Peru

Huacachina is a literal oasis in the desert. For miles and miles all we could see were sand dunes, then out of nowhere there was suddenly a small green lake fringed by palm trees. The only reason a town existed here at all was to capture the tourist dollar. Around the edge of the lake were hostels, restaurants and convenience stores, with no sign of anything authentic. Like in Paracas, the touts were out in full force - you couldn't walk for more than a minute without being hunted down. It only takes 5 minutes to circumnavigate the lake, then there is nothing to do but sign up for tours or sit by the hostel pool. We are not the type of people who can do the latter for long.

The number one reason people come to Huacachina is to join the sand buggy/sandboarding tour. I was keen to sign up; Danny took some convincing. As soon as we arrived in town, we put our names on the list for a trip that afternoon, giving us just enough time to eat lunch and do one lap of the lake. At the appointed time, we hiked up one of the dunes behind the village with hundreds of others, where line after line of sand buggies were waiting for us. Ten of us were loaded into one buggy before setting off with our F1-wannabe driver (who disconcertingly crossed himself before we started).

Our driver wasn't afraid to floor it right from the start. He sped straight up the tallest sand dunes then, like a roller coaster, flew directly down the other side. Most of us screamed, either in fear or in fun, our hearts beating out of our chest. Once the thrill ride was over, we stopped at the top of one dune for a 15-minute photo opportunity of the surrounding scenery. I don't know who needs 15 minutes to take photos of sand, but it was incredible seeing the never-ending dunes across the desert.

After the long wait, we finally started sandboarding. In turn we lay face down and head first on our board, and our driver pushed us off down the slope. The board wobbled erratically from side to side, requiring us to steer with our feet to keep it straight. I quickly discovered that if I lifted the front of the board I would go faster, which resulted in me travelling further than most. It was exhilarating, and I couldn't wait to go again.

Gratefully, our driver picked us up from the bottom and drove us up the next dune. Each location was a little steeper and a little longer, drawing nervous murmurs out of my mouth. The first 3 rides were attempted lying down, but on the fourth we were encouraged to sit up with our feet on the board and use only our hands out to the sides for guidance. I didn't do so well at this one and fell off as soon as I reached the flat. It was still loads of fun and I was disappointed there were only 4 rides in total.

At the end we were driven to another dune to watch the sunset, which I would have appreciated if it wasn't freezing cold. Then we were taken back to town, speeding up and over a few more dunes to make sure we had our fill of adrenaline rushes for today.

The next morning I was intent on climbing up the sand dunes around Huacachina. Danny was not, so I made the expedition solo. The sand was soft and loose, making the ascent agonising. Every step up ended up half a step back. Each time I looked up I didn't seem to be getting any closer, but my lungs told me I was putting in the effort. I eventually made it to the top, where I took the obligatory photos before step-sliding back down again. Frustratingly, on the descent I noticed a clear, slightly more gentle route I could have taken to the top.

On the sand dune on the opposite side of town, I made sure to locate the path, and followed this all the way to the summit. It was a little easier but still required more energy than I was expecting to expend. From the ridgeline I could peek into the nearby resorts, with their fancy pools and swim-up bars - a little different to the cheap hostel we were staying at. Looking out over the other side of the dune I could see towns and villages not far away, reducing the feeling of remoteness that Huacahina gives off. It was disappointing to see so much rubbish on the sand, especially as we were charged an entrance price to enter the dunes which could be used to help clean up the area.

Later in the morning we set out for the wineries of the nearby Ica Valley. A private taxi ferried us around for the day, with a driver who spoke no English but used very simple Spanish that we could mostly understand. He drove like a rally driver with a horn obsession, causing me to stare at anything but the road ahead. It was a miracle we weren't in an accident.

Our first stop was Tacama, the oldest winery in South America, which started producing wine in the 1540s. As we learned, they own over 200 hectares of vines that produce 1 million bottles of wine and 350,000 bottles of pisco (a popular distilled grape spirit) annually. The location, in a former monastery, was stunning, with manicured gardens and charming old buildings. We joined a guided tour in English that explained the processes for making red wine, white wine and pisco, then we were escorted around the facility. At the end we were given 4 tastings: a dry white (fantastic), a fruity red (okay), a slightly fizzy sweet white (not for me) and a very large glass of 40% pisco (a mouth burner). Afterwards, we sat in their lovely restaurant and bought a couple of glasses of their slightly more premium wines: a dry sparkling wine and a sauvignon blanc. Both were excellent and we ended up buying a bottle of each to take with us.

The next 2 locations were both artesanal wineries, focusing on flavoured piscos. They each offered a small variety of sweet wines, which didn't appeal to us, alongside numerous pisco varieties. The first winery, Nietto, had been operating since 1856, and produced a decent range of both fruity and creamy piscos (the passion fruit was our favourite). At the second site, Cultur Pisco, we enjoyed a sweeter but stronger passion fruit variety, plus a far-too-strong 42% straight pisco. Both settings were beautiful, out in the gardens and surrounded by greenery, but unfortunately I couldn’t drink much of their range due to it being made with milk. By the end of the day, we had heard identical spiels at each winery and chanted the same Spanish toasts before each tasting (which were incomprehensible to us), and we were glad to retreat to Huacachina for some sobering up time.