Máncora

Huanchaco was a lovely and chilled out beach town, but half the time the sky was overcast, so Joel and I headed to the far north coast of Peru to Máncora. The weather was perfect; hot, humid and sun all day, everyday, browning us within an hour or two.

We spent many days just walking along the beach towards the south pier where fishing vessels sat quietly on the water. Sometimes there was a señora there who sold great cebiche and we would enjoy that while watching the scores of sea birds scramble for lost fish as the fishermen brought in loads of catch.

Generally the waves were small, which was not good news for surfers, but fine for kitesurfers. Some days they reached standard Aussie proportions, but rarely. Lying on the beach was a great way to kill a couple of hours, though during high tide, the beach was swallowed up by the water, driving back restaurants' plastic tables and chairs to drier sands.

A few times, Joel and I would get caught out by the high tide, nearly cut off from the north beach after visiting the pier. With flip flops and a dress, it was easy for me to cross the narrow parts of beach, but Joel, always in jeans, had to climb over rocks and boulders to avoid the spray. On one occasion, he jumped up and clung onto a balcony rail as a wave broke over the rocks, much to the amusement of the people on the balcony.

To escape the heat, we would stroll among the artesan markets while drinking cool juice out of a coconut or visit the mercado for a cheap meal, on the way skating down the slippery concrete ramps on our flip flops. My early afternoons usually involved a visit to the beach between 3 and 5pm, looking for "Mr Churrero" and my every-other-daily churro.