Jul 2008

Hola amigos,

The thought of leaving my new friends is almost too much to handle. I will miss them more than you could imagine. I'm also slowly coming to the realization that it's not always about where you're travelling, but whom you travel with. I love d, v, c, s and t a lot. But I bite the bullet and book a flight to Colombia. Cuzco, Lima, Bogota and finally Cartagena. Ive had a great time and it's time for the next chapter. Colombia!

After a very late night I leave The Point with a tear in my bleary eye, in a taxi bound for the airport. I wave goodbye to Vikki and Clare from the back window and they get smaller and smaller, as we crawl down the busy street leaving Cuzco. The airport is not far and soon I'm checking in for my flight bound for Lima. I'm glad I decided not to do the twenty hour bus ride from Cuzco. Its a luxury to fly, but Ive heard that the road is horrible. I sit down outside the gate and spill half a coke bottle over my leg. The whole day is then spent in airports. Collecting my backpack from various carousels and rechecking in for the next leg (with a sticky leg). Everything runs on time, so can't really complain. I meet a nice Colombian man and his son on route from Lima to Bogota. Half way through the flight he asks the stewardess for a bowl of water. Then opens a bag which I hadn't noticed, on the floor between his legs. He has a puppy in it! Very cute and the first mutt I've ever seen on a flight. It's actually not a mutt, but some pedigree which the man breeds in Lima and sells via the Internet in Colombia. I think of e-pups and Pet back in London. I miss Pet.

I arrive Cartagena rather tired but very excited. I jump in a cab which takes me to the Marlin Hotel on Calle Media Luna. The hotel was a tip from Jade and Steve. I check in to my very own room with en suite. LUXURY!! Its about 100 degrees though and a sweaty as a Swedish sauna. I'm dripping and I feel my hair going boing, it's going to be curly!. After the last two months though the heat feels wonderful. Bolivia and Peru were sunny in the day but cold at night. Ive been cold to the bone for too long. I relish the warmth. Cartagena is a beautiful Colonial town on the Caribbean coast of Colombia. It was the main port the Spanish used to ship all the gold and sliver to Europe, it also had a dubious slave trade. I have always wanted to go ever since watching Romancing the Stone with Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner. I wish I could have an adventure like hers. I wander the streets and find the food market. Amazing fruits, weird pancake things with cheese being cooked on hot plates (arepas), fresh donuts and tamales tolimenses (rice and beans and bits wrapped in banana leaves). I stuff my face and hope I don't succumb to motezumas revenge. I get back to the hotel. My room is now rather unpleasant, it's so hot that even the fan just seems to blow the sticky air onto you. I have a beads of sweat rolling off me.

After a good look round Cartagena I find the best cake shop ever. It's beautifully decorated and serves the best chocolate brownie with dulche de leche and coffee. It seems full of wealthy Colombians, I imagine they've made their money through the drug trade which I hear makes up 80% of Colombia's GDP. I love my furtive imagination. I sip my coffee and let the brownie and toffee melt on my tongue. In the evening relax in the reception area to read my book (uncomfortable wooden chairs). I meet Brian from Wisconsin. He's very nice and invites me out for dinner with his friends. I meet Tristan and Dor, Australian and Israeli respectively. We end up all going out for dinner with a German girl also travelling on her own. Cartagena is quite touristy but we seem to have a problem finding a suitable bar/club for after dinner. After walking round Cartagena about three times we end up and The Banana Bar. Which is essentially a hooker bar, catering for all the sailors who turn up in the port. It's fascinating to see all the working girls and their fake boobs, I don't need my imagination at all here. We end up all back in the boys room which has air con and is bliss. I'm invited to move in with them as they have a spare bed. I can't tell you how good air con is. It ruins my life. I cant live without it now. We spend the next few days literally just chilling in the room or going to the beach. Dor and I visit a Colombian Homebase to get a plug for his hair clippers. Its home from home, it has everything. Including mock Cotswold cladded gas fires?! One evening I've said I will cook for the boys and for a Colombian guest called Margarita (whom is a friend of a friend of Dors). I make a chicken stew with rice and Dor makes a yummy salad. The utensils in the kitchen are stupid. So it's quite an achievement to get anything. I cook with a massive spoon (abnormally big) in a pan with a burnt black bottom. The knives are so blunt it's like cutting with the blunt edge. We end up at a Salsa bar down the road till the early hours. Brian ends up in the clutches of Margarita (formidable), spending the rest of the romantic night in a room opposite ours (my old old room), he sneaks back into ours and the air con in the morning having escaped her...Unfortunately she left her sunglasses with us. We leave them behind reception for her and Brian keeps a low profile for the next few days. It's very relaxed in Cartagena and I love just watching the world go by. There is a great balcony in our hotel which overlooks the street. One morning we watch the sunrise from here and I hear a woman screaming in Spanish on the street below, obviously drunk and wasted. Dor translates the Spanish for me: "I'm not going to bed until someone fucks me for money". She shouts this for the next twenty minutes until I head to bed. I'm sad, Calle Media Luna is sad. Its a poor street and although I'm lucky to be here and travelling. I'm surrounded by real lives which are lived on the edge. It's easy to miss this side of life.

The next morning I head into town for a fresh orange juice. There is jolly woman with an orange stall. While I'm waiting for my juice I'm asked by a 60something man (he looks like he should be in the Sopranos) if I'd like a seat next to him while I drink my juice. The woman knows him, so I sit with him and drink my juice. He starts talking with me and I understand some of what he's saying but a younger man joins us and ends up translating. The man wants to know about my trip and if I'm single. He has always wanted a blond English wife apparently. I say I am, and he then offers to marry me!? Officially my first ever proposal. I sip my juice and have to answer no, but he's kind for asking and I blush at the thought. That evening we are invited to a house party. It's in a flat overlooking the main square in Cartagena. It's the first time in ages I hear good music and mix with people other than fellow travellers. I start drinking rum straight which I really like. You end up drinking a ton of pop otherwise.

The next day I check out, say bye to the boys and head to Santa Marta on the bus. Colombians are super friendly and I love Colombia!

The Cartagena sloth in the park, so sweet, so slow!
Rollerblade track with girls in cycling catsuits.
Tristan/Dor love triangle (ridiculous).
Breakfast, we order the same thing but its always arrives different.
Coffee = addict
Medellin Rum, straight, the only way to drink it.
Could be married andliving in Colombia...?!

xxxxxxxx

Hello again,

God I'm so far behind. Not sure whats happened but just not getting to Internet as much as I'd like. The equipment in Bolivia and now in Peru is not of the highest quality. I miss my power book. So we book this tour bus thing which takes all day and we drive through some spectacular scenery in Peru. Pucara, Andahuaylillas...I think? Colonial churches and an Inca Village. I'm sort of shocked at the revelation that the Incas were around in the fifteen hundreds. Of course they were wiped out by the Spanish Conquistadors. Somehow I knew this fact but didn't put two and two together. I have to say my history from School has generally let me down quite badly. Doing it in German probably didn't help. We also stop at more (really cool, subjective) vendors selling knitted stuff along the way. Vikki, Clare and I have an addiction, all things knitted. Mine's been brewing for a while now. But it's quite dire, we can't go past any stall without having a good look through the wares just in case there's something new we haven't seen. Danny and Sean just roll their eyes at us, they don't understand...Actually I don't really understand either. I see a hat which I want, but its way too expensive. I'm snapped wearing it and the more I see it now and think of it Id wish Id got it. Alpaca fur, too cool! We stop for a big buffet lunch along the way. A man walks straight into a glass door right in front of us. Luckily he doesn't break the door, but his head must be very sore. There is a big greasy forehead and nose mark on the glass. We try very hard not to laugh. Why do I alway have the urge to burst out laughing at inappropriate moments? Story of my life. Finally after a long, but interesting day we arrive in Cuzco; gringo capital of the world. It's much bigger than I expect and very poor on the outskirts as we drive in. As we near the centre it gets more and more developed and prettier. The bus drops us about a ten minute taxi ride from the centre. We head into town, to Loki Cuzco to try and get in a dorm. Its full! So plan B, 'The Point'. But also full for the night. We book in the following day when they have availability. The boys head off to find a bed for the night. We end up in a little hotel, in a vaulted room overlooking a pleasant square. I go to sleep that night imagining all the comings and goings, people and things the room has seen. I love history, I feel like I do in Rome, all historical. I need to learn more history. Cuzco centre is beautiful, its an old colonial centre is built on Inca foundations. The whole place feels neat and well looked after. It's very touristy and although us travellers shun all things gringo. For instance there is an English pub which serves pie, chips n gravy, and PG tips (yuk but strangely attractive after nearly five months away and guess what, ace!). Also another cafe which we head to for breakfast and which serves the best bacon, egg and tomato jam sandwich ever in the history of sandwiches. I dream of it still now. We eat well in Cuzco after a month of crap.

A day or two of chilling and looking for a tour which will take us to to Machu Picchu. I'm going to be doing the trek with Clare and Sean. Vikki and D have booked the Inca trail for June, which I'd like to have done but it's booked up till September or something? We decide to do a two day tour, which will take us through the Scared Valley, then train us to Agua Callientes. One night in a hostel, then the day at Machu Picchu and back home to Cuzco. It's priced OK and we book it for the next day. That evening we end up out clubbing till about 5am in the morning. I have to leave on the tour at 7am. I'm very hungover. The Sacred Valley really wows you, so much so that I struggle though all day without complaint (well maybe the odd moan). Our 'tour' bus is decidedly gringo. We have Japanese, Taiwanese, Dutch, German, Swedish, French and English. Including a single English guy who's in his fifties and regards wearing very short denim jeans cut off shorts with his, I can only assume shaved legs, OK. Wrong! and it doesn't do anything for my feeling nauseous. After a very long day we get the train up to Agua Callientes. It's a nearly 2-3 hour ride, I fall into a beautiful seated sleep and wake with a nice crick in my neck. We get to the hostel and bed down for the night. The plan is to wake at 4am to climb up Machu Picchu at 4.30am?! Why? Oh yeah to see the first rays hitting the site. The alarm goes and its a few minutes before I can rouse myself. But then we spring into action and head out. The sweet hostel owner has made us some sandwiches because we're missing breakfast. We head out toward the path that leads us up to the ancient site. We don't actually know the way. There don't seem to be any signs, plus is bloody dark. It's so dark that we can't see any of the landscape around us. After about 10 mins, we think we're going the right way, a dog finds us and makes friends with us. We follow him and he leads us the right way! He's an Inca dog. We then start walking up giant steps for about an hour and ten minutes. It's exhausting but rewarding. Slowly the dawn brakes through the morning mists. It's breathtaking as the scenery unfolds before our eyes. We've climbing through jungle and the mountains and chasms between, seem to float in the air and mist. I'm speechless and breathless. Going up goes on forever. We reach the summit, the entrance to the park at about 5.45am. We wait for our guided group and head into the park. Jaw dropping, gob smacking, tear jerkingly beautiful. I cant believe how incredible it is. You have to go.

We spend a whole day (till about 4pm) wandering around. Sean and I climb up Waynepicchu, which towers over the site. There are a lot a people, but the site is also quite large. So there is plenty of space and you never feel too close to anyone. I have a sleep on a sunny stretch of grass for an hour or so. I wake and open my eyes once and see two condors circling high above me. Machu Picchu really is magical, I can feel the energy.

After a very long day we get walk back down into the Valley. We're exhausted and in our own way have done an Inca trek. I'm very proud of myself. We go straight for some food, having not eaten since breakfast. We're all exhilarated but spaced out and nobody speaks. But we're happy and just taking in what we've all seen and experienced. It's a mission getting back to Cuzco, but I've forgotten that, and think only of Machu Picchu and its incredible power.

We meet up with the boys again in Cuzco (Dom and Dan). Plus on route up to Machu Picchu I bump into Jade and Steve who I last saw sitting on Ipanema beach in April! We have decided to meet up and go out for a curry. It's delicious but cold. I like a cold curry but only for breakfast.

The time has arrived for me to separate from my trusty travelling companions. How lucky have I been?! I met Vikki and Danny on the 36hour bus from Bariloche to El Calafate in Argentina early March. I met up with them again in Rio, where I introduced them to Thiago. We've now travelled though Bolivia and Peru together. Along the way we also met Clare and Sean and Tommy. We've been inseparable since and it's wonderful that a group of strangers can get on as if we've known each other for ages and ages. They are all friends for life and have enriched my trip immeasurably. I have two and a half weeks before I have to fly from Santiago, Chile to Auckland, New Zealand. I book a flight to Cartagena, Colombia!

No Bolivian wotsits available in Peru.
Guinea pig dinner.
Baby alpaca bottle feeding.
Post office, sending parcels, panic about them ever getting home.
Flip Flops and leg warmers.
Maltesers.
The Swedish chav.
The Funk - name of our dorm room because it smelled 'Funky' - like a dungeon.
The bag of weed I bought, which wasn't.
Mama Africa's for my leaving party, bed at 7am...oops.

Colombia here I come!

xxxxxx

Another bus journey to endure. Bolivia buses = crap! This time we have to get off the bus to allow it to cross the lake. It's all actually OK, just a bit of a hassle. On off, on off. It looks like the thing will sink. Lake Titicaca is beautiful, it's waters are deep crystal blue reflecting the sky. We arrive and check into a gaudy looking hotel right on the lake front. It's been recommended to us by an Aussie girl at Loki in La Paz. The three girls share a room as do the three boys. We watch a beautiful sun set on the lake whilst drinking some beers and some insipidly sweet white wine that the boys found.

I'm really bored of eating out. Theres no romance in it anymore. We go to a fish restaurant, promising us local farmed trout. Like any business in Bolivia. One place starts with a unique concept. Then a dozen other venues pop up and then generally they all go bust because they haven't enough clientele. This has happened with trout farming and restaurants around Lake Titicaca. I order trout tacos (yes, stupidly). I'm remembering 50 cent (fiddy) fish tacos in California which were good. These aren't.

I'm feeling rather fragile after La Paz so decide that Copacabana will sooth me by letting me spend some money on nice things. I buy some beautiful antique Bolivian throws and some woolly socks. Instantly I feel better. I will try to send the throws back to the UK. They're really heavy. I have now got my backpack which is at saturation point. Another day pack which I bought for fifteen quid in BA and my trusty Muji hand bag thing. Which I hate but its just so bloody practical. I bought myself a nice sew on patch in Potosi, to make it more personal. I have no way of sewing on (sensible thick Japanese fabric). So the patch lives in my moleskin notebook, slipped into the sleeve at the back.

We have booked a day trip out to Islas del Sol in the morning. Up bright and early we head for breakfast, banana sandwiches and coffee. I'm drinking loads of coffee now, never used to. Then off to the harbour to catch our boat. The boat holds about fifty people and has two small outboard motors to move it, one's broken. It officially becomes to slowest boat journey ever. As we chug out into the lake toward the islands, we all moan about how slow the journey is. If we were in a hurry, we'd be in trouble. Luckily we're all lazy b*stards travelling the world and don't even know what day of the week it is. I think we're all quite grouchy today.

After what seems like an age we arrive at the island we're heading to. It's beautiful! The lake is twinkling in the sun, and there are sandy coves to welcome us. We've paid a tour operator money for this trip back in Copacabana. However as the day progresses we pay the same amount of money again, to hiding Bolivians who pop up along the way and don't let us pass until we pay them. We walk in the bright sun light for about four hours on a path round the island. The views are stunning and I understand why the Incas worshipped the sun, there ain't much else! I see a European woman with an Indian baby who now lives here and makes jewellery to sell to tourists. Everything in Bolivia is turning to tourism, but for now it's still in the early stages. Its disorganised and unmonitored. I'm sure over the years to come its will be better organised but much more expensive and less accidental. There will be proper stalls selling drink and food, they will be a Starbucks (no!). For now we stop at a couple of dirty children who are selling waters and cokes under a sun umbrella. Once back at the ferry harbour we tuck into a delicious chip butty for lunch. Back on the chug chug boat and home. On route we discuss all the naughty things we did as children. Like garden hopping, Ouija boards, stealing parent cars, sneaking out at night (generally me getting caught). Like the time I pretended to go 'rowing' every Sunday, but was really drinking beer with boyfriend. Parents and German exchange who was staying with us decided to visit me and watch me row...Where's Esther??!

Dan and Dom whom are half the English lads we met in Chile (there were four of them, they haven't got smaller), are spotted in central Copa. We end up having a dinner with them. This time I have a yummy trout curry! Good. A few beers later, a spot of Internet and off to bed. In the morning after checking out we have that awkward time when we are homeless. We walk up the main street to try to find a cafe to sit in. Check out has varied from place to place, but generally its around 10am. Our bus isn't until 1pm so we have time to kill with our backpacks in a pile which resembles an Everest expedition. We find a suitable cafe and effectively move in. I check through my photos and notice a strange occurrence. There seem to be blacked out photos in my collection?? I panic. There is a virus on my memory stick, NO! I head up the street to copy everything onto disk. How frustrating I don't have my laptop. I miss it so much. It would have been ridiculous to drag it round South America, but utterly useful and I'm gutted I didn't bring it. Typing this bloody thing for a start. I obviously have to pay to use word which sucks. Half a hour later and the discs are burnt. Not really sure whats going on with my camera, and I think I have dust in the lens. Soon we are collected from the bus station heading to the other side of the Lake, in Peru!

The bus journey is short but frustrating. On a mini bus first (about eleven of us), then off at the border. Passports stamped etc, then a walk with bags over the border into Peruvian immigration. More stamps, and then back on another bus to Puno. Once we arrive in Puno we are pretty pooped and decide unlike the countless other times, to accept an offer of accommodation from a tout at the bus station. Normally you get off the bus and are harassed by various touts promising cheap luxury accommodation. Generally you walk past with and air of indifference, pretending to know where you're going...We're offered a free taxi ride there, and its cheap, and it promises hot water; Sold. We zoom into Puno. There are Tuck Tucks here! The hotel is fine and quite luxi actually. It may have hot water but it doesn't have heating. We're only one night here. Off for yet another Chinese, Danny's hunt for Chili Beef continues. I order five spice chicken. Mmm. I fall in love with all Peruvian knitted things. We book a bus trip to Cuzco which stops at various Inca or Colonial places along the way, we're to leave in the morning. Up early, boiling steamy shower! Simple pleasures are the best.

Hair Report: Flat out.

Five spice chicken = Orange deep fried battered chcken pieces with fushia sauce on greasy fried rice with cubed 'things' in it.
Finger puppet girl in Peru who's fluent in English.

xxxxx