"Red Meat Is Evil! Don't Eat Red Meat!". We Eat Red Meat : Tacna & Arequipa : Thurs 27th March

It's the first time I've willingly gotten out of bed before 7am and felt ok about it. The sun is streaming in like its 10am. There's barely any noise from traffic yet, though I don't doubt the city is alive and on its way to work. This is Arequipa, Peru.

You can't really understate how happy we are to be here. We arrived in Chile on 13th Feb and left on 27th Mar. 42 days. 7 weeks. So much longer than we had wanted, so much more money spent than we had to spend (for reasons fair and foul).

Our last night in Chile was spent in Arica. I felt like I gave it a bit of a bad rap, for as we left the city we had a glimpse of the coastline, and sure enough it sported a fine long beach. But by that stage we had paid our bill, eaten an excellent breakfast courtesy of the hostel's owners, packed and escaped.

Border towns are almost always the same. A whole bunch of people trying to make money out of you crossing to another country. They know that they have to be the first one to get to you with a reasonable plan and, fingers crossed, it sounds simple enough and at a price you'll pay that you go with it. Wonderful in theory in two circumstances; when you don't care how you get there, and when you already have a very specific plan on how to get there.

The reality is a maelstrom of competition for your hard earned money, guys appearing from the shadows and shouting names of towns and cities at you. Not great when you've already a bit paranoid about your stuff. Sarah deduces that we should head down the road from the Rodoviaria and, sure enough, we find the international bus terminal.

It's a little like being in Peru already, ragged but working due to the efficiency of a few chaps whose job it is to get folk from A to B. Warily we hand over passports to the driver, load our bags, buy departure tax slips (about 30p each to get out of town), hand over $2000, and away we go, us and 50 Chileans heading to the duty-free zone in Tacna, the first town across the border.

Getting into Peru wasn't any more difficult than anywhere else. The Chilean PDI signed and stamped us out, the Peruvian Nacional Policia stamped us in. The bus was thoroughly searched, an experience we would relive several times that day. Welcome to CocaineVille boys and girls, smuggling is real.

We have the pleasure of a man trying to sell cure-all pills on the bus as it races through the desert to Tacna. This is not how I envisaged Peru. I had, for some reason, though the edge of the Atacama Desert would make a natural boundary between the two countries. Clearly not. First impressions are misleading however.

We had already decided to stay away from Tacna, as it doesn't hold much for the backpacker. Good decision, it turns out, as the place looked for all purposes like a dump. What we expected, of course, but its always a little surprising to see the shacks on the edge of town tied together with string, made from pallets and dark coloured cloth stretched over the exterior to provide shelter from the desert winds. They go on forever. The rubbish is scattered throughout the wilderness. Humanity is pretty depressing sometimes. The international bus station is an extension of this, a huge room with 30 money changers at one end all beckoning you on (we had crossed the border without cash, so a bank machine was required), a really dodgy bank machine, and an endless stream of humans trying to get money from you, with taxis to everywhere in the world on offer. We get a map of the town; the banks are a taxi ride away. We figure there's a chance the bus company we want to book with will take a debit card, so we exit sharpish and head down the road half a block to the Terminal Terrestre.

What a difference a lack of tourists makes! The terminal is civilised by comparison, just a regular bus station with little kiosks selling empanadas and Inca Cola (more on that later), the odd guy shouting out a destination, and plenty of bus company booths selling tickets all over the country. We make a beeline to the Flores assistant, and two minutes later have two tickets to Arequipa, just less than a fiver each for a five hour (plus stops) journey. Thats more like it. Half an hour to departure, we sit down and restock our supplies. Firstly I extract Peruvian Nueve Soles from a more reputable bank machine. The Sol is about 4.6 to the  pound right now, and we shall be dividing by 4 and knowing everything is cheaper than that. Delicious empanadas (or 'Rob Kearney's as they are now known, on account of them being meat, or 'carne') and a bottle of Peru's notorious Inca Cola (not going to lie, its bright yellow and its Iron Bru, but I'm not complaining about that either, though the 50g of sugar per 500ml makes it twice as sugary as Coke) are tasty and reviving, and I buy a bag of what seems to be enormous Sugar Puffs off a little old woman for a quid. There's enough here to kill a donkey. Bargain.

Security is a little stiffer in Peru. You can't get onto the platform without a departure tax coupon (25p) and once out there it's almost up to you to figure out what is going on. We find our bus, only to watch four or five wee women load an entire houseworth of possessions onto it. I'm talking TVs (and not even crap TVs! Big plasma TVs!), stereos and speakers, toy cars, washing lines, endless anonymous boxes, and clothes. So many clothes packed into enormous check plastic bags. Our two, albeit quite heavy, bags are dwarfed. They end up at the side and, when all is said and done, we get on the bus and it takes off, late but it goes.

The deficiency of cheap buses is quickly apparent. No air conditioning. Ok, we do have a small TV at the front of the bus, which distracts us by showing (not joking) Elysium, a movie that is definitely not improving with repeated watching, and some awful dance movie called Battle Of The Year. By that stage we have already been stopped two or three times by police to have the hold examined. My bag is pulled off, but no one shows any interest in it. Meanwhile the customs chaps ask an old lady to get off the bus, and the women behind me tries to punch the officer for his trouble.Charming. They get frogmarched off by police. Sarah is outside keeping an eye on my bag, and watches the man try and square up to the police, who then throw him in a cage. This is all quite exciting. One of the little old men on the bus says I shouldn't worry about my bags, they'll be ok. I explain my nervousness to the whole bus by telling them our story. They are quite sympathetic. Not much love lost between Peruvians and Chileans.

Eventually it all works out. Another man checks passports and is quite polite to us. We are polite in return. No problems here, officer!

We eventually roll into Arequipa at 6.30pm. Peru is 2 hours behind Chile, making it 5 hours behind GMT. Telephone call timings are going to be a little trickier for a month or so. The sun set about half an hour before we arrived, so all we got to see were an oasis of streetlights in the distance. But what a sight! Arequipa is Peru's second biggest city after Lima, and second main destination for tourists after Cuzco. It stretches from one end of the horizon to the other. Probably should have mentioned we are now 3800m above sea level, on the edge of the altiplano. Sarah has been petrified by the bus trip here but cannot take her eyes from the drop at the side of the road. I sit back and read fictionalised Irish history and eat sugar puffs. MMMMM.

Off the bus, meet a friendly taxi driver who takes us to where we think our hostel is. It isn't, but it looks ok anyway, so in we go. 25 Soles a night which is very acceptable, especially when we get a dorm to ourselves for the night, and a pool table downstairs! Sweet!

Ok, so far nothing is remarkably cheap, although its better than Chile, but that wouldnt be difficult. We head straight out for dinner, our hostel is a quick five minute walk to the Plaza De Armas, where we stand in awe of the cathedral at the top of the square. Lit up for the evening, surrounded by Spanish arcades and a palm tree park, its glorious. Finally I am seeing the Peru I expected. Town is busy enough, and after a little window shopping we settle into a parilla where I destroy a big pork chop and 'accompanyments' (delicious!) whilst Sarah inhales a steak and chips. Peruvian Beer Number One is Pilsen which, lets be clear, is just a big bottle of Biere D'Or. Still costs an outrageous $6 Soles! Mind you, there whole lot was $47, or about a tenner, which is perfectly acceptable. I'm led to believe Peruvians set more stall by lunch than dinner, and I look forward to dicovering that for myself.

Back to the hostel, remembering we've lost two hours, and by 11pm, after a celebratory Pisco and a game of pool (full size table, very small pockets, need more practice) we hit the hay. No going anywhere for a few days I think.

PS - Arequipa is famous for two things - alpaca wool and chocolate.