...he had a point. Ica is well and truly off the gringo trail. It's a tumbledown town consisting of a busy central plaza and a warren of narrow cobbled and dirt streets, all of which are jammed with tiny Daewoo Tico taxis – all of which have cracked windscreens – and pimped tuk-tuks with fake Nike-branded canopies and UV downlights.

Aside from soaking up some of this bizarro authentic Peruvian culture, there are only three reasons to visit.
1. It has the best pre-Incan musuem in Peru
2. It's near to, but is not Huacachina, an oasis town / tourist black hole nestled inside giant sand dunes
3. There surrounding countryside is famous for its Pisco distilleries

Our first day in town we took a taxi to the musuem. The taxi was a Daewoo Tico, of course, but is worth mentioning for its unique interior decoration. It had sun visors on both the top and bottom of the windscreen, reducing visibility to a 6 inch strip through which its driver glanced distractedly from time to time, and every square inch of the rest of the interior was covered with an array of interesting stickers: amongst the collage we spotted Mickey Mouse, Homer Simpson and Jesus.

Tough for any museum to follow that ride. When we arrived and paid to get in, they had to turn on the lights and air conditioning for us. It seems there aren't that many visitors these days, which is strange given the number of interesting artifacts still housed there. I say 'still', as in 2004 a number of these interesting artifacts were stolen, so now in between the vases and mummies there are giant 'wanted' photos of the missing pieces.

Unsurprisingly, one section that was left well alone by the thieves was the mummy exhibit. This consisted of a number of skulls, skeletons and fully intact mummies buried by pre-Incan and Incan societies. The burial customs and cold dry climate of Peru are perfect for preserving bodies, so many of the mummies still had skin, hair and fingernails. One had awesome dreadlocks.

From the museum we caught another Tico out to Huacachina – a quick 5km away from Ica. Almost as soon as you get out of town, huge sand dunes rise up out of the desert like waves. It's probably all in my head, but I could have sworn you could see them moving, shifting shape and creeping towards the city. The road that wound around them down into the oasis town was swallowed up in parts by the sands.

Huacachina is definitely ON the gringo trail. As we pulled into town, we heard the straining sounds of Liam Gallagher coming from a nearby bar (Oasis – get it?), and every couple of minutes we were offered sand boarding, 4x4 rides or pizza. The first two options seemed a bit too much like hard work in the desert heat, so we settled for option 3; pizza, in a nice bar by the side of the lake. The town is made up of a collection of restaurants, bars and hostels crowded around the oasis with their backs to the dunes. Unfortunately for some reason the lake smells of urine, so after a quick lunch we left and headed off in search of booze at one of the many pisco distilleries in the area.

The first bodega (Spanish for winery) we went to was shut, but our taxi driver 'knew a place' and drove us out into the sticks to find it. We drove about 20 minutes out of town, down dusty roads through mud brick villages and bone dry fields. Lots of wild dogs and suspicious locals. We were getting just a little bit nervous about our destination when we arrived at a small but well run bodega.

Pisco is made from grapes that are harvested once a year in March, so whilst we were able to try a range of spirits, the actual distillery wasn't running. Even if we had been in season, the actual modern distillery is shut to the public – instead we got to see the traditional stone press and still. Nonetheless, the process was fascinating. Grapes used to be juiced by foot and wooden press, and the resultant liquid poured into amphorae that were left out in the sun to ferment. The strange shape of these jars enabled the sediment to settle out of the liquid as well as providing a solid base to withstand the frequent Peruvian earthquakes (more of which later). Having fermented for a couple of weeks, the mildly alcoholic liquid was poured into a giant stone pot still and heated to distill and produce the finished pisco. This was definitely the most rustic distillery I've seen, and you can taste this roughness in the finished liquid. Sarah and I tried the full range of piscos and wines from the bodega, and were beginning to sway a little by the time we piled into the cab to go home. Our favourite was a pisco known locally as 'Baby maker' – due to the effect it has on the local population 9 months after its release each year.

After the afternoon drinking we decided to have an early night; however it wasn't quite as restful as we had hoped. We both woke up at 3.45 to find our entire room shaking from side to side. Earthquake! We jumped out of bed, and remembering our earthquake survival skills from TV, ran to stand under the doorway. Retrospectively, I realised this would have been a more effective response had I put some clothes on first. As it was, I was starting to consider having to make a nude escape into the street when the shaking stopped. I quickly fell back to sleep, leaving Sarah awake for the rest of the night to worry about aftershocks and watch BBC News 24 for “breaking news” of the earthquake. Luckily there were none, and no mention on the news either. In the taxi to the bus station the following morning the cabbie casually told us that it was only a 5.7 and that it had hit Chincha, 100km north of Ica. No-one was badly hurt, and due to cleverly shaped amphorae no pisco was spilt either.