In an effort to arrest this potential descent into turgidity we decided to invest some shekels in 'adrenaline tourism' and have just had one of the most exhilarating and diverse weeks of the trip.
We landed in Lima last Sunday night at 2310, well beyond the witching hour whereupon all gringos become fair game, particularly those arriving by plane and looking all lost and out of their depth.
If our German friend from a couple of weeks back is to be believed, venturing into these hellish streets after dark is on a par with mincing around the prison showers whilst continually dropping your soap. Sooner or later you are going to be taken from behind, manhandled, relieved of your prized possessions and long lamenting your folly.
Not wishing to run that particular gauntlet, we engaged some altogether more legitimate undesirables; the official taxi rank of Lima airport.
We'd booked a room close to the airport and though it was probably within walking distance in daylight it was obviously a taxi job given the hour.
Having paid 50 soles (£12.50) for the 18km journey to the airport a week ago we were disgusted to be asked for that same amount to travel around the block this night.
Yes, we know it's night time, yes, we know you're all going to charge the same, yes, we know you have us over a barrel because the option is to take our chances in the mean streets.
Within five minutes we arrived at our hotel and we slept solidly despite the constant noise of traffic and planes.
The tranquility of Easter Island seemed a world away, which, I suppose, it was in so many ways.
Next morning we took a cab across town back to the Miraflores district for just 25 soles and began the search for another room.
We found a hostal online, The Angels Hostal, and thought we'd give it a bash. It looked ok and had decent reviews and had the all-important cooking facilities, so important if I wasn't soon to be up on some rice induced felony.
We rang the bell and went inside, led by a dreary looking woman into an equally misery-inducing foyer.
The room she showed us was woefully inadequate for our needs and a world away from the pictures we'd seen on the net.
As we left to go back outside into the throng of Lima and resume our search I noticed a sign welcoming us to the "Lex Luthor Hostal".
We were in the wrong place.
'The Angels' was next door, much more palatable and so we had no hesitation pitching up there for the night.
It was a mild embarrassment that it shared an entrance with Lex Luthor and the dreary lady would be roused from her chair to let us in on occasions over the next day or so but them's the breaks; if you run a hovel you must expect people to go elsewhere.
Here's an idea: tart it up a bit, paint it, invest in the place, make it look less like Stalag 17, SMILE occasionally.
We are continually amazed how little thought goes into accommodations around the world. It's so easy to blow your opposition out of the water because such a large proportion don't appear to give a monkey's.
Anyway, having seen a fair bit of Lima when last we were here and not really having the stomach for much more walking around large cities we settled on a spot of paragliding as the perfect way of wiling away a glorious spring afternoon.
For the uninitiated, paragliding is a sort of horizontal parachuting. You jump off a cliff, catch the thermal and, by skilful manipulation of the chute, float around for as long, as high or as low as you want.
I saw some guys sailing along the Devon coast once and vowed to have a go when I got the opportunity.
We were of course on a tandem chute, each paired up with a fully qualified pilot. Unfortunately, the type of individual employed in this capacity is liable to be so pulsing with testosterone that during your twenty minute flight you are subjected to tales of alleged bravado, derring-do and such innuendo that you want to laugh in their face.
For example, when Kerry was getting into her harness she was instructed to "put her tits through there". When she looked a tad surprised at this he replied
"Oh you don't mind me calling them tits do you?"
"Now, put your ass in here. So, are you here alone?"
Once her tits were harnessed to her pilots satisfaction they were ready and I watched as they inched towards the edge of the cliff. I was momentarily worried that they seemed to plummet like a stone but a couple of seconds later they swooped up and out towards the ocean, Kerry's a-whooping carrying back to me.
I was away within minutes, off the cliff and away down the coast for maybe half a mile, up over the seafront buildings and then back in the direction from whence we came. Lima seafront is magnificent, particularly when viewed from a few hundred feet up whilst suspended from some nylon ropes and a chute.
I can certainly see the attraction in this sport.
My mid-air conversation was also mammary centric as my pilot regaled me with takes of his incredible womanising, all made possible due to his amazing dexterity with his wing.
"That rooftop down there, you see the pool? One day I was flying here and a crazy party was going on with six gorgeous girls. As I flew by one of them flashed her tits at me and when I flew round again they all did so. One shouted that if I could land on their roof I could have her. That turned into one crazy orgy but two days later I got suspended for landing on a building, but hey! It was worth it man."
I told him I work in an office in a country where it rains for 300 days of the year. "We make train timetables man, posters, leaflets. We deal with printers, we go to meetings dude. It's like, crazy."
Tit!
Neanderthal ramblings aside, the flights were a fantastic experience.
Afterwards we ambled a short way up the sea front, a beautiful place with ornate gardens and parks, great views out to sea from the cliffs and well-kept buildings.
With Lima done we set out on the next leg and settled upon Pisco as our next port of call.
From here we could visit the Islas Ballestas, part of the Paracas National Park and home to all manner of species of birds as well as seals, sealions and dolphins.
The other boon about coming here was that it was only four hours by bus from Lima - a cakewalk.
Just off the Pan-American highway, Pisco was almost wiped off the map by a huge earthquake just five years ago. 80% of the town was razed to the ground and as you can imagine, right now is a boom time for the building trade.
Things happen slowly in South America; rebuilding, clearing up rubble, rehousing those who lost everything, those sorts of things.
This means opportunistic crime is a way of life for some and a steady stream of idiot tourists with their money belts swinging about is manna from heaven for these people.
We're the other way; ultra cautious to the point of paranoia. For anyone to rob me they'd have to untuck my shirt, prise their mitts down my ever-tightening waistband and brave the horrors of my undercrackers to even reach my money belt. If they got that far the chances are that the double assault of the 'Pepe Le Pew' odour and the seven months worth of bacteria it harbours would surely do for them.
My money belt is not known as "Rot" for nothing.
We took a room at a lovely little place in the centre of Pisco, a place where we could cook and Kerry could drive us both to distraction with her incessant sneezing on account of her hooter taking exception to an unspecified flower in our midst.
We booked a tour for the following day which would see us picked up from our hotel at the ungodly hour of 0715. I didn't question why it needed to be so early but the reason became apparent once we reached the dock at Paracas at about 0800.
When we booked the tour and were shown pictures of the boat I assumed that there was one such boat per day. We were met at Paracas dock by approximately 200 other gringos and a good twenty or so boats. A large, chaotic herding of us all onto various craft commenced and there followed a two hour tour of the nearby islands to see the wildlife.
It was nothing if not cooling on the water, the mainland in this neck of the woods is parched to the extent that only around 20mm of rainfall occurs annually.
(I have sweated more than 20mm on this trip.)
We saw the aforementioned seals, sealions, enough birds to run the risk of having a fishy and semi-liquid 'pat' on the back and, possibly the highlight, a colony of penguins.
Once we'd had our two hours on the water more van loads of tourists were showing up for their turn. It's certainly big business and perhaps the nickname of the Islas Ballestas of "The poor man's Galapagos" is responsible.
We had half an hour to kill before the next part of the tour so we had a quick coffee and then did a bit of haggling with an amusing woman for a new bag for Kerry.
Oh! Women and bags.
I don't mind really, I had a great haggle with the woman and actually gave her the original asking price even though I beat her down a bit. It was so cheap to start with it didn't really matter.
I also figured that if Kerry carried on sneezing I might be looking for something to put over her head so this might come in useful.
The next three hours was spent driving around the desert to various viewpoints before winding up at a seafood restaurant for a late lunch.
I had something called a ceviche here, a lunchtime staple since Mexico but something I'd previously avoided having seen Kerry blanche when she tried one back in Honduras.
She had one mouthful and then proclaimed it revolting and an affront to her tastebuds and that put me off somewhat.
I'd been thinking I ought to try for myself though and here was my chance.
I was a bit apprehensive. Raw fish marinated in lime juice with raw red onion, particularly when denounced so animatedly by your beloved is easily preconceived as being something that will make you gurn and recoil.
It was a pleasant surprise then that I found it absolutely delicious and cursing myself for not trying it sooner.
Kerry had a fish curry and once we'd eaten we were back in the van and away to Pisco once more.
We left that van in a hurry on arrival, enough for me to leave my one and only jumper on the seat much to my irritation.
I hadn't realised that just yet though, I was too busy wrestling Kerry out of the way to have first go on the kazi, my raw fish speeding through my digestive system at a rate of knots.
The attractions come thick and fast in this part if Peru. Our next stop would be at an oasis in a desert, a perfect place to relax for a couple of days.
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