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Potholes. Gangs. Rolling red lunar landscapes. A ramshackled fishing village. Abandoned skeletons of concrete. And a wave that could almost bring you to tears. I had no idea what to expect when I left alone for Peru's Chicama. Nothing other than the obvious-a left hand break renowned as the longest in the world. And thats all it took. The promise of something seemingly unimaginable and perfect. Peru is a stunning country renowned by many for its mountains, llamas, Ayahuasca retreats, and Machu Picchu. However, as is lesser known by the average tourist, Peru also has some world class surf. In fact, for many surfers Peru is rarely heard or talked about. Destinations like Indonesia, Hawaii and Fiji are drooled over for their sun-soaked reef breaks and vibrant jungle aesthetics. However, Peru's waves sit amongst a far rockier and less tourist-paved backdrop, with the Humboldt current creating waters suited for wetsuits exclusively. The coastlines are mostly wind-scoured, and lack of constant visitors means getting between places is quite difficult, usually by a string of connected busses. Furthermore, the country's burgeoning coke industry following tightened holds on Colombia and Mexico has led to increased gang presence in certain areas, tending to deter the travellers who pay pious attention to one-off news headlines. Nonetheless, I knew once I was in South America this was a place I had to go. Having dreamed of adventure for years during my schooling in Australia, the talk of a wave that was once ridden for over 10 minutes certainly warranted a look. We had already been travelling in a group around South and Central America for 3 months, and this would be the first time I'd set off alone. Now by no means is South America as dangerous as people make it out to be. It has its complex issues, and is still struggling to overcome them. However, the people are more than welcoming to people willing to breathe the continent's rich life in. The tourist paths are well paved, and the infrastructure is growing rapidly. Nonetheless, it is a continent which still experiences large rates of poverty and a strong organised crime presence. While these can mostly be avoided by the use of common sense and respect for the area, it does not warrant you completely safe. Leaving alone for a town 5 hours from the closest hospital, where local gangs had muscled residents for the touristic value and where I'd be completely alone as a fresh 18 year old, I would be lying to say I wasn't nervous when I said goodbye to my good friends as I stepped on that first bus. But the swell charts read well. And the longest wave awaited. When you first arrive in the town, the feeling is mostly confusion. After driving for hours through barren desert, with nothing but delipated houses and electrical poles, you arrive in the Chicama's 'grand' central street.. The streets are empty. Completely. Many shops are boarded up. And everything is silent. You can't even hear the waves. I stepped off the bus with a Canadian I had met during the long commute, and a few locals carrying sacks of food back that they'd bought in the city. 'I guess we should check the surf,' I remember the Canadian saying. We walked a few blocks down, passing a few small restaurants and grabbing ourselves each a $3 Pilsen cerveza longneck. I remember the sun shining bright, and a light breeze drifting up from the sea, which sat far below under the cliffs as reached the edge of a wooden walkway. We both put our bags down and gazed over the break we'd both heard about for years, and were finally laying our own eyes on. It's hard to describe the beauty of it. You wouldn't even need to surf though to understand it if you were there yourself. The red moon-like landscape, which drifts for miles, falls away at the edge of the country, and gives way to a sparkling Cyan coloured ocean. The wave is breaking. Perfectly. Further than we can both physically see as it wraps around the rocky cliffs. There are three people we can see surfing. Chicama dances in silence.