though the strange landscape, we hopped out for a small-ish hike of an hour or so along the side of the canyon which we will be hiking down tomorrow.  At the bottom of the canyon are some small villages, which can't be accessed by road - which must make for a strange life.   Both Layla and I looked increasingly nervous as we saw the steepness of the descent to the bottom of the canyon and Layla began to talk of hiring a mule to take her up again on Thursday.  We'll see... It was a very pretty hike, and at least we were able to blame any out-of-breathless when going uphill on the altitude.  Or at least we were until we saw the only tourists we've seen so far, who had come by bicycle.  I felt inadequate.  We also saw some giant birds, called Condors, which seem to be the national symbol of Peru (or something like that). They have a wingspan of 3 meters, are black and generally look quite menacing.  But they don't have claws, so they can't kill anything that's alive.  Intriguingly if they can't find any dead meat, their approach is to swoop down on prey and scare whatever it is into jumping off a cliff - for their enjoyment at the bottom of the cliff...

Back in the car for the final hop to a small village where we are staying the night, we were intrigued to pick up a local who was hitch-hiking (we hadn't seen another car for ages, and I'm not sure the cyclists - however hardcore - would have been able to help). And we are now in our room, where Layla is lying on our matrimonial bed with a hideous headache - presumably altitude-related.  I'm not sure that writing a blog is absolutely the way to show sympathy, and so with that I will leave you...

In which Layla and Roz travel to an other-worldly city and eat pancakes

As we stepped onto the Lima-bound plane in Miami at midnight, I couldn't help but wonder if I'm getting too old for a night flight. But we managed a bit of sleep and when we arrived at the fancy Miraflores Park Orient Express Hotel in Lima at 6am, I felt rather pleased that we'd worked on Friday, and yet were ready to start our holiday the very next morning. We showered and changed in their business centre and then ascended to their top floor for a delicious buffet breakfast that foiled our diet but made us feel significantly better about being up so early.

After breakfast, we stepped out into white skies with a touch of grey - a particular feeling for which the only appropriate description is the Scottish word 'dreich'. Apparently Lima has this weather for over 8 months of the year - when it was established as the capital of Peru, it was a rare sunny month and the founders didn't realize what it was like the rest of the time. The slightly otherworldly ambience is carried on with the Pacific Ocean with its waves vigorously crashing onto the beach - and reflecting the white sky in a weird beach scene sapped of colour save for the intrepid surfers' wetsuits. We strolled along to Lacomar, an outdoor shopping centre cut into the cliff by the sea, and took refuge in Starbucks, the only open and warm establishment, til the clock struck 11, the shops opened, and we rushed to buy warm fleece jackets, having failed to note the midwinter nature of our current holiday destination, and then returned to the hotel to find our room ready for check in.

As regular readers of this blog know, we always book into a posh hotel for our first night of holiday and this was a nice example of the genre. With our minimal sleep the night before, we sank into the bed for a nap strictly alarm clocked to an hour... Then decadently changed to 2. At that point greed triumphed and we leapt from the bed and proceeded out into the city in search of lunch.

Miraflores is one area of Lima, and apparently the least stressful one. It's a fairly middle class area where Lima dwellers shop, eat and play. We found a restaurant called Mezze and were lured in by hummus etc, before heading up to the main square, or more accurately, to the main triangle. When we got there, in addition to a beautiful Colonial church, a million stray cats, a grassy mini-park and various art sellers, we were delighted to find a sunken amphitheater in the middle of the park, where a brass band played clearly popular tunes while hundreds of older locals, in what appeared to be a Saturday afternoon social tradition, sat on the steps watching, and leaping up to dance. Their dance style was both understated and quite joyful and the scene made us so happy that we stayed watching til we realized we should perhaps walk back to the hotel before it got dark.

Having changed, hadna drink in the hotel bar to live piano music, and identified a nice-sounding Japanese restaurant, Maido, we walked to dinner contemplating how whenever we go somewhere we tend to say 'Oh, this reminds me a bit of Spain', or Japan, or Ukraine, or wherever it happens to be. Lima, in contrast, reminded us of nowhere. The closest I could imagine was perhaps Iceland, but not really. Lima has a strange, otherworldly vibe. At first I mistook it for bland, but then I saw it was just subtle. And increasingly delightful.

Our dinner (one of the world's top 50 restaurants apparently) was quite nice if not remarkable, and we tasted our first Pisco sour - the national drink before wandering tipsily home to bed to watch a film on Roz's iPod before sleep.

The next day we indulged in another delicious breakfast - made all the better when Roz realized she could order pancakes, and we headed out to the main sight of Miraflores - Huaca Pucllana, a 2000 year old per-Columbian tomb and temple, standing incongruously in a residential suburb. As we walked past the main triangle, we found some of the roads had been closed to cars that morning, making way for a festive amalgamation of hopscotch players, skipping rope jumpers, volleyball players, and roller blade renters. It was absolutely charming.

At the temple, we enjoyed a quick salad for lunch, overlooking the ruins, while awaiting our private tour - the only way to see this site, which is mid-excavation. Our guide was lovely, and transformed our scepticism over the ruins - we thought they'd been poorly restored - to wonder - in fact what we'd assumed to be restoration was original. And we also learned that it never rains in Lima. Literally - the city has no street drains! And thus a temple built from vertical mud bricks 2000 years ago is still standing nicely bizarre. We also learned that the pre-Inca culture didn't worship the sun as it was based in Lima where there is very rarely any sun.

After our fun at Huaca Pucllana, we walked back to the hotel, grabbed our bags, and got a ride to the airport and the start of our next stage of our adventure - Arequipa. This city in the mountains is known as the White City as all the buildings are made from white volcanic stone. A bad start when the hotel driver didn't turn up to take us to the hotel, but a taxi dropped us off without drama and soon we were wandering through the beautiful main square, or Plaza de Armas, as all main squares are known here, to Zingaro, a pretty restaurant where we had our first Peruvian food - quinoa tabbouleh for Roz, stuffed avocado for me. And then, amid psychosomatic altitude symptoms, yawned our way home to bed.