Nasca Lines

Feb. 26, 2006- Bad Beginning
(Photos:Ready for take-off,
Huachina dog,
Note plane's tail-hook)


We opened our eyes at 5AM. It was Daniels birthday so I sang Happy Birthday and David followed with “Skip Around the Room.”

On the way to the airport David noticed that the stop signs say, “pare,” which means something less (pause?) than the “alto” we are more used to seeing. They know that hot-blooded Latinos won’t obey stop signs so they made it more of a suggestion.

There were only four of us going to see the Nasca lines. Ellen, the 86-year old was one of us. My friend Judi Cope was the other. The fact that eighteen of the group chose not to go should have clued us in. We decided to pack one day’s worth of meds in our backpack in case the unreliable air service lived up to its reputation and we were stranded there.

Our flight was supposed to leave at 7:30AM but when we got to the airport Eric learned it had been delayed two hours. The other six passengers on the single-engine twelve-passenger Cessna 208B were notified of the delay by their travel agents the night before and were able to sleep two extra hours. It may cost Eric his tip for that one day.

We’ve flown in smaller planes but we cracked up when the bus taking us out to the plane was three times bigger than the plane. We literally squatted and waddled to our seats in the low-slung cabin. Shoulder harnesses along with lap belts led us to believe that Aero Condor had a modicum of interest in our well-being. At least they were safety conscious. Information about the plane that was in the seat pocket said that in case of loss of pressure the pilot will pass oxygen masks back to the passengers. We were to plug them into a receptacle above our seats if we could figure it out. Paper seat numbers were scotch-taped to seat backs. We settled in to enjoy another adventure.

Not So Great Middle

The take-off was a kick as we skated on air currents until we settled into the groove of our flight path. We took off towards the south along the Pacific coastline and continued smoothly for an hour. We flew at about 8,000 feet. Even if the cabin hadn’t been pressurized it would have been a piece of cake for us after 13,000 feet above sea level in Bolivia.

We skirted the Andean foothills. I think it’s Aero Condor that keeps flying into those mountains. The desert became startlingly white and glared up at us in the bright midday sun. We flew over random patches of farms irrigated from underground water sources and the mirage-like shadows of clouds teased us into thinking there were ponds along the way.

We were surprised to de-plane at a place called Ica. We dragged ourselves through the 95- degree heat to have our return tickets taken, pay a departure tax, and get back on the same plane. The only reason they don’t do a flight-seeing excursion from Lima without that stop is to collect that tax. Peru sees fit to demand departure taxes for internal as well as international flights. While we were on the ground the plane and crew had transformed themselves from a commercial to a tourist flight. A sign indicating that tips would be appreciated had been taped up and the crew (the same two pilots) had changed hats.

The fact that the airline employed a nurse at the airport complete with stethoscope should have warned us about things to come, but we were too excited to put two and two together. The plane lumbered along the runway and launched into the air to see a mysterious set of pre-Incan drawings done by the Nasca people. The true meaning has not been agreed upon. Were they markings for extraterrestrial navigation or indications of where underground water could be found? Our pilot certainly did not enlighten us. The desert sand changed from white to taupe to a greenish gray as we started our hour and a half long search. I saw what appeared to be long lines of silly string pumped from an aerosol can trailing along the ground. They weren’t the real “lines.”

Horrid Flight

The Nasca people removed stones from the surface of the desert and placed them next to the lighter soil below to make the lines. Excitement grew as the first set of line drawings appeared. It was the trapezoid. The pilot yelled, “Trapezoid under the right wing!” then banked so those on the right could see it. He then turned and banked again and yelled, “Trapezoid under the left wing!” That was the last I knew. David thinks that whoever named the figures had a good imagination. He only clearly made out four of the dozen undefined line patterns. I was busy trying not to throw up. Judi wasn’t in great shape but was having a somewhat better time of it. It was appropriate that I was the sickest since Judi and David insist it was my idea to take the flight. David did fine as did 86-year old Ellen. I’ve never gotten airsick. I knew there were others on the plane who were queasy and that if I let go they would too.

The pilot passed back a cotton ball and Judi said it was to help with nausea. I thought I was supposed to smell it, but when I did I realized it was impregnated with alcohol and I should use it to blot my neck and face to cool down. By then I was in a cold sweat and the odor of the alcohol set my stomach roiling. I didn’t know what to worry more about, the return of the Revenge or spewing. The dear woman behind me handed up a wet towelette. That too had an odor and the battle began once again. I grabbed for my clear plastic barf bag and tried to do shallow La Maze breathing used by women in labor. The deep belly breathing of Tai Chi wasn’t going to co-operate with trying to keep my innards in their respective domains. I’m proud to say I walked off the plane with my barf bag empty. I’m putting it in my album as a memento to remind me of what I already knew. Some things are better seen on TV.

Lame Ending

The instant we landed the nausea went away although the Revenge didn’t. I’d packed cheese sandwiches and water so I re-filled and started to feel less like a rag doll. Part of our “excursion” was a visit to the Dunes Resort for a lunch buffet. I almost lost it again when I smelled the BBQ. I decided that until otherwise notified my stomach would only receive white food with no sauce: rice, pasta, etc.

The gracious desk clerk at the resort helped us understand the phone card we’d bought so we could call Daniel and wish him well. We found Vikki and Daniel on their way back from Columbus after a celebratory weekend. The connection was better than some local calls we’ve made in Akron.

Nasca only gets one-inch of rain a year. With 293,000 residents, it’s quite a challenge. Mausoleums dot the roadside. They couldn’t bury underground due to many springs and it was less expensive to bury up. When economics and engineering changed, traditions did not. Mining of copper, iron, gold, and silver keep people employed as does running the Huachina Oasis. That’s ye old watering hole surrounded by dunes towering to 100 feet. It’s possible to slide down the dunes on boards in the closest approximation the locals will get to sledding. The beach around the “lake” was a minefield of dog droppings and at one point along the promenade there was a definite essence of eau de septic.

Miguel, our fearless if lazy guide for the afternoon, dodged water balloons with us and took us to a small but nicely done museum of archaeology where by this time any one of the four of us could have given a tour of the surgically altered skulls, weavings (most of which had been stolen and replaced by photos), and crockery. The most interesting thing there was a hairless huachina dog. It’s born with hair and losses it all but a crest on its head. It resembles a hairless Chihuahua on steroids.

At last we returned to the “airport” to watch as the plane we’d flown in on was pushed into place by five men. One stayed at the rear holding onto a tail-hook for dear life to prevent the plane from fleeing as we boarded. Without a security check and with no tower we took off. Our view was of sculpted sand walls rising in repeating patterns leading us back to Lima.

Set To Sail

We spent some time after dinner trying to repack what we needed for the Amazon into one duffel. We succeeded and checked our other bag with the hotel. We return there after our six-day “cruise.” We have a wake-up call for 2AM. The flights into Iquitos where we get the boat have to be early enough to beat the circling vultures. I guess the birds are claiming previous ownership of the airspace.

Toby