Following the previous experiences of bus rides, we were apprehensive to leave Nazca, to say the least. But we recognised that unless we wanted to live in Nazca for the rest of our lives, we would need to set foot on a bus one day. And in fact it was not a bad journey. Unlike the last bus journey this was a day-bus, and it was interesting watching the roadside vendors, trying to sell their wares by reaching up to the windows of the bus every time it stopped.
We arrived in Ica and were surprised that it looked very different to Nazca or Cusco – in fact it looked like what we imagine India might look like – very hot and dusty, with Tuk-Tuks.
We ate at a chicken fast food restaurant – like KFC, but not. It was very cheap and the portions were huge. The garlic chicken was amazing! When we had almost finished eating, a street-child came around the tables miming that he wanted food. I looked at the pile of food on our plates. It seemed churlish not to give him any, especially as it would go to waste. I hate to waste food. If we were at home that would have gone in the fridge for the next meal, but we were about to fly out. So I gave the kid some chicken and chips. He seemed happy. Later, another street-child came around selling something so buoyed by the last experience, I offered him some food too. Unfortunately this did not go down too well and he seemed offended, rolling his eyes and sighing, before walking off. I’m not sure how far we can generalise this, but it seems that offering chicken to a street child is a major faux-pas. Although I should note that I’m sure this is not a master class in how to deal with street children.
We packed the chicken up and took it with us. Which was lucky as the flight out of Ica was fab and very chicken-friendly (of the cooked variety). These days a bottle of water is deemed a security threat, and I find going through an airport one of the most highly stressful experiences. How I wish every airport could be like Ica. A small counter to check in, then sit in a shady area. The plane turns up, you get on, with your bags, and off we go. It was so blissfully stress free. Even when the door to the pilot’s cabin swung open on take-off – it was charming and we got to learn about what a plane’s cabin looks like 😉 My boyfriend gobbled up the garlic chicken later that night and said it was delicious.
Where were we flying to? Auckland, actually. Not directly of course – via Lima, Panama, and LA, with various lengths of stopovers at each.
Next blog: Auckland, New Zealand.
Big Fat Tourist 