I woke up at the crack of dawn and was forced to hurry as we were getting ready for another sure-to-be-busy day. The girls cooked up a lovely pot of hot porridge served with fudge sauce that we greedily accepted and much appreciated on the cold morning. Today we were exchanging the rest of the group money into Nuevo Sols. We asked at reception to use their phone and arranged for this with the bank. A little while after there was a knock on the front door of the hostel and two men carrying black drawstring bags walked in and emptied the contents on the small table in the reception area. We then had 28000 Nuevo Sols to count through, making sure that we had the right amount. It had all arrived in twenties and quickly mounted up in stacks of cash that covered the entire table.

With the mountain of cash separated between everybody in smaller chunks, we split up into two groups and headed off to central Miraflores. Our group headed off along the main street, looking for a place to change our personal spending money. We came across an intersection of bank houses and began searching for a good exchange rate. As we wandered around, we saw many Peruvians with fluorescent jackets on and huge wads of cash in their hands and sticking out of their many pockets.

These were apparently street money dealers that ran their own exchange service, often at a better rate than the banks they stood outside of. We found it curious that they felt safe with so much cash being flashed openly, but they must have been as they seemed to be everywhere around, standing in groups of two or three. Although they offered a good deal, we were cautious not to exchange money with them as we had heard from Tom that it was entirely possible, and quite likely, that they would have ‘fixed’ calculators that would alter the amount in the calculation and rip us off. We weren’t prepared to take such a risk and so we continued onward until we came across a small currency exchange at the mouth of an arcade. It had a good enough rate so we exchanged our money over to Nuevo Sols.

Set with enough cash for ourselves and finished with our chores for the morning, we headed back to the triangular park in the center of Miraflores where the others were already waiting with bags of food for lunch. They had bought Baguettes, ham, cheese, crisps and drink enough for everyone for a grand total of 30 Neuvo Sols—about £7. I don’t think any of us ever got over how cheap everything seemed in Peru; the food, accommodation and transport were all four times cheaper and we knew that when we came back to England the prices would be just as much of a shock to us, as much as the difference between this culture and our own would surely be.

Bussing to Central Lima

After the ample meal we decided on a visit to central Lima and to the Cathedral San Francisco, under which was a network of catacombs, used as a burial ground for the rich and poor hundreds of years ago. Although we could have hopped in to several taxis to make the journey, we were here to experience every aspect of Peruvian life, and so we tentatively boarded a bus that claimed to be heading in the correct direction. Up to now, we had only been on foot around Miraflores and from that safe vantage point we became aware of the reckless drivers, public and private vehicles alike, swerving across the thoroughfare, honking their horns and squealing their brakes.

We moved inside the rickety shell of the bus, clutching on to any railing or seat we could reach and bracing for the imminent departure. Without warning the bus lurched into motion and rocketed along with the hectic traffic. As we veered into invisible gaps in the traffic I marvelled at what seemed to be sheer fearlessness of the ticket collector, though it could equally have been stupidity. Whilst the bus was still moving he would open the doors and lean out, holding only to the rim of the doorway, and begin shouting the destination of this particular bus. As the bus shuddered to a halt, he jumped out to let people clamber aboard, shouting the destination all the while.

The bus then jerked into motion once more, this time without the ticket collector on board. He was left to run alongside the bus and hop in through the still open door. His acrobatics were not over though as he continued to hang on to the outside of the bus, searching for more customers before finally returning inside and waiting for the next bus stop, where it all began again.

After several close calls with other buses and cars, we arrived at our destination where the ticket collector, who had remembered our stop for us, told us to get out and gave a series of instructions that I don’t think anyone could understand.

We were thrown into an immense bustle of pedestrians and vehicles that far surpassed the relative calm of Miraflores. We pushed through the heaving flow of people to Plaza de Armas where we got our map out and tried to figure out where we were. After much deliberation it turned out the cathedral was only a short walk away, so we set off down an alleyway that was filled with a strong smell of solvent oozing through the air, accompanied by the rhythmic churning of heavy machinery. All along both sides of this cramped street were all manner of open print workshops. They were fast moving and sputtered out stacks of prints using off set lithography, screen printing and laser printing. The machines themselves varied in all shapes and sizes, each holding its own majestic beauty with the complexity of the parts. Some looked as if they had been pulled from a Victorian inventor’s basement, with cast iron handles and clanking arms swishing back and forth amidst a hiss of steam and think black oil lubricating the hundred moving joints.

Through all this distraction, the cathedral emerged in front of us, as from nowhere. We paid for a short tour which began fairly mediocre, showing paintings and rooms similar to almost every church or cathedral seen before, but then a room spiked my interest; a vast library with hundreds of dusty old books lining double layered shelves came into view. The air itself was musty and stagnant, but far from creating an unpleasant atmosphere, I felt comforted and had an urge to pick out a book at random and read it in front of a crackling fire.

I stayed in the doorway of the library for a few extra seconds as the others moved on, hoping one day to return, sneak a random book off its shelf and sit for a few hours to read it in a hidden corner.

We were led down a wide stone spiralling staircase and along a small corridor to a low stone archway that led into the lower levels of the building. Stooping low to avoid the ceiling we descended into the depths of the catacombs below the Cathedral where the light reduced and all sound cut out, creating an eerie atmosphere. If that wasn’t enough there were open pits lining the walls with thousands of human bones strewn in, the skulls and thigh bones created a strange pattern.

Some rooms had alternate entrances that cut through the ceiling to create portholes to the rooms of the church above that created a unique view framed by the dark brickwork. Through the shaft of darkness and the brass grill I could see the figure of Christ on the cross. Another framed flaking portraits and scenes painted onto the walls of the church above. Soon we returned to the land of the living, and just as well too; I was becoming unnerved by the church above and the thousands of bodies around us.

We returned to Plaza de Armas and began a search for a restaurant serving a special delicacy that we had now looked forward to for the many months of build-up back in the UK. When we first heard of this ‘treat’ we were disgusted but aversion soon turned to craving as we committed to trying new foods. The meal was Guinea Pig, a food unique to Peru. We had read in travel books that is something not to be missed. An eccentric character greeted us in the street, repeating with an irresistible excitement the need for us to visit his restaurant. With no real preference as to where to eat, as long as it had that certain speciality, we followed his cheerful babble in almost fluent English. He showed us to a table and introduced himself as Julius Caesar—an eccentric name for an eccentric personality. We had quickly ordered and during the entirety of the wait for the, Julius never ceased to talk with us about anything and everything.

When the platters of food arrived we were slightly tentative to try this vastly different meal. Putting all premonitions aside I took a mouthful and found it to be surprisingly tasty and although not much meat could be found on the small carcass, I relished it.

The Beauty of Water

It was becoming dark when we finished so we hopped back on the rollercoaster bus with a fearless bravado and caught the beginning of the Lima nightlife as we passed through the center of town. We had one more venue to visit today and so we got off the bus outside a large park. Just inside the front gate was an array of fountains creating a pyramid shape of different colours. We had entered the fountain park of Lima, a vast expanse of land filled with all manner of fountains and water features.

Heading on into the depths of the grounds we arrived at a large rectangular pool just in time for the start of a fountain show. I had absolutely no idea what to expect and was amazed by the creativity of using just water and light to produce a show so different, beautiful and unique. The whole choreography was set to various pieces of music and eventually evolved into a touching story conveying the history of Peru. There were straight jets, fine mists and spiraling fountains which created the screen onto which three huge projectors produced a laser and light show, which continued for twenty minutes covering almost every music genre and exploring every possibility of water jets and lights. Stunning.

When it ended we explored the many other areas of the fountain park. A particularly impressive one consisted of about fifty inch-thick jets creating perfect curves of water all in a line. This made a tunnel of water which it was possible for us to walk through. The experience of the solid parabolas constantly flowing over head, accompanied by the roar of tonnes of water cascading into the capture pool was humbling and I was in awe of the raw power around me. Unfortunately we soon had to leave and so began another bumpy ride back to Miraflores and our lodgings.