Sitka used to style itself as the Paris of the Pacific. That was in the first half of the 19th century when it was the largest European settlement in a broad region including what is now California. It was called that because several languages were regularly spoken, and it had a theater company. It fooled no one; it was nothing like Paris. In 1850 San Francisco took over that nickname and for a while New Caledonia also styled itself as the Paris of the Pacific. Occasionally Sitkans will refer to Sitka as the Paris of the Pacific, but it is either a joke or a historical reference.

We have seen several X of Y claims this month in brochures by tourism promotion agencies. I don’t think they are tongue in cheek. It’s unfortunate because it raises expectations, and you end up judging the place based on the comparison rather than on its own merits. The cathedral in Trujillo is tagged as the Sistine of the Coast, paired with the Sistine of the Andes in Cusco. I’ve not been to Cusco, but I have been to the Sistine in Rome. Trujillo does not benefit from the comparison. The PR hyperbole sets you up for disappointment. Pity, because it is worth seeing without the inflated expectations.

The same for the Gallipolis of Peru, that’s what tourist touts call the Ballestas Islands near Paracas. If you go thinking Gallipolis you will be disappointed, if you go with an open mind and take it for what it is, it’s cool.

The Ballestas are offshore of the Paracas National Reserve, a desert peninsula of both natural and archeological importance. The preserve’s biggest draw is the Candelabra, also known as the Trident, a giant geoglyph carved in the stone. The carving is 180 meters (600 feet) tall and dates, as best they can tell, from about 200 BC. It’s visible from 12 miles out to sea. No one knows what it is for. Is it related to the nearby Nazca Lines? Probably not. Is it religious? Is it tied to the stars? Is it an aid to navigation? No one knows. But it is worth the trip to the Ballestas just to get a view of the Candelabra, especially if you miss it from the ship on the sail in.

The sea sculpts the islands with arches, caves, and beaches. Hundreds of sea lions haul out there and give birth. Humboldt penguins and pelicans are on the beaches and on the hillsides, and the islands themselves are little whitecapped mountains, with bird s*#t rather than snow on top. There are lots of kids on our tour boat, many of them hugging stuffed penguins or seals (not stuffed sea lions) that they got along the boardwalk in Paracas, hoping to see the real thing.

Workers on the island mine the guano,

exported from Porto San Martin, where Volendam is docked, in the middle of the Paracas Reserve.

The town of Paracas is on a bay created by the hooked Paracas peninsula. It is one of those ports conveniently but not too conveniently distant from the city it serves, Pisco. It’s a beach resort, a boardwalk town, with a brick boardwalk lined shops selling souvenirs, stuffed animals and beach toys and bars pushing beer and pisco sours. Ice cream vendors work the crowd. Table vendors are selling crafts made from seashells and starfish. I love boardwalk towns. Kids are playing and people are happy. Music is a mix of pop from the bars and flute, guitar, or accordion music from buskers. Paul Simon made “El Condor Pasa” famous when he added English lyrics and played it with the Peruvian folk band Urubamba. The local buskers are returning the favor by playing Simon’s “Sound of Silence” on panpipes.

We sailed out with the ship’s ocean band playing, into another beautiful Pacific sunset.