We spent absolutely magical few days in our little spot in the mountains with our friend Maxi. Now we would head into the desert and then, more desert on the coast. Heading from one world into a completely different kind of world. The high mountains and the greenery would give way to barren hills and sand dunes.

We wouldn’t see the mountains for quite some time. Realizing this, I decided to make a quick stop at another beautiful mountain spot – a very little-known condor watching viewpoint, which I visited 3 years ago in Ayacucho.

To get to the viewpoint you pass through some beautiful greenery and reach the village of Andamarca. The rice terraces of the region are believed to date back to the time of the Incas, hundreds of years ago. There are many treasures of this type hidden within this region. I’ve never had the time to explore it in great depth, and this would’’t be the time either.

The condors come out in the morning and we arrived after noon. We decided to visit the local hot springs to pass time and, because it’s one of the few hot springs which is actually open during these times.

On my last visit, I stayed a few kilometers from the viewpoint, down the mountain road amidst some pine trees. I had a different car with a rooftop tent back then. By the time I packed up that tent and was ready to go, I had actually lost a lot of time and was late to the condor viewing experience. I didn’t want the same this time, so I decided that we would park right there at the viewpoint. All we had to do was - wake up early.

Around 5 pm I saw 2 elderly ladies with a small dog. They looked very familiar. I realized that I saw them in the very same place around the same time 3 years ago. I had given them a ride to their village. I mentioned this to the ladies. It seemed that they remembered. As they did last time, they gifted us some cheese. The next morning they’d send some corn to us with a passing-by passenger mini-van.

This kindness is not something that you experience too frequently in many of the more visited regions of Peru, but here, in Ayacucho, where people seem to appreciate any guest, you feel the kindness very strongly.

The evening turned into night and soon the valley was lit with tiny lights from the houses of its inhabitants.

There we were. Not the most comfortable spot to park the car, we had to even out the ground with some rocks under the wheels. But, for one night it was worth it. I didn’t want to repeat being late to the “show” like 3 years ago.

I was woken up around 6:30 am, by the sound of a radio. There were no condors, but there was a man standing at the viewpoint, listening to a church sermon broadcast in Quechua. Don Julian is a quirky character. For the past few years he’d been making carvings on stones a little above the condor viewpoint. He made the journey of around 7 kilometers up the mountain every morning. Don Julian was probably amused by the strange car-house and it’s likely that he wanted to stick around long enough to see who brought this vehicle here.

We chatted. Initially, he had a red handkerchief over his mouth, tied to his sideburns. That was his idea of a mask. He must have thought he was protecting himself from whoever was inside the unusual car. I told him that it was unlikely I’d give him Covid, even if I had it. We were outside, the wind was blowing and we never got very physically close to each other. He took the handkerchief off.

I told Don Julian about our journey and I expressed my love for his region and for rural Peru in general. We talked about the importance of living in nature, living healthy. He told me that as a result of being in nature, eating natural foods and working physically, many people in the area are in very good shape, even at advanced age. He himself was approaching 60 and still had all but one of his teeth. He had only recently gotten his first grey hairs.

The condors were going to come out soon and I’d start photographing. Don Julian was headed to his personal stone forest to continue with the carvings. I asked if I could take a photo of him next to one of his works. He stood on top of the stone and waved the red handkerchief like a flag. "A communist flag!" he joked. A sensitive topic in a region that was intimidated and isolated from the world by the pseudo communist “Shining Path” movement in the 80s and 90s.

Before leaving, Don Julian pointed and told me that the first condor would appear from behind one of those cliffs. Almost an hour of waiting and… there was still no one. I was thinking that perhaps I wasn’t late the last time I came, that there were no condors before late morning anyway.

Then, as the sun rays got warmer, as if in accordance to a script, right from behind the cliff, which Don Julian mentioned, a condor majestically appeared. Soon there was another condor swooping through the air, and another, and another.

The birds were so close to me that I could hear the swishing of the wind in their wings. I was captivated. Almost too hypnotized to photograph.

Last time I flew the drone amidst the condors. They seemed more curious than bothered by it. But this time, something told me that I should preserve the tranquility in the air.

After almost an hour of circling around and warming themselves with the rays of the rising sun, the condors would start to make their way up to another cliff, too far in the distance to really see them. Mia woke up too late to see most of the birds, but she was lucky enough to see one. It came late and seemed like one of those friends who comes late to a party and then runs to catch up with the others. The condor circled around for a few minutes and soon joined its “friends” further up.

Recharged and inspired by the sight of the magnificent flying creatures, we finally headed for the desert. How can something as simple as seeing a bird soar through the air be such a powerful experience? The answers don’t matter to me much these days. I just appreciate the fact that we could all have this experience.

Upon entering the desert we got a rude reminder of just how different this world is. When you drive much of the Pan-American highway through the desert in Peru, there are countless piles of garbage along the road. Sure, you have plenty of garbage in the mountains too, but here, it’s all on display. There’s nowhere to hide it. It confronts you. It puts things in perspective. We talk about global warming, about solving all these popular big problems failing to see how connected everything is. Just what are we gonna do with all the waste that we’re producing? Keep dumping it in deserts?

From the mountains, we made it to Nazca just before dark. We spent the night on the outskirts of the city. This wouldn’t be the time to explore the region.

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At the moment in Peru, it’s forbidden to drive your car on Sundays, due to Covid. Hilariously it’s ok to use public transport (since Covid mustn’t catch buses). We needed to plan where we’d end up on Sunday.

We headed straight to Ica. I know a place there. Deeper in the desert, by some sand dunes. From that spot, a sandy road takes you towards Paracas national reserve, which is on the coast and a step closer to our destination. This road isn’t monitored by the police and, even though Covid comes out at full strength on Sundays according to the Peruvian officials, this is the road we’d drive on Sunday.

I’ve driven numerous times through the desert with my wife and daughter. While Tanya, my wife doesn’t like the desert at all, I do love it. I wanted for some of that love to rub off on Mia. We’d stay for the evening-and-half of the next day by the dune, before heading towards the coast.

Apart from whining a little due to the heat, Mia was loving her desert experience. Almost unlimited space to run around, be wild, without restrictions, pure joy.

As the sand cooled, Mia and I climbed up this large sand dune. Though, we did use the easier path to climb it, near that more solid rock-and-sand-formation in the distance. I think my girl is getting to appreciate the desert like her dad.

Being in a place like this makes you feel so small, and yet, you fill like you’re a little grain of something bigger. Being in the desert at night, with a sky full of stars was a special experience. I decided to climb the dune again, but I wouldn’t use my flash-light. I wanted my eyes to get used to the darkness to better see where I point the camera.

I ended up having a surreal experience. Up there on the dune, with only the light of the stars and absolutely no sounds, I was deprived of all my regular sensory stimuli. Even walking felt foreign. The sand collapsing under my feet was an unusual sensation. It was all not that different from an experience you’d induce through psychedelic substances. An awakening of senses and thoughts, you almost never awaken otherwise.

I spent a couple of hours walking along the dune’s crest, lost in my thoughts. When I came back, I simply stared at that starry sky. Thinking of how tiny I was, but also about how everything felt so within reach and so possible.

Around midday, Sunday, we headed to Paracas. I’ve come to love this area, because I passed through it numerous times while driving from place to place. It’s always windy when you come through here, and this day was no different. It looks so beautiful in photos, so welcoming, but this is what’s truly deceiving about it. As soon as you step outside of your vehicle, you’re hit with cool wind and sometimes sand.

Still, Paracas is stunning in its own way. And, it surprises you too. Like when you see flamingoes in a pond only a few meters from the road.

Something that will come as a revelation to some of you. I no longer use my Panasonic gear, for the most part. I’m all Sony now. One of the main reasons? The autofocus. It’s just so dismal on Panasonic, in comparison to the Sonys. I did use it for this photo, but getting these flamingoes in focus was no easy task and once they took flight… well, only one of many images came out well.

Our new camping spot. I drove far enough from the road, to be away from the sight of the handful of cars that might pass by. Mia was happy to be out of the car and free to run around, jump and look for “treasures” in the form of sand-covered seashells.

There’s one thing that’s a little strange, in a good way, about traveling with a camper. You move to the most different of places, but your home stays exactly the same. A few times I’ve woken up not remembering exactly where I am. I’m more than happy to have this issue.

Once again, there was no one around. No sounds, apart from the wind whistling through the windows. The wind picked up around sunset and got even stronger after it. But around 8 pm… Silence…

The next morning was calm. It’s like we were in a different place once we woke up. The sky was clear and the sun rise was peaceful and beautiful. We were ready for the next leg of our journey.

There’s one more part in this series of blog posts. I’ll have it up very soon. Stay tuned!