Magnificent land time (almost) forgot

2:23pm Monday 12th November 2007

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It was the moment I had always dreaded - and yet somehow half-expected.

That moment when you arrive at your destination and your luggage doesn't.

It had taken us 18 hours to get to Lima from a 2.30am start in Wales and I just wanted to get to our hotel. But there were forms to fill in amid a small but angry crowd of other luggage-less passengers, all jostling and arguing with one poor, besieged airline official.

At that moment I was so pleased that I'd decided to use a specialist travel agent for the trip.

With the aid of our guide, Nina, who was waiting for us in the airport, paperwork was sorted out and we were whisked to our hotel.

There, her two teenage daughters and two of their friends were meeting her. Nina swept us all up and took us all, to the nearest department store to get me some clothes - we were off to the jungle early next day.

The next morning we flew to Puerto Maldonado, a remote market town on the edge of the Amazon rainforest. We took a bumpy jungle bus ride to the edge of the River Tambopata, an Amazon tributary, and then a long, narrow, motorboat downriver, eating a delicious rice dish lunch, wrapped in a large leaf, on the way.

Our destination,the Posada Lodge, is owned by the indigenous Infierno community with an ecotourism company. In their beautiful, large wood and thatch building you have a room, open on one side to the jungle, with mosquito-netted beds, paraffin lamps, a bathroom with an achingly cold shower. You also get three homecooked meals a day.

The sound of a rainforest waking up, with its million clicks, whoops, trills, whistles and shrieks, is unforgettable. As we walked down to the river, in the 4.30am dark, there was a strange sound, like a distant steam train rushing through the trees - the eerie, extraordinary call of the red howler monkey.

Here you can see toucans, monkeys, sloths, sea otters, cormorants, herons and macaws. You'll come across long, moving lines of tiny, bright green leaf fragments, each one carried by an indefatigable leaf cutter ant. You can also meet a shamen who uses herbal medicines to treat everyhing from arthritis to tooth pain.

I could have stayed longer - but time pressed.

Next stop, Cusco, at a dizzying, leg-wobbling altitude of 11,000 feet, and where, miraculously my suitcase had turned up.

Cusco is a beautiful, geometric city set amid the austere curves and peaks of the Andes. Originally a great Inca settlement, it was overrun by the Spanish. They built imposing cathedrals on the Plaza de Armas, an orderly garden square which is a focal point for everyone, from Sunday families to raucous bands, soldiers, and locals celebrating fiestas.

There are churches, museums and Inca ruins to visit in and around Cusco, and plenty of shops selling alpaca and other goods for which you can often haggle.

The city's people, most of them Quechua Indians, are, like all Peruvians, smiling, helpful, and hard-working. Some city residents are, as elsewhere, obsessed with mobile phones and the internet and dine in superb local restaurants. Others are shanty town dwellers - their doe-eyed, raggedy children are always trying to sell you things and some put on a Bafta-winning sulk if you don't buy.

We took a bus trip to Pisac market, superb for souvenirs ranging from Peru football shirts to hand-made dolls, spices and holdalls.

Then we drove through the farming area of the Sacred Valley, where farmers still use oxen to plough terraces created by the Incas. It is magical to see, but a hard living in reality for many of the often-illiterate families are and their children can die of the winter cold.

Up at 5am the next day, we took a three-hour rail trip through spectacular scenery to the town of Aguas Calientes. From here it's a short bus ride up to the Inca ruins of Machu Picchu, the lost' stone city whose creators only stayed for 100 years. I took a day's hike with a guide along the Inca trail, to the lessser-known Inca settlement at Winay Wayna. Perched on an impossibly steep mountainside, at 8,694 ft, its buildings and irrigation system are still remarkably intact.

Aguas Calientas has a frontier-town feel. Its two main streets, dotted with shops, restaurants and hotels, lead up to a public thermal baths. After a tiring trek, immersing yourself in the hot, cloudy mineral waters, with dozens of curious local eyes on you, is quite an experience.

On the return rail trip to to Cusco, the train was held up for two hours by a broken down loco ahead. Boredom was relieved by the steward and stewardess modelling alpaca fashions to passengers.

A Columbian grandmother sitting behind me threw some biscuits down to scraggy dogs lolling below the train, watched incredulously by a grubby peasant family who'd assembled solemnly by our prosperous-looking carriages. After a while, the penny dropped and she dropped the rest of her biscuits to the family - and a brief scrum kicked dust back up to train.

Back in Cusco our agent had waited for us, despite all the the delays. We ate a late dinner at a lovely restaurant, struggling with an altitude-induced lack of appetite and fatigue.

The next day, after last-minute shopping in Cusco, we flew the short hop to Arequipa, from where we took a five-hour tour-bus trip through the arid, Andean highlands, with volcanoes looming in the distance. At the highest point, around 14,000 feet, even cactus won't grow and it's always cold. All you can see are thousands of little piles of stones, offerings to Mother Earth.

We stayed overnight at The Colca Lodge, an excellent eco hotel. It has its own hot spring baths on the banks of a river. You can immerse yourself in the steaming waters, drink in hand, as the sun dips behind the mountains. As night fell and temperatures plunged, we dined on pumpkin soup, ostrich, alpaca, and coconut curry. Back in the room, someone had put hot water bottles in the beds.

Our next destination was The Colca Canyon, one of the world's deepest at more than 1km, and where, if you're lucky you'll seen an Andean Condor, the world's largest bird.

After a bumpy ride back to Arequipa we flew, next day, to Juliaca, a squat commercial town set on a plain of apparently nothing, - until the rains bring it to verdant life.

Here you are at higher altitude than at Machu Picchu. With a new guide we visited Inca burial towers at a haunting place called Sillustani, overlooking the stunning, glassy Lake Umayo.

We visited a small farming settlement on the plain. Chickens ran about, a dog dozed and guinea pigs - a delicacy in Peru - snuffled about in scaled-down quarters. The family there gave us potatoes baked in an outdoor oven with some soft farm cheese - delicious.

We were shown the one small, dark room shared by everyone. There's no electricity and water comes from holes in the ground.Dried sheep, cow and alpaca dung is neatly stored for use as cooking fuel and fertilizer. The women grind corn and make rugs from sheep and alpaca wool.

Our next hotel, near the town of Puno, was on the shores of the lazily rippling and magnificent Lake Titicaca, a national wildlife reserve whose dark waters stretch to more than 8,500 square kms.

The next day we set off with our guide to the floating islands' of Uros. There are more than 40 of them, each made from a deep layer of lake reeds . Everything is reed - the homes, the boats and the guinea pig enclosures. As you walk on these islands you sink slightly with each step. The descendants of the Uros Indians who once lived and fished on the islands nowadays live on the mainland and come back during the day to host tourists. But it's still fascinating to glimpse a way of life that has virtually disappeared.You get a jolly welcome but its hard to leave without a (beautifully made) souvenir.

Next we headed to the (proper) island of Taquile, around two hours' from Puno. About seven kms long, it is home to a community of Indian farmers and alpaca weavers, with whom you can rent a room.

Brave the hundreds of steep steps to the main square, and browse in the craft co-operative, which sells hand-made gloves, hats, belts and cumberbunds (worn by local men.) The next day, waiting at Juliaca airport for the flight to Lima and then the UK not even the 150th rendition of El Condor Pasa, performed by the departure lounge band, could stop me from already feeling nostalgic for Peru.

Too bad I had only two weeks - but I took back enough great memories to last a lifetime.