My alarm woke me at 4:30am and I heard the sound of a cockerel rasping it’s little lungs out – what a lovely introduction to a new day.

I had plans for today my last day – I was going to hike up the dunes for a sunrise. The sand would be cool and the temperature acceptable and anyway the bus wasn’t leaving till 1pm.

I had packed my backpack the night before remembering the 6p’s taught to me by my very good climbing friend – Poor Planning Produces Piss Poor Performance.

Off to the dunes. It was quiet, it was cool and it was serene. I had done my homework with my compass the night before and I knew exactly where the sun would rise and in what direction the shadows would cast onto the dunes. I knew it would be difficult – just because the sand was cool didn’t mean it would be any less soft – but it would be cooler. So, lathered head to toe in suncream, I was off on an expedition to conquer the towering dunes.

I walked up past the sleeping buggies to get to the start of my ascent, the dunes looked beautiful and there was not another sole in sight, what a wonderful feeling.

It wasn’t long before I was peching, the sand had filled my shoes and my calves were struggling to deliver the energy I needed to make any headway up these slippery slopes. I had left in plenty of time as the sun didn’t rise until…… But that didn’t mean I could faff, I’d rather be early than chasing my tail or even worse miss it all together.

All my perfect planning paid premiums – crossing diagonally, walked round the rim of this huge bowl looking for signs of little animal footprints along the way. The face was flat and at some points the breeze had blown off any loose sand leaving behind hard packed surface which Wasa joy to walk on. I kept looking back to see how long I had before the rays of the sun would begin to light up the sky.

Sitting on the top I watched the sun peek over the distant dunes casting shadows for as far as the eye could see – simply stunning! Everything below me was dwarfed with wee miniature whisps of sand storms blowimg off the crest of the dunes. I sat there struggling to hear a sound.

It had taken me most three hours and I was conscious that breakfast at the hotel would be finishing at 10am. I didn’t want to miss it as I hadn’t eaten the day before.

It was easy to come down and in the distance I could see the driver’s preparing their vehicles to take the next excited group of adrenaline junkies up and down the slopes at speed.

Breakfast was the same, roll, scrambled eggs, jam and tea and it was light on my stomach which is what I needed.

I climbed the rickety wee stairs to my room for the last time to pack my bulging rucksack and my equally stretched packpack. I had accumulated so many bits and pieces along the way that it was beginning to feel as though I was carrying two huge bags.

It was now almost 12 and we had to meet outside the Wild Rover hostel at 12:30.

A quick check for any forgotten items then I was off laden like a beast of burden.

I was off on my travels again; this time to Arequipa, stopping off at Pisco vineyard and the Nazca lines on the way. This was going to be the longest journey by bus I’ve taken so far – 13:00 until 05:30 the next morning (16hrs 30 mins)

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