From streets to peaks: Why there's nowhere else like Peru

Peeling back the blackout curtains of my fifth-floor hotel room, I see dewy morning light meekly glowing over the Bay of Lima. There's a haze framing the coastal panorama - a relief to jetlagged eyes - as distant specks of surfers bob in the waves below. I'm at the five-star AC Hotel by Marriott in the affluent neighbourhood of Miraflores, where lycra-clad runners, pedigree dogs and families mill about on the nearby promenade. It's a peaceful outlook while smiling passersby go a long way to lift the moody weather.

I sit by a window looking over a lush courtyard garden at breakfast. So far, nothing has screamed out that I'm in South America; I'm greeted with a "good morning", I have an almond latte in front of me and the breakfast chef is already whipping up my omelette. The service is impeccable and of a five-star standard. But then there is a flicker, a quick movement, in the corner of my eye. Outside, among wet branches, a tiny hummingbird darts between vibrant flower heads barely two metres away - I've never seen one in real life. I keep perfectly still as a smile creeps across my face: this is the Peru I've come to see.

The history of Lima and its 11 million-plus residents is complex. After Spanish conquistadors founded the city in 1535 and solidified it as a Spanish colony, there were centuries of prosperity and trade with the Americas and Europe, devastating earthquakes, and both a civil war and one with Chile, before eventual independence in 1821. Looking past all of this, today, the city has steadily garnered an international reputation as a gastronomic hub with some of the world's best bars and restaurants. Critics and restaurant-goers alike are besotted. But is all the furore warranted?

The textured wooden shutters outside of Mayta restaurant are the first thing to catch my eye. The interior has a breezy Caribbean feel with tall palm fronds and rattan furniture where groups of finely dressed businesspeople and couples converse over decadent lunches. Sitting alone, I don't feel out of place, and before long, my charismatic waiter - who speaks perfect English - presents me with a pisco sour. It's deliciously tangy, herbaceous and an excellent aperitif. I start with the Ceviche Amazonico, comprising hunks of supple sea bass cured with leche de tigre, a lime juice, ginger, and onion marinade. I spoon up every last drop. As the empty dish is taken away, I'm told the liquid component I've gulped down is regarded as a potent aphrodisiac. I feel myself blush.

The main course arrives with a triumphant wave as a cast-iron pan is placed on the table. Perhaps Mayta's best-known dish, the Sarten De Pato is a modern riff on a Peruvian classic consisting of duck with rice cooked in beer and coriander. Looking like a paella but with choreographed pieces of duck from roasted leg, sliced breast, foie gras and a fried egg on top, it's a stunning piece of culinary art. The flavours, the textures and the aromas are all mind-blowing. Every component of this restaurant experience is faultless from arrival to the final bite. My only regret? I didn't leave room for dessert.

The following morning, I go to Barranco, a Bohemian neighbourhood just south of Miraflores. Passing along ornate gardens and twisting beachside motorways, I make it to the backstreets where colonial-style mansions - once part of a 19th-century beach resort - have become galleries and cafes. Murals, graffiti and street art frame each avenue and boulevard. At a kiosk, creative types sip espresso on upturned boxes between plumes of smoke, while further on, a modern cafe sports a line of laptops and iced lattes. The juxtaposition of old and new is impossible to ignore. Turning a corner, I come across the most striking linen-white manor and decide to take a photo. It's only afterwards I notice an oversized flag of Spain wafting limply at its gate. Not only a spectacular-looking embassy but a gentle reminder of a bygone era.

I meander Lima's central laneways and busy streets for the rest of the day. Designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1991, these networks of streets and plazas attract a healthy crowd of visitors year-round. The hallmark feature is the ornate wooden box balconies hanging out into the thoroughfares. These baroque-influenced structures were introduced by the Spanish, who in turn had taken them from the Moors. Originally from 12th-century Egypt, the wooden lattice screens cleverly diffuse strong light and promote ventilation while, most importantly, offering privacy for the occupants inside. They're sometimes referred to as jealousy balconies, allowing ladies of these houses to look down onto the streets without their beauty being spied upon. I gaze up, trying to detect any movement; there are simply dark slits and too many patterns to take in. They're enigmatic and oddly seductive. It's hard not to imagine the stolen looks and fleeting glances from centuries before.

I've always believed travelling can be a blend of indulgence and pushing the limits physically. After a few days of eating incredible food and attempting to find the best pisco sour, I'm keen to tackle some trails in the mountains around the Callejon de Huaylas, home to Peru's highest peak, Mount Huascaran. What better way to burn off some extra calories?

The eight-hour drive to the town of Huaraz is a spectacular display of geography. We pass immense coastal deserts before our slow and steady climb into the rugged, rocky Andes begins. Numerous mountain villages pass by, depicting a slow life where sleeping dogs, wandering sheep and smiling faces are the norm. As the capital of Peru's Ancash region, Huaraz is a distinct hub and popular base for exploring the area. On the streets, locals mill around as the odd international hiker appears here and there. The setting sun sends shadows across the Plaza de Armas as I sit back at a nearby cafe, decompressing from the twisting car journey and acclimatising to the elevation. I can already feel an ever-so-slight shortness of breath.

The Andino Club Hotel is my honest alpine-style stay in the mountains. There's an overt homage to Switzerland running throughout the decor and styling, fitting considering the number of Europeans who come to climb in the area. That night, the food outshines my expectations as I try wafer-thin alpaca carpaccio followed by flawlessly cooked pork tenderloin in mushroom sauce with Swiss potatoes rosti. Afterwards, I fall into bed.

Staring up at the sign above the tunnel - and squinting through falling snowflakes - it's incredible to see the road sign read: "Altitude 4736m." The Punta Olimpica is the second-highest road tunnel in the world. It dissects the Huascaran National Park, meaning a previously nine-hour car journey to the town of Chacas is now only two. Riccardo joins me, my mountain guide for the next couple of days, a short and brawny local with a deeply tanned complexion who shares his mountain wisdom to break up our time in the car. I enquire if I should take any altitude sickness medication; he gruffly shakes his head with a downturned mouth, "Yes, Westerners like you must be careful here. But Alex, if you eat well and drink water, you will not die." Some sobering but insightful intel.

Read more on Explore:

Chacas appears out of a blanket of mist, and as we park, shafts of sunlight begin to break through. At the Museo de Arqueologia de Chacas, roaming between artefacts with Riccardo acting as translator and offering his knowledge, I learn about the region's Recuay culture, which flourished here for 800 years, how it differed from the Incas and what transpired as the Spanish conquered these highland regions. Riccardo tells me this is his ancestry and casually claims he's puzzled why the outside world knows the Incas but often nothing more. Between the tangible history in these relics and the somewhat subjective words of my guide, I'm given a colourful and vivid depiction of life here centuries ago.

At 5am the next day, we head north towards the town of Yungay with the impressive Cordillera Negra to our left in the west and the much higher and snow-capped Cordillera Blanca to our right. Without warning, I catch my first glimpse of Mount Huascaran, looming at a staggering 6746 metres and glowing bright white. As we enter the Huascaran National Park, we stop to take pictures: the scale of the mountain is baffling. It's as if my eyes should see in widescreen to take it all in. We pass by iridescent lakes and a vast valley before we stop at the trail of Laguna 69, our five-hour return hike for the day. Riccardo and I start off strong across a long tussock-filled plain, which takes us to the base of an escarpment where the trail begins to head upwards. Placing his hand on my shoulder, he beams, "This is where you must take it slow, my friend. If you need to stop, we will stop. No problem. And please drink lots of water."

Over the next hour, we traverse slowly up to Lake Consuelo at 4297 metres, a place some struggling hikers are known to stop and go no further; this is their consolation. The next part is a stunning Tolkienesque plateau section, allowing me to regain myself for the final push. Riccardo points out chinchillas on a nearby outcrop, sitting and observing us as we pass; I comment they look cute. He giggles and jokes, "They are tasty, too."

The final ascent is a zigzag path where my breathing deepens and I stop almost every minute. I notice some other walkers ahead of us and they, too, are struggling; my body feels as if I'm almost sprinting when, in reality, I'm merely sauntering at best. And then the final stretch is in sight - the gratifying sign of Lag 69 - 4604 msnm (metres above sea level in English) comes into view. I'm elated. But it doesn't take long for a stronger emotion to sweep over me. The lake is staggering as it glimmers a mercurial teal and contrasts with the plunging rock-strewn glacier from which it has flown down. This is one of the most captivating things I have ever seen. "Well done, you did well," says Riccardo with a fist pump. I smile as a single tear trickles down my cheek.

Getting there: The quickest way to Lima is with LATAM Airlines or partner Qantas, which transits you through Santiago, Chile, and usually takes about 20 hours.

Staying there: Rates at the AC Hotel Lima Miraflores vary across room types and seasons, from about $200 per night. See marriott.com

A Superior Terrace Room at the Club Hotel Andino with a fireplace and jacuzzi starts from about $270 a night. See hotelandino.com

Hike the trails: There are numerous guides available in Huaraz, all with good levels of English and sometimes other languages. They not only keep you safe, but they'll also help with language barriers, assist with recommendations and are generally great to socialise with. See cordillerablanca.com.pe

Keep your fluids up: At considerable altitude, it is recommended the average adult consume 1-1.5 litres of extra water per day. Meaning if you already consume around this amount, you are essentially doubling your intake. Add in the fact you are hiking also, and it quickly adds up.

Take it easy: Regardless of how locals and other hikers handle the conditions, stopping to catch your breath is by no means admitting defeat.

Acclimatise: It can pay dividends to stay at different altitudes on the way up to allow your body to adjust before you take on any physical activities. The same can be said for going back down; once used to the mountain air, you can easily experience dizziness on a rapid descent to oxygen-rich air down on the coast.

Hire a guide: Often born and raised here, these guides are not only there to get you up and down the mountains in one piece, they are also fountains of knowledge regarding the history and culture of Peru's highlands.

Support the local community: Buy local products and gifts to take home. You'll find incredibly unique handmade souvenirs far better than anything in the departure lounge.

The writer travelled as a guest of PromPeru.