Boggy Tah!

I stopped bothering to book hostels in advance somewhere around Argentina- it just seemed pointless when there were always free beds and booking in advance costs like a whole 1 pound 50!! I know. Shocking. And for the whole of my trip from thereon in the ethos served me well. That is until, after my epic 24 hours bus journey and a following game of taxi lies (blimming taxi dropped me a whole 3 streets away from where I was meant to be!), I got to Bogota. I was supposed to be staying at a hostel called the Cranky Croc, but when I got there I was told they were full. Luckily this was one time the weather worked to my advantage as, due to the fairly dire flooding in Bogota and the epic mission it was to get there at the moment, a group of nine hadn't shown up. With minimal looking pathetic and smelling of 24 hour bus journey I managed to persuade the receptionist they probably weren't coming and wheedled my way into a dorm bed. Exhausted I was good for nothing that night, and instead decided to make an early start the next day.
I started my exploration of Bogota by getting lost; but only because the street names on my map were totally different from the street names on the streets. However being a sensible girl with a winsome nature I was soon orientated and at the Collection Botero... an art gallery mainly housing the work of Columbia's own Fernando Botero, but also housing some Chegall (a personal favourite) and some Monet. The art gallery (pictured top) did not disappoint and I was so distracted wondering around the beautiful old building that I failed to notice the skies open and the torrential rain start again. However it wasn't easy to ignore for long as the LOUDEST thunderstorm I had ever heard started in earnest. Finished with the gallery this rather literally put the dampers on the rest of the Bogota exploration. Thankfully I had already traversed a fair amount of the city getting lost, including finding the cathedral and the public buildings (2nd down). Luckily I found a sweet shop to hide in until the storm died down a little- I had a tremendously enjoyable hour or so enjoying my book and sampling the lovely hand made sweets (GORGEOUS sweets in Bogota). Unfortunately the rain was unceasing and I was forced to return to the hostel. Luckily by about 6pm the rain abated and I was able to go out and see the Christmas lights of Bogota by night, and even explore the cathedral which I hadn't been able to get in earlier (beautiful).
All in all I enjoyed Bogota, although would prefer to g back when the city was less soggy!
I however didn't enjoy the airport the next day when the Columbian officials tried to get me to pay $300 in cash for a visa to get into America. Luckily my Spanish was good enough to explain that I knew they were lying and to decline their kind offer! Despite the hustling, I was very sad to be leaving the continent for the first time in 5 months and the journey into Miami was actually fairly emotional.

Not-so-perpetual motion...

The journey from Salento to the local town of Armenia, and the bus station, takes 45 minutes. I was travelling with my new friend Stacey who was leaving for Medellin the same evening I was off to Bogota... when we got there the next bus either of us could get on wasn't for another 2 hours... so we spent an enjoyable few hours listening to Reggaetone and drawing maps of Australia so Stacey could populate them with notes about places for me to visit. I got on my bus to Bogota around Midnight, the bus arriving the pre designated 1/2 hour late. The journey from Armenia to Bogota takes six hours. That is, the journey takes six hours when it isn't rainy season and the police don't shut the roads. We had diven for roughly 30 minutes when the police stopped the bus and told us we couldn't continue our journey until the next day- mmm... lovely night on a stationary bus. However, when I saw the road the next day I was relieved by the decision; flanked by steep cliffs on both sides the officials had been worried the torrential rain would cause landslides. As an added bonus the only film onboard was the Godfather in Espanol (el Padrino), which we watched the first 15 minutes of 3 times before someone thankfully snapped the disk in two because it wouldn't stop repeating.
We travelled for almost 4 hours before we were stopped again- the police had set up traffic lights on a flooded section of road and it had caused a major tailback. Not normally an issue unless the sleep deprived bus driver had just been cavalierly overtaken by an idiot whilst on a dangerous section of road. Road rage is something of a different beast in Columbia, and once we had caught up with the truck in question the driver slew the coach across the road and casually climed out of the cab with his machete. Apparently this was a signal as every bloke aboard, including the nice old bloke next to me who had been telling me about his grandchildren, also took out a machete (not joking... EVERY man on that bus was travelling with a knife of some sort) and joined the driver on the road. The guy in the truck got out of his cab and had a good swing at one of the passengers before processing how outnumbered he was, scarpering back to the truck and reversing up the road and round the corner.
The remainder of the journey was rather uneventful after that. Although I did get to try authentic Columbian cuisine when we stopped to refuel (fried plantane with an arepia (cheesey potato cake) and beef sausage) plus lots of coffee. Actually I didn't pay for any of that as the Columbians (friendliest country I've been to, despite the machetes) insisted on buying everything for me, and kept apologising for the inconvenience and telling me that Columbia was actually very efficent, and the best country in the world. I actually loved Columbia, and it was this experience of the lovliness of the general populace that really made it such a special country.
I arrived into flooded Bogota a mere 24 hours after setting out, but none the worse for wear, and having quite enjoyed the experience of spending some time with Columbian people.

The zone of coffee

Several buses and a collectivo ride (that was slightly too long for comfort) later and I was in Salento. Salento is only a tiny little town, but its managed to get itself on the backpacker trail because you can go there and stay on a coffee plantation, which might not appeal to everyone- but I was DEAD excited! Plantation House was a bit of a step down comfort-wise from some of the hostels I had managed to find along the way, and my stay was made fairly uncomfortable on my first night when my Korean roomate decided to leave all windows and doors open and lights on while I was out exploring the town, effectively creating mosquito city. Although it has to be said that, after the jungle, this was only the second time I had slept under a mosquito net on my whole trip- not bad going considering that I was expecting to spend six months under one! My first night, post exploration, was spent getting to know the other travellers staying at the hostel- a fairly easy task as Plantation House has a lovely communial living area with a big roaring log fire and they were all gathered around it. They turned out to be a group of travellers who had all met while voyaging into Columbia by boat from Panama (SO on my to-do list for next time) and seemed like my kind of people considering the amount of rum and beer around the place. And so settled in with my new friends of Ted the New Yorkiest of New Yorkers, Sandra fluent in 6 languages and IN CHARGE, Mark the Dutch ex naval serviceman (nothing to talk to him about), Andrew the lovely Welshman, Stacey the ginger Ozzy and Carl the stereotypical American, I enjoyed an evening in front of the fire and then a slightly buzzy nights kip. I didn't get much of a chance to make friends with my Korean roommate as she left the next day complaining of the high prevalence of wildlife in our locale, ironically the next night there were hardly any mosquitos.. hmm...
I spent my first day in Zona Cafe hanging out with my new friends. Literally. In hammocks. I'm very pro hammock, I think they cheer you up no matter your mood. They especially cheer you up when you doze off in yours (only for a second) and your new friends wrap it around you and swing you unitl you threaten to be violently ill on them. The majority of the day was actually spent making plans for the next day when, along with new arrival Alejandro from Peru and a nice couple from Holland, we had decided to do 'the big hike' . 'The big hike' is a 13 mile track during which you scale several small mountains (read two fairly steep hills) and you get to see the world's tallest palm trees (Photo of the gang to the right, unfortunately sin Sandra who was too ill to join us). It required planning because the trail is normally done by wusses on horseback, and is normally only about 6 miles, we had basically chosen to tack another walk on the end. But Columbia is famous for its landscape, we were all young and fit (apart from Ted who was an obstinant but unfit 50 who has had a triple heart bypass... but why mention that during the planning when you can wheeze it at mile 9 the next day) and apparently very ambitous. We did leave one tiny detail out of the planning phase; realising that due to it being the end of the rainy season the track would be muddy we had hired welly boots to hike in, in fact we had gone out of our way to get local knowledge on the surrounding area. What we had not counted on was it being MUDDY. Like you've never seen it before. AND cunningly left off the Columbian map was the torrential hurricane of a white water river we would have to cross THREE TIMES, mainly because its normally a small stream. The first part of the trek was entertainingly slow... all of us wading through the mud like stop motion animations, it took roughly 2 hours longer to reach our lunch point than we had planned for... at this point it wasn't actually dangerous, just hilariously messy (ever seen a real city boy lose his boot in the mud? It was a full 5 minues before anybody could stop laughing long enough to help the poor bloke). However, it swiftly became dangerous after lunch when, being waaay past the mid point (ie. no turning back) the skies opened and torrential downpour ensued. This was good in the sense that we weren't muddy anymore but bad in the sense that the track was swiftly turning into a swamp which was becoming impossible to walk through. We had to make a choice: to turn back and hike the nearly nine miles back to the start on paths that were bad but passable, or press on for the next four miles with the distinct advantage of actually seeing the palm trees, but with the steepest part of the trail still to traverse and unknown path quality. It was at this point Ted threw his health issues into the mix complaining of heart pain and we made the decision to press on with Andrew scouting ahead and Mark and I bringing up the rear. Luck was with us and although the path was terrible (climb with your hands and feet terrible) for the first 700m after that it bacame paved (also not on the map). Actually it became paved at roughly the same time the rain stopped. Ah sweet irony. And so, we journeyed down, joking and laughing in only the way people who've recently been contemplating the effectiveness of the Columbian Search and Rescue service can. And we were lucky enough that the mist began to clear so we did eventually get to see the famous palm trees. I have to say that apart from the few moments of serious contemplation about the potentailly mortal danger we were in (I joke not- the next day the path was officially shut, as was Cuidad Perdida in the North of the country as Columbia experienced its heaviest rainfall in many years and started to flood), it was one of the most enjoyable days of my trip. But I am a bizarre individual. Needless to say there was mas ron that evening and many tales of heroism by the fire. Plus also many tales of Ted, who repeately kept telling everyone that New Yorkers simply aren't bred for hiking, and had offered to haunt me if he died during the climb.
I was in Zona Cafe for a futher day before catching my evening collectivo out. A nice early run cured the hangover, and the rest of the day was spent indulging in locally produced fruit, admiring the coffee plantation and saying a too-soon goodbye to my new friends. And then to Bogota, and the discovery that the rain hadn't quite finished messing with my plans...

Cali... Colombia's most dangerous city...

So it was in a torrential rain storm that I arived in Cali, planning to stay at a hostel called Pelican Larry. There are several problems with trying to stay in a hostel called Pelican Larry in Columbia; firstly noone in Columbia speaks English (as a point of pride mostly) so the words 'Pelican Larry', apart from being bizarre, meant nothing to the taxi driver whatsoever. I also got to play the fun game of taxi lies where the taxi driver tells you he knows where the hostel is but actually has no idea a) what you said, or b) where you want to go. This led to us driving around Cali for a good 30 minutes before I realised from looking at my map that it couldn't possibly be that far to the hostel. At this point I told the taxi driver the address I had in my Lonely Planet book of lies, which he swiftly dispatched me to. Unfortunately the hostel was either no longer there or totally fictional to begin with as I was stood outside of what was an obviously empty building. Opting for a different tack I asked the driver to take me to the nearest hostel he knew in the area figuring that even if I didn't like the look of it I could figure out alternate digs when I had my bearings. This actually turned out to be something of a stroke of luck as the hostel he took me to was owned by a really nice English guy, was spotlessly clean and very tiny so I was only sharing a room with one other person! Perfect! Ironically I hadn't originally chosen this hostel because the Lonely Planet had given it a bad review. From this exprience I learned that the Lonely Planet is well deserved of its reputation for being a book of lies; that my policy of never taking a taxi when there is public transport available is an excellent one not to broken again (only broken this time because of the extremely low prices of taxis in Columbia); and that suddenly Columbians can't understand your Spanish when you're saying 'I'm not paying all that fare because this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't lied to me in the first place'.
Lots of people don't bother with Cali because the ever reliable guide that is the Lonely Planet chose to describe it as 'the most dangerous city in Columbia' (Actually statistically speaking Cali is the third most dangerous city in Columbia after Medellin and Bogota; Bogota being the 5th most dangerous city in the world, just before Rio at 6! Caracas in Venezuala is the most dangerous and one of the many contributing factors as to why I never made it into the country- it is, however, on my 'to do list for the future). I chose to go there because I was told by my friends who have spen a decent amount of time in the country that it was one of the best cities to get a real taste of Columbian life in a short space of time, plus it was on my way to Zona Cafe which I was dying to visit. Cali turned out rain free within the hour, and along with my solo roomate Marina I was off to explore the city having taken advice on where to go from the hostel owner. Marina and I had an entertaining morning firstly navigating the language barrier, as she spoke German and limited English and my German is shocking... we sucessfully comprimised in the end by speaking Spanglish and traded stories about our travels. First order of the day was breakfast, and Columbia has the distinct advantage over the rest of the continent as they have embraced vegetables as a source of sustinence AND sell food other than empanadas. In order to celebrate this fact we treated ourselves to these wonderful balls of rice and spinach with beef in the centre. Absolutely beautiful with LOTS of chilli sauce. We explored the local park which was lovely, a fact only slightly detracted from by the incredibly populous police presence. There are police EVERYWHERE in Columbia, like you've never seen them before; I'm all for this as we found out that there used to be lots of murdering in the park, and we were pro not experiencing that aspect of Columbian culture.
After the murder park we visited the Old Town which was beautiful and exctly like I had always pictured Columbia. We climbed a hill overlooking the city to see the view and found a beautiful little church hosting a wedding. The wedding was quite something to see as Columbian women, in sharp contrast to their Peruvian and Bolivian counterparts, are always dressing in tiny skirts and very high heels (even for church it would seem!) like something out of Sex in the City. Actually more like Liverpool on a Saturday night. On our way back to the hostel we stopped to get some fruit, Marina ordering fresh mango with lime juice and salt (highly recommended) and me going for a fruit salad. I was asked if I would like my fruit prepared the 'Columbian way' and, always game for a laugh, I said yes. I was presented with fruit covered in dulce de leche, condensed milk and cheese. Much better than you would think, but I'll stick to the mango next time.
The afternoon was spent walking the new part of the city, which is basically a giant Columbian take on an American shopping outlet, but it was kind of nice to be back in a country where such things can exist. The evening was spent with some Irish Lads watching Quantum of Solace with popcorn; I personally was delighted by their film choice as it a) gave me an opportunity to stare at Daniel Craig for the first time in months, and b) gave me an endless topic of conversation as the film is set in La Paz but so obviously wasn't filmed there. We spent the rest of the night talking about all the great places to go in Bolivia not visited by James Bond, which turned out to be everywhere in Bolivia as they filmed in Chile.
The next day, post very enjoyable run, I decided to head for Zona Cafe as I knew I wanted to spend at least three days there and 2 in Bogota, and was running out of time before my flight. So it was back to the bus station (with a more knowledgeable, albiet 18 year old, taxi driver this time) and onto Armenia, to catch a connecting bus to the tiny coffee growing town of Salento in the heart of Columbia.

A Transitional Phase

And so, on a mission to escape Equador pre census, but equally to still manage to get to Otavalo to experience the 'not to be missed' Saturday market, I was up at 6am the next day to brave a journey to the border mainly utilising public transport...
This is terrifying for two reasons: reason one is that South Americans consider a vehicle full when the doors will no longer shut due to people being squashed in them; reason two is that the Equadorian public transport system, once you've left the safety of Quito, appears to be modeled on that of rural Lincolnshire. To cut a long story short my journey to Otavalo involved several buses, many many hours, some small broken bones and other minor crush injuries, and an unfortunate asphyxiation incident when a rather large woman mistook me for a seat.
Unfortunately it turned out that Otavalo was something of a disappointment. Now this really is partially my own fault. Having been on the continent for such a long time at this stage I had already seen many a market, I had already seen traditional Equadorian dress (a minor variation on Bolivian tradional dress, and an even MORE minor variation on Peruvian traditional dress) and I had already experienced the thrill of feeling too guilty to haggle the one banana you're tring to buy down from 15p to 10p. I had also made the inexcusable rookie error of trusting the Lonely Planet book of lies once again on a matter that was subjective rather than factual. I would highly reccommend the Otavalo town market experience to anyone who didn't have long in South America and wanted to see a market. The markets really are spectacular out there and this is no exception. However, I would argue that just because its one of the largest doesn't make it the best, and there really isn't much that makes Otavalo unique beyond its size and the horrendous inconvenience it is to get to it from the bus station.
Just as a side note my favourite three markets would have to be: the Market in Arequipa which is fairly small but has everything you could possibly want and is full of lovely Peruvian treats and friendly locals; and the two markets in La Paz- the Witches Market for the novelty of seeing dried llama foetuses, toilet bowls and live salamanders all for sale on the same stall... a place where you can truly get everything- evidenced by one memorable shopping trip where we purchased ping pong balls, a chicken outfit, 3 meters of chiffon, jelly mix, foam wolf masks and a minature Twister set; and the market at Al Alto, which must be one of the highest markets in the world... an incredible experience as its the biggest continuous outdoor market I've ever seen and you wonder around spaced out from the altitude, alternately freezing and boiling as the sun goes behind clouds.
Anyway, Otavalo wont be making it onto my favourites list, and with that realisation complete I was off to investigate how I was going to get into Columbia before nightfall. The man at the bus station had bad news for me- two more local buses to get anywhere near the border, and even then I would still be 6k away. Resigned to my fate (I didn't even consider turning back... seemed a waste of a perfectly good 'life experience') I spent the next 5 hours traversing what can only have been about 30 miles to the border town of Tucan. It was here I met a fellow Englishman called Alan, which was partialy a relief because it meant not having to foot the cost of a taxi by myself... but partially worrying too as, to be brutally honest, he seemed a little strange, if harmless.
The Columbian border at Iquitos is rumoured on the Traveller Trail to be fraught with difficulty, the Columbians apparently being sticklers for searching ALL your luggage or accusing backpackers of being drug runners and refusing entry. I had been given some fairly sound advice in Peru to make sure I got 'tourist stamps' in my passport prior to trying to enter Columbia; these are passport stamps that evidence that you've been to places like Maccu Picchu or Midad del Mundo and add a little credo to your claim that you haven't spent the last 4 months sneaking cocaine in and out of Bolivia or something (ironically most of the cocaine in La Paz is brought in by Columbians, rarely by backpackers). One way or another, after examining my documents for an epic amount of time I was cleared for entry, and still with my escort of odd Alan, we were into Columbia. Once we had got a collectivo into the centre of Iquitos I decided to quiz Alan on his massive bag, you know, the kind that looks suspiciously like it might contain a corpse- thankfully it turned out that he was just carrying his paraglider around with him ("I think paragliding brings you closer to God both literally and metaphorially"), which was a small relief.
By this point I had decided I would like to see the town of Cali as my first stop in Columbia. Partly because I had heard good things from other travellers, and partly because the Lonely Planet was so negative about the city I felt it must have something to recommend it. So Alan and I borded a bus after a mere 3 hours in the fairly pretty town of Iquitos (right) and were off to Cali on a night bus only made eventful by Alan telling me his life story ("and so after three years of unemployment I met a Columbian girl over the internet and moved here, unfortunately a month later she moved to Scotland"), and being woken at 3am by a Columbian police officer to check our papers (although this turned out to be standard practise throughout Columbia so nothing to worry about).
The next morning dawned on a rain- sodden Cali and it was time for me to part ways with Alan and have my first real taste of Columbian life...

The centre of the world (Quito)

Not many people know that Quito literally translates as 'the centre of the world' in the language of the Caras. Apparently. The guide at la Mitad del Mundo told me so. Just because I now cannot find any evidence to back this up doesn't mean that its not true, although it might go a substantial way towards explaining why not many people know.
Equador does mean 'equator' in Spanish though.
ANYWAY... I arrived in the Equadorian Capital of Quito about 4pm in the afternoon the very same day I saw Lonesome George in the morning (turns out air travel is MUCH faster than bus travel, who knew?!) and set about the task of trying to find my hostel. I had been recommended a hostel called the Secret Garden to stay in in Quito, which turned out to be a little gem of a place with a gorgeous rooftop balcony with impressive views over the city (see left for Quito at night) and FREE coffee (best I'd had in a long time). I was marginally less impressed about being back in the land of cold showers, and about the fact that Quito was in the grips of a rainy season that saw the skies open at 3pm sharp each afternoon. The temperature had also taken a slight dive by this point, 17oC feeling a tad chilly after the gorgeous Galaps- I was especially suprised by this as the equator crosses Equador only a few miles from the city... but apparently proximity to the sun doesnt guarantee heat waves all year! Depite all this I was somewhat enamoured with the Equadorian Capital; it was clean, the public transport was sophisticated and functional (not that I dont miss jumping in and out of the insane collectivos in Bolivia still) and the architecture was impressive to say the least.
I spent my first evening exploring the locale: The city is divided into three sections; Old Town, New Town and La Mariscal (known on the trail as Gringolandia... as it is sin tourist attractions but con many bars and therefore many westerners.) Not especially having and desire to stay in La Mariscal, and being far more enamoured with the idea of staying in an original UNESCO World Heritage site (the largest historic city centre in Latin America) I was in Old Town, and it didn't disappoint. The photo on the left shows the beautiful cathedral that was only a few streets fom where I was staying. My second day in the city I was determined to get out to La Mitad del Mundo (literally translated as the centre of the earth) where the equator crosses Equador. Here the ever friendly and helpful Equadorians hve built a museum about the unusual phenomenon that happen at the equator, the history of the site and have painted a giant line across the floor, over which you can take a not-at-all-touristy picture of yourself (see below). I had gone to visit the museum with a lad I'd met in the hostel called Aaron who was mixed race Ozzy and Chinese, which made him look just South American enough to be mistaken for my guide all day long. A fairly entertaining set of cicumstances as he spoke no Spanish so I was having to reply to all the stall owners who were trying to persuade him to take the stupid English woman into their hammock shop. We actually had a fantastic time in the centre of the Earth, very much enjoying watching water run directly down the plughole (instead of to the left or right as it does anywhere else in the entire world), and had lots of fun trying to balance an egg on a nail (possible everywhere but much easier on the Equator apparently!). That night I enjoyed the views from the hostel's rooftop bar and didn't enjoy the sunburn I had picked up during the day, as apparently proximity to the sun might not guarantee heat, but does always warrant spf30. ApparentlyI really didn't learn anything in La Paz.
My final day in Equador was destined to be the very next day, as Sunday saw the governement conducting a national census that would mean EVERYONE had to stay indoors all day, and I couldn't help but feel that would be a waste of the little time I had left. So I was up bright and early in order to get the bus to Otavalo where apparently the Saturday market 'simply couldn't be missed' (Lonely Planet book of lies 2008), and then on to the Columbian frontera...

The Galapagos Islands ('Nuff said really)!!

Part One...
My flight touched down in Baltra at about 12 in the afternoon and I was greeted by the second smallest airport I've ever seen, plus my tour guide for the next 5 days who I caught in the act of pulling his t shirt above his belly and rubbing his stomach as I walked through 'arrivals' (this is something all South American men over the age of 50 do in public and without warning whenever it takes their fancy, takes some getting used to I can tell you...). Also waiting for further arrivals for our boat trip were American mother and son Sis and Mark, and after about 20 mins the next flight bought in the remainder of the passengers we were waiting for and we were off to explore the Angelito. The boat was out of this world, especially when compared to the digs I've been frequenting the last few months. The luxury yacht housed upto 16 passengers, but due to some last minute cancellations from Americans too scared to travel to Equador after the recent coup (the reason for my cheekily scooped last minute spot!), we were only 13 onboard for the 5 day cruise. I was sharing a cabin with a lady called Sue who's a documentary filmaker from Scotland, whose wicked sense of humour made me warm to her immediately. We were also joined by some couples from Germany, a young American guy called Don who was great fun, and an older English couple called Bob and Vera who were the life and soul of the party regailing us all with tales of their time working at Outward Bound centres.
Once aquainted the afternoon was filled with a visit to nearby North Seymour Island, where the Galapagos really lived up to its reputation when our way was immediately blocked by a sea lion feeding her pup on the path directly infront of us. Conditioned by a lifetime of not approaching animals, the group hung back, while our unaffected Galapagos- born guide nochelantly stepped over the feeding mother and beckoned us closer. The wild animals truly werent bothered by our presence, a fact that was to remain true for the totality of my visit to the archipegilo.
That first island visit encapsulated the Galapagos full on; we saw boobies, frigates, marine and land iguanas (also can I have a little support here... that word is phonetically pronounced ig-u-anas, yes? Not ig-wanas? Is that another horrible Americanism or have I gone (more) insane?) as well as a pleantiful supply of sea lions (which I couldn't get bored of looking at if I had a lifetime of it). The photo of the land iguanas to the left is taken without zoom, just to give you some indication of how close we were to the wholly-unbothered animals. It was absolutely amazing to me how incredibly comfortable animals could be in immediate human company when they have had no experience of abuse at the hands of homo sapiens.
Later that afternoon it was time for snorkeling (which the crew of the Angleito put daily into our schedule, as the marine life of the Galapagos is almost as amazing to behold). Being the brave (read stupid and broke) Brit that I am I forwent the wetsuit hire and snorkeled just in swimmers and a tshirt. Despite being equator adjacent the sea in the Galapagos is suprisingly cold (read freezing), but the unrivalled snorkelling opportunity soon took my mind off my shivering flesh as I realised I was swimming with marine iguangas, angel fish and, about 10m further on, a stray hammerhead shark that hilariously made Don inhale about half a litre of sea water in fright and suprise as it swam under him. Waiting for us on the boat on our return was gloriously rich hot chocolate and an absolutley delicious dinner encompassing local fare with favourites from home, and as such was the menu for the whole week, nicely balancing cervicé one day with spahetti bol the next. The evening saw a short boat journey to the next islands we were to visit, Chinese Hat and Bartholemew, and then once the journey was over and we were safely at anchor we were delighted to find a sea lion catching 40 winks on the wet landing area on the back of the yacht. Everything in the islands just seemed to be magical.
We started the next day on Chinese hat, which isn't actually big enough to be considered an island in its own right but was good fun to walk to totality of, and I could happily have watched the sea lions frolicking in the surf for the rest of my life. It was here we first really got to witness the dynamic of a sea lion family as the Alpha male played chasing games with a pup in the surf and then chased off an intrusive other male from his territory with a distinctive barking. We also witnessed lots of sea lion pups left alone on Chinese hat, which we were informed was standard practise for the mothers while they went off fishing, sometimes for several days at a time (where are the fathers one might ask? Sea lion males take no responisibility for the feeding or care of young pups.).
The afternoon visit and snorkeling was from the island of Bartholemew which is much bigger than Chinese Hat but has a small colony of PENGUINS! Which we were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of (the larger colonies residing on islands the boat wasn't scheduled to visit). The snorkelling in the afternoon was from the gorgeous beach at Bartholemew which reduced the visibility but meant that I had a chance to get some swimming in in this absolutely gorgous surround.
Back on the boat that night we were visited by two sea lions on the wet deck which made for the evenings entertainment along with the good company of people who were fast becoming my friends.
The next day would see us visiting Genovesa Island, which you can see from the map is something of a hike away and would take us 7 hours overnight to reach. Many onboard found sleeping while the boat was in motion to be impossible, luckily I wasn't one of them, completely dead to the world in bed linen the luxury of which I hadn't felt since leaving England.
The next day dawned lovely, and I took advantage of the fact so many others had fallen foul of sea sickness by helping them finish off their delicious breakfasts. Then we were off the the Island. Genovesa is also known as the island of the birds, the ecosystem only supporting foul and the occasional small lizard. And indeed was it a sight to behold as we walked so close to pelicans, frigates, boobies of the blue, red and masked varieties (who earned their name for being incredibly stupid- building nests in the middle of paths) and even getting within a few metres of a Galapagos Hawk. Pictured left are Male Frigates trying to attract a mate with the distinctive red pouch. The frigates are also known colloquially as 'pirate birds' and it was on this island that we got to see why as we watched a frigate steal fish from a mother blue footed boobie mid flight. The while of the islands was incredibly informative, and made doubly so by spending some time with Bob ("I'm not a twitcher, I don't keep lists") who seemed to know more than the guide about all the birds and thier projected behavioural patterns.

Part two of this post will have to be published at a later date as I've run out of internet time! Apologies, zona Cafe in columbia isnt really set up to be pro communication...

Part Two...
The next day we were away to James Bay on Santiago Island, one of the most picturesque stop- offs of our trip yet. Here we saw an abundance of marine iguanas, sunbathing carelessly next to sea lions and hundreds of pretty red crabs. We got some time to study the marine iguanas properly here as they choughed up great gobs of sea salt while they sunbathed. Then we had a fairly entertaining time here trying to get 'Galapagos' photos... ie. photos of us posing ridiculously close to the wildlife (they actually advise you when you arrive on the islands not to let the wildlife pet you, the sea lions are so interested they'll put their flippers on you to investigate if you let them). The fun however was cut short when Sue posed too close to a large male sea lion which then proceeded to bark at her scaring her half to death and causing her to fall of a handy rock. Luckily she only had bumps and scrapes, but it was a good reminder for us all that these really were wild animals and we were lucky to be invited to their world, and not vice versa. It was also at James Bay that we were able to see a galapagos hawk up close, which was amazing as these birds of prey are notoriously hard to spot. In the afternoon we were on the Rabida Island, which I think would go down as my favourite island of the journey. Here the beach is a vibrant red in contrast to the fiercely blue sea, the whole thing looks like a David Hockney painting. Because its so hot on Rabida there isn't a whole lot of viewable wildlife, apparently there used to be flamingos in the lowlands here but they moved to cooler climes in the last few years, and there are tortoise colonies in the highlands but due to the slow rate of repopulation tourists aren't currently allowed there. However we went snorkling off Rabida and were blessed not only to see sea turtles, but sea turtles mating, an impressive sight. Although my personal highlight of the trip was the swim back to the beach where we were joined by a family of sea lions swimming around us and blowing bubbles... AWESOME!! Its was so cute and just amazing to be a part of.
The final day dawned all too soon, and unfortunately we only had a few hours at the famous Darwin research station down at the South end of Santa Cruz Island... however we were off to see Lonesome George and his pals and noone minded the Navy O Clock start. The tortoises did not disappoint, just as large as promised, these huge creatures were amazing to see. And as the photos show were just as interested in as as we were in them!! We also got a glimpse of Lonesome George, who is perfectly healthy to be released into the wild but the Equadorian Government wont do it because of the amount of tourism he creates, which I felt was a terrible shame (George pictured below) .
All in all the Galapagos Islands were worth every penny that they cost (most expensive part of my trip by threefold!) and promise to be a hgihlight not just of my trip, but of my whole life. It was with a big smile on my face I boarded the airplane in Baltra ready to fly into Quito, my next stop.
Mind you this was only after Don, Sue and I had spent several hours wondering around the shack of an airport, filling ourselves with empanadas and mocking the 'local crafts' which no way had been made on the island. Oh, and finding out that the German couple had spent the whole 5 days believing Sue was my mum, and were therefore very confused about why we were flying back to different places.

Guayaquil... city of danger...

I was actually fairly dubious about visiting Guayaquil, but had chosen it as my primero Equador destination as I knew it was best best chance to secure a last minute (relatively) cheap trip to the Galapagos Islands. Guayaquil has a truly terrible reputation among backpackers and Peruvians alike, if you go there you'll definately get mugged, raped and killed apparently. So arriving somewhat sleepily into the bus station at 5am I cautiously waited for the sun to come up before venturing into the city centre at around 7am. I had a Lima moment again when I realise that not only was the twon prisine, but it was also gorgeous and deserted, to my joy, because it was Saturday nothing was open until 9. But I actually had an enjoyable if sleepy couple of hours enjoying the strangley people-bereft streets to myself, especially enjoying the recently refurbished waterfront park. I've actually never seen a South American city even close to as quite as Guayaquil was that morning, and it speaks volumes about the amount of time and money Equador has poured into its largest, and previously most dangerous city, that my total experience there spoke more to me of a European holiday destination than the noise and smell I now associate with South Am. As soon as the buisnesses opened I was away to the recommended travel agaent for Guayaquil to see if there was any chance of getting me onto the Islands made oh-so-famous my Mr Darwin. After about and hour of searching it seemed my luck had run thin, and all the cruises leaving in the near future were well out of my budget, however eventually the travel agaent had success and they found me a spot on the good boat Angleito, leaving the next day from Baltra Island. Beyond exctied, my flights booked for 9am the next day, and a return flight booked into Quito for 5 days time, I was delighted to find out that not only did the travel agent offer free airport transfers, but they also offered free accomodation the night before the trip so I was sorted for my single night in Guayaquil- for FREE! And the apartment was lovely, so I whiled away the rest of the day exploring the city, perusing the apartment books and sampling the Equadorian food (markedly much more American in influence than all South Am food sampled so far). I especially enjoyed my evening in Guayaquil which I spent wondering along the seafront (having been assured by Douglas, the fab travel agent, that I would be very safe) surrounded by crowds of young equadorians enjoying the mild evening air.
And then (luckily, because I was waaay too excited to wait a moment longer) it was the next morning and time for my flight! And I will say that Guayaquil airport is by far the most efficent air based operation I've ever been privy to, with the minimum of waiting and all things perfectly on time, I was off to the Galapagos!!

Mancora... back at the beach

I was delighted once again to be coast adjacent when I arrived in Mancora... I've really missed the sea all those months spent in landlocked areas. Mancora is a tiny Peruvian villiage close to the Equadorian coast, and a nice place I thought for a day of rest and relaxation on the beach prior to another overnight bus up to Guyaquil in Equador.
I walked through the door of Loki Mancora to find three of my Canadian friends, Leyland, Dean and Josh hanging out by the pool. Yes, pool. Loki Mancora is a whole new step up in terms of hosteling. The hostel was beautiful, and I was still ejoying my 'Ex Staff' Loki discount... however I was disappointed to find out that a) there was nothing to do in Mancora but eat Cervicé (local speciality and very delicious but also quite expensive) and lay on the beach and b) my friends were leaving that afternoon and the hostel appeared to be dead.
I spent the day enjoying the waves on the beach, laying in a hammock reading my book (and getting my legs sunburned- idiot) and making friends with the bar staff... one of whom knew all my friends from La Paz... and after about 5 hours I was bored out of my mind, and felt like I was wasting my trip. So with little ado I changed my bus ticket to that night, didn't even stay in Mancora for 24 hours and was off to Equador...

Lima... an opportunity almost missed

I didn't want to go to Lima. If there was any way I could have gone straight from Cuzco into Guayaquil I would have done so; unfortunately the pesky Amazon is all in the way and whatnot and so my route was diverted into Lima. This was something of a downer as every other backpacker I had met to that date had said the same to me, "Avoid Lima; nothing to see there, get in and get out as fast as possible". Now others have given me bad advice before... for example I found Cuzco exremely disappointing as a South American city experience, and I loved the whole of Chile after everyone told me that the whole country was a pointless money pit. And so, considering there's a Loki in Lima which would afford me a very enjoyable 'ex-staff' discount on my room and bar tab, I decided to take the dive and stay in the city for a night. Couldn't have made a better decision as I was greeted by clean, wide streets, beautiful architecture and as an added extra bonus I knew just about everyone staying in Loki Lima when I got there. On walking through the door I was greeted by the reception staff who I had served behind the bar in Cuzco the week before, and my good friend 'the other blonde Alex W' was now working behind the bar in Lima much to my delight. On top of this my crazy Canadian friend Eric (pictured top... doing his bit for Movember) who I worked with in La Paz (who had come to visit me in Cuzco three days previously only to find me missing presumed on the Inca Trail) was staying at the hostel, which I was delighted about as he was to fly home to Canada that day and I was so pleased to have a chance to say goodbye.
Actually better than just a measely chance to say goodbye Eric had no plans for the day and no flight till 7pm, and as he knew Lima fairly well (and it turns out LOVED the city as much as I did- we obviously never got round to having that conversation) agreed to come into the centre with me and show me about. So we caught a bus into Lima city centre, and inbetween surveying the beautiful architecture managed to eat our body weights' in street food, ranging from the fresh juice I love so much, all the way up to seafood empañadas that Lima is famous for. Sufficently fattened, and having observed the beautiful cathedral, the parks and seafront that make Lima something quite special, we headed back to the hostel which is situated in an area of the city called Miraflores (very rich, extremely lovely part of the city). Upon arriving I was even more excited to find my firend Dom, who I had been working with for the past 5 weeks in Cuzco, was now also at Loki Lima (how we missed us having identical plans I don't know... clearly I was having a dizzy blonde moment)... and along with the other Alex we made plans to go to the fountain park. If anyone had told me about the fountain park prior to my arrival in Lima I would have made my visitation to see this tourist attraction something of a priority; the park consists of 14 elaborate fountains which at night are lit up to make a gorgeous and magical atmosphere, and as you wonder round the park classical music plays. Some of the fountains you can walk through, one of which the three of us braved, another of which we looked at the soaked Peruvian teenagers in the centre and decided against. And then in addition to the already magical atmosphere there's a nightly show where assorted images are projected onto the largest fountain in time to music. After the unsophisticated experience of 5 weeks in Loki Cuzco dancing every night to assorted eighties classics, and then a week of roughing it on the Inca trail, a wonderfully cultural night in Lima was a real treat. Highly recommended for anyone who finds themselves in this gift of a city.
The next day I got up and went for a run along the newly remodelled and picturesque cliffs that hem the city. Then Alex and I went and explored Miraflores throughly, browsing the markets and designer copies stores, plus enjoying an opportunity to catch up on our girl talk (I met Alex my very first day in La Paz- we have lots of mutual friends to gossip about!). The morning passed far too fast and, despite my intense love of Lima, I was keen to get into Equador in hopes of procuring myself a last minute trip to the Galpágos Islands and so the next day I moved on to Mancora. Another overnight bus, and the location of the final of the four Loki hostels...

Caminar de Inca

·There are MANY MANY more photos to follow... this internet connection is too poor for a mass upload. They will be added later·

And so, after literal months of waiting my Inca Trail had finally arrived, and the 12th November 2010 saw me stumbling around the staff room at 5am (a mere half an hour after my roommates had come back from the night before) in the dark trying to get my kit together. Despite the Navy O Clock hour I actually wasn't collected by the tour company until 7am, but hey, how else could you tell it was South America?! Luckily there were a few others from Loki also in my group to hike the trail and so I wasn't alone in my wait and spent the time getting to know identical twins Mark and Dave, a couple called Luke and Rachel, and three Ozzy lads Rod, Ash and Casper. When the bus finally arrived we were further joined by three other couples Americans Diane and Troy, an English couple called Kate and Rich, and a Danish couple called Petra and Peter. Luckily Lance a Kiwi and Hannah (Kate's sister) also joined us, and so I wasn't the only single gal on the trip... nice to have someone to share a tent with!!
Day 01: Cusco to Wayllabamba (12km) Friday
We started our trip from Cuzco with distribution of the MASSIVE sleeping bags we had hired for the duration (mine took up most of my pack... and I had borrow a bigger pack than the one I normally travel with anyway!) and then all basically fell asleep on the trip to Ollantaytambo where we would have breakfast before proceeding on to km82 where we would start our hike from. Now I'm ALWAYS a breakfast person, but I had never before had scrambled egg sandiches with melted cheese and ham, and I have to say the discovery is up there for new foods of the trip (try it now, thank me later, dont tell the doctor I told you to do it when your heart stops beating). Excellent breakfast over and it was another half hour on the bus before we were off and hiking. It was at this point I realised that EVERYONE else on the trip had hired a porter and I would be the only one carrying all my stuff. Always up for a challenge, and knowing I could never look my friends in the RN in the face again if I hired a tiny Peruvian to carry my kit, I turned down the last minute opportunity to change my mind and embarked on the four day hike con massive bag. Day one was a relatively easy hike, ascending just over 300m and still not really noticing the altitude. We stopped at the Inca site of Huillca Raccay and were able to appreciate the beauty of an Inca site still visited by few since it stopped functioning in the 1400s. Along the way we also stopped for lunch and had our first sample of the truly exceptional food the cook travelling with us was able to produce apprenly out of thin air. We were treated to a gorgeous noodle soup, vegetarian Cerviche, and the traditional Milanesa de Pollo that first day and it was all lovely, nicest food I've had in South America was provided by Perub Treks apparently without the aid of any refrigeration equiptment. Amazing!
That night we camped at a low camp that was warm and the grass was lovely and spongy soft to sleep on. We had an introduction ceremony that was suprisingly American in influence considering Peru Tours is an English owned company, and then whiled away the rest of the hours playing cards. By this point we were well aquainted with our guides Victor and José, and Victor's terrible sense of humor. The best joke of the night, told after dinner in what was to become a standard evening ritual, was the following:
'What do you call a deer with one ear?'
- 'No eye deer'
'What do you call a deer with no ear and no tail'
- 'Still no eye deer'

Once we had recovered from our fits of laughter it took us an hour to convince him the replace 'ear' with 'eye' and 'tail' with 'legs', after which he commented, 'I wondered why people always found that joke so funny'... needless to say as I can't tell any jokes in my third language I wont be commenting further (all people of the Sacred Valley primarily speak Ketchuan)... but it made for a very enjoyable evening.

Day 02: Wayllabamba to Pacamayo (12km) Saturday
The most important thing to note about that first day was the complete absence of steps. No steps. The ENTIRE remainder of the trek we were either walking up or walking down Inca built stone steps. Now far be it from me to criticise an ancient culture, but the Incas never got round to inventing workable metals. The tools Incas used to carve these steps were obsidan and amethyst chisles. NOT EFFECTIVE TOOLS FOR CREATING FLAT OR EVEN STEPS. The steps we were walking on made your muscles scream in pain every uneven plod of the way, and day two is the day with the big ascent. Today we would be walking up a mere 1200m to reach our first pass. The first pass of the Inca Trail is known as dead womans pass as when you FINALLY reach a point far enough away to look back (on day three) it looks a tiny bit like a woman lying down. After 4 hours of Inca stairs I could think of at least one other reason it was going to be known as dead womans pass. However, the climb in itself was breathtaking, directly up through the cloud forest of the sacred valley the path is lined at the side by beautiful orchids, rare humming birds and a gorgous waterfall. Almost lovely enough to distract you from the searing pain in your thighs.
I was both lucky and well acclimatised on day two, as this was the stage in the trek when people started to get sick from the altitude. One or two because they hadn't acclimatised well enough, others just through dumb luck. With altitude sickness if you're going to get it there's nothing you can do unfortunately.
We stopped very briefly to take photos at the top of dead womans pass (which we reached in a mere 4 hours... the average group taking 7... combined with the twins, myself and the Ozzy lads were making for something of a competitive group) as it was too cold to hang around sweat-soaked for long. And then the descent began. Now before I started my Inca Trail I was told by everyone that the second mornings climb to the first pass would be the worst. I contest this. The two hours of downhill on uneven Inca stones in the pervasive rain that started coming down was a HUNDRED times worse. Ever the graceful ballerina I fell a mere 5 times getting to camp that day and would happily have traded Dead Womans Pass for those horrible wet downhill sections any day of the week. I started to feel a tad uneasy as there were many more downhill steps to be had the next day, and if it was to be wet it would be very slow going.
However the incredible beauty of the campsite (located at the top of the valley so you could watch the clouds roll up and down it) took my mind off the predicament. And having hiked the first part of the trek so fast the whole group had finished the 12k hike by 1pm so we were able to have time to watch the sunset and massage our battered thighs!
At this point a wrod should be said for the porters, incredible men who for the most part have been born and raised in the Sacred valley who literally run this Inca Trail with weights of 20kg on their backs in order to meet all the tourists with their stuff at each checkpoint. The olderst porter in our team was 54 years old. But it was interesting to have a talk on the second day about the face that Sacred Valley dwellers are adapted for the route having small wide feet and a whole extra pint of blood than the average person!!
The night ended with yet more of Victor's classic jokes, and a chocolate pudding to die for...
Day 03: Pacamayo to Wiñay Wayna (15km) Rememberance Sunday
We were exceptionally lucky on Day three as the morning dawned bright and clear for us. Today was to be the day we saw the really amazing Inca ruins, lagely unexplored and seen only by and handful of people since 1500ad due to them being only acessible by the two day killer hike and to the mere 200 people allowed onto the Ince Trail every 4 days. They didn't dissapoint, and even after a fairly gnarly downhill section I was delighted by the untouched majesty of Sayamarca. It says something that the name Sayacmarca actually means 'Inaccessible Town' and describes the position of the ruins perfectly, protected on three sides by sheer cliffs, the only entrance being a near veritcal saircase cut into the cliff face. No one knows the exact purpose of these ruins, as of yet they have been unexplored by archeologists and stand untouched as the Incas left them as the Spanish invaded the valley in 1500. After these beautiful ruins (we had already climbed one pass by that point) there was an uphill section to see some more ruins, called Phuyupatamarca, famous for its baths used in ritual sacrifice and blood-letting, and the last pass which came with some astonishing views across the sacred valley. After we were done with the amazing beauty came the 'Gringo Killers'... a set of steps that descend for four kilometers and are so treacherous, slippy and uneven that they claim at least one gringo casualty a day (and probably some porters and guides too). These were the stairs I was worried about. Especially since passing the day one campsite and all of us being told medical help was now inacessable and the only way off the Inca Trail now was to either walk or be carried out. Luckily the day had continued clear an beautiful, the stairs were for the most part dry (except where the Incas had crossed the path with waterfalls, which happened more than once). And in contrast to the day before I actually made it to camp without a single trip or fall (thanks to which ever diety of choice was listening). The hike on day three finishes in Winay Wayna which is basically an inca farm dotted with vibrant rare orchids.
We camped that night on hard stone. I was so tried, coming down from the adrenaline of not falling to my death, and so aware that we were getting up at 3.30 the next morning I slept like an infant.
Day 04: Wiñay Wayna to Machu Picchu (5km)
The final day of our trek and it was breakfast in the dark and a wait for the park gates to open so we could start the 5km assent to the Sun Gate for the money shot over Machu Picchu. In a shockingly responisble and health and safelty conscious move, the Peruvian government ruled not longer allowable to hike into MP in the dark. As I walked I found out why; the path there is sheer cliff face on your left side the entire way, and is only about 2m wide at the widest part (30cms at its heart-stopping narrowest). The night before our guide had warned us not to get our hopes up for the Sun Gate; despite our freakishly fortunate weather November is rainy season and with descending from so high we had been told we might wait 2 hours for a glimpse of Macchu Pichu through the cloud cover. It was about 7am when we arrived at the Sun Gate and we were elated to find not a cloud in sight, a straight view down to the beautiful, breathtaking, empty Macchu Pichu. Viewed as an Inca would have seen it after the same trek more than 400 years before. Its another 2k from the Sun Gate down into the famous ruins themselves, but I have to say my favourite part of visiting MP was that intial view through the Sun Gate as we stood there sweaty and exhausted and were the first that day to see the city. When we had got into Macchu Pichu itself (after posing for all the awesome postcardesque shots... see my pride and joy below) we experienced something of shellshock as after 4 days of peaceful hiking and no showers we were suddenly surrounded by tour groups being herded about all freshly showered having caught the bus up from nearby Aguas Calienties.
The ruins were spectacular though, and Victors tour was suitable taylored to 16 people who had just spent seval days immersed in Inca culture. And as we wondered round I couldn't help but feel that Macchu Pichu meant a little something extra for those of us who had hiked those four days to enter the city the way of the Incas. An amazing awesome experince indeed.
Soon it was time to leave MP and we explored the horrible little tourist trap town of Aguas Calientes (horrible overpriced place) before jumping on a train back to our original breakfast port of 'tambo and onwards to be back in Cuzco by a mere 11pm!!

What an INCAredible adventure!!

Things I learned on the Inca Trail

• Its not 'no ear deer'
• Even 95% deet wont save you from the Mosquitos. It will melt your watch.
  
• Australians are hysterical. Sometimes on purpose.
• The Inca Trail is SO MUCH HARDER than you think.
  
• Swearing in Ketchuan is often mistaken by gringos for 'hello'.
• If the guide tells all the porters you fancy Peruvian men you will be harrassed for the whole four days.
• Seeing Macchu Pichu from the sun gate is one of the most incredible moments of my life to date.
  

Life lessons of Loki Cuzco

My final days (and those all important final nights) at Loki Cuzco were more or less before the start of my Inca Trail as I would only be returning to the hostel for 17 hours before catching my bus out to Lima. I had tried to play the smart card, and doubting my motivation to get out of bed the day after my hike I had booked my bus ticket well in advance, so my plans were set in stone.
Despite a continual feeling throughout my stay in Cuzco that the city erred on the too touristy side (and was a bit of a sell out, sacrificing South American culture for the opportunity to make a quick buck) I would be sad to leave the beautiful little city that had been my home for 5 weeks. What I would be sadder to part with however (same as La paz) would be the other staff that had become my friends. I never thought that Peru would be the place I discovered a love of Israeli food for example, but due to my 6ft 5 friend Shai I had uncovered a love of Labane con mas Zatar and had the opportunity to learn all about the joys of growing up an Israeli Jew. In return I had introduced him to bangers and mash (although not great ones as you can't get decent pork in South Am), although I feel he needs to experience Mum's roast before hes an English food convert. I knew Shai and I would be friends the first time we went volunteering together and I watched him try to mime the word 'outside' (he had forgotten it in Spanish... try miming it for yourself, hilarious effects only), and I was too doubled over with laughter to help as the children guessed 'swimming' and 'dancing'. (Picture of us volunteering at the top)
I would be leaving behind Dror, another Israeli and main owner of the Loki franchise, who on my first night got drunk and decided to dance on the fridge behind the bar, knocking over several bottles of Jager for a devastated Caitlyn to smash when she next opened the fridge ('They're going to take it out of my pay!' - 'You don't get paid Caitlyn', as Dror told us not to worry and proceeded to dance in the puddle of liquor; 'Its South America Baybeee!!'). Dror, much the same as Cam and Alan in La Paz (having the same responsible management strategy), had become a close friend during my time in Cuzco... and I will be missing his morning greeting of 'Are you STILL here?!' each day.
I would be leaving behind Austin, the first ever American I've ever met who actually used phrases like 'right on' and 'awesome!', and provided quite the insight into what the Southern States of America really are like. One of the most amazingly lovely people I have met travelling. It will be a shame not to see him daily playing his banjo and wearing his wife beater, 'for real, y'all'.
And I would FINALLY be leaving Jeremy behind, the French Canadian who had been dogging my steps since I first started work in La Paz and had somehow ended up in Cuzco with me... and somehow I'm going to miss the way he dropped his pillow off the top bunk onto my face every morning, or the way he and his friend Roy decided to test the absorbency of the matress above my head by pouring a litre of water on it. I am keeping the cut- off denim shorts he gave me when he was drunk though...
I'm also going to miss the gaggle of interchangable American girls who seemed to inhabit the staff room for impossibly short periods, Vanessa with her everlasting patience sat behind reception doing everyone favours, and I've been missing my good friend Caitlyn since she left for Columbia some 2 weeks before me.
What I've once again learned during my stay in Cuzco is that seeing these fabulous wonderful places, being attacked by these rare creatures, irregular sleep patterns and insane diet is only part of the travelling experience. The remainder is made up of the friends I meet each day... some of whom change my world view immeasurably and educate me about other places and cultures, and others of whom are darn good fun to drink with for half an hour. One thing I do know for a fact is that the beautiful city of Cuzco was an amazing place to live for a while, but it was the people who shared the experince with me who made it all it was.
And sad though I was to be moving on there are no words for how impossibly excited I was to be off on my Inca Trail after a mere 5 months of waiting!!! Yay!!!

The White City and the Colca Canyon

Leaving Loki rather spontaneously at 8.30 Monday night, 6am Tuesday morning saw me stading in the undeniably beautiful Plaza De Armas in Arequipa, Southern Peru. Arequipa turned out to be a good deal hotter than Cuzco (or the savagely air condidtioned night bus for that matter) and within mínutes I had shed my jumper and was liberally applying the factor 30. I have made my peace with the fact that if I am sin suncream I will be con sunburn by the next day out here. Having gone to Arequipa to meet up with my friend Matt, as well as see the beautful city and the surrounding canyon country, I decided that 6am was still probably a tad on the early side for a social call and settled myself down in the Plaza to enjoy some desayuno (breakfast). I normally wouldn't ever eat in such an obvious tourist spot as the cost rockets up, but I found a very reasonably priced little place, and as the photos demonstrate the Plaza really was just a gorgeous place to sit for an hour or two... (see top and bottom photos). As I knew Matt was an early bird I decided that nine was late enough to pop round to Home Hostel Arequipa where he lives and disturb him. I was correct in my assumption he would be awake, and was charmingly greeted by a bread roll being launched at my head. Charming. However, Matt was secretly pleased to see me I'm sure, and within the hour we were off to explore the beautiful Arequipa. I was absolutely delighted when I was taken to the massive market there (since my first experience in Paraguay markets are one of my favourite places to visit in South American cities... they're so lively and entertaining; wizened old women battling over the price of meat, huge tubs of cearal and popcorn to eat as you walk about, big bags of fresh juice made to order- my own personal achilles heel; the whole experience just makes you feel engaged with the real people in the city. I'm always suprised so many gringos are scared to visit or just don't go at all), and for the first time since BA I was treated to good empañadas. Now a word must be said about the mystery of the empañada... when I first had one many, mnay months ago I was disgusted by the idea (its basically a cornish pasty but a million times more greasy, with unidentifiable meat inside, that has been constructed under circumstances of spurious hygine, normally by an old woman with no teeth, sold off a cart at the side of the road). However in Paraguay it was empañada or starve, and as time went by I became increasingly fond of the food. In Buenos Aries I found the art form perfected and enjoyed empañadas filled with beef and olives and egg (gorgeous)... and then La Paz. Now god bless the Bolivians but heaven only knows that if you enoy something in South America the Bolivians will have a version a million times worse that will repulse you, and after only one revolting empañada attempt I no longer ventured the street food in La Paz. Cuzco unfortunately suffers from too many tourist syndrome (a reason that I feel a tad uncomfortable in this city) and street food here had been cleared away for fussy tourists who want chocolate cakes and curries. However, Arequipa provided and I was so delighted with the find I ate no less than five and then spent my hot crowded bus journey to the canyon that afternoon reflecting on the poor choice of having a stomach full of grease and meat product.

Colca Canyon is about 3 hours from Arequipa. Do not believe the lying guidebook that insinuates that the canyon is just around the corner, and do not get onto a local bus as a result, as the upshot of this is you will end up with a box of live rabbits on your lap for several hours. I didn't even want to speculate what they were for. Anyway, it was just another South American essential experience, and at least I know enough Spanish now to politely make sure the bottom of the box was waterproof. I had once again decided to do a trip without a guide as the Isla Del Sol experience had been so fantastic, and I had figured out I could save roughly 50 pounds just taking local transport around the Canyon and asking the locals for travel advice. It was this attitude that led me to find a delightful little guesthouse in the villiage of Copanaconde to spend the night, and I whiled away the evening playing Uno with a very friendly group of Argentinians and drinking black tea.

It was also this attitude that saw me up at 5.30 the next morning to persuade a local cattle truck driver to give me a lift with all his market produce and the locals going the same way, and to drop me off at Cruz del Condor so I could see the birds of prey. The kind man assented for the mere price of three soles (75p) and I spent 2 of the most wonderful hours of my trip so far looking at the amazing scenery from the back of a cattle truck completely surrounded by bemused Peruvians (more bemused when I asked them to take me the photo here!).

Cruz del Condor was very pretty in itself and I was chuffed to see some of the birds (and lucky... its mating season and sightings are rare), and after an hour or so of bird watching I was back on a more conventional bus with hopes of hiking donw to the Oasis at the bottom of the canyon. Unfortunately my plans were foiled as I had only hiked about an hour down with a group of isreali guys hiking the same way before a local woman run up to us and informed us there had been puma sightings as early as few hours earlier and we should turn back. Turn back we did, and we were relieved to have done so as we found my hostel owners contemplating coming out looking for me and my other hikers in order to warn us of the danger. Evedently I have quite the way with the dangerous animals as apparently its been years since these kind of big cats vetured into the tourist part of the canyon.

My bus back to Arequipa was at two, and similarly full of livestock (think the scene from Borat where he lets the live chicken out on the subway), and by the time I got back I was shattered and only good for 3 or 4 hours of drinking in the bar with Matt and his employer Olly (a good friend of Cam and Alans´in La Paz... I was well looked after). I did finally get a chance to try a Pisco sour which is the local Peruvian cocktail, and not at all as revolting at the liquer its made with would have you think it might be. And then the next day, with a good nights sleep behind me I was off the explore the city with my running shoes on. Delighted to once again be in a park and by a river I spent seveal hours jogging about in the gorgeous Arequipa sunshine, before heading back to Home for a shower. I even managed to squeeze in a final trip to the market for an enormous bag of juice, a final peruse of the many bookstores (Arequipa is famed as being the Peruvian city of the educated- I missed bookshops SO much. But not libraries.) and a wonder round the sun drenched streets. And then it was back on my bus to Cuzco overnight, which was so cold there was ice on the inside of the windows for two hours before the bus driver thought to put the heating on. And by that night I was once again behind the bar at Loki counting down the days till my Inca Trail starts on Friday...

Halloween in the Inca City

Saturday of the halloween weekend dawned, and brought with it the reality that that very night I would be voluntarily parading down a runway in frontof Cuzco's elite. Evelyn, a local designer, and good friend of my current employer was holding a fashion show for her clothing line based in Cuzco. Cailtyn, Erianne and I (all Loki employees) had been asked to help model the $200- 300 dresses on the runway of one of Cuzco's more exclusive nightclubs on a Saturday night. And at the time it seemed like a good idea!! Having been rehearsing two hours a day all week in order to learn the Thriller dance (that Evelyn wanted us all to perform in perfect syncronisation at the end of the show) we were nervous but actually very excited to be finally getting to the big day. The night did not disappoint and with big hair and crazy makeup all the models were very excited to be showing off the lovely clothes (see picture... the clothes really were lovely, my face not so much in this picture!!). A local band was playing and we were all encouraged to dance about on the runway, hence the face in this picture... and up to the point where the skies OPENED the night was fantastic. Now the fashion show was indeed inside, however, I strongly suspect the roof had been sufferering from Peruvian maintainance syndrome for some time as when the monsoon started the deluge poured in, flooding the floor to about 5cm within 10 minutes. This was how I ended up spending last Saturday night dancing the thriller dance in a Cuzco nightclub, wearing a $200 dress, submerged in water to the ankles next to a Peruvian 6ft 4 drag queen called Barbie wearing a PVC miniskirt. Sometimes I wonder if I'm actually in the matrix...

The next day was halloween in itself, and once we had all revovered from our hangovers we were very excited to spend several hours carving fake gravestones for the garden at Loki out of polystyrene ´R.I.P your liver' and 'Here lies the remains of your dignity' coming out the winners. Followed by carving pumpkins (... check out smurf pumpkin to my left on the lower picture!). The night itself didn't dissapoint and with a live band, apple bobbing and many a fine zombie costume we had a very enjoyable and incredibly busy night with a totally full hostel bar. Luckily I hadnt been unable to get my hair untangled from the night before or my makeup off, so my zombie costume was very convincing... That combined with the fact that Mitch and I had spent the morning before making fake blood which had thickened convincingly and I spread it liberally over my face the effect was very pleasing, see below...

And the Sunday, apart from seeing us all much worse for wear, saw my boss gave me four days off, and by Monday night I was able to get on a bus to spend a few days in Arequipa and visiting Colca Canyon...