Adrenaline in the Desert: Sandboarding and Dune Buggies in Huacachina

Huacachina sits just 5km from the city of Ica, about four hours south of Lima by bus. As someone who's spent his life appreciating good transportation systems, I'll tell you straight—Peru's long-distance buses are surprisingly comfortable, even for my bus driver's critical eye.

I hopped on a Cruz del Sur service from Lima to Ica (about 35 soles/£8), which featured seats that reclined further than most economy airline seats. After decades of piloting buses through Liverpool's narrow streets and Sydney's congested highways, being a passenger on these well-maintained coaches felt like a proper holiday in itself.

From Ica, it's a quick taxi ride to Huacachina. Now, as something of a self-appointed international taxi expert, I've seen my share of dodgy cabs, but the local taxis here are straightforward affairs. Negotiate before getting in—I paid 10 soles (about £2.50) for the short journey. The moment the dunes came into view, rising like golden mountains against the blue sky, I knew this weekend adventure would be worth every sol.

What makes Huacachina special isn't just the activities—it's the surreal setting. Imagine a small lagoon surrounded by palm trees, cafes, and hostels, completely encircled by massive sand dunes. It's like someone dropped a tiny tropical island in the middle of the Sahara. For a bloke who grew up with Liverpool's notorious drizzle, this desert landscape might as well have been another planet.

Let me tell you something about dune buggies in Huacachina—they're nothing like the orderly buses I drove for 35 years. These metal beasts are essentially roll-caged frames with massive engines, designed to tackle the steepest dunes while making passengers scream their lungs out. And the drivers? They're absolute lunatics—in the best possible way.

Most buggy tours depart in the afternoon (around 4pm) when the desert heat begins to subside and the light turns everything a magnificent gold. I booked mine through my hostel for about 85 soles (£20), which included two hours of buggy riding and sandboarding. Before climbing aboard, I strapped on my trusty action camera to capture the madness that was about to ensue. If you're planning to record your own desert adventure, make sure you have a secure mount—things get properly bumpy.

After a brief safety talk (which amounted to little more than "hold on tight"), we strapped ourselves into a 12-seater buggy. As a professional driver, I appreciated the sturdy harnesses, even while questioning the sanity of what we were about to do.

The moment our driver hit the accelerator, all my years of careful, measured driving went out the window. We charged up dunes at seemingly impossible angles, crested the top, and then plummeted down the other side at what felt like a 90-degree drop. My stomach lurched, my knuckles went white on the grab bar, and I found myself letting out involuntary whoops of delight that would have shocked my old bus colleagues back home.

The driver seemed to take particular joy in finding the steepest dunes and hitting them at just the right angle to make the buggy briefly airborne. It's the closest I've felt to being in a roller coaster without actually being in a theme park—except here, there are no tracks, just endless sand shaped by wind and daring drivers.

After the buggy ride comes the main event for many visitors—sandboarding. Our driver pulled up at the top of a particularly intimidating dune and unloaded what looked like basic snowboards and waxed wooden sleds from the back of the buggy.

"Have you done this before?" asked a young Australian in our group, probably noticing my salt-and-pepper beard and the way I was eyeing the steep slope with a mixture of excitement and terror.

"Mate, until two years ago, the most extreme sport in my life was navigating a double-decker through Liverpool during football matches," I replied, getting a laugh.

The technique for standing sandboarding is similar to snowboarding, but the sand creates more friction, making it slower and more forgiving for beginners. That said, I took one look at the proper sandboards and opted for the safer option—lying down on a wooden board, face-first like a penguin on a mission.

Our guide showed us how to wax the bottom of the boards using a surf wax to reduce friction. The more wax, the faster you go. Being a bit of a speed demon despite my age, I applied a generous amount.

Lying on my board at the crest of a dune that seemed to drop straight down to the valley floor, I had a moment of clarity: "Hunter, what are you doing, you daft old fool?" But before common sense could prevail, I pushed off.

The first few seconds were pure terror as I accelerated down the face of the dune. Then, as I found my balance and realized I could control my direction by shifting my weight, terror gave way to exhilaration. Sand sprayed up around me, getting absolutely everywhere—in my beard, my ears, my pockets—but I couldn't have cared less. I was flying down a desert mountain on a piece of wood, laughing like a schoolboy.

By my third run, I'd graduated to attempting the standing position on smaller dunes. I managed to stay upright for almost ten seconds before a spectacular wipeout that had the entire group cheering. Sand in places I didn't know I had? Worth it for the rush.

After hours of high-octane adventure, our dune buggy driver took us to a special spot high above the oasis for sunset. As someone who's witnessed sunsets from Himalayan peaks and Vietnamese beaches, I can tell you that a Huacachina sunset is something altogether different.

As the sun began its descent, the entire desert transformed. The dunes, which had been a blinding yellow under the midday sun, now glowed with rich amber and gold tones. Shadows lengthened dramatically across the sand, creating patterns that looked almost alien. The contrast between light and dark became so pronounced that the dunes appeared to be separate worlds—one bathed in warm light, the other cool blue shadow.

I pulled out my compact camera to capture the scene. After years of documenting my travels, I've learned that a good pocket-sized camera beats a phone any day for these special moments. The way it handled the dramatic desert lighting was impressive, capturing both the bright sky and the shadowed sand valleys.

Our group fell silent as we watched the sun sink behind the distant dunes. Even the youngest, most energetic members of our party seemed moved by the spectacle. There's something about witnessing day turn to night in such an extreme landscape that makes you feel small yet connected to something much larger.

"Not bad for a Thursday, eh?" I said to no one in particular, breaking the silence as the last sliver of sun disappeared and our driver signaled it was time to head back.

The return journey to the oasis was magical in its own right. As darkness fell, we could see the lights of Huacachina twinkling below like a tiny island of civilization in a sea of darkness. The temperature dropped rapidly—a reminder that deserts, for all their daytime heat, get properly cold at night.

Back at the oasis, with sand in every conceivable crevice and muscles aching in places I didn't know could ache, I was ready for a cold beer and a good meal. Huacachina may be small, but its concentration of backpackers and adventure seekers means there's a surprisingly lively nightlife scene.

Most hostels and hotels have their own restaurants and bars, but I preferred wandering around the lagoon to find a spot with a good view. I settled on a place called Casa de Arena, which offered a decent pisco sour (when in Peru, right?) and tables with a view of the water.

The menu featured plenty of traditional Peruvian dishes, but after a day in the desert heat, I was craving something simple and filling. I opted for lomo saltado—a stir-fry of beef, tomatoes, peppers, and onions served with rice and chips. At 25 soles (about £6), it was reasonably priced for a tourist area and hit the spot perfectly.

What I love about places like Huacachina is how quickly you form bonds with fellow travelers. At the next table was a retired couple from Canada who'd been traveling South America for six months. We swapped stories—them about their Galapagos adventure, me about driving buses through Sydney's rush hour—and shared tips about our next destinations.

For those looking to party harder, several hostels offer lively bars with music going well into the night. Wild Rover and Banana's Adventure seemed to be the centers of the backpacker party scene, though at my age, I was happy to enjoy a couple of drinks before retreating to my room at Hotel El Huacachinero (a mid-range option at about £30 per night that offered blessed quiet compared to the hostels).

Before turning in, I stepped outside for one last look at the oasis. The lagoon reflected the lights from surrounding buildings, and the massive dunes loomed as dark shadows against the star-filled sky. In my decades of travel, few places have offered such a dramatic contrast between natural landscape and human settlement. Tomorrow would bring a sore body and the journey onward, but tonight, I slept soundly with the satisfaction of another adventure well lived.