So much fun! But why do I have this uncomfortable feeling? Why am in paradise and feel so freaked out...and alone? That’s why: I am alone. I have two couples happily together around me, and I desperately need a special someone, I conclude that I hate being single today. I have the whole ex-thing in the background too, (he and new love keep coming up in conversation) making me feel sick, it's a gut reaction.

So we arrived on Friday afternoon, with the kids A and D. After a three hour drive from London in my new car. A sensible millenium Passat estate (which I love!). Bought it from a Chinese man in Barnes. For dinner we cook big fat steaks on open bbq E has built onto the side of the barn. He also digs out the deep fat fryer, oh yes! For proper ‘frites’. What a delish dinner. For desert we sort out Sing Star in the taxidermy lounge and have a sing off. E's taxidermy collection is ever growing, there is a peacock, a parrot, an alligator, a tortoise and a spooky puffin?! I beat J about ten times in a row on his favourite ‘Imagine’. He is so pissed off! Then the dead presidents, Saddam and Osama masks and come out and all hell breaks loose. They are officially brilliant. After J’s knockout in Sing Star he tops the evening with his Saddam Hussein face, geisha hair, tutu and stripy trouser ensemble, which has us rolling about on the floor in hysterics. You are never, I repeat never to old for fancy dress. It’s the BEST! I finally go to bed only to be woken around 4.30am by my phone ringing. It’s my crazy Bollywood director demanding phone sex! What?!. Unfortunately the phone reception is pretty rubbish at the house, and we keep getting cut off. Thing is, it’s just too funny to listen to him and just when it gets interesting (he gets interested!) he gets cut off. It’s like I’m doing it on purpose. I actually have no idea what’s really going on, he’s the one speaking. I think I’m just laughing. After about call five, and him still not understanding that I’m basically in a field and there’s no reception. He obviously gives up and I fall back to sleep. My news is discussed over breakfast sausage and eggs, and E reckons I should get an 0898 number!

The weekend pretty much revolves around the open fire and roasting various meats. It’s now Saturday and a collection of friends with kids are coming for lunch. We’ve got lamb chops, which have been marinating all morning in cumin, lemon and garlic. After the feast we all sprawl out in front of the tepee in the sun with fat tummies and wobbly heads. I love the country life.

The Chinese lanterns again, the big red one!
The early start back to London at 6am! Yuk.
Ok Ok I'm happy being single, just sometimes I wish I could have someone.
A certain person who was on the scene, including the 'snowy day' in London, where everything came to a halt and we ended up walking across Richmond park, to go Urban Tobogganing on trays we stole from Cafe Nero (we gave them back after). Such a brilliant day! Anyway he's been messing me around big time and has been officially dumped.
I love E, J, A and D what a cool weekend!

Lol est xxx

UK remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

esthersroom /// full of very cool stuff

My back ground in interior design and my love of cool stuff. I want a shop. But a private, very intimate, very special shop…Anyway can’t have a physical shop yet, so going to have a website shop. Which can be just as cool and almost better because it’s a hell of a lot cheaper and in with the in-crowd.

esthersroom is my vision and my destiny. Everything in my room is for sale essentially. This concept will morph and follow its own course. I will buy in products that I will show for sale on my site. Things that I would have in my room, esthersroom, which of course means ultra cool shit. It will be full of very cool stuff. Every item is something that has been chosen by me for its beauty, its quality, and its uniqueness.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but I hope you trust my eye. I’d like to think I have a good eye for cool stuff.

So welcome to esthersroom.

Lets see what’s new this week?!...

Oh well its not quite up and running yet (massive procrastination and lack of reddies). So the idea is born and takes a while for me to get my head around. Meanwhile I sign on and do a few cash in hand jobs, bits and pieces to get by. OMG signing on what a complete fucking pain in the arse, it’s ridiculous. Never done it before and glad to have now stopped. Grim grim grim. I have to take the plunge so with the bit of money I do have I book a ticket back to India for a buying trip. Haha, the wanderlust returns and it’s something to work towards. I’m going the beginning of March for two weeks. Did I say that January is also on the wagon? = thoroughly boring. A certain person is also in touch as soon as I get back, which is quite exciting (I actually like him!). It’s all looking good for being home! I really do look at London with fresh eyes. I know what I want now, I just need to work towards it. The only real disaster on my return is my Lacie external hard drive corrupting its self and me loosing all my bloody photos etc which I’d transferred from the laptop. I have my trusty power book back now, but it’s a bit old and creaky to be honest. Fucking annoying. I took off all my photos and itunes so that the memory wasn’t maxed out, and then I accidentally unplugged it from the laptop without ejecting it, and its now corrupter than Maddoff. Superstar R comes to the rescue. Is there no end to what the guy can do? An all round perfect specimen of a man. Anyway he burns me some filesalvage thingy and manages to get the data off the corrupt drive and onto a new one. Except one slight problem. None of the files are catalogued. So basically every jpeg has been lumped together, in no order. I have 51000 of them to look through???! What?! Cant even think about it now

M and P inform me that they are in town for the Rothko exhibition at Tate Modern. Haven’t seen them since New Year so go and enjoy that, and have yummy fish and chips for lunch. I love them! And the Rothko stuff was quite good too. I have a new flat mate who is very sweet. Irish and a really good egg. She’s a bit younger than me but we get on very well.

So India looms and I work out what I’ll be doing. I really have a lot to do there so have a tight schedule. Mumbai for four days, Goa for four days, then Jaipur for four days. Like clockwork. So February flies past and all of a sudden I’m off again. I’m flying on Oman air via Muscat (brilliant airline) crappy stopover. I’m heading to Bombay. D has said I can stay which is awesome. I jump in a bumble bee taxi at the airport and wiz down to Breach Candy. I’ve missed India and I love it being back. It’s bloody hot and I’m dripping when I arrive at D’s air-conditioned penthouse flat! Err yes please!! It’s super to see him and we head straight up to Breach Candy (the club) for sunset drinks and dinner. He’s such a gent what a cool dude. Of course a mini bender ensues and we don’t hit the sack until about 7am! oops! I have a number of shops to visit in Bombay, which I do over the next few days, getting contacts and forming ideas. I hook up with other D and P who are also about, AND I see my Bollywood director. Except he’s been at a wedding all day and is pissed as a fart. So doesn’t really make any sense. A girl then accidentally on purpose throws her wine over me. Which results in Bollywood director (who is officially the most eligible bachelor in all of Bombay), licking the wine off my face and ear right in front of her. The stupid girl is not best pleased. Haha!! Anyway I get whished off to another party by D and that’s the end of that. I have a flight to Goa booked and leave crazy Bombay and head south. I arrive in Goa and make my way towards Vagator. Salt and Pepper is full so I end up in a beach hut overlooking the sea! Bliss. I stake-out the night market again and meet up the C and a few others from my last trip here. So cool to see them. I arrange a few meetings over the next few days. I’m running around so much I only make to the beach one afternoon. Successful meetings and some stock ordered! Beautiful Nepalese wool scarves, and old Bollywood photographs.

Then it’s another flight all the way up the Jaipur! I’m so excited. Jaipur is beautiful. I’ve been recommended a hotel to stay in which is more expensive than normal, but hey I'm on business and I deserve it! Arya Niwas. The day after I arrive it happens to be ‘Holi day’, which transpires to be the most bizarre day I ever spend in India. What a crazy day! I go out for dinner on my own the night I arrive, and meet a guy called Sam on my way home. He tells me he’s also staying at my hotel and do a fancy a drink?! I actually do, so we head to a bar. He drops me off home later and has invited me to spend the day with him tomorrow. He collects me in the morning. Humm I don’t think he’s staying at the hotel, but anyway. We drive off on his vespa and he shows me the sights of Jaipur, on Holi day (festival of colour). Everything is shut but everyone, make that every man, is on the streets, with clear plastic bags full of brightly coloured powder; pink, red, orange, yellow, purple and green. This powder is thrown over as many people as you can. You get covered from head to toe in powder. It’s crazy. Unfortunately being a white woman I get rather a lot of attention from men wanting the wish me ‘holi day’, they literally smother me in powder, Including my breasts a few times! Annoyingly in the first attack (young boys who won’t have know any better) smother me, and my Canon G9 camera. Which works for a few hours after, but then the lens jams. Darn it. Really pissed off. So after being about on the streets for a while…it's proper madness. Sam invites me back to his family celebrations. Where I spend the afternoon dancing to Indian music, drinking beer, eating delicious food with his whole extended family (like about forty people!). None of whom speak any or hardly any English. They’re not really sure what to make of me, but they are so generous and very very hospitable. I don’t think they’ll actually ever know what I really look like, seeing I was pretty much bright pink and purple, with bits of green and orange all afternoon. What a strange and exhilarating day!!!? I’m very grateful to Sam, who admits that he lied about staying at the hotel. I forgive him his trespasses. The following day I meet up with the quilt company I came to see, and order beautiful hand block printed quilts. Sam then collects me and drives me up to the Amber Fort, Jaigarh Fort and Nahargarh Fort. Amazing but speechless that don't have my camera. Have to go back! In the evening we head to the Cinema. Which is famous in India for being so beautiful, gaudy and like a big iced cake! A Bollywood movie to round off my stay. It's all in Hindi, so have to guess what's happening. Indians have no rules regarding turning your mobile off during the show. So phones continually ring throughout the film. People chat away. God I love India, it has it's own rules. I'm still washing pink out of my hair, when I arrive back in Bombay to fly home.

Hair report: pink to make to boys wink in the pink city.

Can I do a website with a web-cam in my room?
A certain person on the scene intermittently.
Fall off wagon from beginning of Feb.
Audio Eyes in Hoxton.
Pho lunch at the Westfield.
D’s housewarming in Brixton which is shut down by environmental health.
Emerald ring.
VG comes to stay in London! Love her xxxxx

UK and India remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

A number of things become clear over the weekend I spend in relative seclusion, in the deepest darkest corner of Shropshire, away from the maddening crowd. I’m staying with girlfriend S, in Barnes on my return, as my lovely flat is still rented out to my two flat mates. I’ve unfortunately come back to WW3 going on in the flat, and decide to put off the flat visit till next week. I just can’t cope with two friends who hate each other so much they aren’t talking. Who gets to that point? So it’s Friday morning and E and I set off once again the Range Rover with Pet heading west to Shropshire. We fly out of London and along the M40, past High Wycombe, through the ‘gash’, past the dreaming spires of Oxford. E takes a number of work related calls along the way, which I don’t worry about. He’s already explained that he’d tried to gather a gaggle of girls and mates who would have liked to come along for the weekend, but it’s the second last weekend before Christmas, and everyone is busy with parties and family stuff. There is a change of plan about lunch all of a sudden, and E suggests we stop at the pub after we’ve left the motorway in Shropshire. A light-bite of fish and chips, a pint for E a tasty bloody mary for me. Back on route we decide to stop into Much Wenlock, to pop to the butchers to get some dinner. E says we need four steaks (he’s feeling hungry)…I’m the most gullible person ever. Not a hint of suspicion. I can’t tell what a strange experience it is, standing in a village butchers in a queue of about six old fogies. They’re all in there, ordering their Christmas fare, turkeys, ducks, rolled beef joints, black pudding, sausages, bacon, pigs livers and chickens. I’m freezing and waiting my turn. “Ten rashers of smoked bacon and four sirloin steaks please”. I run back to the car and we head off. Finally we’re turning into the familiar drive and up towards the house. I open the gate over the cattle-grid, we glide past the duck pond with E's floating duck house (which has remained un-ducked since he built it, something to do with it not being moored). We stop at the front of the house and E rushes round the back to let us in. Again I notice nothing strange. There is a short delay. The front door opens and I drag myself, and bags into the house. It’s freezing. E wants me to see some new additions to the house upstairs. Some beautiful chandeliers from the Oratory (opposite Brompton Oratory), E and J's local restaurant, it has now closed. The Venetian glass sparkles in the winter light coming in through the attic windows. E opens the door to his bedroom, there acting as if it’s totally normal are S and R sprawled on the bed!! It’s a surprise! I’m totally gob smacked. I had no idea?! What a fool, four steaks indeed. Apparently the girls had left in the morning, but forgotten to leave S’s son’s clothing bag with the dad. So had gotten half way down the motorway towards shrop, when they had to turn back. This was the work call E had taken whilst we were driving. Which is also why we’d done the surprise lunch. It’s a fab surprise and I’m very happy to have such great mates. I am officially a dumb blonde.

The weekend turns into a total bender. After some dinner and lots of wine the night really kicks off with the fancy dress, more wine and beer than you can shake a stick at. We have a lack of ipod so we end up in the Christmas shed (flashing Santa’s sled and reindeer mean it’s always Christmas in the shed!). We have two gas heaters and my lap-top listening to classic old school. In, out, up, down, dancing badly to old school, and doing what we like best, which is more drinking and missions like E taking me to the loo in the potting shed, where he has hold me like a child so that I can pee into the gutter. I’m 34 years old. Why I don’t use the loo in the house is anybodies guess? Finally I slither into bed. The girls are neatly tucked up up in the spare room under about a ton of fancy dress, curly Cher wigs, and Tammy Wynette white tasselled leather jackets.

I have a hideous hangover. Which turns into Esther's thirsty lunch, I'm so thirsty I end up drinking about six pints of water. E reminds me of Leah Betts. I have to go to the loo to be sick, I’ve drunk too much water. The pub has been sympathetically restored since it flooded last year. No more pink ladies loo. Manage one mouthful of my lunch. Rather disappointed. God I feel too weird. The house behind the pub has not been knocked down. During the floods it fell down. It split in two and half fell away into the river. Leaving a perfectly preserved 60’s bedroom on the first floor exposed and in view of all traffic coming into Ludlow. The bed was all made up with a frilly bedspread and the pictures were still hanging on the flowery wall paper. Hilarious, and desperately sad all at the same time. The couple who the house belonged to, didn't have any insurance. We cut our losses and head into town to meet up with A and W. They’re in the Thai bar further into town. We head up the road past Zany Lady and the Feathers to meet up. We pass a brand new very cool shop called Material, which we pop into later. A and W are very well, and it’s lovely to see them. They will be joining us later for dinner. A quick drink, another pint of water for me. OMG what is going on with me? A fantastic book by Charlie Harper, which I covet. Red wine in glasses the size of double FF boobs. Speaking of boobs, A is all new and svelte! She looks amazing.

We head back to the house. S and R have driven the Boxter to Leominster to a thrift shop. They get back just after us, and have bought some very cool stuff. The party gets started. There is fancy dress in every corner of the house (from the night before). So you cannot escape the temptation of: leather chaps, gold hot pants, punk trousers, mermaid wigs, pirate trousers, tattoo sleeves, Elvis trousers, nuns whimples, the list is endless. Delicious dinner. The disco. Stumbling up and down the stairs of the basement. The Chinese paper lanterns we light and let fly into the night sky. A few crash and burn. We all end up in the front room, I live in the RAB puffa jacket that’s been up Aconcagua, it’s so cold. Finally I head to bed. I feel really ill, but have had a brilliant weekend…my friends have broken me in Shropshire. THANK YOU :o) !!

So I’ve been neglecting my duties and haven’t put finger to keyboard for too long. What have I been doing? Well exactly?! Back in London I have a few issues I need to sort out. I have the flat situation. Seeing M is very emotional after all this time. Last time seen = very hung over on way to airport in Buenos Aires in March! We end up going out, David D is playing in the east end I want to go. We head over and spend a cool evening rocking to his music. Then as a finale we end up in Favela Chic on Old Street and round the evening off with a last wasted boogie. Two guys approach us as the lights come on and ask if we want to join them at an after party? We’re too drunk so say no, but I exchange numbers with Will, who is apparently a brain surgeon?! M asks him for ID! Obviously he doesn’t have any.

I get over the hedonistic blur that pre Christmas London is, and head to Brussels for a reunion with the parents and sister. How lovely to be home. I love seeing mum and dad and S. God I’ve missed them. Wonderful Christmas, even the disastrous Christmas lunch of bleeding rib of beef, which has to be put back in the over for half an hour, warms the cockles of my heart. Then a ridiculous Danish Boxing day, where we drink far too much (pattern emerging?!). We all wake to monstrous hangovers. Which then turn into some kind of tummy bug. M and D are struck down and are properly poorly. I seem OK. Guts of steel from travelling? The imminent departure to the snow is delayed by a day, so we head down to Switzerland in the A6 on the Monday after Christmas. A neat 8 hour drive. Me sitting in the back feeling right at home. I love long car journeys? Why? There is tonnes of snow in the Alps and I love being here. The flat is its normal cosy self and we spend a super few days snowboarding and farting about. I head down to Geneva to see P and M for New Year. A fantastic gourmet knees up! I have a week back at home in Brussels to sort my head out, before I head back to blighty and my flat.

The thing which becomes apparent in this first month of being home: ON THE WAGON for me, welcome to sober 2009...

Hair report: Curly Cher or Stanley punk

I've missed my friends, I love them very much.
I'm still living out of a bag.
I seem incapable of hanging clothes in a wardrobe.
DOUBLE BED in my own room.
Bath Bath Bath.
Can't cook anymore.
Ribena.
Wotsits.
Head lice from India (don't ask)
Miss INDIA!
esthersroom on its way.

xxxxxxx

Back Home remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

E will be waiting for me at Heathrow with Pet in his new blacked out Range Rover Vogue. I have lost all my capitalist, London bullshit – so it won’t impress me. Finally after what seems an eternity we can finally board. Ok flight with nothing exciting to add. I arrive in London on a crisp December morning. It’s still dark 7am, but not raining! As the sun rises I’m treated to a wonderful red and orange sky and Jack frost has visited, and outlined all the trees and objects into focus.

I’m quite nervous about seeing E when I step out of arrivals. I psyche myself up. My bag appears on the belt, I grab it and head through the nothing to declare channel. I step through the automatic doors and a sea of eyes is directed toward me. I follow them along the line as I push my trolley. Any moment I will see E. I have tears built up waiting to burst out. I don’t find him. I follow the entire long length of the arrivals walkway and no bloody E! By the time I reach the end of the line the tears have snuck back in. I’m completely deflated and all of a sudden feel totally lost. Then I spot a familiar gait, and a familiar crop of strawberry blond hair. Making a bee-line for the coffee stall. I head over, and am spotted. N is here too, and do I want a coffee?! It’s brilliant to see them both, I’m home! We head back to the car where there is an expectant Pet waiting. E opens the door and he jumps out, completely ignoring me. He’s all over N and E. I get a quick sniff. We pile in the Range Rover. It’s so luxi, and the plushest vehicle I’ve been in for a whole year. I sit in the front with Pet on my lap. Then all of a sudden Pet realises who I am! I get totally smothered in licking dog breath. Yes Pet it’s Godmotherfucker Esther back! She, who pulled a red rubber band out of your arse, outside Starbucks on the Fulham Road, in front of all the yummy mummies. I love that dog so much.

I fill E and N in on my latest news. We’re pretty much all up to date by the time we get to Heston services. How ridiculous? It doesn’t feel like I’ve been away at all. Well maybe a month or so, but not eleven months. It’s so strange. We’re all feeling it though.

I will be staying with S in Barnes for the next week, until I head home to Brussels for Christmas. I can’t wait to see her and her baby boy, whom will now be 16 months old. It’s too weird being back. But everything slips back into exactly how it was and it’s as if I’ve never been away. I think I'm glad to be back.

List:

My grand thoughts at the end of my trip:

Has it all been worth it?
Have I lost my want, want, want, capitalist tendencies?
Have I realised what’s important again?
Have I discovered where I might like to live in the world?
Have I found love?
Have I met life long friends?
Have I found peace with myself?
Can I now tackle anything thrown at me?

(Answer is YES to all the above, but still not entirely sure of what it all means, we’ll see, time will tell, I LOVE THE range rover, shit)

Why does it all feel like a dream?
But I can almost remember every single detail.

Loving being back in my flat with my laptop and just chilling. Have BIG decisions to make but they will come naturally. Going to keep up my Blog as a kind of diary, well not really sure how it will work?

Bye for now, but watch this spacebooth xxxx

India/UK remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

As you can imagine the thought of returning home is on my mind, and I’m scared, very scared. I can't believe the year has gone so fast? I can't believe it's nearly December, and Ill be home in just over three weeks! Part of me is obviously very excited to see family and friends. I’ve missed them so much. But to be back in cold grey London, in the middle of this recession, Yuk.

I have a list from G about where to go to in Goa. It’s already occurred to me that his advice may not be exactly what I’m looking for (it includes boutique hotels and expensive clubs and bars). I’m a backpacker again after a few weeks of ‘flash packing’. I’ve already checked out all the other passengers on my IndiGo flight. It’s a quick 30min flight, instead of the 14-hour train ride, and there is a woman who is colourfully hippyish with nose stud and dreddy hair in a neat mess on the top of her head sitting just up from me. I pluck up courage to ask her advice on Goa. Thank GOD I do. She’s very sweet and invites me to join her in her pre-pay cab towards Arambol, which is where she says I should definitely start my Goan tour. We head off and she tells me of her love affair with Goa for the last six years. She’s Israeli and has been coming back to Goa every year for months on time. She speaks from the heart and while she does, I already know that I’m feeling the same way about India. The cab drops her off at her very own Portuguese villa (want one), we say goodbyes and then I head off to Arambol. I decide to follow the advice of a blog I read in Mumbai on the net, and as we enter Arambol I see a signpost for Gods Gift Guest house. I get shown a simple but comfortable room and decide to stay. It’s minutes from the beach and has a lovely restaurant over looking a palm tree forest. I chill out and then head down for some food. Sweet lassi and Goan fish curry with rice. So good, and so cheap! I’m quite tired after all this activity, so head to bed for a snooze before I go and explore. When I wake it’s dark. I realise that Gods Gift is lovely but also quite far from Arambol centre. Not great to be wandering around on a pitch-black beach on my own? Humm? I head to the nearest bar with fairy lights twinkling and meet two guys who are smoking a gigantic reefer, and looking through photographs on a camera. I’m slightly peckish and order a grilled cheese sandwich and a beer. We spend a hilarious night together, a Brit, an American and a Norwegian. When it’s time for me to go home, the Norwegian offers to escort me. There is a lot of stumbling around in the dark. It is so dark that we both nearly walk straight into a boat pulled up on to the sand. I wish I’d brought my trusty head torch. Gods Gift is too far away so I resolve to move into central Arambol the next day. I pack up in the morning. I check out, the sun is already baking (its only 10am), and head fully backpacked down the beach. I’m halfway when I realise I've left my mobile charging in the bathroom of my room. Back I go, huffing and puffing. Goa is damn hot! I move to Delwin's Ark, which I find accidentally just off the beach behind Relax Inn. It’s right in the hub, but hidden and quiet. I have my very bamboo beach hut with en-suite. Cold water, but I don’t care. Breakfast at Relax Inn, beach, maybe a spot of lunch? a lassi or fresh juice, the sunset, dinner, drinks, a smoke, bed. This is my life for the next three weeks! It’s so perfect. I meet a wonderful lady from Blighty who works the markets in Goa. One evening after far too many drinks, two on the house, a beach dog bites my hand (over zealous petting), and then I get walked home to my hut. But get to the door and have lost the key. So have to call C and she comes to the rescue. I stay at hers. She also has an apartment in Vagator that is a few beaches further south. I resolve to help C with her stall at Saturday’s Night market. Quite interestingly we’re selling Primark Underwear? I head off to the market around 4pm, wanting to hire a moped but chickening out and getting driven. I’ve been to the doctors in the morning with my dog bite, which isn’t bad. But my hand is in a bandage. The Saturday night market is brilliant fun, and goes on till nearly 2am. Marigetty a Greek woman has her kebab stall, so delicious chicken and feta kebabs for tea. There is so much cool stuff to buy at the market. I wish I didn’t have a budget. I do get myself a brown leather pair of Roman style sandals and a funny toilet bag. There is live music, great food, cool stuff to buy; it’s a really good night. I’ve been in Arambol for a week now so decide to move further south. For my next few weeks I move to Vagator (to be near to C too), into a mini house in the garden of Salt and Pepper guesthouse. All is fine until I make the mistake of eating a calamari curry on Baga beach. I get so ill I have to call the doctor to my room. I’m as sick as a dog; in fact I’m as sick as I was possibly in Colombia (at least I don’t have to trek for five hours). I get antibiotics and an avuredic meal plan, plain boiled rice and yogurt. This is my only sickness in India, pretty good going I think? Possibly due to my new found vegetarianism. There are so many power cuts in Goa; sometimes the power can be off for half a day. The restaurants obviously have freezers; these defrost, and then freeze again. That meat curry doesn’t sound so good now does it? Salt and Pepper are great and look after me like I’m part of the family. Vagator beach is very nice. Generally I’m to be found on the sun beds outside Shiva’s Place. After the calamari experience I opt for Shiva’s tuna, bean, tomato and red onion salad. Really good. Quite liking salt lassi’s now too. I do try half a bang lassi which I later regret somewhat. Thank god I only do half. There are plenty of crazies in Goa, but generally I have to say that is quite tame. Gone are the days of all night raves in Disco Valley. There are curfews in force, which mean all beach bars shut at 10pm. I do venture into 9bar, which stays open much later. But the psychedelic trance music means I don’t stay late. I manage a quick pizza and two beers but then am forced to head off (because I’m not off my head). I don’t fancy Baga much after the calamari curry experience. Plus I lack cash and heels. Going out just isn’t me in Goa. I like being tucked up in bed before 11pm every night. Did I mention that I officially smell like curry now too? I finished favourite deodorant (Pink Amplex), way back in South America somewhere. So have since been searching for a replacement that works as well. Difficult in so many different countries. Nivea ones seem to pop up everywhere in various guises. Crap, all of them. Then tried Rexona in Australia, which has been the best substitute so far. But that ran out in Saigon. Replaced with another Rexona. But different one, and crap again. So for a while now I’ve sort of gone sans deodorant?! Yuk? Or well don’t know really; just don’t seem to need one. Obviously I’m showering everyday and being on the beach so this negates the need of any body products apart from sun block. But I have noticed that I now have a distinct (but subtle) BO. This could be attributed to Indian food I fear? I quite like my smell. Is that wrong? It works especially well with my putain des palaces perfume. I meet a fake sunglasses salesman at one Saturday night market and kind of fall in love at first sight with him. He is so beautiful. He drives me around on his motorbike. I love being driven on Goan roads by bike. The wind on my face, my hair blowing free, the world going by in a whiz of colour, and the sun beating down on the dusty roads. I’m taken into Panjim to see Bollywood movies; we visit Old Goa and sneak in on a Catholic festival. I queue to see Saint Francis Xavier, and his non-decaying body. I’m almost not allowed in because I have a sleeveless vest on. It’s on view in an austere Catholic colonial church. I love the minimal interior. It’s very beautiful and somehow I understand this better than the opulence on show in so many church interiors. We sneak out as a large outdoor sermon has just started and squeeze through a gate to the safety of a market. Here there are sellers with trays of wax limbs; arms, legs and heads you can buy as donations to Saint Francis! We go to grab something to nibble, an onion and potato bhaji in a roll with tomatoes and a delicious sauce. Followed by Indian sweets, coloured bright orange and tasting of condensed milk and pistachio nuts. Then home as the sun goes down and we race under the burnt orange and pink sky with black palm tree jungle silhouetted against it, and the stars starting to twinkle in the midnight blue sky. We see a fluke night sky as the moon is full and Venus and Jupiter sit just above it either side. There is s smiley face in the sky looking down at us. I’m sad I don’t have my camera. So this is my life in the last few days of Esther’s Adventure. What and adventure I’ve had. Goa is the perfect place to end my adventure and I don’t really want to leave. In fact I come up with all sorts of hair brained schemes to stay. I’ve met such nice people. I wish I could stay. Shit this can’t be the end? This has been so much fun. It hasn’t been a very well updated blog. Sometimes two months out of date? But I’ve really loved doing it. I’ve much regretted not having my trusty Power book with me. So many crappy Internet cafes, so many dirty keyboards, so many slow connections. But the most annoying thing being, that I couldn’t type when I wanted. I’ve filled two notebooks, irreplaceable. I confer with them to check on content. Anyway I’d really like to know who reads my crap… please?? I seem to get a few hits on the page and have tried to set that Google thing which can apparently tell me who hits my page (i.e. its not just you mum, is it?) Can anyone tell me how to do it? I may continue to do a blog, not really sure how relevant to travel it will be? Although not entirely sure, that this blog was particularly travel concerned anyway? Travel has been the common thread in my blog… but I fear I’ve digressed somewhat on occasion.

OK I’ve dragged it out to one more instalment…

• In more ways than one, I’m super lucky to have missed the dreadful terrorist attack.

Hair Report: bushy on top from motorbike riding/racing.

Bollywoood movies.
Panjim.
Old Goa – The un-decayed body of Saint Francis Xavier at the Basilica of Bom Jesus.
All the pilgrims and Catholic girls.
The Delhi belly that renders me bed bound for two days.
Esther usually to be found at Shiva’s Place.
Bicep – Indian brother?
Connect-4 night.
Elephant on then bed means you don’t have bad dreams.
Motorbike crash in front of us. Luckily no one is hurt.
Riding out of Anjuna after the flea market on Wednesday evening.
The Enfield. Justin’s Enfield.
Esta bien/ Justin time.
Justin who reminds me of Nick with a four-month beard.
Shark and chips.
Caroline’s crystals.
Horse Power – Indian Red Bull.
Anklets without fasteners.
Esther in her Ali Baba trousers, anklets, chapels (flip flops), stripy fake Lacoste t-shirts. Esther SO happy it would make you sick.
The hot water bucket.
The Goan kiss I get on my leg – motorbike exhaust burn.
Listening to a Scottish woman sitting next to me on the beach and it taking me about half and hour to realise she’s Scottish. I actually couldn't understand her?!
Goa is an enchanted place.
The slippery water.
The gigantic ant infestation (they are ants, but 125% enlarged) One night they make off with half a Dairy Milk with almonds??
The well polished cockroach patrolling my bathroom shelf a night.
You cannot love without intuition – Graham Greene.

xxxxxx

India remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

On the final weekend before I leave. We have a lovely Friday where we meet for lunch at Britannia. A very old school restaurant, in the Old Fort area above Colaba. We meet up with a collection of lovely new friends whom I’ve met during my week with G. The restaurant is all peeling paint and creaking ceiling fans. The food is legendary, sublime in fact, Parsi. Lots of fruits and nuts added. My mouth is watering thinking about it. Afterwards a friend of G’s called R, takes us to the US club, which has a very quaint Afghan (Catholic) church in it. It feels like I’m in an English Village, except for the palms, oh and the 30 degree heat. Bit ‘a’ culture though innit?!...Then that evening, a typical G one. We have drinks and dinner first at friends house in Worli Beach. Then another drinks at Indigo. Then a party in Alibaug, which we have to get a ferry to, from outside the Taj Hotel and the Gateway of India. It’s basically an island off the coast of Bombay. A whole gathering wobble onto the boat and about 40mins later we all wobble off to dis-embarque. We’re standing in the dark when three jeeps appear out of the darkness and we pile in to them. There are 8 people in ours?! I cab hardly breath but the journey is only short. We head up a long drive way, either side of us are fountains and statues lit up like Christmas trees. Where on earth are we going? We arrive at what amounts to an Indian Beckingham Palace. We fall out of the jeep and are ushered into a marble lobby from which double sweeping staircases fall and drop down to an expansive lower ground floor where there is a indoor pool, disco, bar, sports rooms which all open up to the garden. It’s amazing and ridiculous. What on earth am I doing here??! It’s so surreal. Hilarious evening and I meet two great English girls who are singers. Eventually and rather to quickly the sun arrives and sheds light on vast landscaped gardens with tacky Venus de Milo statues and Greek columns. It’s way past our bed time, and we need to catch to boat back. We get ourselves together (a bit of a mission). G has been swimming so has lost his bag. The house and grounds are so vast, god only knows where it could be? We jump into another jeep and head back to the pier we arrived last night. G’s bag appears in the back of the jeep, brilliant. Then there is a Bollywood movie being shot on the pier, so we have to saunter past Rambo (?) and his entourage. We fall into the boat and are whisked back to Bombay, before you can say ‘hair looks like it’s been dragged through a bush backwards’. What a crazy night. Sunday is spent under wraps.

Monday morning I finally have a flight to Goa! I make it, well by the skin of my teeth, wrong terminal again… Goa here I come!

Hair Report – (just for Louise) Indian Jennifer Aniston but blond (in fact very blond) and mini fringe has finally grown out.

G’s house boy Shadoo, sleeps on the floor of the back room.
Pickled ginger in lime juice and sugar.
Cristal the dog – she eats my lonely planet (entire index), my memory card (entire Vietnam photos not backed up), bitch.
Indigo dinner – first steak since Argentina? Amazing Oysters.
R's menu: tbc

I am flavour of the month.
The pasta bar: you go to the bar and decide what shape pasta you want and with what sauce, then it’s cooked for you in front of your eyes (this is someone’s private dinner party).
Sleeping in the sauna for an hour to hide from crazies (it was dark and off).
The Dhobi Ghats.
My lunch at veggie restaurant in Bandra. Dosa yum!
The Bollywood movie I act in, end up with the casting agent till rather late.
The very very drunk man at the party who tells us: ‘its grotesquely inappropriate, and a scandalous travesty of justice that we’re not in bikinis!’. He should have been a character in the Fast Show.
The rudest girls I’ve ever met, who I kick out of G’s apartment.
The Bollywood Eastender, Dalip Tahil who keep flirting with me because he thinks I’ll recognise him, I don’t. Only find out after who he was.
Chor Bazaar – too much cool stuff. But I visit at dusk and get quite scared being on my own. What is that I’m walking on in flip flopped feet in the dark?
80’s ski suite fest. OMG – fancy dress heaven, it has to be seen to be believed.
Crawford Market – buy spices and given a pocketful of cashews.
Give pocketful of cashews to taxi driver, he’s so grateful we stop off en route to give some to his mate.
Gateway to India – I end up in lots of different peoples holiday snaps.
The milk and rice scam – I’m taken by a barefoot Indian woman to buy her some baby milk and rice, she says she can’t get in the shop with no shoes. So we walk for about 15 mins. To a store on a corner. I buy her milk and rice for 400 rupees. It only occurs to me later that she didn’t actually need to go in the shop, so the bare foot thing was a lie. And then I realise it will have been her friends shop and she probably wont buy milk and rice, or if she does not at that price. Truly had, truly BLOND see above hair report.
Terrible fashion disasters – where are the Indian fashion police when you need them?
WWKMD? – what would Kate Moss do? Girls take this to heart please.
The White Tiger – interesting insight into the darkness of India.
The text message: Abyss in the liver – should have read abscess!
BOMBAY SUNSET – Cafe del Mar eat your shorts.

Oh dear I truly LOVE Bombay with all my heart.

Home will be here soon, how did that happen? Afraid, very afraid.

xxxxxxxx

India remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

We land in Mumbai its 8pmish, I'm in India wow! We have to taxi for about 20 mins. Although the captain has told us to remain seated with our seat belts fastened. There is an immediate rising of bodies out of the seats and running to the over head lockers. The stewardess tries to calm us down, but its all rather futile, people are already queuing in the aisles. I can't actually move in my seat, so stay put. Security is fine, although the Indian customs lady scrutinises me from my now eight year old passport photo. Have I changed that much? Then on to the baggage reclaim. I will reword that the 'pantomime of the baggage reclaim'. A busy pretty crappy (run down, being renovated, piles of building stuff lying around dangerously) baggage hall. Trolleys are grabbed then pushed with great speed and no particular regard for safety or human or anything, to the conveyor belt. This is done by everyone it seems. This results in all the trolleys crammed around the belt so no one can actually reach the belt. Unfortunately our luggage doesn't appear for ages, so the pack gets tighter and tighter. There is an initial load which creates mild hysteria, but then nothing. The same bags just seem to go round and round. People are edgy and bickering about the trolley jam. Finally the bags appear, but it's a farce because those who can get their bags off the belt, can't actually move their trolleys away. I just sit back and watch. I keep thinking of Meera Syal and her book 'Life Isn't All Ha Ha He He', it certainly isn't. My bag goes round three times before I decide to brave the riot. I'm in India, I'm not in a hurry, it's making me laugh = I love it!

From the madness I'm rescued by Lalal, P's trusty driver. A private car to whisk me into Mumbai, thank f*ck! I'm taken to a hotel (Sea View Hotel) by the beach in Juhu. The most expensive place I've stayed and possiblt the most rubbish. I'm checked in by a man with the hairiest ears ever, and then shown to a room which is filthy and has dirty sheets. I ask them to change the sheets. They bring fresh ones which are still stained (dirty). Yuk (my OCD about stains). Anyway I resolve to be OK about it for one night, Ill use my sleep sheet. P and his beautiful girlfriend are very sweet and invite me to stay with them on the following days. I do wake up though and have a lovely stroll on Juhu beach, get a henna stamp on my palm and chatter with a cricket playing girl whose whole family are playing on the beach. I have managed to accidentally arrive in Mumbai for Diwali. Which is the Hindi New Year. The whole place is lit up like Christmas. It's so pretty, fairy lights in all colours and big lanterns and fireworks. I spend the next two weeks in Mumbai or Bombay as everyone still calls it, on a bit of a bender. Thanks to wonderful P, I'm invited to the most incredible parties and meet so really cool people who work in Bollywood or do very well for themselves. It's a far cry from Shantaram's Bombay. In fact weirdly I stand at one party in a penthouse apartment in an expensive enclave of Colaba over-looking the slum in which Lin Baba lived. The Indian girls at the parties are breath-takingly beautiful, with waterfalls of diamonds falling from their ears. All the parties have bars layed on, and waiters and large bowls full off cashew nuts the size of boomerangs. This is uber bling. I've never seem anything like it. Indians love to gamble and this is what they do during Diwali. They all sit round youngsters, middlers and oldies, all playing poker and betting wads of rupees. I end up snogging a Bollywood director!...

Waterstones is a wonderful spa which P takes me to chill after the crazy all night gambling etc. So nice and relaxing an oasis of calm from the whirlwind. I'm also invited to P's parents, where I do the Diwali ceremony, thank you very much. During the days I head off from the flat in Juhu, via rickshaw to the train, which then takes about 30 mins to get into Churchgate, and from there I can walk down into Colaba and the Old Fort area. I do my usual, which is just wandering round stopping at various refreshment stalls along the way. It's definitely a crazy city, but I meet some lovely people, get ripped off in a rickshaw, eat amazing food, drink a beer at Leopold's, buy a plastic Ganesha. I take loads of photos of dirt and bumble bee taxis and shit and crap (not actually). There's never a dull moment in Bombay. It's a freshly cut out throbbing heart.

Is it just me or is water quite difficult to drink? I just don't like it.

Indian rules on the flight: no remote controlled cars

The herd of cows going to Diwali.

Bobby Deol in Speedos.

Expat party where we have to introduce ourselves on the mike.

Loving curry.

I make the mistake of getting the public train at rush hour (not first class).

Ben Stiller moment.

Indian men = friendly and chatty

Indian women (NB not all) = unfriendly and catty.

Beautiful gorgeous D, P's girly.

Gold, diamonds, watches, cars, massive TVs.

Johnny Walker black label.

More to come on the perils of excess in Mumbai and notes on a country where all sorts of crazy shit happens, like the whole time.

xxxxxxx

India remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

Cockerel in Paddy field.
The beautiful fat cows (unlike the skinny Cambodian ones)
Trang/Puong.
The Quiet American.
Crouching Vietnamese.
The small steel topped tables.
The tiny furniture which sits with the tables.
The street food.
No houses on stilts.
Pyjamas worn outside.
Banana plantations.
Cactus plantations.
Piles of sea oysters and other shell fish.
Woven coracle fishing boats with oars like cricket bats.
Mini Ha Long bay sculptures you can by for your garden or drive way.
Grey mist above the mountains.
Young Buddhist monk flame throwing.
Boys lying on the warm tarmac at night under their trucks.
Motorbikes.
Sleeping on motorbikes.
Crazy motorbike helmets.
Smell of tarmac in the rain.
Truck stops by the side of the road with hammocks and tables.
Skinny jeans and mullets.
The heavy red setting sun like a lazy eye.
Things in plastic bags hanging outside shops.
Old crooners like bar flies drinking beer and scotch, with wizened smokers skin, accompanied by beautiful young Vietnamese girls.
Vietnam War memorabilia.
No copyright laws, photocopied books, check that the cover of the book matches the interior.
Crafty cyclo guys, agree a price first.
Cacophony of noise.
Trying to cross the road in Saigon, you ain't crossed a street until you have here.
Great food, clean, simple easy.
Filthy feet (mine again).
Ka da (ice tea).
Mango shake.
Pho Bien (beef noodle soup with rare and well done beef)
Bun Cha Gio Chay (cold rice noodles, with coriander, mint, lettuce, beansprouts, carrot, cucumber, chives and deep fired pork spring rolls which you pour a sweet fish sauce over).
Cholon market.
Fresh spring rolls (the best).
Bags of weird red root stuff.
Sharks fin.
Burping shop assistant.
Amazing french bread and croissants.
Balls of tar on the road.
Motorbike drivers getting your attention.
Army officers drinking iced coffee smoking cigarettes.
Rubber band deck chairs outside cafes.
Cafes with TV's everyone goes in to watch the news or soaps or films.
Open hair dresses, cutthroat razors.
Billiard halls.
Markets.
Smelly meat stall.
Tofu lady.
Egg lady.
Trays of cat fish and shrimp, still alive.
Pomelo lady.
Pancake lady.
Dried squid man.
Lemon peel drying in the sun.
Crabs in trays.
Baguette trolleys.
Blocks of pate covered in glossy mayonnaise which is curdling slightly in the heat.
Waffle woman.
Sweet dried banana woman.
Bike repair man.
Recyclers, they crush the cans by driving the truck over then a few times.
Sun beds with sleeping Vietnamese.
The Vietnamese love their sleep, I'd say Olympic standard sleepers.
Bowls of steaming Pho.
Bags of Bun Cha.
Continuous honking of horns.
No fat Vietnamese at all.
Shuttlecock foot badminton.
Peanut lady.
Chestnut man.
Conical Vietnamese hats.
Fake bags, sunglasses, books, everything.
Zoom bar.

Bangkok for 24 hours next xxx

Vietnam remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

OK things Ive been thinking about: Tarot cards which were read to me before I left, said that there is a knight in shining armour waiting for me, and its someone I already know?! Well Ive been thinking and I don't bloody know who that could be...? Then Ive just finished reading 100 years of Solitude. Which got me thinking all about South America again. God I miss it and love it. This is all happening while I sit on a bus bound for Ho Chi Minh City or Saigon which I prefer. All sorts of things fly past my window as we travel. Blocks of ice being cut with saws. Bicycles parked outside cafes. Houses on stilts. Families sitting on their outside beds. Gateways to nowhere seem to be quite common here. Large bits of land all unkempt and jungle-like with big rusty gates keeping people out. A remnant of Pol Pot I wonder? Land which was promised, but with no money only gates were ever put up? Gates of deceit. The bus attendant looks like an Asian Yousif. Want a new tattoo. Loved Max's tattoos. I think I want a tiger? Would that be strange? There a whole gang of Germans on the bus and one of them is drinking his water in a most repellent way, I feel sick. I'm missing Sarah so much already, wish she was here to giggle with me. I just left her standing on the street outside our hotel in Phenom Penh. Surreal. Her cashpoint card wasn't working so I lent her some money. Its been quite hard keeping tabs on my spending but again, but there is more to come on this. I'm leaving Cambodia bound for Saigon. The trip wont be that long, six hours. I will be in Saigon later tonight. Not really sure where I'm staying, we'll see what happens. Something smelly is seeping from a carrier bag at the front of the bus right up the aisle, I move my backpack. The air con has started dripping on someone opposite. The bus attendant simply takes the curtain, pulls it over the offending air con nozzles and tucks it into the overhead rack. Genius! We stop to get a boat on the bus, the queue for the crossing is full of minibuses. They are jammed full of people, at least four people sit on each roof too. The road is swarming with hawkers selling green mango with lime and salt, there are baskets on heads full of baguettes and plenty of other snacks which I can't distinguish. We get to the border where we all have to disembark and file though customs. Our passports are given to the bus attendant who goes though each one and checks that we're all accounted for. A bus of about thirtyish persons and would you believe I'm last in the pile. I get to the back of the queue and wait. We all stand in the customs office and wait for our turn. There seems a hierarchy in who gets to go first. Vietnamese men first, then Vietnamese women, then Cambodian men, Cambodian women etc. Europeans are last and I'm the only female European. I'm therefore last again, the lowest of the low. Finally we're in Viet Nam man. Back to roman script. I will miss Cambodian crazy writing. It seems a little more built up and western than Cambodia, which it obviously is. Its dark as we arrive in HCMC. We pass countless street restaurants with people hungrily tucking into steaming bowls of Pho (beef noodle soup). We arrive in the dark on Pham Ngu Lao, which is the centre of the backpacker district. Street hawkers accost us as soon as we step off the bus, offering accommodation. Not really sure where I'm going, but fend off any advances and head down the street. 15 minutes later I'm approached by a young woman who offers me a room for $7 per night; she promises cable TV and hot water. I feel safe and follow her down a tiny alley off the main street. I'm shown to a little home down this lane, and into a room which is the master bedroom of a family house! The family seem really sweet, the room is spotless and has a lovely en-suite, TV and a balcony. Its just started to rain so I say yes. I'm pretty tired so sort myself out and pop out for some food. I find I little restaurant on the main street and sit myself down, order fresh spring rolls and some noodles and watch the world go by. I'm in Sai Gon, Viet Nam.

Back to the room, it's about 11pm and so I have to step over the whole family and a dog who sleep on the floor in the lounge? Interesting?! Once in the room which is up a tiny staircase at the back of the house I lock the door, and then worry for about ten minutes that someone will break into the room during the night. Will I be safe? I settle back on the comfy bed with terry toweling sheets which say 'I love you' all over them, and watch TV, I think I'll be fine. The fan whirs above my head and the bedside light glows red. Its hot and sweaty, I feel like Martin Sheen in the beginning of Apocalypse Now.

There is a huge poster of a Vietnamese bride and her Russian husband on the wall opposite the bed. She's the eldest daughter of the family. The picture is brilliantly photo-shopped and they look flawless. Its totally kitsch and I think I would now do the same, airbrushed wedding shots. The next morning I head out. Oh my god I love the family! They're really sweet. They speak no English so we communicate with sign language and writing things down. I head off to see the War Museum and a few other tourist sites. Outside the Ben Thah market I'm approached by a cyclo driver (tuk tuk cyclist). He shows me his well fingered scrapbook of his tourist trail. I ask how much he charges and hes super friendly and says that I can give him what I want. Hes all smiles and very persuasive. Its bloody hot, I'm not really sure where I'm going, so I decide to take him up on his offer. He cycles me about, and then an hour later delivers me to the War Remnants museum. I agree to meet him outside afterwards. I'm only in the museum for about 45 minutes but when I get out he's buggered off, with annoyingly, my Lonely Planet... I find my own way back to the right bit of town and am annoyed with myself for trusting my book with him. Luckily though I find out from a Canadian girl a week later that part of their scam is that they're all super friendly and cycle you all over. Then they tell you they charge 200.000 Dong an hour and get really nasty if you don't pay them. So in all fairness I escaped with just a missing book. I go to an ATM and withdraw $40, unbeknownst to me my last ATM withdrawal in Vietnam. I accidentally leave my card in the machine. What an idiot. I don't realise until the next day, which is Sunday, so the bank is shut. I have to cancel the card, because I'm not sure where it is. Monday morning I head to the bank and sure enough the card had been swallowed by the machine, drat. Double drat in fact. Now I'm screwed for money. What to do? They'll have to send me a new card from the UK, and then get it sent here. I head to the British Consulate and get coordinates for the card to be sent to. Then I mail home and find out it will take a week for a new card to be issued. I decide that I will go to the beach and just chill there until I have to be back in Saigon to get the card. I jump on a bus to Muine, four hours up the coast. Here I find a hotel which will accepts my credit card and spend a week doing nothing, eating on credit or as cheaply as I can, and work on my tan. There is a little restaurant by the beach which does grilled squid in lemongrass and sweet chili sauce with steamed rice ($2). This is lunch everyday and I still dream of it now. The following weekend I head back into town to wait for my card. When I get back to Saigon I decide to try and find a hotel which accept credit cards. I find one at $10 per night and head to bed. The worst night of my life, dreaded bed bugs again!! I cant sleep. I managed them in Colombia but I was in the jungle. As soon as I can I check out and go and find my nice family from before. Unfortunately their room is let, but friends across the road also have a room above a laundry. Another lovely room and again only $7 per night. I also explain my situation, through their daughter who's about 11, but speaks the best English. They are happy for me to pay then when I get my card. They all rally round and I feel safe looked after. So I'm waiting, stuck in Saigon waiting for this blasted card, with credit card but no cash.

The novelty of my travels has worn off. I hate doing status updates on Facebook. I want to be home. Ive spoken to Ed and he also agrees. Esther get your arse home asap. I still have a little cash left (I exchange 20GBP which Id forgotten I had). So enjoy street food which is super cheap and delicious. Well I regret dinner on two nights which leaves my running to the loo, but it doesn't put me off. I find a little bakery up the road which they sell cheap sandwiches and the best Mango shakes ever. I have a shake for breakfast everyday (50p). There are loads of Russians here and loads of Nigerians too. Unbelievably one evening I'm sitting in an Internet cafe and cant help seeing a Nigerian guy sending one of those dodgy emails about helping to gain access to funds in foreign accounts because of political situations and needing your bank account number etc. He's there for the whole hour I'm there, sending hundreds of emails to databases of people...well I never?! So it's just some guy in an Internet cafe in Saigon doing that? Weird. OK I'm weird, Ive now watched the Bourne Ultimatum five times. I stay in to watch films in HBO or Star films. I have my mango shake, my pho noodles ($2), my bit of time on the Internet, then back to room to either watch TV or read. Sometimes I go and sit in the park and read. Ive walked everywhere too, and tasted nearly all weird and wonderful street foods. My favorite being the food in a plastic bag. Take a small plastic bag and fill it with cut up rice paper, lime juice, chili oil, ground peanuts, sweetened watered-down fish sauce, basil, coriander, chives, deep fried quails eggs, beansprouts. All these ingredients which are in neat little jars on a wooden tray are mixed up in this bag with wooden chopsticks by a woman crouching on the street. Vietnamese knees are incredible. Anyway this food is incredible, I love it. You then head off and munch straight out of the plastic bag with chopsticks, brilliant! Officially 6 or 7 million people live in Saigon. Half of them own a motorbike. During rush hours, streets and avenues in the center of Saigon are flooded with these small motorbikes. Possessing a motorbike is a symbol of status. Many youngsters recognize it would be impossible for them to find a girlfriend without a scooter. The more expensive the bike, the easier it is for them to find a beautiful girl apparently. A typical teenager will pick up his girlfriend a weekend afternoon, take her for a ride, and sit in a park's bench to talk. Public kissing is un polite. The parks around where I stay are full of courting couples sitting on their bikes canoodling. I spend nearly three weeks in Saigon in this mode, still no sign of this card. Mum then decides to send me so cash via Western Union, which saves my life. Lisa puts me in touch with a brilliant friend of a friend, Suzy who takes me out and spoils me. Kareoke night, I do the worst ever rendition of "here I go again on my own", I really can't sing. Strangely though when I do a duet with Suzy we win, with our take on "hungry like a wolf". I do a great day trip out to see the Mekong Delta and meet a cool Canadian girl called Vanessa (of cyclo story earlier). Boris whom I meet at Zoom bar looks after me and takes me out for a wonderful German feast of Wiener schnitzel, spaezle and red cabbage. The Vietnamese waitresses have red checked Dirndl's on! My departure date is looming and still no sign of this card. I give up. I'm going to have to do India with cash. I think I can just about cope with that! Honestly what a polava.

'Is it just me?': or do I spend an inordinate amount of time locking all my valuables into my backpack with a combination lock, only to realise that in fact I need, my passport, or card, or something. Or that Ive forgotten to lock something away. So I have to un lock it and then re lock it, this process can happen up to four times before I can leave. Hopeless. Is this a form of OCD?

Miss everyone like hell xxxx

I love my friends sooooo much x

Vietnam remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

The following day we head off in a mini bus to the Killing Fields. Tragic and quite unbelievable what the human race is capable of. Sarah has read the book 'First they killed my Father' which is a young girls account of how the Khmer Rouge destroyed everything she held dear including loosing her parents and sister. It makes us think about how different Cambodia would be today if this regime hadn't destroyed everything it did? They destroyed the infrastructure, the cities, the temples, and exterminated anyone they thought intellectual, they destroyed millions of lives. Back in town we also visit S-21 an old school, which was turned into a detention centre where through barbaric torture and torment, countless people were sentenced to death. Its heart breaking.

Sarah leaves the next day flying back to Bangkok and then back to Brussels. I don't want to think about her leaving. We go out for a nice dinner of Vietnamese Pho beef noodle soup. We've had such a nice time. Its the first time we've spent so much time together since we both lived at home. Its been a much needed bonding session and long overdue. There are not many people you can 'just be' with.

Sarah I love you for being: honest, kind, gentle, sensitive, humble, trustworthy, a listener, vulnerable, analytical, caring, loving, understanding, a dreamer, quirky, reflective, un-complicated in the most complicated way, reliable, persuasive, conscientious, feminine, glamorous without trying, tidy and eccentric, offbeat and completely unique. I'm the luckiest girl in the world to have you as my sister.

Our last day is spent with a bit of shopping in the morning, I find a really cool antique shop and have to buy a few trinkets and what not. Back to the hotel and checkout. Then I have to go, I hate goodbyes especially this one. I get in my mini bus bound for Saigon. Leaving Sarah standing on the street outside the hotel in Phenom Penh, Cambodia. Its like a strange dream. I miss her terribly. Were we really there?!

Wet sodden Cambodia, the earth soaked in rain and blood. The soil is so rich in human emotion it has a soul. It nurtures a people who deserve this Earth maybe more so than you or I.

Sarah thank you for our spiritual journey.

xxxx

Cambodia remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

Cambodians are ultra cool. They're all skinny jeans, winkle-pickers, smock tops and Hoxton mullets. But with their café au lait skin, almond eyes and their beautiful faces, they carry off heroin chic far better than us. We spend three days in Snook waiting for a clear day. It never arrives and rains torrentially from morning till evening. No beach, damn it! We conclude that beach and rain is just miserable, wrong in fact. On day three we head on to Kampot, which is a two hour mini bus ride away. Orchid Guest house becomes our home. A small hut in an orchid garden, with our very own porch with two uncomfortable bamboo chairs on it. The interior is superior tat. Neat pink frilly mossie nets, multi coloured reed matting on the floor, and flowery tasseled light shades. Kampot is a small sleepy town on a big river, which is actually an estuary. I'm looking forward to relaxing, reading, sleeping, drinks, food and hanging out with Sarah. There is a photocopied local travel guide available in Kampot, called the 'Kampot Survival Guide'. It describes a guest house located a way out of town, called Utopia. It sounds wonderful. So the next afternoon we jump on the back of a motorbike and visit. Utopia commands an idyllic spot right on the river surrounded by bright green jungle. It is made out of bamboo and has a number of nice decks to hang out and relax on, including comfortable bamboo chairs. It's run by a Romany German called Max. A tall handsome man, with a fit athletic body in his late 40's. He greets us warmly and makes us drinks from his bar. He is never seen without a ubiquitous spliff cantilevering from his lips. He is married to a beautiful Cambodian woman and has a young daughter and a baby son. All enchanting. Sarah and I resolve to move there the next day after a day out to Kep. Max insists I make a spliff for myself, which I happily do. I only manage to smoke half. The motorbike which delivered us, returns at 5pm to take us back into town. Up the dirt track, past orchards full of bananas, jack fruit, mangoes, limes and durian. Straight into a gaggle of guarding geese. Then onto the main road back to Kampot which is also dirt in a deep rust colour.
The sky is darkening and there are ominous clouds looming above. Parts of the road are worse than others, one section is so muddy its like fording through a chocolate river. Our driver expertly controls the motorbike so that we don't wobble off. We overtake a man on motor bike carrying what look like an RSJ (reinforced steel joist), the joist is perpendicular to the bike so he's as wide as a lorry. We drive into the curtain of rain head on. The road is better now so we drive faster. My soaked hair is plastered across my face, I cant do anything because I'm hanging on so tight, I whisper to Sarah 'does my hair look OK?!'. Then like a ghostly apparition five beautiful girls all in different coloured translucent rain ponchos cycle towards us. I don't care about being wet, I love riding on motor bikes, I love Cambodia and I feel alive! That evening once the rain has passed I sit on the porch of our hut and ponder things. The noises are fascinating. Frogs croaking, cicadas buzzing, tigers growling in the distant jungle (apparently!). I fancy some music and get my ipod. Can I just say that I really cant live without my ipod. I find Bugge Wesseltoft (not sure from where it came?). Anyway its perfect stoner music, eerie electronic noises which captivate the imagination. I feel totally at one with everything as I sit on the porch with Pascal our resident lizard who's above me stuck to the wall, motionless, maybe he's stoned too?.

The next day we head off on a tuk tuk ride to Kep (fresh crab by the sea!) and a pepper plantation. Kampot is famous for it's pepper, souvenirs are bought. Back to Orchid, which we liked apart from the mouse attacking the soap on the bedside table in the middle of the night. Check out and off to Utopia! We spend five days with chez Max et famile. They make us feel right at home. It's so chilled. All our stresses melt away with lots of lemon and mint shakes and good books being read lying horizontal. One night I go to bed and there seems to be what looks like tiny animal droppings in neat piles over my white sheets. I decide its woodworm poo. It happens again the next day, but the piles are in different places?! We have trouble going to sleep that night, for fear of whatever it is, falling on our faces while we sleep. Lying in the darkness we listen to the usual orchestra of wildlife and it seems, no so distant very noisy chanting? Then strange pop music and what has to be karaoke? It's a funny old world. Sarah falls in love with the dogs, and Max offers her Cleopatra to take back to Brussels, she's very tempted. We don't want to leave. Sarah and I really do find Utopia in Cambodia.

Starting a new bit of my blog:

'Is it just me?' - my feet get filthy wearing flip flops, no one else seems affected.

Hair report - nothing unusual.

The strange cult of ten Americans in a restaurant, who inform us that the food is really good. So we order a Cambodian specialities. The Americans then get their food, which is sandwiches and burgers.
We tell Max about Pascal, our lizard, Max introduces us the Adolf and Gertrude, his resident lizards.
The bar lady in her Audrey Hepburn dress and pearls, her feet precariously balanced on high healed leather mules, two sizes to small for her.
Sarah's drinking beer.
Cambodian pyjamas.
Going fishing, trying to pull out a fish and it nearly yanking my arm off, how big was the fish?!
Max's amazing tattoos.
His five years in a Japanese prison, what for we wonder?
The old fashioned ring pull.
Sarah's banana pancake addiction.
Sell Count of Monte Cristo for $2.50.

Cambodia remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

We need to get to the border and decide on a tuk tuk driver, after some persistent (Sarah won’t be broken), haggling over the price. Fifteen minutes later we’re at the border. It feels like we're in the Thai Wild West. The tarmac has disappeared and the road is reddish brown dirt. There are makeshift huts and covered stalls along the road. We are approached by countless hawkers trying to entice us on taking their offer of a taxi to Siem Reap. Still not sure exactly sure what we're supposed to be doing, we head by foot towards the border. There are no tourists lurking here so no one we can really ask advice of. We need to find a bus. We clear customs, with loads of Thais or Cambodians with children, chickens and pets in tow. Then we arrive in Poipet which is on the Cambodian side of the border, yuck. It’s been raining so the dirt road is now muddy and filthy too. The rubbish is piled up and stinks. There seem to be loads of giant casinos, all gaudy and they look awfully out of place in what is quite pleasant countryside, subjective point of view, maybe locals think they look good? We stop off at a cafe for a coffee and deliberate what to do next. I rename Poipet; ‘Dirty Vegas’. I don’t recommend it. I nip into a casino for a pee. It’s vast, full of gambling Thais apparently. It’s about 10.30am, what a scary world gambling is? I run back to Sarah, just as we’re about to leave the café, there is a loud explosion behind us. A man up a metal ladder has dislodged an electricity cable. The cable is free and dancing in the air like a bionic serpent. Sparks are flying, the man is OK, but not really sure how he’s going to sort this out? Sarah and I edge out of the café, in search of a bus. It appears we still need our passports stamped by Cambodian officials, although I thought we’d gone through customs? Into another office, here we meet two guys from Iceland; they are also trying to get to Siem Reap. It’s decided to take a taxi the whole way, bugger the cost, the road looks bad, and the wait for the bus is ages. We walk into town in search of a cab, and find one a little way in.

$60 for four of us on a three hour drive to Siem Reap. We cram our packs into the boot and are immediately overcome by a putrid smell. It is emanating from something wrapped in soggy newspaper, I think it’s durian? Hodi sits in the front because he’s the biggest. Sarah, Krissi and I, on fill the back seat. We head out of town. After five minutes the driver pulls over and halts the car by the side of the road. A young Cambodian woman, runs from a house and opens the driver side door, she gets in next to our driver. Remarkable! A tandem driver seat? They're both quite small so can just about fit on the one seat. We trundle out of town bursting at the seams, three in the back, three in the front, along the dirt road bound for Siem Reap. I wonder if his insurance covers this scenario?! The road doesn’t get any better. The further we get out of town the muddier it gets. We're ploughing deep grooves in the road towards Siem Reap. Either side are paddy fields which stretch as far as the eye can see. There are skinny boys riding water buffalo, which are submerged up to the belly. There are women in their gingham headscarves working in the paddy fields. The houses are all on spindly stilts and seem to float above the water filled fields. We overtake motorbikes pulling trailers in which twentyodd, Cambodians sit, balancing on sacks of grain and shopping. It rains and thick mud splatters the car from vehicles which overtake us. This drive is going to take a while. We've been in the car for over an hour, so the repulsive stench from the boot has tamed our noses and I hardly notice it. We stop for a fag and wee break. As soon as we stop, and smell the fresh air we realize how revolting the smell in the car is. It’s hard to get back in. Another hour or so later we hit a traffic jam. We all get out again and refresh ourselves with clean air. The road is so muddy and the car tires a quite flat, the car is floundering in mud. Ill be surprised if we'll be able to drive out of this. We all wait for about an hour, not really knowing what’s going on. Finally there is some movement. Unfortunately the wife of our driver has run off somewhere (we think to see what was going on). He looks frantically for her, we have to move now. Cars, trucks and motorbikes start to overtake us. She’s no where to be seen. He skulks about, calls her name, and asks passing cars if they’ve seen her, but no sign. Begrudgingly he gets back in the car and tries to start up. The wheels spin and we all hold our breath. Then they hold, and our driver edges the car out of the mud hole. Slipping and sliding all over the road we inch along. But where his missing wife? Then she appears up ahead. Our driver is furious, seething in fact. He has a few harsh words and they both get back in. He gives her no space on their shared seat, so her face is pushed against the window. She looks really uncomfortable. We’re all silent, not really sure what to do? They speak no English, we no Cambodian. Two hours, two more wee stops and some beers later we arrive in Siem Reap. The poor wife has been squashed against the window all this time and looks miserable.

Onto a tuk tuk into town, we are glad of some fresh air. I hope our bags and the contents wont smell of rancid fruit? We find a cheap guest house called Popular, which it is. $6 per night, window onto a brick wall, but own bathroom. Dinner in town at the Khmer Kitchen, which was recommended to me by Paul and Nicky in Argentina, really tasty. Siem Reap is a pretty town, rough at the edges but with some really nice shops and good feel. Drinks with the boys then bed. It’s and early start to see some Wats in the morrow.

We arrange a tuk tuk driver to take us on a two day tour of Angkor Wat and surrounding temples. Bayon and Angkor Thom on day one. Just beautiful. Spellbinding. Bayon is covered in giant Cambodian faces. It’s so beautiful. Then Angkor Thom is like something out of the Jungle book, with vines wrapping and enveloping its crumbling walls, and trees growing in and on the temple (tomb raider was partly shot there too). We spend a really nice day driving round lots of other temples and through wonderful forests and lakes. The weather is threatening and we’re pooped. We head back to town before dinner. Back at the guest house we sit in the bar sipping beers while the rain pounds the corrugated roof. Sarah has a quick freak out about the cleanliness (or lack of cleanliness) in our bathroom. She gets into bed, lying on her back, wrapped in her cotton sleep sheet. “sorry est, ich ekel mich uber alles”… translated, everything is yukky and I don’t want to touch it. We’ve opted for a sunrise at Angkor Wat, fingers and toes crossed that the weather will be OK.

Out of bed, a quick check on the weather, it seems clear! Our tuk tuk driver is waiting and without breakfast we head towards Angkor Wat. We arrive with many others. But by doing the sunrise, you do miss the big bus loads of tourists which swarm the site later on in the day. It is still dark but you can make out the familiar silhouette in the dawn sky. We find ourselves a nice position on the path leading up to the Wat, sit ourselves down and wait. Dawn happens so quickly and before we know it the Angkor Wat comes alive in front of us. It’s bigger that I expected and grander and beautiful! We move and stand in front of the beautiful lily pond to the left of the site. Still trying to figure out my camera, so take about hundred shots at different settings. Then before the sun is completely up we head into the temple. We spend a good hour nearly completely on our own. Like Machu Picchu, I can feel energy here. It’s a mystical place. The carvings are incredible and the scale and spaces are breathtaking. I’m so lucky to be here with Sarah. We sit in silence just feeling the place. Sarah is about to pass out because of no food. So we start to make our way out. Of the few people we do see we bump into the Icelandic boys and we spot a woman, 40’s ginger hair which new age traveler style is all braided. Sarah points out she looks exactly like a Catherine Tate character. After a few hours (five since we got up), we head to a stall outside, for a bite. I order Thai noodles, thinking about the yummy Thai noodles you get in Thailand. I get instant ramen noodles with a sachet of Thai flavouring. Sarah laughs at me. Sadly as I’m about to discover Cambodian food is quite sketchy. When it’s good it’s very very good, when it’s bad it’s horrid. After brunch a long ride (30km) to Bantrai Srei in the afternoon. This is a small temple, with very fine intricate carvings. Which they say must have been done by women. At this point we’re both pretty pooped and templed out. We order our driver to take us home. We’ve loved Angkor Wat and all the other temples. Our tuk tuk driver has been great, so we tip him well and he’s very grateful. We decide on route home that we might be able to manage a massage, so he drops us at Seeing Hands massage school. You get massaged by the blind! In fact everyone who works in the school is blind. I lie on my front and drift away. Incredible, I’m semi aware of a thunder storm outside. An hour of pure bliss. Afterwards we get out our wallets and pay. $10 for the two of us. They are very trusting because no one can actually see what we’ve paid. We head back to the guest house freshen up then hit town for some shopping and some nibbles.

NB:

Catherine Tate woman – is it her?
Banana milkshakes.
Sarah’s boob being bitten by a pony.
I have a fungal toe – cant talk about it.
Cold showers + Booth sisters = pathetic. I have to properly psyche myself up for about 10 minutes, Sarah the same.
Sarah’s moist loo paper – yeah now we’re talking.
‘Rubbish bag’ – sorry too funny!
Our blow out in Siem Reap – get me out of this shop Sarah.
Buying three big wooden sculptures for the wall, which we now have to carry.
It’s quirky and bizarre, but so are we, Cambodia rocks!

Early bus to Phnom Penh...

Love my sis xxxx

Cambodia remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

I don't head to Khao San Road this time. But get a taxi to Suk 11, which my super organised sister has booked us into. She arrives later that morning. I get to the hostel and hit the bed. It's a really nice room with twin beds, our own bathroom and it's all spotless. My memories of cockroach infested Khao San Road with paper thin walls, melt into sleep. I wake up early, shower and just as I finish there is a knock at the door. I open the door to my beaming sister! It's so good to see her. After lots of hugs and kisses and catch up. She unpacks her backpack to reveal some new clothes for me! She freshens up and we head to breakfast (included) and spend the morning wagging our chins.

Our plan is to spend a day or two here in Bangkok and then head on to Cambodia. We both need a Visa so after we've caught up on the gossip, we head to the Cambodian Embassy. Of course Lonely Planet is wrong again with the address (quite unbelievable really). Some Thai woman approaches us speaking great English and tries to coerce us in getting a visa though her. It all sounds a bit far fetched 'she just happened to be there, and can help?!' ... we don't take her up and then find out later that she was trying a well rehearsed 'visa scam' on us. Ahh Thailand. It all comes flooding back. We finally find the Embassy, only to find it shut for lunch. We pop round the corner for a quick bite. Yummy Thai street food, probably the best in the world? The Embassy once open is very efficient and we walk out twenty minutes later with Visas. Sarah's fading slightly, so its decided we'll head over to Wat Po for a massage at the school there. Just as we arrive the heavens open and we scuttle into the school of massage for some relief. A dark room, fragrant herbal balls, wondrous massage all conducted with a thunder storm in the background. I think I drift off to sleep. It's still raining when we finish, so Sarah treats me to a foot massage too. The rain has cleared, as has every stress in my body. We walk out and hail a cab to take us back to Sukumvit Road. The traffic is so bad that after about an hour we give up and walk he rest of the way. Once safely back at the hostel we dine at the restaurant next door on delishious phad thai and green papaya salad. We decide to leave the day after tomorrow on the early bus to Aranya Prathet (border town with Cambodia). The next day we visit the Grand via the river boat, and do a little shopping in the afternoon. There is a failed attempt at trying to buy our bus ticket early (1 hour walk in the dark), then a failed attempt at a ping pong sex show in the evening. We do see an interesting sex show with some very beautiful naked girls sliding around on a podium, pouring water over each other from champagne bottles. Then back to the hostel walking down Sukumvit road. It's teeming with traffic, hawkers, food stands, clothes stalls, lady boys, dogs, cats, roaches and then all of a sudden we're navigating around an elephant! In the middle of Bangkok! Was it a dream?

We have a silly early start at 4.30am. It's the best to have my sister here, it's been far too long.

Notes:

Sarah's backpack is tiny, she insists I told her to get one that small. So didn't.
Cabbages and Condoms - good restaurant with condomania and aids awareness.
Lunch by the river, brilliant food stands.

Miss you Sarah xxxx

Thailand remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

...Only slightly put off by Ben's unsubtle amorous advances. I try hard not to let it bother me and keep out of his space. He insists on patting me on the head (which I hate), and taking photos of me and Merie on the beach. Yuk. It all becomes too much later that night, he's drunk and tries to feed me peanuts (what a twat). I snap and tell him to f-off. It appears that he is a sex tourist who lives in Miami, but has just gone bankrupt and has escaped to the Philippines (discovered by Sebastian after I'm in bed). He's in a mess, so I do feel slightly sorry for him (slightly). The next few days are spent snorkeling and finding Nemo in the most beautiful water ever. We meet two French boys (20 year olds), both of whom have a Filipino girl in tow. They met them in Manila and brought them along with them. I'm struggling with this whole scenario. Western men with Filipino girls, I suppose its mutually beneficial? Although not sure exactly how old these girls are? The two French boys are complete idiots, and get on everyone's nerves. While the others go off diving. I lie on an idylic deserted beach watching the sand crabs run sideways. A tropical rain storm hits briefly, I watch it coming towards me. It's incredible how it can be raining in one area and dry and sunny right next to it. The darkness hits me and I dive into the water as it pours down. I wish I could have taken a photo. The vision of millions of rain droplets hitting the crystal water is out of this world, magical.

Three days of bliss (Ben leaves on day two). Then sadly it all has to finish and I need to get back to Puerto Princesa. Unfortunately by public bus. Horribly uncomfortable. My back really hurts, plus I have to sit next to a drunk man, who eventually moves, but then sits behind me and puts his dirty feet onto me and my seat, revolting. I finally arrive, check in for flight and head back to Manila. I am so grateful to be back at Claire's that night, its been a long day. The following day Ive booked myself onto a Carlos Celdran tour of Manila. It's the Imelda Marcos tour, showing the architectural highlights (and lows) of this dictator's glamorous wifes whims. She probably embezzled millions, but she did it in such a way that she is still loved and revered throughout the Philippines?! She was an icon in their eyes, and she sort of attained super stardom.

"She responded to criticisms of her extravagance by claiming that it was her 'duty' to be 'some kind of light, a star to give (the poor)guidelines'. Imelda was found to own 15 mink coats, 508 gowns, 888 handbags, and 1060 pairs of shoes". George Hamilton was a key witness for her defence at her trial! Check her out on the net, ridiculous.

On my last day Claire and Nina take me into the old town and we have a wander, and also head to a great organic market to pick up some lunch and dinner. My flight to Bangkok isn't till 10pm, I leave about 7ish before dinner, but with sandwiches from Claire (unsweetened). Its been so lovely staying with her and Manu. Nina is beautiful and a real character. I'm glad Ive got to know them, and we will always be friends. Thank you!

Footnotes:

Going to the airport outfits, Filipinos do it so well.

Efficiency, Filipinos don't know the meaning of the word.

The on board Cebu Pacific game, in flight entertainment, you win a really shit Cebu Pacific toilet bag (not for kids).

Accidentally on purpose loosing my leather slip on shoes.

Sorry late addition...The bra Lisa made me throw away in Sydney (it was skin coloured, Lisa pointed out that it was the skin colour of a corpse)

Vietnamese boat which is caught with 150 dead turtles.

Sea dogs diving, Sebastian runs out of air, luckily can come up to the surface.

Did the Filipino girls toss for which French boy? One is handsome, the other isn't.

The crab which tried to eat my skirt.

Sebastian being strip searched and having to hide MDMA pills on himself in Hong Kong.

Stuffed squid.

The kitten.

Philippines has terrible diabetes and high cholesterol rates, wonder why?

Carlos Celdran tour of Manila... "Livin' La Vida Imelda" - showman quality tour guide.

Bangkok next and seeing my sister!!!! Dead excited.

Miss you'all xxxxx

Philippines remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

I have a day or so to settle in and a delicious dinner out with some friends of Claire and Manu. I'm not entirely sure about Filipino food. Everything you order has sugar added to it. I'm dared to order the famous Halo Halo dessert. NOT nice. Don't even know what was in it...just googled it...http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halo-halo , say no more.

Very sweetly (no pun intended) Claire has offered me the use of her driver. Domingo, who incidentally is training to be a priest. He takes me to the Vietnamese embassy to get a visa. He tries to convert me to Christianity whilst we drive. Again we sit in the most ridiculous traffic. Manila's not endearing itself to me. We eventually get there after doing the most amount of U-turns ever in a car. I head into the Embassy, but and stopped at the gate by the guard. He wont let me in until I give him my phone number? Are these correct diplomatic proceedings I wonder? 60 dollars (!) later I have a visa. But It will take a week for them to print it off, sign it, and stick it in my passport. We head home. Claire is cooking us yummy French food. By this I mean a yummy simple salad of boiled potatoes, french green beans, boiled egg and red onion. My bus to Banaue in the north leaves at 10pm that night, so after dinner I head to the Autobus station. The taxi drops me into the unknown. I'm the only tourist! Wow. Its a hot night and we wait for the bus. I'm totally on my own in the middle of Manila. I sit with my backpack, lovely and light because its emptied of all the extra crap I don't need (left at Claire's). There seems to be a karaoke bar waiting for the bus too. There are about ten massive boxes of karaoke equipment all being taken on the bus? I wonder how were all going to fit on? It takes and age for everything to be loaded. We all manage to sqeeze on. The bus is freezing. I had the foresight to bring a jumper. But I'm still cold. I don't really sleep, but I think it's so cold that my body sort of shuts down. I actually do sleep because I get woken up (5am)...the sun is seeping in though the dirty windows and musty curtains, most of which are drawn. The bus horn is honking loudly. Now they like a good old honk of the horn here, but this honking go's on for ages (about 20 mins). The horn seems to be broken, like in Little Miss Sunshine. I don't believe it. My mouth feels like Satan's bottom (red onions). I play my ipod again to try and drown out the noise. We arrive in Banaue and I'm grabbed by a guy as I leave the bus, Id called ahead to book into a guest house, and told them when I was arriving. Being the only foreigner I was easy to spot! I'm whisked off to the guest house by Javez on a tricycle (motorbike with side car). The guest house is very quaint and I have an attic room all to myself. Unfortunately the shower is broken, so I only have a cold tap; but I'm not fussed. Banaue is a small town surrounded by beautiful rice field terraces. They are the 8 wonder of the world, and quite staggering. I feel like I'm in the Alps somehow. I head to bed for a quick nap. Then Ive instructed Javez to take me an a three hour hike round the terraces. Beautiful.

Ive stupidly not brought enough money with me for the weekend. Banaue doesn't have a cash point, the next day I have to take a jeepney to Langawe which is about an hour away to get to a bank. I pile in with about 25 other people, bags of shopping, a few chickens, although they get relegated to the roof after the first stop. Along we bounce to Langawe. Find cashpoint, quick lunch of squid and rice (mmm) then back to Banaue. I fancy just sitting by the guest house and reading. Ive booked Javez to take me on another trek to Batad to see more terraces and things tomorrow. Javez is 24 and is the nephew of the lady who runs the guest house. We spend Sunday on a monster trek to Batad. Javez (who looks like and asian LLCool J) is rather tired because hes been out playing poker all night, and hasn't slept! I take the piss out of him! Ha ha, there is no way on gods earth I would be able to do the trek we're doing, on no sleep plus still boozed up. Sitting at a desk is one thing... We have to take a tricycle to start the trek (leaving at 6am). The is a big 'NO FEAR' sticker inside the sidecar which I where I sit. The sticker should read 'No Road' and 'No Suspension'. I feel like Ive been in a tumble drier. It's a great day, with incredible terraces thousands of years old, waterfalls, and we meet an 80 year old Filipino who chopped off Japanese heads in the war! Poor Javez starts to feel better after some lunch and I buy him a beer on route home. Back to the tricycle and jolted home. It now about 4pm so we have to watch for kids playing badminton, dogs with puppies, chickens, flip flops, babies and other trucks and bikes all in the non-road ahead that we bounce along. Domingo may not have converted me to Catholicism, but Ive hailed Mary a number of times on route home. My bus back to Manila leaves at 10pm again. Ive had a really nice time in Northern Luzon and although still not enamoured with Filipino food, the people are great.

Hair report: Really bad hat hair (I think), no mirror so dont care.

Manila = messy.
Too many eggs.
Too much sugar.
Drunk texting, Filipinos do it too.
The glow worms.
The incredible rainstorm with thunder and lightning.

Back to Manila on bus wearing all my clothes jumper and Northface jacket with hood up, eta...4am.

xxxx

Philippines remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

After such a long time away, it's nice to have nearly a month of chilling with friends. I've spent three weeks in Oz with some brilliant people. Now I'm flying to Hong Kong to see Darrel. Darrel has been in HK for nearly a year now. Unfortunately he's away in Ibiza till Sunday (today is Wednesday). So I will have a few days in HK on my own, but in the luxury of his incredible house in Sai Kung (beautiful green hilly, by the sea, suburb in HK).
The flight from Melbourne is rather hazy, I manage to drink myself silly. Two bloody Marys then six mini bottles of wine. I'm drowning my sorrows. I have a twin seat all to myself so can happily pour my heart out, cry my eyes out, quaff my wine in relative seclusion. Opposite, on the other side of the isle, there is a Chinese man who intrigues me. So far he's buttered his salad, you know the little plastic pot of butter you get, well he scrapes it out and spreads it onto the salad? Then he mixes his beef stir fry with the apple and cinnamon rice pudding desert. My crying is briefly interrupted with chuckling. It's strange how these two emotions are so easily interchangeable. He sort of shovels the food into his mouth, and he also seems to be forever spitting into a funny plastic bag thing. When he's finished, he starts to pick his teeth loudly with the plastic fork, and I see a big bit of something hit his DVD screen monitor. I'm trying so hard not to laugh I'm crying, oh that's how I started. As a finale just when I thought he'd finished, he crumples up the metallic tray all the food has been served on, and tries to place it on the spare table next to him, unfortunately all the remnants of the food drip off the metal and into his lap. I bury myself into my sodden serviette. Thank god I wasn't sitting right next to him. I arrive in HK and sort of saunter through customs. Then once through I call Norma, Darrel's Filipino ama (maid), to ask for directions. I jump into a cab and head into town. Sai Kung is right on the other side of the city, in the burbs...I eventually arrive at the house after some mistakes and lots of misunderstandings the taxi driver. We find the house and wonderful Norma is waiting for me. She shows me round (wow wow wow) and then leaves. I collapse on the sofa drink another glass of white wine (open bottle in fridge). Then up to bed. It's so hot I strip and fall flat on the bed without the cover and wake up lying across the bed totally disorientated.

Sai Kung is a sleepy suburb of HK and in my view quite perfect. The view is stupendous. Darrel and Ross' house is about 5m from the sea. The water is twinkling blue, the trees luscious jungle green, and little white boats bob in the bay. Its about 35 degrees and the suns rays are like lasers. It's so beautiful and I'm so hungover I can't move from the sofa. Later in the afternoon I decide to try to walk into Sai Kung, to find the Internet. I walk in (very hot and sweaty), and cant find it anywhere, or a pink Maybelline mascara for that matter. Find some cool cafes though and order a yummy chicken noodle soup thing and green tea. Its all in Chinese! Don't understand a thing. I quite like this though...I equate being in a foreign land, a bit like my head sometimes. Quite often I feel everyone is speaking in a foreign language to me. I buy a few groceries and head back to the calm of the house for dinner and more TV (DVDs). The next day I hit HK. I have to take a bus to the MTR station up the road (20 mins) then take the MTR into Central (25 mins ish). The MTR is clean, fast and efficient. It takes me into another dimension.
Hong Kong is crazy. What a culture shock. I love it. I spend a fab day just wandering about and taking everything in. The same on Friday. But I call a friend of Yara (who I met in Melbourne). Her friend Yogi lives in HK and shes apparently warned him of my arrival. I call him from street noodle shop in Central under the escalator, on the off chance that he's about. He is! 40 mins later we're slurping vodka tonics in the Buddha Bar. Yogi is a local and keeps bumping into friends he knows. Its all very endearing and a lovely way to be shown HK. Eventually we stagger out of the bar to find more food. Then on the Lan Quai Fong (hideous ex pat street in Central, full of merchant wankers and other city folk, oh and us!) I'm way too drunk, but it's insisted that I try a flaming Absinthe. Why?? It melts the straw and nearly burns all my eyelashes off. Revolting. It's way past my bedtime. I wake up groggy and like Ive been hit by a bus. I decide never to drink ever again. I'm desperate for a camera, since mine is kaput. So we head to Mong Kok (favorite name in HK), to buy me a new camera. I always do good buys when hungover. Well apart from the stick on goblin ears, at the Secret Garden Festival, which I thought were a good buy, stuck them on my ears and then I forgot I had them on for the whole night and the following day. I get a camera. Without it Ive felt like my arms been missing. Its a Canon G9, and in still figuring out how to use it. Yogi is a real gentleman and spoils me rotten. I'm taken out for Dim Sum and then we meet up at Felix Bar at the top of the Peninsular Hotel to watch the dazzling light show in Hong Kong Harbour. The most expensive drink ever, but very worth it. We meet up on Sunday and he shows me how every Sunday all the Filipino maids gather in Central and make makeshift camps, with cardboard boxes and such like. Then they pique nique, do manicures, pedicures, cut hair, gamble, and listen to music. Some do karaoke. The Filipinos are natural singers, and love a bit of karaoke. It's like they are at an enormous festival, but in the center of town. They're all camped under banks and other big business buildings which are shut because of the Sabbath. Then at 1830 we have booked a ride on the Aqua Luna. Which is an old junk ship tarted up so its a bit like a floating Chinawhites. We sail around the harbour and watch the sun set and the light show start up. Luxe Guide is right, Hong Kong skyline kicks New York's butt. I head back to Sai Kung to meet Darrel!

Darrel and I spend a super week chilling. He's back at work but we meet up after and go for dinner. Ive met up with Ken who I met in New Zealand. We've had a great day just hanging out and eating! More Dim Sum and strange Chinese desserts and octopus balls. I drag him along to meet Darrel and we head out for some Thai. Darrel has invited Sarah, who is a sweetheart and drop dead gorgeous. Ive had to break the bad news to Darrel that I'm off the booze. Hes quite grateful. Usually us two out and about = trouble. Darrel and I spend a week of sobriety and its does us good. During our week we do a Kooks concert, I cook the worst soggy noodles ever and we weather a bloody typhoon! Typhoon 'Nuri' hits Hong Kong and everything stops. Darrel and I are neatly cocooned in his house so don't really get the full force. Initially it seems very calm, the calm before the storm. Then it strikes and the wind gets up to 70 mph, not easy smoking a fag in that. I give up. We officially get cabin fever after being holed up the whole day and watching about 50 episodes of Alias and Dexter. We are still sober, god sobers so boring. In the morning the wind has died down. But the wreckage is everywhere. Some of the boats in the bay have sunk and there is all sorts of debris everywhere. Darrel has booked a yoga instructor to visit us and do a class on the roof terrace. Very civilised. I take it easy because of my back. The storm seems to have disturbed dragonfly larvae. After the yoga we sit and chill watching dragonflies buzz above us as the sun goes down. We're heading into town to meet up with Ken, his girlfriend and her sister. On Sunday Ive said I'll help Darrel out doing some errands with him for work. Ive been back into work mode since being in HK and have sorted out my CV and asked around for work. HK is made of money, you can smell it. I'm taken to the swishest shopping mall Ive ever seen to check out cool shop interiors. Beautiful. We also visit Bernice, a lady I worked with for a while back in London and who lives with her boyfriend, a dog and three cats. We're invited over for a bbq. I hope to meet up with her again to discuss a possible venture. Ross, Darrel's boyf has been away in the UK with his parents. He arrives back on Monday and it's great to see him before I shoot off again. I cook us a better dinner (honestly I was starting to worry that I've forgotten how to cook). The next day I have a flight to Manila. I'm dreadfully sad to go. I pack up by bag again, its still saturated even though Ive sent more stuff home. I've treated myself to a cab again because of where we are in HK. I'm really sad to be leaving. I like HK a lot and I hope to be back soon. Darrel has been the most gracious host and has really looked after me. I miss him already. Next stop Manila.

Hair Report: very fucking frizzy.

Hong Kong on a budget? - Don't bother.
In Hong Kong on a budget? - Start crying.

'Wing On' garage.
The Escalator
Flying Pan breakfast 4 x 4 x 4 = four eggs, four bacons, four breads, four sausages etc...BIG (heart attack on a plate and I don't try it).
I go for a walk to the beach behind Darrels house. Chinese boy in wetsuit, goggles and floatation device.
I give up coffee, headache, OW... what the fuck???!
oneatatime.com
Pile Up - sexual slang term.
Alias - Sydney Bristow rocks.
Dim Sum and Chinese tea - perfect.

Imelda hold on, I'm on my way...

xxxx

Hong Kong remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

Ive never been to Melbourne, Conor is collecting me from the airport. Conor was at school with me and Ive known him for about 25 years. He was officially my first boyfriend, and I was taken to Abingdon fair by him when I was 13 years old, after he asked me in front of everyone, having saved a seat for me during morning assembly. We held hands, but never kissed. Hes now 6 foot 5 and a very successful business man. I'm whisked off straight away to have lunch with another old school friend Tamas. Both boys have emigrated to Melbourne. Tamas is married to Jo and has a baby called Zoe. I'm treated to some bay bugs (crayfish things). It's very humbling being back with these two boys from my childhood. They are very special to me. I spend a hilarious week with Conor. Some great dinners and great company. Soulfood cafe, incredible vegetarian. Gingerboy - fabulous Asian fusion see menu below. Meet some very nice friends of his, especially Yara. Very funny! We end up going out for dinner to a veggie place where you pay what you think your dinner is worth. I decide to cook dinner for some friends of Conor's, Mark and Caddie. Right at the last minute they can't get a babysitter. So I semi cook dinner at Conor's. Then pack it all up in Tupperware and head over to theirs to finish cooking there. Borscht beetroot soup with crusty bread, followed by organic beef fillet (bought from Tom the butcher) with a garlicky green salad, then chewy chocolate brownies to finish. Conor and I fall home merrily. Conor has a trip to Europe planned with weddings etc. And he's meeting up with his beloved, whom obviously he needs to impress. He needs some help shopping. My favorite hobby. We head to South Yarra and shop till we drop (drop into a bar for a fat glass of Australian shiraz, yum). As a thank you for my eye and my help Conor treats me to a bottle of expensive scent. Cant remember if I ever said? But the Birthday box of things mum sent me in Rio, which never arrived. I mourned the loss of my Helmut Lang perfume, which is irreplaceable. Finally turned up back in Brussels two months later! I think it went on it's very own adventure. But I digress, I have been without a scent till now. I spray myself at every possible occasion.

I'm so far behind in my blog that I'm just going to run through my notes quickly:

Melbourne and Sydney are like two sisters at a party. Sydney's the one you'd like to fuck, Melbourne the one you'd like to talk to.

Conor weeing on his neighbour accidentally over the balcony.

Conor is so cool (Conor's contribution to my notes).

She's got a great face for radio.

A schnick schnock of whoo wha (gram of coke).

Putain des Palaces - my new scent!

Literally, tremendous, indeed - all words which are banned whilst in Conor's company.

She's very striking, she's been struck a few times.

cheaters.com - hideous car smash American TV about partners being caught cheating.

Liam - the lovely architect, and lunch at the Porsche Garage in town.

The cinema night, 'Married Life' = no thanks!

The winery lunch, Conor lets me drive back.

I climb up that tower with cool views and a gold plated top.

Meeting Angie for the briefest girly chat ever in the history of chats. We get everything in, in 1.5 hours. And we didn't even know each other before.

Zoe in hospital - she was so poorly I hope she's much better now xxx

The revelation from home on my last night in Melbourne. Not good. And I break my camera.

Menu at Gingerboy:

Chili salt cuttlefish
Green papaya salad
Son in law eggs
Tempura oysters with pink nam pla
Silken tofu with black vinegar sauce
Lamb backstrap
Hot and sour salad with peanut sauce
King-fish lemon grass curry

Amazing! Delicious and worth a visit.

Loved Melbourne, I leave in a whirlwind of emotion bound for Hong Kong.

xxxxxx

Australia remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

Hanging out in Bondi is very much like I imagine Malibu beach to have been in the 50s. It's super cool, but not garish and in your face. It has an innocence and charm about it. We become, well I become a regular at Gusto coffee where I feed my growing caffeine addiction. Long blacks with splash or hot or cold milk depending. A yummy brunch at 'Paris a Go', of homemade granola, yogurt and honey. Washed down with a fresh juice. I'm charmed. Lisa has taken some time off work to entertain me. All I really want is quality time doing nothing imparticular, but sharing company with my best friend. We're old pros at this, so slip into the norm without hesitation, and its feels totally normal to be darting around Sydney as if it were a home from home. We visit the New South Wales Gallery and do a bit of culture. I have unfortunately missed Sydney's World Youth day by only a few days. But luckily there are still plenty of youths floating around, singing in circles with guitars and tambourines. World Youth Day should actually have been called World Christian Youth Day. Sydney has just seen over 200000 youths from over the globe share what amounts to a big jamboree with the Pope headlining. Scary. Or as Ken from Hong Kong put it, 'World Youth Day, what a shit show!'. The few who still remain are easy to spot with their red, orange and yellow rucksacks.

My Birthday way back in April, still concerns Lisa. So in order to please her I am taken for a very expensive new hair cut. Such a chore! I leave the dressers with a brand new barnet, all coiffed and shapely (the first time in 7 months). Lisa has been lucky to receive the Haviannas I picked up for her in Sao Paulo. OK they're used, because mine got lost in Colombia, I tell her they're 'worn in'. Anna, Lisa's sister is also in Sydney, so we spend spend a nice Sunday walking over to Bronte for lunch. We spot a pod of dolphins frolicking in the bay. We also meet up with Kirsten, Claudine's very lovey friend from Uni. We hang out over at hers and eat the most incredible cakes from patisserie near her house. Architecture in the form of a cake. Although we're not being particularly lucky with the weather we decide to hire a car and drive to the Blue mountains. We haven't hired a car since Ibiza, back in the 20th Century (actually I think it was 2001, poetic licence). We have great day out. Lunch of fish and chips at a restaurant which hasn't changed since the 50's and has signed photos of Scott and Charlene on the wall, and possibly Rolf Harris (not confirmed). Then a brisk walk in to the canyons of the Blue Mountains to a beautiful waterfall. We have to run back because we realise that the parking ticket only gave us a couple of hours. We make it back without a ticket and head back into town for refreshment. We find a cosy cafe which seems to be run by a religious cult. Everyone is in Birkenstocks with cheese board tunics on, head scarfs and fat plaits. We discuss the merits of living in the cult having read about then on literature stuck outside the ladies loo, at the back. It all sounds quite good, until the bit about worshipping the chosen one and believing in 'Our Saviour'. We head back into town for the cinema and to watch The Dark Knight. Gregg has got us tickets and a big bag of sour worms. We settle in to watch. We have the car for 4 days so head up to the Northern Beaches for the day and then back for a walk in the Mountains. Leaving Sydney with the sun shining we head off back towards the mountains and then into the rain. We end up going on what amounts to 'a nice drive' ... We feel rather old and silly. But we both feel like that, so its OK and we laugh about it! We're in the middle of no where in the Australian outback and Lisa is navigating with Google maps on her new i-phone. I love our adventure. Ive missed Lisa so much since being away. A perfect week and a bit, with a perfect hostess.

The bliss of chilling out in a wonderful flat with all the mod cons you could desire, including wireless Power Book and Lisa's yoga DVD, is so appreciated.

Hair report: Louise Brooks

Delicious dinners at: North Bondi Italian, The Rum Diaries, Bills.
Lots of nice treats from Lisa (she knows how to treat a girl!)
Wardrobe envy back in force - Esther control yourself.
Buy some new bras from Pluto's of Bondi.
Visit another Chiropractor and am told I have an inflamed disc, nearly decide to come home.
Buy attractive back-brace.
Meet up with Olly, from Brazil (last seen at trance party in Trancoso), and have a boogie at 'Yu' in Kings Cross.
Lush balcony at Lisa's.
The light sabre application for the i-phone.
New neon pink Havaiannas.

LISA THANK YOU, GREGG THANK YOU! Mi casa et tu casa, basta.

Love you very much xxxx

ps Could I live in a place like this? xxxx

Australia remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

Get to Christchurch airport and queue to check in for my flight. They can't find me on the system? I have changed this flight, or at least my travel agent in the UK has apparently changed this fight. What's going on? I move out the way to let other travelers check in. I AM flying to Fiji today, I don't care what it takes. I'm sent off to find the Internet, to find the email from the travel agent confirming the change. Can't print it off, so to have to email it to Virgin Pacific woman at information desk. Complete polava, and lucky that I left two hours for check in. Find coin operated Internet, stick in my only 2 dollar coin, and nothing happens. Fuck! Murphy's law again. Shake machine vigorously, kick it, look around for any help, no one. Double fuck! Resort to going to cafe to buy a water to get more change. Try another machine. It works, I find email and send it off. Please let cyberspace be prompt?! I already have all the reference numbers etc, so not really sure how this is going to help the situation. They seem to want proof that changed the original flight. Back at the check in desk I stand and wait anxiously. I watch everyone else checking in seamlessly. Everyone is in flip flops and summer gear. There are some brilliant mullets in the line, and parrot earrings, I feel Fiji might be the Costa del Sol for Kiwis. My email has got through. Finally I'm found somewhere in the system. Thank god. I run though to departures, I have no time for window shopping in duty free. At the gate an air hostess slips my boarding pass into the machine and it is eaten up, what now, another problem? The machine is taken apart, and the pass dislodged. I board the plane.

The plane lands in Fiji and we disembark onto the melting tarmac. It's baking. It feels like walking into Selfridges on a freezing winters day, when the hot air heaters hit you. I clear customs and am greeted by lovely smiling Fijian faces, grass skirts and flowers everywhere. Not really sure where to go, but I observe some other backpackers and head towards them. Safety in numbers. They are congregating around a bench at the entrance. They are all heading to Smugglers Cove, it sounds like something from Moonfleet, but I'm game, so off we head (plus we share a cab obviously). It is actually a very nice resort. Very new and a bit of semi luxury. It has a nice bar and restaurant and faces the bay in Nadi, pronounced Nan-di. I stay in the 30 person dorm they have. Yes 30 person! It's neatly split into sections of two bunks, ie 4 persons with 4 lockers. I know I can generally sleep anywhere so I don't really care. I hang with the crowd from the airport over some drinks and a bite to eat. There are a couple of guys going on to South America after this, they're very nice and I resolve to give them my doorstop Footprint guide, which I stupidly dragged around NZ. It takes up so much space in my now saturated luggage. Especially now that Ive bought the Count of Monte Cristo to read. I'm given a book about Tibet in return. Fair swap. I head to bed. Hum the dorm is quite quiet. Its about 11pm. I get about an hours of sleep when an English couple on the opposite side of the dorm (but right opposite me), crash in and make more noise than you would think possible. They wake everyone up. They're not even going to bed, they've just come in to change clothes. This goes on for the next four hours, in out, in out, quite unbelievable. I don't think I have ever ever wanted to kill, but these two c**ts are something else. I wake up groggy and moody, but then remember where I am! I'm in bloody Fiji!. The night before I have met Rashid from Didsbury in Yorkshire. He's very sweet. He's very calm, and speaks with the most beautiful soft Yorkshire northern accent. He holds himself beautifully to. We discovered that were both in Fiji for 10 days, so without even really discussing the ins and outs we subconsciously decided to travel together. I'm looking forward to hanging out with him. We're heading out of Nadi on the Bula pass up to the top of the Yasawas and then island hopping back to Nadi. The Bula ('welcome' in Fijian) pass means we have unlimited access to the Yasawa flyer, a bright yellow catamaran which glides between all the islands. The pass is valid for a week. We decide to spend the first night on Bounty Island before heading all the way to the top. Bounty Island is famous for Celebrity Love Island, and oh how I enjoy cavorting round like Rebbecca Loos. But actually it's very nice. I CHILL OUT, but by warming up!. Not that I hadn't in NZ but I think I was continuously cold there, and it got to me. I'm now blissfully warm, and have beach, sea and sun. Perfect. Rashid and I sort of do our own thing, which is great. I get stuck in to Dumas and Rashid disappears off to take what amounts to about 5000 photos. My kinda guy. One of the first phrases we hear is 'Fiji time', essentially this means take off your watch and hide in rucksack for the duration of your stay. Everything is done in Fiji time, get used to it! Tomorrow morning we island hop, we've booked into the different hostels, resorts along the way. There isn't really much choice where you stay on the islands, because they're so small. Food is included. We head to dinner on out first night and the food is pretty good, then we're entertained by the Island crew singing and dancing to native Fijian music. They're all so talented. Its brilliant because its 'the cook, the gardener, plus the woman from behind reception all singing and dancing and I love it. Then to bed in our much quieter 8 person dorm. Only negative on Bounty was my hot (boiling hot) shower, have to crouch way down, to rinse shampoo etc off me. On day two, the boat collects us in the morning and whisks us all the way to Nacula, right at the top. We're collected off the Yasawa flyer by a small tender which then takes us to the beach and the resort. The water is aquamarine blue and clear as crystal. It's quite spectacular. Rashid and I just grin at each other. Our room, sorry thatched hut, is very basic but we have it to ourselves. It's very windy, so the beach isn't as appealing instead we relax in hammocks near our hut. At dinner we meet the other guests, there are only 9 of us altogether. We meet a couple from Colorado who are on their honeymoon. Dinner arrives and it's positively the worst food I've ever had. Really crap. Edible I suppose, but barely. There isn't really anything to do after dinner, no bar as such, so Rashid and I head off to our hut. Just before were tucked up, the most enormous cockroach runs over my bed. It is so big that I could see the hairs on its legs. I try to put in in a plastic bag, but am so scared that I then drop the bag and it runs free. It's still in the room somewhere, as I tuck the mossie net under the mattress so nothing can get me. Rashid and I talk life, love, work, money, hopes and desires. Then all of a sudden we are plunged into darkness, the lights go off. No power after 10pm! Lucky we we're in bed. I dig out my head torch in case of emergency. We fall asleep. Breakfast is a miserable affair of musty stale cereal and warm milk? It's powdered milk. Washed down with nescafe. I feel a bit sorry for the honeymooner's. Who have two weeks here. After breakfast we head on a Village tour. We are taken by a very stoned man. Not really sure what he's high on, possibly Kava (narcotic Fijian root drink). It's a very poor village. Made up of mostly reed huts and some whats appears to be concrete constructions. There are dirty children, and women busy doing chores. The men I see seem to be sitting around, not really doing much. But everyone waves and smiles at us. Then we get to the chiefs hut, which is actually like the town hall. Unfortunately the chief is away, so we meet his son. He's only 6 years and very shy. We sit on the floor of the hut on reed matting, like tatami mats in Japan. Rashid and I sit for about 15 minutes with a 6 year old who doesn't speak, and a fucked guide who's also silent. There is a massive carved whale bone attached to a beam, I sit and muldoon. We head back and I buy some beautiful shells from a girl on the way back. Rashid and I are glad of the boat collecting us before lunch (another culinary delight), and heading to the next island. Our next venue is Naviti. The beach here is beautiful and less windy than before. We spend a glorious afternoon sunbathing and reading. We watch a beautiful sunset and then head to the main hut for tea. Just when we thought the food couldn't get any worse, it does. A chicken stew which I nearly break my tooth on, because it's bone and gristle. The food on Bounty Island was simple but fresh and tasty, there is just no excuse for serving crap food. Over dinner we meet the fellow packers. A crazy American girl with corn row plaited hair, she's loud and obnoxious. Beware Caucasians with corn rows. We head to bed. Breakfast is something deep fried and stale corn flakes again. mmm. Manta Ray island is next. Although we don't get to see any manta rays. Everything is fine. Until I head to bed for the night in the large dorm room. The loud couple from my first night in Fiji are again in my bit of the dorm. You cant be serious! They are just as noisy and thoughtless as before. I'm sorry but I believe that this is bad up-bringing. They simply have no manners. I wake up in the morning and am as loud as possible. I turn on the light, and turn off the fan, I open the window and I bang around. Then to the beach for a leisurely chill. Still no manta rays sadly, but some great snorkeling. Plus we watch a dog go fishing. We sit in some hammock chairs reading for a while, until there's a massive cracking noise and Rashid's chair breaks and he hits the floor with a bump. Laughing at the misfortune of others, priceless. The boat collects us again and its off down the coast to Octopus resort. Our fav spot. This place is an oasis of calm. More expensive, but so worth it. Beautiful idyllic beach, lagoon for snorkeling. Lovely super clean dorm with fresh chambray cotton sheets. Amazing food (I mean amazing), a lovely pool and just a delight after the few days of roughing it. Rashid and I are happy as pigs in shit. I have to say also that Fijians are great. So friendly and hospitable. At Octopus we're given a fire show and a dancing show. The music and energy are infectious. More snorkeling and sunbathing in the morning. Next to Waya Lai Lai Eco resort. Amazing sea view dorm. We meet some great people here and gets wasted on Kava (have to try some, sort of numb mouth speed effect), beer and vodka. A dazzling show is put on, with lots of dancing by us included. I note Fijians seem to have large feet with fallen arches and toes like chipolatas. The next day is a Sunday so we see a typical church gathering. Gospel singing and preaching. As per usual, Esther sitting down for nearly 2 hours in a warm place listening to Church readings = 40 winks. I'm gently nudged by a girl when we have to contribute and sing an out of tune Amazing Grace to the congregation.

Then back to Bounty Island, where we spend the last few days. It's so nice to be back here. Ive enjoyed seeing as much of the Islands as possible, the islands have all been uniquely beautiful and different. I've enjoyed them all. It hasn't been at all busy people wise, so it's been nice to be so remote and ace to travel with Rashid.

Hair Report: frazzled, Dicky Davis.

Fiji time - how does anything ever get done??!
Bula Bula - Fijians are warm and friendly and so welcoming.
Food - The very good, the bad, the ugly.
Liquid crystal sea.
The computer says no woman.
The two English twats.
The massive conga dancing, Rashid = no where to be seen.
The rather disappointing Hindu temple in Nadi.
The hottest day ever.
Dodgy looking ice cream, surprisingly good.
Excellent curry in Nadi (mini India)
16 bed dorm for the two of us (I have to run over all the beds, and film it).

In next chapter:

Esther heads to Sydney via Bris-vegas to meet up with long suffering best friend Lisa! xxx

Fiji remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

The Interisland ferry which connects the North Island with the South Island is also part of my Intercity bus pass. It's eight in the morning. Sally has dropped me at the port and I embark onto the vessel. It reminds me of a cross channel ferry. I find myself a single seat by a window, grab a coffee and a muffin, and settle in for the crossing. We glide out of Wellington harbour and hopefully away from the rain. There is a big flat screen TV at one end of the lounge I'm sitting in. The TV comes on showing 'Good Morning'! Brendon and the team all on TV. I chuckle to myself, and remember again that I've lost my phone, drat.

The weather does in fact brighten as we near The South Island. The sea sparkles deep blue and the vegetation is lush and green. I head to the sun deck and soak in some rays, I've missed the sun. We even spot a pod of dolphins playing in the deep blue water. Picton is a small port in the north of the South Island. Apparently it was nearly made into the capital, but Wellington won the honour instead. Picton is tiny and very sleepy, I cant see how it could ever be a capital city. I love how proud New Zealanders are of their home towns. I walk past a hostel almost immediately called: The Villa, and book in. It has a hot tub and free apple crumble with ice-cream after dinner. I unload my stuff and go for a walk. I'm only here for a night, then off the Nelson tomorrow. Pre crumble I have a soak in the tub, there are 25 rubber ducks to play with. There is no central heating anywhere in NZ?? This is very strange, it seems its a legacy left over from the Victorians. I tuck myself in and hope I won freeze to death. I get up bright and early, and after a stupid shower which sprays water over the top of the curtain (I don't notice so soak my jeans and underwear), I get a lift to the bus heading to Nelson.
The weather is so much better. Its still a bit drizzly, but as soon as the sun is out you know about it. The sun is scorchio. No ozone layer. We arrive in Nelson and I find a hostel by the park. It is brand new and very smart. Then I have to head off to find the Police Station, to report my mobile phone loss. The police women is so helpful, that I wish I had other problems I could discuss with her. I now have a crime reference number. Although technically, losing ones phone when inebriated can hardly be construed a crime, more like asking for it. Back at the hostel I meet Ken. Ken is American from Queens in NYC. But he now lives in Hong Kong with his girlfriend. I eye up all his travelling items; his Victorinox bag, his Apple charger (he has his laptop, I WANT/MISS MINE), his neat pile of Liberty-esque print shorts and t-shirts. I like Ken, before I've even met him properly. I head off the next morning to do a trek in the Able Tasman national park. It is the only real trek I get to do whilst in NZ because the weather is so changeable, Tongariro crossing gets knocked on the head because of snow. BUT Able Tasman is more beautiful than words. I spend an amazing day with Sarah from England and Angela from Germany. It pours with rain for a bit, but we have our waterproofs, and just get on with it. I notice that one foot is wet in my shoe. There seems to be a hole in the sole, bugger. My Merrel trainers whch have done me proud, have a hole. Nothing I hope some superglue wont fix. We walk all day and end up in a weird sort of hippy commune art gallery/cafe. A deserved hot chocolate with marshmallows. I am damp and soggy, so glad of hot power shower (sans uber curtain spray) and snugly room at the hostel on my return. Ken and I then venture out for some Thai. He's been mountain biking, so we exchange notes. Back at the hostel we meet Peter, who has moved into our room. He's an American from Wisconsin. We all get into our various bunk beds and slowly drift off to sleep discussing relationships, falling in love with best friends, marriage, all sorts of stuff. Its nice to speak with two guys about it all, they have just as many worries and confusion surrounding these matters. I fall asleep, with them chatting like girls into the night. I have another early bus in the morning taking me to Christchurch to meet Charlotte. Lisa J's friend whom I also met in Argentina.

The bus to Christchurch will take seven hours. We drive back through the vineyards of Marlborough, then through Kaikoura, where we stop for lunch. This is whale watching paradise, but I can't stay, so will have to come back. New Zealand is achingly beautiful. Cobalt blue skies, emerald blue green seas, slate gray volcanic sand, tufts of Ed's blond hair (sea grasses) blowing in the wind. Seals sleep on smooth grey rocks in the sun, all the way along the coast. Snow capped peaks, washer board batches, bleached drift-wood and little fluffy clouds. I think the sheep look like little fluffy clouds too. Charlotte meets me from the bus in Christchurch. It is so cool to see her! I'm loving meeting up with travelling friends. She has a car, so we pack up and head towards Lake Tekapo, where we'll be staying with some family friends of Charlotte (the Kerrs). As the evening draws in, it gets colder and threatens to snow. Luckily we make it to the lake unhindered. A delicious home cooked dinner, plenty of chilled wine, and sweet nibbles awaits us. After dinner we star-gaze with a coffee. The night is clear and the stars are brilliant. I'm shown the southern cross and Venus. The Kerrs are super hosts and Charlotte and I finally trundle off to bed with full tummies, completely content. We have a big double bed with a mountainous feather duvet. I fall asleep almost instantly. I am awoken very early with the window behind the bed, rattling in the wind. I stuff a sock in it, and go back to sleep. When we do eventually arise, the weather outside has changed. The first flakes os snow are falling. It is freezing and we have a long drive over the Lindus pass ahead of us. After a fry up breakfast, we hit the road. It is also my first view of Lake Tekapo. A glacial lake with water this incredible turquoise icy blue colour, milky with sediment. As we near the Lindus pass, we are told that we may need chains. Its been snowing for a while, but Charlotte and I are determined to get over the pass without chains. We make it, passing cars on the side of the road who are putting theirs on (you so didn' t need them). We arrive in Wanaka, at Charlotte's friend Bernie's. A weekend at Bernie's!!

It is Friday night and because we're tired, we stay in and watch a DVD. I cook us a salmon steak each, which Charlotte and I picked up at a salmon farm on route. I check my email and establish that Sally has my phone! Weirdly its been handed into the bar I lost it in, a week later? I knew I would see it again, but it's a mystery where its been for a week. Charlotte arranges accommodation at the Heritage in Queenstown. We have a luxury villa for six awaiting us. On Saturday afternoon a gaggle of girls, five of us head to Queensown. Its been snowing loads so all the Winery's we attempt to lunch at, are closed. We arrive in Queenstown ravenous. I'm taken straight to Ferg Burger. An institution in Queenstown. Humongous burgers with all the trimmings. We then check in to the Heritage. We have a whole self contained villa to ourselves. It is beautiful and I feels like we're in a boutique hotel. Electric blankets (wheres the Teas made?), mock log burning gas fire, heated bathroom floors, the lot. I head straight to the bathroom and luxuriate in a deep bath. We all get dolled up and head out to watch Opshop. Meet the band, very drunk, Charlotte and I get kicked out of a bar, we break in through the back door, I snog some random guy (photos of him prove I was wearing BEER goggles), another Ferg burger and home aka... brilliant night!

We have to check out by 10 in the morning, so after I've stolen all the free toiletries (I ask the girls if I can), we head back to Wanaka. Charlotte has to leave, she's moving to London! So hopefully I'll see her there. I need to stay till Tuesday to await my couriered phone from Wellington. I have to be at home to receive the mobile phone, so I sit at Bernie's twiddling my thumbs. It arrives! I have my phone back, miracle. I have all afternoon now with nothing planned. So I decide to do a sky dive. Two hours later Im at 15000 feet jumping out of a plane. As soon as I hit the ground I wish I could do it all over again. What a treat. The free fall was for a full 60 seconds. I scream the whole way. So much fun! My bus back to Queenstown doesn't leave till Tuesday eve. So I go snowboarding at Cardrona with two of Bernie's friends in the day. Perfect weather and loads of snow. NZ does snow very well. There isn't the drop or the scope of pistes in Europe, but the snow is lovely and I spend a great day cruising about. Bye to Bernie and back to Queenie. Both Wanaka and Queenstown are quite touristy, but done so well. Great restaurants, bars and shopping. Both on beautiful lakes. There are so many things to do, you could spend weeks here doing something different everyday. I only really want to snowboard, so for the next two days I do. NZ snowboarders are about the coolest Ive ever seen. So many nice outfits. I'm peeved to be in my hotch-potch of Sarah's waterproof trousers over my trekking trousers, my Northface waterproof and my hired board and boots. I miss my gear.

The next day I get my final NZ bus back to Christchurch (it takes all day), I have one day and night before I fly to Fiji. I have loved NZ hanging with some great people, but I look forward to some HEAT, sea and sun.

Hair report: hat hair

After toilet paper drought in South America, I'm back to wrapping the loo roll round my hand.
Salmon sashimi lunch, so fresh.
Richard (40 something) doing the Kiwi Experience!?
The medical student who wrote her whole thesis spelling the word muscle, 'mussel'!
The unscheduled stop by the bus driver who wanted to buy swedes, which had experienced the first frost. A 20 minute detour. Bless him.
NZ obsession with massive fish sculptures.
Eat fantastic Japanese in Christchurch.

xxx

New Zealand remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

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

New Zealand remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

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

Colombia / Chile / New Zealand remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

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

Colombia remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

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

Colombia remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs

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

Peru remains copyright of the author spacebooth, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

Comment on this entry | Tweet this | Your own free travel blog | More Travellerspoint blogs