It’s a hazy, predawn morning in Lima, Peru, when it hits me, “I’m about to see the Nasca Lines with my own eyes.”
Nasca Lines...A Dream Come True
I’ve been fascinated with the Nasca Lines since they were featured in an episode of In Search Of… with Leonard Nimoy. Seeing them, a bucket list item since before I knew what a bucket list was. To think I’m about see them, especially the Nasca Monkey, with my own eyes, wow, it’s mind-blowing
For those readers not familiar with the lines, they are a “heritage of humankind site,” and are located 400 km south of Lima, Peru in the city of Ica. The windswept desert plains were carved by the Nasca Indians using a simple technique of scraping trenches into the ground to form dozens of different figures, geometric shapes and straight lines. The most important aspect about the lines is that their mere existence demonstrates that the Nasca civilization had developed a highly sophisticated culture and had a marvelous expressive capacity, a vision many pre-Columbian civilizations shared.
Aliens did it!
I think the aliens did it, but that’s neither here, nor there…
It’s little after five in the morning as we make our way down the Peruvian coastline. Nasca is five hours away, one straight road. I notice, the sky is gray. We’re the only car on the road. The sea is gray. “Why are there no other cars on the road?” The mountains are brownish-gray. The only visible vibrant color is the green of the occasional palm tree. Peru is very gray. I didn’t realize the coastline of was desert, it seems odd, a desert so close to water…but, it being salt water, I guess it make sence. A couple hours pass, the skies turn a light pale blue, still, with very few cars on the road, but it’s Sunday, perhaps Peru, like my travel-mate, is sleeping in.
My name will be on that sign forever...
The further south we travel, lush vegetation replaces the bleak desert. With farms dotting the low mountainside – wait; mountains, the beginning of the Andes? – to our left and beach resorts punctuating the right. New construction, or is it abandoned construction, stands at the ready. Bricks waiting for bricklayers, crane waiting for operators, I guess today is the day off.
On one side of the road, what were rolling sand dunes become private fenced-in beaches with tennis courts and swimming pools. Ah, rich people.
A mile further down; shanty towns, corrugated tin walls, cardboard homes. Ah, poor people.
Dunes becomes fields again; the smell of smoke hangs in the air as crops lay scorched next to acres upon acres of…what is that? Corn?
Our driver doesn’t speak English.
I can’t ask the questions to which I want answers.
We pass a prison. Must be, the barbed wire is a dead give away. Is that a prison, in the middle of desert?
Next, grapes? A vineyard? A winery, perhaps. Olive trees? Fig trees? Are we in Italy?
There’s road construction and tollbooths. If it weren’t for the fact we’re driving though a desert, I’d say it felt a little like heading to Newark Airport…
I’m incredibly frustrated; in my broken Spanish I can ask for a bathroom, a hamburger and a Diet Coke, but I can’t figure out how to say, “What’s growing over there?”
“What are they building over there?”
“What does that sign mean?”
“Why are those men wearing underwear on the side of the road?”
We drive for three and a half hours without stopping. I gotta to pee. Of course, there’s nowhere to stop, desert to the left…with not a tree in sight. “Senior? Banos por favor?” If I knew how to say, “Pull over, I gotta pee! NOW!!” I would have.
“Un memento. One moment, mi amigo.”
Fifteen minutes later we hit our first stop. My kidneys ready to burst.
We changed cars. We changed drivers. I peed for ten minutes, straight. We added a personal, English-speaking tour guide to our merry band – I believe her name is the Spanish equivalent of Jillian, but if you put a gun to my head I wouldn’t be able to tell you with 100% certainty. For next two hours we’re treated to interesting facts and figures about Peru and the Nasca Indians.
She answers the questions I have, before I get a chance to ask.
“Ica with over 350,000 residents is the largest city in Southern Peru.”
“Agriculture is the number one economic product in Southern Peru with Paprika, White Asparagus and Artichokes it’s biggest crops.”
“Peru’s largest prison is here. The desert conditions keep the men from escaping, there’s nowhere to go.”
“Peru mines thirty percent of the world’s silver.”
“There are dozens of wineries and Pisco producers in the area, the dry conditions are ideal for growing grapes.”
“Nasca means ‘place of pain and sacrifice.’”
“The lines were created fifteen hundred years before Christ was born.”
“The conservation of the lines is completely natural, the dew reacts with the gypsum creating a gluelike consistency in the morning holding the small rocks and sand in place and the heat of the afternoon forces pillows of warm air into the trenches which acts like bubble wrap to keep the lines intact.”
There’s one question I have she didn’t answer, “Is Nasca spelled with a ‘Z’ or an ‘S’?”
“In the Spanish language, the ‘Z’ does not make the sound the ‘S’ makes. Nasca is spelled with an ‘S.’”
Curses!
In my head, it seemed more exotic with the ‘z.’
I'm bigger than the plane!
Exactly five hour and five minutes after leaving the Port of Callao, five we arrive at the airport. A forty minute flight aboard a four-seater Cessna OB-1655 was the order of the day. We waited for what felt like hours for the other couple to fill our four seats – it was probably closer to 20 minutes but I digress, I made it bearable by visiting all the gift shops.
Outside the terminal, vendors were setup and did they see me coming! A tee-shirt, a coin purse, two patches, a decorative plate, a sterling silver dog-tag with the monkey on it hanging from a brown, woven-leather cord and a one magnet later, it was time to fly.
When the other couple arrived, we made a quick pass through security, well, I beeped four times. The fifth time through, I was nearly naked, but headed out to the tarmac. The wife, a bit irked I made her wait…the nerve. In front of me was the smallest plane known to man. From the outside, to me, if all six of us got in, it wasn’t getting off the ground. But before you can say, “Come fly the friendly skies,” we were up in the air.
Have you ever flown in a teeny tiny propeller plane, Jew and Gentile Readers? If you have, you know it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. It’s like taking a ride in a dryer.
On two separate moments, right after seeing the whale and right before seeing the spider, I was sure I was going to toss my cookies.
“Do you need the window open?” The Co-Pilot asked.
A resounding “Yes!” from all the passengers.
“Quick, to the right…”
In forty minutes I learned to hate any phrase that began with, ‘quick, to the…’ because they were always followed by a quick jerk and dive in said direction. Without time to prepare for the quick change. Like rag dolls, we were tossed. Cameras clicking, no time to focus, just point and shoot, hoping here’s something on the film.
The hummingbird
“Quick, to the left…”
“Look over there…”
“Oh my, there it is…”
“This is amazing…”
The Monkey!!!
I saw the monkey, the Nasca monkey. With my own eyes.
Check her off.
We land without incident, my legs shaking. My heart beating in my fingertips. I’m struck dumb. It’s not very often I’m speechless, so instead, I cry.
“How was it?” Jillann sounding name asks.
I can’t answer, I just cry.
The rest of the day is a blur, there was lunch and a stop at the Nasca Museum, the five hour ride back, the sunset…
