The main square in Arequipa is glorious. The Spanish influenced colonial buildings are built from a white volcanic rock, sillar, which sparkles in the sun and the surfaces are decorated in baroque style, with confidence and bravura. Once again danger is lurking, the two towers of the cathedral are made from plastic because of damage from regular earthquakes although you would never know it, even when somebody points it out. You can walk through the colonades and archways and across the gardens among Peruvians of all ages who love being outside and socialising. If you are lucky enough to be there on a saints day, as I was, you will see the whole of Arequipa on parade, chefs in their whites and tall hats, children showing off their pets, representatives of every part of the community demonstrating their pride in their work, their beliefs and their city. A Peruvian will always dress in the best that they can afford, with colour and style.

One of the glories of Arequipa is Santa Catalina Monastery. This is a beautiful still haven of coloured courtyards and flowers in which you can wander around and lose yourself, exploring hidden corners, taking photographs or settling down to read a good book.

There is need all around. Tiny children are selling matches and toting around shoeshine kits and if you sit in one of the streetside cafes for a sandwich you may find yourself, as I did, giving the remains of your food to a elderly man who begs from you, holding out his sack politely for anything you may not want. The cafes are well used to this system and will wrap your leftovers so that they can be passed on. We visited a children’s home and school, Casar Hogar San Jose where street children are helped, taught, and given a chance for a fresh start. They were brilliant, full of life, energy and creativity and they loved the English country dancing which I taught them. Some of their stories were heartbreaking. The girls are brought down into the city when their desperate families are promised that they will be given an education and looked after. This promise can turn into a life of slave labour and sometimes abuse which causes them to flee onto the streets.

I was able to visit one of the most famous of the Inca mummies, who is kept in a small museum in the city. When you are given the chance to look into the face of a 12 year old girl who was given as an offering to the Gods and died up on the slopes of Mount Ampato somewhere around 1440 it is quite heartstopping. You can’t help but wonder about her last journey and her final thoughts and feelings. Juanita is beautifully preserved and sits curled up in a glass case. There is a sense of calm around her now, a sense that she is waiting for something or someone and if you look for long enough you begin to feel that she might move.

It is a magical place and I long to go back.