Aug 2008

I am in Auckland and in a horrid hostel. It is quite new and clean. Nevertheless, it seems devoid of any character or characters. It is very early but I'm not tired having just slept for hours on the plane. I have no idea what time or day it is. I resort to having a shower. I nice hot steaming shower. I use tons of shampoo, shower gel, and face wash. I shave, I pluck and I moisturize. I still feel gross. I think after all the stress in the jungle, then lots of flights, crap food and not enough water...I feel wrong. I head to the room and mope.

I like Auckland. I have had some tips from Ana and Kate back in the UK about where to go and what to do. Unfortunately, the weather is pants. Rain and more rain. I meet a cool girl in my dorm called Cass, she's Aussie and out in NZ to work in a ski resort. Thank god she's in my room. Friday is wet and cold = venture to bank and Internet café which is full of hundreds of Asians playing in some weird computer world. On Saturday the sun is shining, and I drag Cass on the link bus up to Ponsonby. Here we wander until we find Dizengof. A very sexy eatery full of trendies and uber cool fashionistas. I am in heaven. After all the hardships in South America, I'm back in the West (well culturally) and I love people watching, checking out the clothes, shoes, bags, hair, makeup and jewellery. It is all here vying for attention, on this now sunny (but a bit windy and chilly) Saturday morning. I order a fat flat white coffee and a huge portion of scrambled eggs with smoked salmon on toasted sourdough. It is perfect. We then have some retail therapy on Ponsonby road. Lots of small boutiques and nice cake shops. Budget being as it is. I limit myself to free spray of perfume (new fav:
Hotel Slut flavour) and free mascara and eye shadow too, I am testing them with the intention of maybe buying them. This is in a shop called Mecca, full of luscious things for pampering, like Space NK. Then it is into an Internet cafe for a quick mail and a quick choc fix. Back to Cadburys, a Curly Whirly! And all things English! Well ish...

I have left South America, but I still speak to everyone in Spanish and am having trouble realising that everyone speaks English. I address everyone with 'hola'... Also, I cannot throw paper down the loo. Automatically I chuck it in the bin. Ahh, South America, I miss you. I spot a cool sunglasses shop and have a browse. I spot a Bottega Veneta pair in the sale (*£30!!), I have to have them. I could have spent a small fortune in Ponsonby. However, I draw in the purse strings tight and head back to the hostel. We have planned to go out for green-lipped mussels and Hoegaarden tonight. How nice is food in New Zealand? Such a good tip from Kate, and the French fries were to die for. I think of Brussels and les parents et ma soeur, I miss you!

I have emailed Lisa J whom I met in Argentina to see if she is about. She is, so I arrange to see her on Monday for lunch. I am sitting in reception on Monday morning, minding my own business with a cup of tea. The lady behind the desk approaches me to ask if I fancy trying the reverse bungee opposite the hostel. Apparently, there is a Japanese film crew and they are looking for some volunteers to go on the bungee with a comedienne they are filming for Japanese TV. How can I say no? I head outside and meet the crew. All very odd. Nick, a worker at the hostel joins me. We are told that this lady is scared to go on by herself, so they have enlisted our help. Nick and I wait for her to appear, whilst drinking tea we have brought in cups from the hostel. Finally, she arrives. She is dressed in a schoolgirls outfit; I think she is about 25 ish. She has on face paint (or heavy make up); a massive painted-on mono brow and rosy red cheeks! She speaks to us in Japanese and I have no idea what she is saying. Only one of the crew speaks English, the others all speak Japanese; we are not sure what is going on. While we stand there, they head off to do some more arranging. Nick and I are very confused. I think that is probably the point though. A random woman walking down the street stops and asks Chris the time, Chris has joined us and also works at the hostel. “10.20am” he says; she walks about a metre, pulls down her trousers down and pees in the street. I am speechless. Is this part of the joke? They direct us to the three seats, on the bungee. I have watched the bungee from the confines of the hostel bedroom. It is open all day, but no one generally uses it until late at night, either drunken revellers or big groups of girls on hen dos. I have heard the whooping whilst tucked up in bed. It is now Monday morning 10.30am. Nick and I sit either side of a Japanese lady comedienne. She is wearing a schoolgirls outfit (sailor theme), she has an exaggerated black mono brow, rosy red cheeks, and a film camera strapped to hear head. She is filming us for Japanese TV. We are about to do a reverse bungee, which reaches 60 metres in the air, speeds of up to 200 kph and G Force 5.

I make my way to Parnell to meet Lisa for lunch. All so civilised, after the morning I have had. She has a car, so after lunch she drives me round the bays. Ice cream and a stroll on the beach. The last time I saw her was in a red wine fog in Argentina, when I woke up on a top bunk after a heavy night out. She was shooting off somewhere on a big day out, and I was leaving and heading down to El Calafate. We said our goodbyes and I fell back asleep. It is so nice seeing her again. She drops me in a part of town where I can catch a bus. I hope to meet up with Charlotte too, but she is down south near Christchurch.

I am booked on an early bus in the morning to Rotorua. My back is aching but there should be some thermal pools to lie in. Rotorua lies on a Maori settlement, which grew there because of volcanic activity and the natural thermal pools, which cover the area. Our bus driver sounds like Barry White. I arrive and the steam from the thermals mixes with the rainy fog that has followed me in the bus from Auckland. Its like a big cold sauna and smells like fart bombs. I find hostel and am sharing a room with five Malaysian girls. They are all working here fruit picking and now because the weather is cold, fruit boxing. This weather is shite. I wander round and find the supermarket. It has the biggest pick n mix I have ever seen. I go mad. I have booked to go on a Maori cultural dinner that evening, so after a wander round Roturua, booking a massage (sore back) and thermal dip for the following day. I head back to the room, eat far too much pick n mix, read my book and and wait to be collected from the hostel at 6pm. It is still raining, and now it is freezing. There are a few of us going to the Maori Hangi dinner and show so we pile into a mini bus and it heads out of town. The dinner would have been a great success. Except for the fact, it is cold and raining, and we are in a marquee type thing (i.e. open air). We stand in the rain and watch Maori warriors canoe down a stream behind said marquee. All in loincloths and holding burning torches. Lots of Haka chanting and big eyes. Very impressive. I am cold, wet, and now hungry. We get back into the marquee, and watch a typical Maori show. Beautiful tattoos and very emotive. Not so sure about some of the costumes all rather gaudy and fake looking, mobile phone pokets in loin cloths? Then an eat as much as you like buffet. Spot the backpackers. It is embarrassing how much they pile onto their plates (I sort of do). I eat as fast as possible just so we can finish and go home. I long for warm bed. Eventually, not much later, I am brushing my teeth and then creeping back into the black bedroom and to bed. I snuggle up and drift asleep. The most ridiculous snoring I have ever heard then awakes me. I actually thought it was outside initially. Then realise it is one of the Malaysian girls. But which one? It is coming from the far side of the room. Its fucking noisy and my earplugs are some where in my backpack, but do not know where. Bollocks. I try to ignore it. It sounds like a train or airplane taking off, it's useless. What seems like hours later I fall asleep, well I must do because I awake from 'a sleep'. I feel like I have done an all-nighter. I am groggy and tired and annoyingly have a massage and hot pool to fall into at 10am...I have to get up. The room is nearly empty. Only one of the Malaysians is there. Is she the snorer?A massage and hot pool later, I am feeling better. However, my back is sore and the masseur suggests I visit a chiropractor to check it out. I go the next morning before my bus to Taupo. A nice guy in the hostel gives me a lift. I see a Maori chiropractor who crunches and cracks me; I have never been to a chiropractor. I leave feeling totally dazed and confused. I think I feel better? Then a nice long bus ride to Taupo.
Still wet, great hostel.
Walk around lake, horizontal rain.
Soaked through.
Ed calls me just when I cant feel any worse. It's like he knows...
Cheers me up no end. Cant wait to get to Wellington and a familiar ish face.

Wellington. It is still raining.

I have texted and emailed Sally, a good friend of M. She has been living in Wellington for nearly five years. She picks me up in her Toyota Rav 4 from outside the Wellington station. It is still raining. Its Friday night and there is a party to go to. We pop back to her home, which she shares with her mum and her mum’s two Staffordshire bull terriers. I have my own room! A quick glass of wine while I change into something slightly more glamorous (I am in tracksuit bottoms, a waterproof jacket and trainers). Sally is dead glam and very gorgeous. All willowy, with long dark hair and legs to die for. I put on my trusty Earnest Sewn jeans and a top. My standard outfit. GOD I hate my wardrobe. It is so dull after six months. Then off out to sample some Wellington nightlife. There is a 'Good Morning' program in NZ similar to that in the UK. Sally is kind of seeing the main presenter. We are going to his birthday party. This means nothing to me, being tourist who does not watch TV. A hilarious night unfolds. We arrive and have to climb a steep hill. So glad I am not in heels. Wish I had some heels. We arrive, ring the bell and nothing happens. We can hear music. Sally ends calling Brendan, and he comes to let us in. It is a house party in a lovely flat overlooking the sea (which we cant see coz its dark). It full of 30 somethings all chatting and drinking wine (white). There are some half empty plate of nibbles on the coffee table (smoked salmon cream cheese rolls?) and some garish over the to boy art on the walls. Soon I am chatting away and meeting some delightful new people. I know no one, and although Sally has told me about them, I am oblivious to whom I am speaking with. I meet one girl who half way though our conversation, slips in an aside of 'do you know who all these people are?’ 'No, I don’t' I say. 'Oh well, they are all on TV, don’t you know'...anyway, I feign surprise and we continue to chat. They obsess her, as I would be if it were Richard and Judy. It is actually a very good party until Sarah interviews me. I have had three glasses of white wine, a.k.a. loopy juice, and I can feel the chemistry changing in my head. Sarah sits next to me and talks at me for about 40 minutes. Questions about my trip and what I am doing in my life. She's speaking with me and her arms are neatly folded, and her questions are thought about and calculated. She has her hair cut into a fierce 'bob', and looks at me intently waiting for my every answer. I feel like I am on Good Morning. Finally, Sally rescues me and we head out onto the balcony for a sneaky fag. An almighty commotion then brings us back into the lounge. All the guys are doing the Haka. Bearing in mind the room is full of people, and they have had to move the coffee table, it is quite a spectacle. They are all topless. Everyone is roaring drunk, but venturing into town is now on the cards. We all end up in a bar somewhere downtown, dancing very badly. All sorts of girls are after Brendan. Sally brushes them off, and stares them down. Sarah goes home I think…and this is where my memory gets a little hazy. I loose my phone and Sally. Having no way of knowing where Sally lives or what her number is. I end up going home with a guy called Nathan and his flatmate Anna. I wake up on a couch in a living room. My head hurts and where’s Sally? Anna eventually tracks down Brendan’s number and calls him. Sally is coming to get me. It is a clear ish day outside, but both Sally and I have monster hangovers. We head straight for some breakfast and then back home. I spend the only clear sunny day in ages, watching DVDs and in bed. My beloved phone is missing in action. Somehow, though, I know it is not the last I will see of it. In the evening I pull myself out of my pit and we go out for Thai, and then the cinema. It is a really cool cinema in Island Bay, and you can drink wine whilst watching the movie. The seats are wide squashy sofas. We go and see Sex and the City. I weep throughout, it's so good. Will I ever find my Mr Big? One who teats me with respect. I wake up Sunday morning, it is pouring with rain. Sally drives me into town for a bit of shopping, and a look around. I decide I need a new bra. We head into Bedon (nice underwear shop). I have never been measured for a bra. I decide to try it. For about the last 16 years I have been a 34 B, I get measured and she tells me I am a 34 D? Sorry, backtrack how did that happen?? My throat gets all-dry and I am in shock. How have I gone up two sizes? I panic about weight gain. I think I have put on a few pounds. 'Diet Factory', said in my best Melburnian. Then home for Sunday lunch. Sally’s mum has cooked us roast beef with all the trimmings, how ironic.

Monday morning I head off toward the South Island, on the InterIsland ferry.

Hair Report: Wet and flat, curly on the edges. Ruffled.

• £30 is not a lot of money for a pair of Bottega Venetas, but in the grand scheme of things, i.e my budget, it is.

My budget is skew-whiff all of a sudden.
I feel like I am in the States.
Tongue and Groove everywhere
Clean, neat, fresh.
Middle earth – didn’t go.
Hobbits – met two in Roturua.
FLAT WHITE – start of coffee addiction, which actually started in Colombia.
Diet starts today.

xxx

I'm in the final throws of my travels round South America. I'm devastated. I have already tried to change my flight from Santiago to Auckland, but to no avail. It's a busy route and one that is obviously booked up miles ahead of time. I'm gutted. I love South America more than life itself and I've had the most amazing time ever. I know I have lots more exciting travel to do and I should be dead excited, but in reality I'm desperately sad to be leaving this incredible Continent. It's been better than anything I could ever have imagined. I set off back in January with an open mind about what to expect from South America, it hasn't let me down. It's scared me, it's surprised me, it's wowed me, it's wooed me, it's shocked me, it's grounded me. It's made me cry like a baby, it's made me laugh out loud. It's loved me, and in return I have fallen head over heals in love with it. South America, I've got you under my skin. Actually to speak about it as 'South America' is silly, when obviously each country is very different and has resulted in different experiences and responses.

I sit on the sixteen hour bus ride from Santa Marta bound for Bogota and contemplate my trip so far, and each county I've been lucky enough to travel round. I've been here for nearly six months, yet it feels I've only scraped the surface. My true passion I think lies in Brazil. Maybe this is because of the extra time I spent there and also meeting Thiago. It was the first port of call when Marianne and I set off from grey, freezing, rainy London. We flew into Rio de Janeiro and it took our breath away. It was everything and more than we could have expected. It was a smorgasbord (conors word!) of colour, passion and adventure. It remains the most beautiful of everywhere Ive been, and just thinking about it, gives me goose bumps. I intend on trying to get back as soon as is possible. I speak with Thiago now and then, I miss him very much. He's up to his eyeballs in editing. His freelancing seems to be going very well. I'm happy for him. Ive been planning what I could possibly do in Rio, if I really want to go back. What I really want is a shop. A mega cool and very original shop. I have many contacts and suppliers I have gained on this trip, and from what I was doing in London before I left. My obsession is still design and the sourcing of cool objet d'art from all sorts of places. My shop would essentially be a collection of all my favorite things. One off, unique and beautiful. I think that Rio could be a perfect venue for such a shop. London definitely isn't the place for me to do this, or is it?! The other obvious place in South America would be Buenos Aires. BA already has a great collection of very cool shops and boutiques aimed at the market I'm trying to reach. I just didn't like BA as much as Rio. Argentina was great though. M and I had the best time in BA with Brendon and I will never forget it. I hope he knows he always has a home at mine wherever that may be. After I left BA I headed to beautiful Bariloche and met Lisa, Charlotte and Anna from New Zealand. I intend to see then when I get to NZ next. Then getting on the pesky 36 hour bus ride, down to El Calafate. I met Vikki and Danny. All friend's forever. The Torres trek in Chile will go down in history as one of the best experiences of my life. It was so spectacular and very funny. I rather surprised myself in Patagonia. After having read Bruce Chatwin I had this romantic notion about exploring Patagonia and Tierra Del Fuego. But when I got there sitting on a bus watching the bleak endless landscape roll out before my eyes and disappear into the horizon and the huge sky; I felt so truly alone, so far away from everything that I realized how I crave people and civilization. It's what make me tick. Esther on a bus in butt fuck no where... It makes me laugh now! This is in reality is what inspired me to fly back to Rio and Thiago. So once Id gotten to Ushuaia then Punta Arenas, I changed my flights. After a great month in Rio, I met up with Vikki and Danny again. Plus I travelled with Clare, Sean and Tommy. I miss them all now. We travelled through a lot of Bolivia, which was a land of contrast and unlike Brazil or Argentina not somewhere I would ever want to live. But beautiful, and I urge all to visit if they ever get the chance. Its landscapes are phenomenal and my experiences there uniquely, well Bolivian?! Still relatively untouched by controlled tourism, i.e everything being well run and efficient. The buses are crap, no hot water, no real customer service; but therefore a much more rewarding experience. Peru different again. Machu Picchu has meant that it has succumbed to western demands more quickly and is much more comfortable to travel in. Having said that I didn't venture far from the Inca trail (tourist hub). Having not been that bothered about seeing Machu Picchu, I'm so glad I did. It was extraordinary. My last stop before I fly on is this taste of Columbia. I think for the same reasons I loved Brazil, I love Columbia. The people are definitely the friendliest, the colour vibrant, the heat searing. I crave heat, I realized after being cold for months travelling round Peru and Bolivia. I'm sitting on a bus bound for Bogota. It's warm, the air con on, but its not chilling me to the bone. On some buses in Brazil, the weather would be boiling outside, but the air con would be so cold we'd have to wear jumpers and jackets just to keep warm. It's not yet dark but the moon is out and I try to take a photo of it through the bus window. It kind of works. The Sierra Nevada mountains disappear in the distance, Bogota is still hours away and will be much colder than the Caribbean coast. I'll be glad for my fleece.

I'm looking forward to seeing Bogota and when I arrive in the morning it doesn't disappoint. I've cocked up my flight times and have a day less here then I thought. I'm meeting Mark friend of Ross from London. He's married to a Colombian lady and teaches English here. I have booked into the Platypus hostel. Which I'm later told is a drugs den for travellers in Bogota?! I cant say I find any. I'm staying in La Candelaria, which is downtown and full of cool Colonial buildings and interesting streets with old cafes and shops with lots of character. I have some strong coffee and a tasty lunch at an arts cafe on a sunny square. Stomping ground for Gabriel Garcia Marquez. This reminds me that I must get a copy of 100 years of Solitude which I have still not read. Back at the hostel I meet two very sweet Danish guys who are sharing my room. I have been in email contact with Mark, Ross's friend. He has suggested that we meet out of La Candalaria in an area known as the Zona T. This is about 20 minute cab ride from the hostel. Mark lives out of town in this direction, so its only fair to meet midway. Its a Monday night too, so a school night. I head out of town in a cab with an Irish couple I have met in the hostel kitchen and who Ive convinced to meet Mark with me. Mark takes us to what is the most western expensive and super sheeshy area of Bogota. In Bogota it is still normal to see horse and carts trundling up the main streets being followed by expensive blacked out SUVs. The T zone is really not my first choice of where to go out in Bogota. Is a very affluent suburb with Irish pubs and Italian ice cream parlours. No sign of a Starbucks, but there's bound to be one. We meet Mark and he very kindly buys us a beer and we listen avidly to his tales about Colombia and how he comes to be here. Its great to get a Englishman's view of living in South America. He speaks highly of a country which still has many problems but is working hard to sort itself out. It's the people whom you fall for, and the richness of the culture. He speaks a little about the corruption he's encountered. As I read in Shantaram: The shame about corruption as a form of governance, is that it works so well. Mark leaves us after a few beers, as he has an early meeting and a heavily pregnant wife back at home. We head to a swanky Italian restaurant for some dinner. It feels like I'm in New York. I have a morning flight to Santiago to contemplate back at the hostel. I pack up my things again and lie in bed. The Danish boys are still out. I'm alone in Bogota. I think about David Delgado in London. I wish he was here to show me around. I know theres a great music scene here and I wish I could go and find it. I probably could but I'm on my own, its cold outside and I'm snug in my bed. I'm still not totally back to normal after the jungle illness and I haven't really had chance to rest. I drift off into a sound sleep.

I awake a minute before my alarm is supposed to go off. I love that I have a great body clock. I always wake up just before the alarm, even if I set it at different times. I brush teeth and head off to the airport. Five hour flight to Santiago.

Santiago is thick with rain when I arrive. I get a cab to the hostel La Casa Roja. Dom and Dan told me to stay there. I arrive and get a dorm room sharing with ten others! Its seems quite empty though, apart from a girls bag which has exploded over the floor. I have never seen so much crap come out of one bag. I meet two English guys who talk me into going snowboarding the next day. My flight is also the next day, but not until nearly midnight. I'll have time to have some snow fun. First problem, I don't have an outfit. apparently I can hire stuff? I decide that I can make a makeshift outfit out of what I've got in my bag. That'll be Sarah's waterproof trousers, over my jeans, over some thermals. Then more layers on top with North Face waterproof as outer layer. I will need gloves and some goggles though. The hostel through which I book the snowboarding has these items for hire. We disappear into the the depths of the hostel to find the ski storage room. I emerge with gloves and goggles. Then it's off to bed because it'll be an early start in the morning (7am). I wake and get myself ready. It's still raining, cold and wet. The mini bus sets off and makes its way out of Santiago up into the Andes. It takes us two hours to get to Valle Nevado. As we wind up the mountain roads the rain turns to snow. There is tones of snow! We get to the resort, hire boots and boards and hit the snow. I haven't been on the piste since the accident in Switzerland. I'm careful and take things easy. But theres so much snow, it's crazy! It's a white out, and as I sit on the chairlift, my mossie bites from Colombia still itch. Weird! A totally brilliant day. Powder, powder, powder. OK so I cant really see where I'm going or the resort. But the snow is ace and even when you fall it's soft and springy. We have all arranged to meet back at the cafe near the hire shop at around 4.30pm to head back into Santiago. Because of all the snow, our driver isn't sure how long the drive back will take. I start to panic about getting back in time for my flight. I'd envisaged being back at the hostel at about 7pm. An hour to change and sort myself out before getting to the airport. After a great day I sit in the cafe and wait for the others. Slowly they turn up. But two boys are missing. We're still waiting an hour later. At this point I'm properly panicking. It's still snowing heavily and now it's nearly dark. The drive isn't going to be quick. Finally the boys appear. They'd got lost. At least they're OK. We head off back to Santiago. I need to be at the airport at the latest 9pm. We don't get to the hostel till 8pm. I have time to change very quickly, and jump into a cab straight to the airport. It all goes like clockwork. Except I'm so tired, it's not funny. I've never been so grateful for an eleven hour flight ahead. I check in, the airport is quiet because its so late. I grab a hot chocolate and wait for the flight. I'm squished into a window seat with a rather large lady to my right. I'm so tired, I don't care. I end up watching one movie and then I fall asleep. Somewhere in the night we cross the international date line, move forward in time and lose 19th June 2008. I land in Auckland on the 20th, it's early morning, I make my way downtown. I'm back in an English speaking country everything is orderly, neat and tidy. I miss bonkers South America already.

I publish this thing, then re read it and make changes. I've done this about ten times tonight. Sorry for any mistakes. I'm not a very good editor.

xxxx

I jump in a cab outside the Marlin bound for the Cartagena bus station. It seems to take ages to get there. I'm certain I'm being kidnapped, I get out my all my money and credit cards etc and hide them in my shoes and down my bra. We then turn the corner and arrive at the bus station. I now have to secretly get the money back out of my bra, this is difficult and I'm not really sure what the driver thinks I'm doing. I grab a bite to eat and wait for the bus to Santa Marta. It's only a little way up the coast, and I have to change at Baranquilla, so no biggy. My plan is to try and start the Ciudad Perdida (lost city) trek the following day. I've decided to try and stay at the Miramar hostel in Santa Marta as they apparently organise all the Ciudad Perdida treks. I meet a Colombian pharmacist on the bus, he speaks little English but we still manage to converse. Possibly my Spanish is getting better?! I get to Santa Marta and check in to the Miramar Hostel. I'm in a very basic dorm room with a open brick shower in the corner. There is peeling wallpaper on the walls and creaky ceiling fans which look like they will wobble off their fixings. I meet Lucca from Switzerland, he invites me to join him on the lost city trek the next day. He gives me all the details and shows me where to book. We then head into town for a walk and to get some street pizza. Colombian street pizza is superb. I have two slices of the Hawaiian style with pineapple. It's cooked in a wood fired oven on a street trolley. Simple and delicious (and it seems not to affect my digestive system). Back at the hostel I sort out my small back pack of stuff to take on the trip. My big pack will stay at the hostel. I'm going to live in my black shorts from Rio...then my Religion Ibiza top (Claudine's fav), flip flops and walking shoes, North Face waterproof, two pairs of socks (regret not more), pants x 3, bra and bikini. Then toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, suntan lotion and bug spray. This all miraculously fits in my small backpack. I head to bed. A dirty feather thin mattress which sags in the middle, I worry about my back (snowboard accident in Switzerland at Christmas).

I awake with stiff lower back and attempt a shower. A crude pipe which comes straight out of the wall and pours cold water over me like a jug. At least I feel awake now. Then breakfast at the cafe in Miramar. It's pretty good but takes an age due to there being one lone woman preparing everything. I have a fruit salad and yogurt. Lucca and I then start to meet our fellow trekkers. We're going to be picked up from the hostel so everyone congregates here. Finally the trucks arrive and we pile in two four-wheel drive vehicles. I get into a brightly coloured car thing with three rows of seats, open sides and and an enormous fat Colombian driver. The glove box in the front has the word 'pocket' written on it in gold writing. The seat is red vinyl and the backs of my thighs stick to it in the heat. We head off into the jungle with all our luggage stacked on the roof and four people squeezed onto each bench seat, including the front seat. It's about a three hour drive from Santa Marta on dusty dirt roads, and the last hour is quite uncomfortable. We arrive having been jiggled to death in the back of the truck. Everything is dusty and we're all sweaty and a bit mucky. A nice way to start a six day jungle trek with no proper showers. There are supposed to be eight people maximum in the team, we're fifteen. We also have one guide and a cook. We're now in a small village from which we start the trek and are given lunch. Bread rolls, cheese, reformed ham (Brazil style), cucumber, tomatoes and mayonnaise. Some local kids come and watch us. There is a bathroom at the lunch stop, so we make use of it, and try to wash some of the dusty drive off. It'll be the last proper loo for a while. It's 2ish and we head off. We have a four hour trek to the first camp. It's quite a hard start, going up steep jungle paths, and it's so humid. First camp is in a village by a steam. We're all tired and are glad of the hammocks lined up ready for us. We're going to be sleeping in hammocks covered in mossie nets, open to the jungle! I'm very excited about this. Our team is made up of a few English but we also have one Israeli, one Japanese, one American, one Swiss, one Kiwi, one Aussie and a Dutch girl. Dinner is rice with a stew and salad. Pedro our cook is brilliant and we wolf down dinner then sip tea and chatter into the evening before bed. My first night in the jungle is amazing. The noises are fascinating and lying there in my hammock protected by the net I drift into a deserved and surprisingly good sleep. You have to sleep across a hammock, sort of diagonally, i.e. flat ish. It's up early in the morning. Mainly because it's gets light bloody early, and because it's so noisy. All sorts of animals squawking, barking, buzzing, honking and naying. Welcome to the jungle. Fried arepas (like pancakes) with scrambled eggs for brekkie. Greasy coffee (actually OK) from a large pan being kept warm on an open fire (which is how everything will be cooked). It's strange when dubious food is placed in front of you and you're hungry, you just eat it without complaint. Well I do. We set off on day two into the jungle. It's an incredible walk, and we travel through coffee fields, across rivers, up steep inclines, down gulley's and along ridges. The jungle is dense and surrounds us. We're high up and surrounded by the towering Sierra Nevada mountains range. Which shoot straight up from Colombia's Caribbean coast to a height of around 5000m. It's spectacular. We had been warned about the Federal police we would encounter along the way. There is still guerrilla activity in this area of Colombia. Although this trek is now supposed to be safe. There have been instances of kidnap by FARC (and other right wing paramilitary groups) on the trek we're doing (2003 being then last time). The Federal police now camp out along the route we travel and basically just keep things in order. They are all young men and I imagine bored senseless being stuck in the jungle for up to three months at a time. They all have guns and say hello to us as we huff and puff past them, bright red as beetroot and as sweaty as very sweaty things. Attractive. I never ever been so sweaty, of course its the humidity I've never before encountered.

We finally get to camp two and have some afternoon time to go swimming in the river. Its a beautiful hot afternoon and we have swimming competitions, swimming against the current. I prefer to lie on a rock and soak up the sun. It's so beautiful, but as the sun goes down I start to get eaten alive by the mossies. They love me and don't seem to be affected by deet. I count five mossie bites on my legs in the morning. Bastards. Off we set on our mission to find the lost city. Today (day three) we have to cross the river eight times. This means taking off my walking shoes and wearing my flip flops. On, off, on off. After the third crossing and the following walk up a steep track I notice that I only have one flip flop attached to my pack. Shit, I have a flip flop perdida! Luckily our guide take pity on me and heads back down the slope to find the lost flip flop. I'm devastated, and actually don't think I can cope without a pair of flip flops. The thought of having to wear my dirty soggy walking shoes in camp is almost too much to bear. I cross my fingers and toes. The flip flop is found, thank god! We set off again at full pace toward the lost city. It's the plan to get there tonight apparently. After a very long morning, lots more river crossings and then lunch at about 2.30pm we sit by the river and stare at the start of the 1200 wonky steps up to the city. The walk up takes forever. But it's worth it and soon we're at the top and marvelling at the lost city perched on the mountain side surrounded by dense jungle and cloud forest.

Ciudad Perdida was founded around 800 A.D. (650 years before Machu Picchu), and was the main base for the Tairona people, an indigenous Indian tribe. It's mainly terraces (i.e. foundations where huts would have sat) placed on the tops and sides of the mountains we're surrounded by. We're staying in a rustic open sided wooden house on stilts sitting on one of these foundations. We have a bit of a wander round the city in the afternoon but then head back to camp for dinner and chilling, I'm knackered. We score some homegrown weed from the police (?) and some beers, and settle in for the night. Apparently the way this city is layed out and where its positioned, means its actually intergalactic traffic lights for aliens landing in earth. Same as the pyramids are and other weird phenomenon around the world which we have trouble explaining (Nazca lines for example). This was explained to Cameron back in Santa Marta before he set off on the trek, and now sitting round the camp fire he tells us what he's learnt. The moon is out as are hundreds of stars, its beautiful and I imagine that the lost city really could be intergalactic traffic lights. It's a nice stoned idea. I head to bed, mattress tonight! My head full of spaceships and jungle sounds. I awake to more bites. Dreaded bed bugs. Day four is spent exploring the site. We play with some police officers and their guns. They insist we have our photos taken in bikinis with guns. These boys have had no girl action for months. I hate to think what wank bank Ive become part of, but they're all sweet and we all end up having a swim in a beautiful rock pool with a waterfall. A few photos of us in bikinis with guns isn't really an imposition. Back at camp I start feeling a bit off colour. Marijke has already taken to bed with a very poorly tum. I manage some dinner before I decide I need to head to bed. Bed bugs an'all.

I wake in the morning feeling decidedly wrong. I can't do breakfast. We have a six hour trek ahead of us today, I feel shite but think I'll be OK. I manage to get down the 1200 steps, much harder going down, because of all the moss. They are so slippy. I get to the bottom and immediately need to be violently sick. I then go downhill so rapidly its scary. Within about half an hour I can hardly walk. I'm doubled over in pain, being sick and needing the loo (jungle). The next eight hours (which is how long it takes me) are pure unadulterated hell. I can't really walk, but have to. I push myself to stagger in five minute bursts before I'm either bent over again, or being sick or other. Will and Itay stay behind to help me. Its frightening being so ill in front of strangers, I'm all alone in the Colombian jungle and the only way out is on foot. I'm in tears and feel completely pathetic. But I'm so ill I cant even really get my head around what's happening. I just have to keep going. Itay ends up carrying me for about a hour altogether. I finally get to the next camp, where we're just stopping for lunch. I can't walk any more. Our guide, who I have to say has been crap so far, sorts out a mule for me (which I have to pay for). I can't walk, but apparently I can ride a mule for the next three hours?! The mule is also laden with big baskets full of provisions and things. I have to balance on top of this with my legs dangling down between the baskets on a sort of wooden saddle. I'm given a sleeping bag to sit on to make it more comfortable. If this ride was along the straight it would be just about OK. Unfortunately its along a wiggly path, over rocks, through jungle, over fallen trees with precipices down the side. To be frank, an absolute nightmare, and I cry all the way. I'm hanging on for dear life, more unconformable than ever, trying not to puke or shit my pants. I just want my mum. Mum I need you! But I'm still deep in the Colombian jungle and at least a day from civilisation. I have no choice but to continue. Joanna who is also ill, and has also been stuck on a mule, is behind me and has to listen to my whimpering the whole way. All in all, five of us on the trek are ill. I seem to be the worst. We finally arrive in camp and I literally fall off the mule and am carried into a hammock. I'm given some water and an Advil. I now have a high temperature. I don't remember much about the night. I fall in and out of consciousness. Unfortunately I still have to use the loo. This isn't easy, in and out of a hammock. I dream of my bed (well I think I do).

The morning arrives and I feel remarkably better. My temperature is gone and I get up. Everyone is amazed at my miraculous recovery. Luckily it seems to have been a 24 hour bug. Actually all I want is to be left in the hammock to sleep. But the knowledge that I need to walk again today (at least five hours) and that I don't want to get on the mule again, ever. Means I struggle to get up and pull myself together. I manage some breakfast. I'm utterly exhausted, dehydrated and weak. A big girls blouse. But I feel better with some food in me and once I'm packed, head off with the first group of trekkers. I march (slowly) out of the jungle. Unfortunately my flip flops, which were taken off me when I was at my worst (my bag was also carried by the team). Have gone AWOL. They were special ones I bought in Rio. Oh well...they are officially flip flops perdida.

We pass a cocaine factory on the way back and we stop off to inspect it. Basically it's a glorified cocaine shop really. But we are shown how cocaine is produced from its base paste. Revolting. Cement powder and petrol are used. It costs 20000 pesos (about 6 GBP) for the tour, plus two grams are thrown in. Must keep going is all I can think. I lose the group in the last hour and am left walking back on my own. It's so beautiful and I'm so grateful to be feeling better. The path is clear and I love being on my own. Everyone on the trek is great but its nice to have some space. I march on and reach the village we started in, an hour or so later. I collapse in a chair and treat myself to a Gatorade, a coke (cola) and a chocolate bar. I'm back and I'm so happy to have escaped the jungle. I've been without a shower now for six days, Ive sweated, been in and out of rivers, been really ill. Ive lived in my bikini, black shorts and a t-shirt. I'm filthy. One last truck ride back to Santa Marta then a shower!

God it feels good, I wash my hair twice. We're all going out for dinner and drinks tonight to celebrate, but all I manage is some dinner and then have to retire. A proper bed in a relatively cool room. I meet a Dutch guy who's just arrived from Venezuela. He's about to do the trek, so I tell him about my adventure. He has had his own adventure. He got off the plane in Caracas, got in a licenced cab outside the terminal. This cab, picked up the taxi drivers 'friend' along the way and they then took Stijn down a dark road and robbed him of everything. His backpack, all his money, everything. They left him with the clothes on his back, his passport (so as not to ruin his holiday) and his debit card (they'd also made him withdraw everything he could from an ATM)...I curl up in my bed, the ceiling fan whirs above me and I sleep so deeply my alarm doesn't even wake me.

I finally get up. I have a sixteen hour bus ride to Bogota today, all I want to do is go to the beach. Bollocks. Not enough time in Columbia which, apart from the illness I've fallen in love with.

Hair report: wavy gravy

Taxi's being pushed by drivers in the taxi rank (to save fuel)
A pony tethered to a post eating cardboard (I see this from the bus so can't help).
Itay who officially saves my life.

Lucca, Itay, Daisuke, Joanne, Lucy, Tom, Will, George, Cameron, Lindsey, Marti, Marijke, Evan, Melinda, Pedro and the mule!

Thank you!

xxxxxxx