Esther's Adventure

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wellington. It is still raining.

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

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

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

* £30 is not a lot of money for a pair of Bottega Venetas, but in the grand scheme of things, i.e my budget, it is.
My budget is skew-whiff all of a sudden.
I feel like I am in the States.
Tongue and Groove everywhere
Clean, neat, fresh.
Middle earth – didn’t go.
Hobbits – met two in Roturua.
FLAT WHITE – start of coffee addiction, which actually started in Colombia.
Diet starts today.

xxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hair report: wavy gravy

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

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

Thank you!

xxxxxxx

Hola amigos,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xxxxxxxx

Hello again,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Columbia here I come!

xxxxxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hair Report: Flat out.

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

xxxxx

We arrive at the bus station in Potosi early so that we can get some nibbles etc for the journey. The boys are sent off to purchase the journey staples. They return and we load onto the bus. I ask for my bag of cheesy wotsits and tuck in, I'm definitely addicted to the colourings. I'm about 3/4 way through, when Vikki asks for her bag, oops Danny didn't get her one!! She's furious, quite rightly so, as her cold turkey/wostit sets in...The boys have managed to spend 90 Bolivianos (6 pounds = vv expensive in Bolivia, 3 main courses at least!), on hardly any food! Moral of the story: don't send boys to do anything, they're crap.

As per usual the bus journey is fraught with problems, we stop and it appears we have to change tyres. This is done with us all still on the bus. That'll be easy to jack up? I don't think one bus journey in Bolivia goes faultlessly. We arrive in La Paz in the early hours of the morning, it's breathtaking even through the sweaty wet window. La Paz is in a crater so the city center is in the bottom, and the city sort of spreads upwards around it, favela like. It's very dramatic, so exactly like the Bolivians. There is also a brilliant snow peaked mountain on the horizon. La Paz is the highest capital in the world at over 4000m. A lot of newly arrived people get altitude sickness from flying in, and arriving at this altitude. We're now totally acclimatised, so are all fine. We've booked into a hostel called Loki Backpackers which calls its self a 'party hostel' and proves itself to be so after the week I spend here. We're all in the same dorm room again which were happy about plus... the bunk beds are well made, the mattresses are comfy AND we have duvets! Nice plump, fluffy, snugly duvets and clean brushed cotton sheets. I want to stay in bed forever and try at least once in the next week. Loki hostel is on a steep street, so although I don't get altitude sickness, I do get breathless walking up and down.

NB: Very sadly on our second night in La Paz an Australian boy whom the boys play pool with in our hostel bar, falls off a first floor balcony (central atrium of hostel), breaks his neck and dies. It happens at about 2am while we're out and about, so we only hear the news the next morning. It's the most awful thing to happen and we're all in a state of shock for a few days after. It's just so sad and so final. We all support each other and feel very lucky to be alive. I miss everyone so much at home, but its nice to be with such super new friends too. Danny, Vikki, Clare, Sean and Tommy are brilliant and we all have a good cry. We also look after Sam his friend who's been left behind, I hope he'll be able to cope with it OK. He's only 23 and obviously still in shock too. It's a sad time and one to reflect on how lucky I am to be doing this trip. I skype home and have a nice chat with the family and with Ben G, who's there by chance. We will never know exactly what happened on the night. It's presumed that he fell, but no one saw what happened. Sam had already gone to bed. We also know that the hostel cleared up the body immediately, before they called the police. The police had to be paid off. We learn all this from Jonno (see below). This disaster could have happened anywhere, but I feel very alone, and very fragile, so far away from home and in this crazy city. We're certainly not in good old blighty.

La Paz becomes a bit of a hedonist blur for me after this. We'd been so well behaved in the salt plains...no boozing at all. So La Paz is a bit crazy, especially after the death. I still cant believe it happened. There is a festival in the street on the Sunday after we arrive so we head to this and enjoy watching the spectacle and drinking beer all day. I'm so lucky to have met this group of people and it's so nice to feel safe and loved with them all. We've been dying for a good curry so in the evening we head out for a yummy cuzza! Chicken Tikka Masala ish.

Our dorm room has an en-suite bathroom attached. This is rather luxi, however it pongs a bit and the shower is never hot, or it is for about two hours a day, and these differ every day, hopeless. I go on a quest for a hot shower. I hate cold showers, I just cant do them. I'd rather go without. Finally after days of luke warmness or no shower at all, I find a downstairs one that's always hot. Gosh I miss my bathroom, I look forward to a bath so much. I haven't had one since Brendan's in Buenos Aires. I prefer showers anyway but its pain sometimes to shave legs etc standing. I long for a glorious deep hot soak in delicious aromatherapy oils.

There are rather a lot of casualties floating around Loki. We meet Jonno from Australia in the first few days. He's been in La Paz for about two months. He's stuck here and has got a job at Loki. How he keeps this up is anybodies guess. Hes out every night and never seems to sleep. He can still string a sentence together and is actually quite cool (great legs?!)...but also a warning to us all...'that could happen to you', if you don't watch out...

We enter the Loki pub quiz one night and come second! Would have come first if I'd been believed that the smurfs were created in Belgium and not Switzerland. I eat my way through about twenty BLT's at the hostel (less than a pound each!), this is the first hostel Ive stayed at where you have a tab. So everything you order at the bar is put on the tab. Rather scary when I get to the end of the week and tot it all up. We all go out together one night and end up at a club called Orange, a good boogie and ridiculous photo session. I end up at a hideous joint called Club 36 far too often, falling in with 'the wrong crowd' (I think I instigate it though, in fact I am on occasion; 'the wrong crowd').

It's decided that we will attempt to mountain bike down the world most dangerous road. This means an early night and no boozing. The other girls chicken out so it's me, Danny, Sean and Tommy. We head off early for breakfast arriving at the cafe at 7am, we order breakfast in plenty of time (40 mins), then in typical Bolivian fashion nothing arrives and we have to leave. In the last minute my breakfast arrives and so does the boys, but with crucial bits like bread missing to theirs...so they cant even make a takeaway. We leave the money on the table but don't pay for the orange juices which didn't arrive. We are then collected from the cafe by Gravity Assisted and walk out to the bus, the waitress comes to find us on the bus demanding money. We explain to her that we couldn't eat everything because it was late and there was no oj. She drops her head scuttles off again. The ride is one of the best things Ive ever done, and how I didn't fly off into the abyss, ie off the edge, is a mystery. But suffice to say I was very careful and did it slowly. Beat Danny though! ...You start at 4500m and end up at 1200m. From freezing high mountain to jungle, its brilliant and scary. The road is only about 1.5 cars width and the drop off the edge is instant death (well after a cool free fall). Along the way you see crosses marking the spots where unlucky cyclists met their creator. It's madness really, but the views are staggering. Some parts of the road are in line with streams which cascade over the road and shower you while you pass beneath. The first 40km are on tarmac, then the road turns into gravel. Ive never really ridden a mountain bike, but the suspension and breaks are incredible. I'm careful no to break too hard for fear of flying over the handlebars. I'm devastated that I didn't bring my camera (warned against it). Once at the bottom we enjoy a nice lunch and a hot shower. Then its back into the van and we drive up the road we've just ridden down, much more scary than being on the bike. We buy some celebratory beers gawp at the ridiculous geography of this road (www.gravitybolivia.com). On route home and in the dark, Danny wees out the window whilst the bus is driving.

Peru is coming up next so we head to Lake Titicaca and Copacobana. We get the bus which has no tread on its tyres (see photo on facebook).

The HAIR REPORT: very flat and lanky, mostly covered in hat.

Ram Jam, Orange, Mongos, Club 36...
San Pedro Prison (riot, so no go)
Wild Rover. Not as good as Loki.
The laundry not being clean again.
Jenga at 7am in Club 36.
Broken nose.
Champions League. Man U victory.
The pizza that's so big it has to go sideways through the door.
The hole I fell in.
Did I ever say that my Chinese sign on my necklace means 'long life'?...
ALEX! (a new one, this will make M chuckle)
The Aussie twats.

xxxxxxxx

So its back to Potosi. Which has some mines that we want to see. We're now all acclimatised with the altitude so don't feel so out of breath as before. We spend a little extra cash getting a better bus, which we're all glad about. We're booked into the Kola Den which is where we tried to get in last time, but couldn't. We have a six bed dorm room to ourselves, lovely. Potosi is very hustle bustle and is full of school kids and things happening, I like it. It's cold but the sun is shining and eveything looks crisp.

We haven't cooked so far in Bolivia. Theres no point. It's mega cheap and with six of us its just a faff to cook anything decent, kitchen tranklements are crap. I'm surviving on empanadas for breakfast, which are like Cornish pastie things baked or fried, with meat (questionable?) or cheese, there's a variation in each country (I've mentioned them before). They generally spill their contents over you, and wreck your clean jeans or dribble on your gortex shoes. Lunch is either brunch or burger or sanger or big pack of giant cheesy wotsits and oreo cookies and Coke. Then dinner a hotch potch of what we dream about eating, like Chinese! mmm, but just not quite right in Bolivia (dirty dirty Chinese). Oh my god my diet is shite. I long for Brazilian acai and fruit juices. I long for Thiagos flat and Thiago. Oh hell I long for my friends and my family and a big bag of spinach with poached salmon and salsa verde.

Speaking of clean clothes...not that anything is really clean, it's decided that after the salt flats everything desperately needs to go to the laundry. My whole backpack is filthy so I take it to be washed. This results in Vikki and I waring a ridiculous outfit for the day (only clean cloths we have)... we look like Armenian refugees. Then we go to collect the 'clean clothes', I swear mine aren't that much cleaner. Cold water wash with no powder I assume. My socks pack flat again so thats the main thing sorted.

We book the mine tour the following day. The mine tour is possibly the most depressing day out Ive ever encountered. So upsetting. We pile into a mini bus from the hostel which takes us to the mining part of Potosi and for us to be dressed in our mining outfits. A waterproof rubberish suit, hard hat and head torch. We're also made to buy some bandannas to go over our mouths. Then off to the mining shop to get some dynamite. We also buy a bag of coca leaves which we stuff into out cheeks (you chew the leaves with some catalyst, in our case quinoa ash)...we look like chip monks. After a while my cheek and teeth go a bit numb! Ha it works. Um it tastes fowl though and I have green teeth and fowl juice in my mouth, sexy. We get back on the bus and head to the mine entrance. The mine is situated in the mountain that overlooks Potosi. Apparently the mountain is like a giant Swiss cheese it has so many tunnels and holes in it. It used to deliver silver back in the days of the conquistadors. It's actually very important historically. The silver from Potosi made Europe wealthy. Now there is no silver left, but they still mine tin and other minerals from the mine. I feel like Ive stepped back in to the dark ages. Those scenes from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. We walk into the mine tunnel and I'm immediately overcome by the shit in the air (arsenic, asbestos?), which the head torch highlights. The bandannas are really going to help us, not breathe this shit in (?). I spend then next two hours crawling on hands and knees in dirty, dark, stinky tunnels. I see young men lugging ten ton broken waggons on fucked rails, it's horrible and I wow never to moan about work again. It's crazy that they work in conditions like this. I hate it and an immensely glad to get the fuck out of there. Once back in the fresh air, we play with the dynamite and make bombs. Bolivia hey, health and safety...

We meet a juggler and his girlfriend on the tour, and its with them we head out later that evening, for a dirty Chinese. Us girls also head off for a wander round the markets. Its the end of the day so we miss most of the hustle and bustle. But I still manage to find disgusting goose necks and lungs? Also a cow face, which has had its skin taken off, but the eyes and wet black nose remain intact. I tried taking a photo but was threatened by a fierce Boliviano woman. Then in a skip outside the market on the way to the Chinese, cow horns with skully, brainy bits still attached thrown in and in a pile. YUK! I think cheese empanadas from now on. God who'd eat meat?! Thers no neat vaccum packed stuff in Bolivia.

We're all rather knackered from all the activities we've been up to so its decided to have a DVD day at the hostel. We watch Rainman which is so brilliant, Id forgotten. Then later on in the evening we watch The Pianist. Only the resident night watchman behind reception, who we've named trench foot, his feet smell like poo (honestly). Hes a moody git and reeks of booze as well, revolting. So when he keeps trying to shut down our film watching, which is peaceful and disturbing no one. We block the door so he cant get in! Such bad behavior! but reasonable under the circumstances. The next day we head to La Paz, we're all very excited...

Hair report: mostly flat with fly away tendencies, smidgen oily on top.

Our phrases:
There's no 'I' in team amigo.
You never see an old man eating a twix.
You can never have enough hats.
Theres no town like your own, but when in Rome...

Tommy's lost pillow, it falls off the top bunk onto me every night.
What this old thing?!
The hair ball in the shower, preposterously large.

xxxx

Dear diario,

I have to pack my backpack and leave Rio. Obviously I'm dead excited about
where I'm off to, but still I'm sad. Thiago takes me out for a nice lunch
and then we head back to the flat to play with his new toy. An Apple tower
power mac thing with bells and whistles. I'm glad he has a new toy to amuse
himself and take away the thought of me going (he's obviously devastated
that I'm off??!). We say goodbyes and then he has to go. I'm left there in
his flat all alone. I pack up, and have to throw the key back into the flat
once Ive locked the door from the outside. I panic that Ive left something
behind and now can't get back in... I realise later, I did; my heart.

Into a taxi and off to the airport. A flight to Bolivia on Gol airways, very
luxurious. A ridiculous flight which stops three times before I reach
Bolivia. Santa Cruz to be exact. Not even sure exactly where it is. I arrive
rather wearily at 3am and get another taxi (paid in US dollars) to Jodanga
hostel. Where I hope Vikki and Danny are staying, although there was still
no word from them before I left. I get there and luckily get a bed. Top
bunk, in an 8 bed dorm with some American girls, who get up really early and
are really noisy. I haven't really slept anyway due to the shock of being on
the road again and sharing a dorm room with lots of bodies and being bloody
cold too. Ive gone from balmy Rio to fucking freezing. I drag myself out of
bed at about 9am and try to find D and V. They are here! It's nice and sunny
out in the day here, so the temp is pleasant. We sort ourselves out.
Deciding to leave for Sucre that evening in the 16.30 bus. Then off for some
lunch, Irish stew and dumplings?! Bolivia is weird. We grab our bags back at
the hostel and get going.

Our first Bolivian bus journey is OK, but the bus is dirty and old. Anything you
touch is covered in a thick layer of dust. I sit next to Vikki at the back. The bus
stops in the dead of night for a wee pause. We bundle off and are welcomed by
a dirty, smelly non loo with no paper and no sink. Back on the bus and I sit there
for a while awake. We're high up on some mountain pass and the bus is rocking
from side to side rather graphically, it's pitch black and a trippy experience.
We arrive in Sucre early and it's freezing again. Until the sun is fully out and blazing,
Bolivia is damn cold. We find a hostel where there are two free rooms, Vikki and I
share, it's the first night she's spent apart from Danny in 9 months! We
put on some extra layers and head off to a cafe for some grub. I fancy a
lager (?), but am told its too early (10.30am). We all order chili con carne,
because of bus lag we're not really sure what time it is, and tummies do the
choosing. Delicious. At 12 I'm allowed a lager.

Sucre is a beautiful town and is called Ciudad Blanca because all the
colonial buildings in its center are painted white. We enjoy a nice
afternoon chilling and mooching about. Its in Sucre that I'm introduced to
my new obsession: all things knitted. Oh my god... gloves, hats, scarves,
blankets, its all amazing and beautiful. When we return to the hostel later
and discover that there is no agua calliente (hot water), I'm glad for my new hat and
scarf and gloves. Vikki and I bed down for a freezing night. The boys are
watching football in the morning so its up early and to the cafe again for
the TV. Its also now decided that we will head to Potosi next and then
straight on the Uyuni to see the salt flats. There is another football match
(champions league, man u or and earlier one???) on the following Sunday,
and we will need to be back form the salt flats before that.
Our next week is therefore planned around football (I mention this now because
of a situation later). It's is our intention to jump in a cab for the four hour journey
to Potosi. We are now six as we have met up with Clare and Sean, so we
might be able to afford it. We leisurely head toward to bus station in the early
afternoon to see about a fare. As soon as we jump out of the cab taking us there,
we are accosted by a very indigent woman who is keen to get us on her bus.
As soon as she has the whiff of us wanting to go to Potosi she's dangled the carrot with costs and
journey time being halved. We cant really say no. Within about 10 mins we're
all sitting on her bus bound for Potosi. We soon realize that: A, she was a
big fat lier, and: B, you get what you pay for. We have a clapped out bus
(which breaks down), we have the back seat (which means its like being on
the big dipper), the bus is filthy and smells like spring onions for seven
hours!! We bond over how much we hate it. What doesn't kill you makes you
stronger. Ive never been so happy to get off a bus. I feel high, actually
that'll be because Potosi is 4070m above sea level. We're all exhausted,
dirty, and now we cant breathe. Danny and Tommy head to a food stand they saw
up the hill to buy us all a chip butty. Our first choice of hostel is full
so we find another and end up in a 70s suite attic room. Its freezing and
everything you do renders you breathless, but we're glad to be together and
after a few games of the shithead league (we've got a league book and
everything). We head to bed, for a completely sleepless night.

I get up knackered and we head off to catch a bus to Uyuni. We go to the bus station
and barter with a woman about a bus. Again promises of speed and comfort are
realised later to be fibs. Another painful journey this time so dusty that
we all feel like we have asthma the following day. We arrive in Uyuni very
late hoping that we can still book a salt flat tour for the following day.
Luckily some tour agents as are still open . So for 80 USD we get a 3
night, 4 day tour with all expenses paid for (not bad). Were also shown to a
hotel which we're promised has agua calliente. Its freezing in Uyni which is a
little like a ghost town, I keep expecting to see tumble weed blowing though
it. We go out for a dinner in a freezing restaurant, I'm now so cold to the
bone that it would take a miracle (and an electric blanket) to warm me
up. Our hotel may have hot water but it certainly doesn't have heating.
Vikki and I have a room at the front of the hotel which has a massive window
to the road, i.e no insulation. I put my icicle body into bed and have
another freezing night where I don't sleep, because I'm shivering the whole
time. I wake up and have gone blue. Finally after some brekkie, we're
in the land cruiser, our home for the next four days. Pedro is the driver
and Jacqueline his wife the cook. They don't speak any English and and our
Spanish is crap, how will this work??

The salt flats (flat, one massive dried up lake) is incredible.
It's like being on on mars or the moon. The lunar landscapes, the blazing sun,
the freezing nights. It's another world. Hard on the body though, and my ingrained
tan which had been intensified while in Rio, literally sees the salt and dry air and jumps
off my skin. I have crocodile skin legs and cracked sore lips. But my hair
is straight again! Its the best thing ever, I cant believe how frizzy it gets
in Brazil. The first day is spent taking silly shots on the salt (see facebook) we even
manage a mini rave outside the land cruiser which is videoed by Perdo who
thinks were all totally crazy. We stay the night at a salt hotel on the edge
of the flats. Danny tells us the story of the fart tape. This is a
dictaphone kept on the mantle piece at his flat. Every time you need to fart
you go to the dictaphone and start recording: you say your name, the time and the
date and then fart into the micro phone. Between fits of giggles and more
silly stories including Tommy's dog who accidentally eats leftover vindlaoo
and ends up projecticle pooing all over the curtains. We evesdrop on
another table next to us. They're all discussing the American elections and
the different merits and problems with the different opponents, we're
giggling about farts and poo. Will I ever grow up? (Dont answer that).
We have to brush teeth with bottled water as there are no taps. Clare is about to take a
swig when she notices what looks like an ear plug floating in the water?! We
have another fit of giggles and gag, earplug?? Its not an earplug but Sean's malaria tablet
which obviously didn't get swallowed. We head to bed. I wake with a
stiff back and a mouth like the salt flats. After brekkie we pack up the
cruiser and head off to see more spectacular scenery. We see some live
volcanoes and Fish Island which is covered in cool cacti and has fossilised
coral reefs. Bolivia gets stranger by the day. We end up at another hostel
in the evening, and slightly warmer night, but still very cold.
The next day we stop for lunch next to a green lake with red soil. The girls all go for a
wee, and due to adverse wind conditions (don't want our wee blowing onto us)
we have to moonie the boys. Luckily no one has a camera with a good zoom lens.
Our last night on the salt flats is at yet another hostel in another strange deserted cluster of
buildings, which obviously rely solely on the tourist industry. This is the
coldest night yet (-10) and after dinner Tommy and I go outside star gazing. We're
at 5000m above sea level and the stars in the sky go from horizon to horizon.
There is not one bit of sky that's un-glittery. I'm spellbound, no starstruck. I count three
shooting stars and make three wishes. We turn in for the night. We're all in
one room again and I fall asleep chucking about Danny's brothers band called
DAMP (the P is for Paul), Sean's rap ballad he's made on the music player on
his mobile and the rats or mice running about outside our window.
I wake at 4.30am with great difficulty, I'm cocooned. I get up, dress and wait for the others to stir.
They're all still in bed and take an age to creep into action. Finally we're
all packed up and sitting in the landy. We set off in the dark and because the front
window is steamed up and Pedro can't really see, he drives over a large meteor like rock.
The car is wedged on it. We all have to get out and wait while another land
cruiser tries to push us off it bumper to bumper. That doesn't work,
so Pedro had to jack the car up. It's dark and freezing, and we do star jumps
to keep warm. The car finally moves and we're free. Off we go towards flamingos and
hot springs. We're looking forward to the hot springs, as none of us has had a
shower for three days. We see some flamingos, albeit miles away (tiny ones!). Then
straight to the hot springs which we jump into. Bliss and rather smelly
(sulphur). We meet some fellow gringos in the pool with beards, god I hate
traveller beards. Danny and Tommy get out first and head to the breakfast
hut. We've been told it's mesa 4 (table 4). I join them after about 10
mins...I'm just pouring myself some coffee when I see a crazed looking
Boliviano woman hurtling towards me with murder in her eyes. She going
mental at us. I look up and see "mesa 9" written on the sign above the table.
We're on the wrong table. T and D have already eaten half the
pancakes in front of them and drunken most or the yogurt drink. Honestly though, you've
never seen anything like it, they go completely ballistic. The first Boliviano woman gets others involved, and there are literally plaits and plait tassels flying, and big skits being hiked up, it's all so dramatic. It's like watching a panto. As Vikki and I try to placate them, by suggesting that all we need do is swap our breakfast pancakes for the eaten ones etc. T and D are oblivious, and continue to eat the wrong breakfast, Its so hard not to laugh. But they've started so they might as well finish. This sends the women into near epileptic levels... After it's all over (we simply swap the pancakes and yogurt drink from our table)...we sit at mesa 4 and marvel at what just occurred. Incredible
really, Bolivia is bonkers. I think we've been banished from the hot springs forever,
but I'm not sure, because my Spanish is crap. Back in the landy and off to the
bubbling lava geysers. Then finally a five hour drive home back to Uyuni.

It's good to back to civilisation and even better to go out for delicious pizza. Its been speculated I could be the best pizza I ever had?...I awake in the morning and try to charge my ipod for the upcoming journey to La Paz. There doesn't seem to be any power. In fact it transpires that there is no power anywhere in Uyuni. Therefore NO TV OR CABLE. Therefore NO FOOTBALL! The boys are inconsolable. I think it's quite funny, the whole trip has been planned around this bloody match and now we cant see it!...We all sit in a cafe, it's 10am on Sunday the match has started and there's still no power. We wait and age for a breakfast to appear, cooked on a gas stove apparently?... It comes in dribs and drabs and doesn't come at all in some cases. The cafe also seems to be staffed by children, all very odd. Then finally at half time, the TV miraculously turns on! We're saved, there is mass rejoicing and mass elation. The games on and the boys are happy, so I'm also happy. On Monday morning with rather sore heads (must still be the altitude?!) we leave Uyuni and head to Potosi again.

The Hair Report - Mostly flat, some undulation below, dry ends.

Hats placed precariously.
Wotsits (big Bolivian ones)
Tangerines.
Nearly break leg in loo (hidden step).
Llama lunch.
Alan "yeah" after every sentence.
Too much funky house on Ipod.
The mummies, whats the story??! (we'll never know)
Double funny (its so funny its Double Funny)

xxx

ps sorry it's late, a dog ate the first draught...

Hello,

Vikki, Danny and myself head to Rio Gallegos on the bus with the intention of me heading down to Tierra del Fuego, and the guys heading up towards Puerto Madryn. We've been warned by the English boys that Rio Gallegos really is quite dire, and quite rightly so. The Footprint guide informs you that there are 'some interesting trees' around the main square. Hmm interesting. We arrive and its late in the afternoon, we hope we can all catch a connection so we don't have to stay in Rio G. Luckily for V and D there is a bus toward Puerta Madryn that evening. Unluckily for me the bus to Ushuaia is in the morning. It looks like I'm staying the night. We book tickets and head into town for some dinner. South American pizza (a pastry base drowning in cheese). On the way back to the bus station D and V drop me at a hostel. It's a very odd hostel, it's basically a persons house with dorms made out of the bedrooms upstairs. It reminds me of the O'Brians house in Sutton Courtenay where I grew up, there seem to be bunk beds in every available nook and cranny (the O'Brian's used to have bunk beds in their lounge). There are also attractive 70´s style throws on the beds in orange towelling with tassels round the edge, with flowery curtains and a shag pile carpet, it's straight out of the Good Life (Margot would be happy). It's already 10ish so I shower and head to bed. In the morning it's an early start and back to the bus station to catch an 18 hour bus to Ushuaia.

Tierra Del Fuego is vast and the sky is the biggest I´ve ever seen. I sit next to a nice french man in is late 60s heading to Antarctica! It sounds amazing and I decide to do it another time when I have more money try $4000!. We get to the Straights of Magellan and I reminisce about school, geography and Mr Pearce. I see some black and white dolphins swimming alongside the boat on the crossing. Its a long trip I realize how although I love to vastness of everything I'm not sure I could live in a place so remote. It really is the end of the earth.

I reach Ushuaia at about 3am and head to the Antarctica hostel. I get a bed in an 8 person dorm. Its the top bunk and the room is full of sleeping persons. I try to be as quiet as possible. Electric toothbrush will have to wait till morning. I spend the night on the most uncomfortable bed ever, its on a slant and whoever is below me starts snoring very loudly. I wake up feeling really groggy and wanting to murder the person below. When I finally get up, hes already moved out. Thank god. So I baggsy the bottom bunk from him. Ushuaia a pretty town on a slope overlooking the Beagle Channel, right at the end of Argentina. I'm exhausted after my trip and night so spend the day snoozing and reading my book.

The next day I decide that I want to head to Rio asap. Ive had this plan brewing for a week or so now. Ive decided to move to Rio for a month and stay with Thiago, whom I met there with M when we were in Rio in January. I'm going to see if I can do a Portuguese course and basically get to know Rio better. I cant stop thinking about it. I'm in love with Rio and am seriously contemplating moving there. So I decide book my bus to Punta Arenas early, change my flight, so that I can get Santiago and then Rio earlier. Booking the ticket takes three hours! Just as I'm about to get my turn with the travel agent, she goes to lunch!! Eventually I get to see her (I meet some cool people in the travel agents whilst waiting) and I book myself onto the early bus to Punta Arenas.

I spend the afternoon visiting sea lions, cormorants and penguins in the Beagle channel. I meet a 22 year old Mexican girl who's already pilot?! I decide I really need to visit Mexico too, it sounds great. Amazing sun set, cute penguins and smelly sea lions. We go out to a restaurant in the evening for some fuegan lamb. Delicious.

5am on a mini bus to Rio Turbio, all a blur and more vastness. I'm at the end of the world and really on my own. The bus is called Marianne but shes miles away in London and I miss her and everyone massively. The journey to Punta Arenas is silly as you have to go through Argentina, then Chile, then Argentina, then Chile. Every time getting off the bus and having your passport stamped. Punta Arenas is similar to Ushuaia and I head to a hostel recommended by Footprint, 'Hostel at the end of the world'. I book in and am shown to a large room with 4 very comfy looking beds with big eiderdowns. God I'm looking forward to bed. It's a really nice hostel and the people who run it are very accommodating. The next day I try to change my flight, but can't. I'm stuck in PA for four days!!! Bollocks. A very sweet American girl moves in called Jill. We hang out for the next fours days eating, sleeping, reading and watching tons of films on the hostel 40inch flat screen (i miss mine!)...Also I have a cold from trekking in the Torres.

Chilean School kids look like they're Japanese. Its spooky. They're really into Manga cartoons and everything Japanese. Their hair, clothes and they even look Oriental. Wish id gotten a photo. I meet up with Marianne's mums cousin John. He takes me for a delicious dinner to the smartest restaurant in PA. He's the father of lovely Angie and Maty in BA and tells me the fascinating story of how he managed to be living in South America and how he loves it. My heart strings are being pulled the whole while...Rio Rio Rio I'm thinking.
Finally after what seems and eternity at the end of the world, its the night before I fly toward Santiago. Although the landscapes are beautiful and space and clean air freely available, I'm glad to be leaving such a remote place. The romance of Chatwins 'In Patagonia' is in the back of my mind, but I realise how I crave life and people and colour and things!! Dare I say civilization?!

I get the the airport with a Spanish boy who shares my taxi. Once through check in and me taking my leatherman through the xray machine accidentally, I spot the Chilean President right in front of me! Chilean security is rather lax it seems. Finally I'm on the fight to Santiago. We fly up over Chile and along the geographical wall the Andes create separating Chile from the rest of the Continent. I see lakes, huge glaciers and mountains. We circle Santiago before we land and you can see the smog and pollution from the city as we do, it looks massive and dirty. Then its into a cab and straight to Barrio Brazil to see Jess. I met Jess with M in Trancoso two months ago. I arrive at her halls of residence, and It so nice to see her. She's very kindly let me stay in her hall of residence room. After a cup of Tescos Finest builders tea, we go out for afternoon ice cream (mmm), and a wander round a really nice arty area of Santiago. Then some beers and a dinner at a great restaurant. We collapse into Jess' bed around 2am