The Story of The Man and the Flip Flops

Let's set the scene. A small rectangular room, with 2 old unstable bunk beds forming the shape of an 'r'. The room is hot. No air conditioning and the only movement of the stale humid air is provided by the rickety ceiling fan. I lay on the top bunk along the left side of the 'r', stripped down to boxers, not daring to move a muscle for the fear of a raise in temperature sending me over the edge. Stine lay on the bottom bunk of the bed adjacent, barely receiving any air from the fan and sealed off from the room by a hung towel. The man attempting to sleep on the bed above Stine groans as drunkereds do, each movement bringing the bunk bed ever closer to collapse. I close my eyes and reflect on what was a nightmare of a day:

That morning, Stine woke with the shits and stomach cramp. This was bound to happen at some point, but with a day of travelling by bus ahead, the timing could've been better. We decided to taxi straight to the central bus station rather than walk, metro, walk. When we arrived at the bus station, Stine went to use the bathroom (50p a go...worse than Kings Cross) while I went to buy the tickets, praying there would be availability on a bus leaving soon. I was told rather nonchalantly by the ticket man that all busses were full. I broke the news to Stine and we assessed our options: we could cancel our booking in Paraty, pay for a hotel nearby (low availability and extortionate prices during carnival) or we could use a black market taxi driver. Neither option seems appealing. I went outside to find an illegal cabby, and found one almost immediately. He only spoke Portuguese but managed to gain the following information: "I can take you as far as Angra dos Reis" and it will cost you 40 Reals each (about a tenner)." Cheap but risky. I went back to Stine, covered in sweat from the 5 minutes out in the heat, and we spoke I overheard an English accent. A couple in their late fifties were in the same predicament as us (minus the shits). I told them about the possible lift and they seemed interested but just as we were about to go out and haggle with guy, the ticket man said that he would try and put an extra bus on. In the mean time in-between time I went up to the Internet cafe and emailed our hostel in Paraty, explaining that we wouldn't be there til late and asking them not to give our beds away. I returned downstairs to find that the extra bus had been booked and the tickets paid for. Sorted. Well, we'd still need to get from Angra to Paraty, but we were assured that there are many local buses on that route and we'd be able to sort that out in Angra. We had an hour spare, so we went and ate with the other English couple (well, we ate while Stine looked longingly at our food, not daring to put anything in her system as it would probably shoot straight out of her anus). Ivan and Jill are both teachers from Manchester, who live and work in Lima, Peru. We shared stories and the time passed quickly.

We boarded our bus which thankfully was air conditioned and had a toilet. After 4 hours we arrived at the tropical Angra and went about getting our next ticket on to Paraty (about another 90 mins). We were told that a bus would be there at 7pm, an hour from then. Not bad, we thought. 2 hours later we started to get worried. Stine had visited the toilet so many times that the lady had stopped charging her. Kind of like those stamps you get at Costa. Shit 9 times and the next ones on us. So there we were, exhausted and hot, hungry and worried. We tried to get information on the busses but the agents of the company had gone home. Cheers. More time passed and Stine was really struggling. At this point we had no choice but to share a taxi with Ivan and Jill. This would cost us an entire day's budget but it had to be done.

For 90 minutes I was sat on the Middle seat, with Stine desperately trying to sleep on my left, and Jill on my right. At this point I was hoping that we could find the hostel and praying they still had beds for us.

We arrived in Paraty and spent 20 minutes trying to find the hostel - finally we stopped outside the door, said our goodbyes to I and J and rang the doorbell. Nothing. Tried again. Nothing. Banged the door. Nothing. Then two people who stayed there turned up and opened the door.

We found the owner and luckily she'd read my email and the beds were available. She showed us into the room and pointed to the free beds. I say free, my bed was covered with bags belonging the girl on the bed below. She moved her shit and we did a reccy of the hostel. To say it was a shithole would only be a little harsh. The two toilets, shared by everyone in the hostel were situated on the other side of the communal area which Stine was buzzing about.

I went and got us water from a shop nearby and we settled in for the night.

And that's when it happened...

The man above Stine was groaning and wriggling around, trying to sleep off his drunken state. I could just about make him out in the dark sweltering room as he spun one leg out. The other followed and he hung precariously over the bed. At this point I sat up to watch him more closely. Even that caused beads of sweat to form on my forehead. He slithered down and found his feet, staggered backwards then found his balance. Then, what can only be described as the worst sound you could ever hear after the day we'd had, filled the room. It was the sound of him pissing.

"Oi!" I shouted, hoping to wake him. No response. His piss still splattered onto the tiled floor. I knew Stine's head was within a metre from his penis and could well be in the firing line, especially now she was awake, had removed the towel and joined me in yelling at him. I leaped down from my bunk and grabbed the guys shoulder, desperately trying to avoid the spray. He woke and stopped urinating, popped his William back in his shorts and made noises similar to "uh? Whats goin on?"


"You're pissing!" We both exclaimed in unison.

"Uh?"

I turned the light on and pointed to the puddled floor.

"You're pissing"

"Noooo... No I not piss... Me?"

"Yes, you. You're pissing all over the place, look."

"It's no problem. No problem"

"Yes it is a fucking problem!"

We asked if he was going to clean it up.. He responded by just standing there, one eye looking at me, the other following a mosquito. I found his towel (orange, perfect) and handed it to him. He threw it on to the puddle, kicked it and turned back to me, still swaying.

"Oh for fuck sake, I'll do it" I placed my foot on the towel and pivoted like a timid netballer, soaking up his urine.

"Calm down" he said....

"It's hard to stay calm when someone's pissed on your flip flops. Just get out, go to the Banheiros (toilet)".

He gathered all his stuff, including the towel, and left. We never saw him again.


The next day, as it poured with rain, we decided we might just sack this place off and head back to sunny Rio.

Rio

Take a room and add 50 beds. Pop a person on each bed. Now swap each bed for a seat and arrange them so they form two rows of two, all facing the same direction. Allow each seat to recline just enough so that the backs sit nicely on the knees of the person behind. Now exchange the room for a bus. Sprinkle the sound of an engine, snoring and farting. Scent with cheesy crisps, breath, feet and aforementioned flatulence. Now set an alarm for 24 hours and settle in.

Our journey to Foz du Iguacu was not the best, however it did allow us to reflect on our experience in Rio de Janeiro:

Rio has it all: Sun, sand, ocean, mountains, jungle, poverty, wealth, gangs, favelas, BMW's and burnt-out Beetles, Samba, drums, drugs, crime, love and life.

Of course there are the mandatory tourist hives such as Christ the Redeemer and Sugar loaf mountain, but our best experiences came from elsewhere.

We did visit the Big Jesus, and it has to be said that the statue itself, and the views from where it stands are awesome in the literal sense. The drawback is the tourism. It's hard to complain about tourists when you are one yourself, but when you're penned in like sheep and being constantly whacked with selfie-sticks and pushed aside so that yet another gimp can pose like Big Jesus in front of Big Jesus so they can instantly update their profile picture, the 40 degree heat can get to you.

Originally, we'd planned on having 5 days in Rio then move down the coast stopping at various places. After leaving Rio and having a poor experience in Paraty (story to follow), we decided to return for another week and soak the place up.


So, in no particular order, here are the highlights.


The Maracana: Brazil's national football stadium which housed the World Cup Final last year. This 80,000 capacity ground holds the record for the highest attendance at a game: 199,000 back in 1950 for Brazil v Uruguay. Obviously things have changed since then. A few clubs share the ground for home games, and we got ourselves to the Flamengo v Boa Vista tie. Flamengo brought over 24,000 fans who made the noise of 80,000. Boa Vista brought about 6 who made the noise of a Hamster.


Flamengo won 2-0 and the atmosphere throughout the game was incredible, especially after the first goal.

Santa Marta favela tour: A guy who lives up in the favela organises small group tours. He met us at the bottom and took us up the recently installed cable car up the top. The views are spectacular, reaching from central past Copacabana and Botafogo bay to Ipanema and Leblon. Our walk through the favela revealed the contrast in wealth, even inside the poorest communities. Modern concrete structures over shadowed dilapidated, corrugated iron huts. Locals went about their daily business while kids played, all under the watchful eye of the UPP (Pacifying Police Unit). We felt safe and welcome; often greeted with smiles and "Oi's" (which means 'Hi'). Overall, an authentic experience of the 'real' Rio.

Claudio Coutinho Trail: starting right beside the expensive cable cars for Sugarloaf Mountain, this free walk takes you along a shady path, with a jungle on one side and the ocean on the other. Wild monkeys gather in the trees and exotic birds roam the skies. We really enjoyed this little roam in nature, getting away from the city. After the trail we enjoyed the sunset and a coconut on Praia Vermelha (Red beach).

On our return to Rio, we checked in to a little hostel that sits between Ipanema and a favela called Vidigal. After a little haggling about our room, we were moved to a double with ensuite with an amazing view of the ocean - we extended our stay straight away. Nearby was a quiet (except on Sundays) beach which was mainly visited by the residents of the favela. We spent most days relaxing here, soaking up the sun and munching on fresh pineapple and watermelon. In the evenings we wandered in to the favela. Only a few years ago, we would've been greeted by a gang holding machine guns who would decide whether we could enter or not. Since the police pacified the favela, the guys with machine guns now wear uniforms and allow you to enter without negotiation. At the foot of the favela lies a square surrounded by bars and food stalls (one was a BBQ serving skewered meats. Got in amongst that many a day). One afternoon we noticed they were setting up some kind of performance. We learned from a local that whatever it was, it was starting at 9pm. Being European, we arrived at 8:30 to make sure we had good seats. Being South American, the performance started at 10:30pm. Well worth the wait though: a live band followed by a 40-man drum performance. Hundreds of locals (and a handful of gringos) danced away and enjoyed cheap local beers and cocktails. Definitely a night to remember.

On our last evening, we took motorbike taxis up to the top of Vidigal to enjoy the sunset and some of the best views Rio has to offer. The motorbike drivers are mental. Mine swerved between moving vans and almost hit a woman and child. Stine's was more conservative but still nearly managed to crash. We relaxed in a bar the the very top before walking down. We got lost a couple of times, weaving our way down past people's modest gardens, came across a track made of tyres filled with sand, walked through a beautiful garden with tables made from bicycle wheels, through make-shift football pitches and local bars. All the while receiving smiles and kind words.

All in all Rio was a fantastic experience. Next stop, Iguazu falls.

Machu Picchu, days 1 + 2.

Well it’s been a long time since the last post.  Im now in Ålesund, a beautiful port-town on the west coast of Norway.  I´d planned on continuing the blog even though I´d left South America. Once I left I lost motivation to do it, but as the trip resumes in little over a month I thought Id bang them out now.  

This post is allllll about Machu Pichu…well, the first 2 days…Ill wack the other ones on soon.

Day 1

Pick up was at 7:30am, so I was up in time to smash a load of free breakfast at the hostel and sort out bags etc for the journey. Although it’s a four day ting, you only want to bring a few things in a little backpack as you have to carry it on the trekking part. Once done, I forced a poo and joined the rest of the group outside for the pickup…

The groups:

5 laaaaaaaaads who wouldnt look out of place in a youth team football academy, fresh out of uni and looking for a good time. They had just spent over a fiver on Pringles and other snacks and I couldn’t help thinking this might not be my crowd.

4 British, comprising of; a guy called Guy who was a guy from Northampton; John, a guy but not called Guy, from Scotland (friends with the other guy, Guy); James, a Brummy, and his missus Elly, from Surrey.

Sam -  another English solo traveller who was carrying the biggest backpack Id ever seen, with another bag just to be sure.

I made up the tenth on our bus. The other bus had 10 Spanish speaking people, so a divide had already been made.

So after a short wait we were on our way, cramped into a tiny bus designed specifically for Peruvians, up the mountain.  Now, I cant remember all the names of the places and mountains etc so apologies for that…this was a pretty big mountain made of rock and that….so it took a good couple of hours to reach to summit for our first activity. It shouldve taken less time, but the bus got a flat tyre on the way…”Will just take 10 minutes” they said.

45 minutes later, after asking passers-by for the correct tools, we set off again. Although it’s a bit of a pain in the arse, it gave us a good opportunity to get to know each other a little more…the usual backpacker chat had already ran its course and was followed swiftly by football banter. I was beginning to like the British group – they´d been travelling together for a little while so had already formed their own catchphrases and roles etc.

On the way up, I noticed Sam making strange faces while listening to his Ipod…a sort of strained expression, almost a wince…later, it turned out that he was learning bird sounds.

We reached the top of “The Mountain”, ready to start our first activity….mountain biking. A three hour, downhill journey on mountainside roads, winding from 4000m+ down to about 1000m altitude.

We got kitted up in shin/knee pads, SWAT style jacket, helmet and gloves…I noticed Sam pull out a Robocop suit from his huge bag. I helped him put it on and took the opportunity to ask what the feck it was. It turns out he constantly dislocates his shoulder after a skiing accident and the suit was a makeshift ligament. We gathered, all ready to go, and the guide asked us to come up with a team name. It was followed by a stony silence. I was thinking about suggesting ´Stephen Hawking´s Football Boots´ but I let it go. I cant remember what we decided on, but it was one of the stock names the guides had in case of a conserved British group.

It was freeeeeeeeezing and raining, seeing as we were practically in a cloud…so after 3 minutes of biking I was drenched through and had a numb face and hands. ´This is brilliant´ I thought as I avoided oncoming traffic, ´I should brake, buuuut my fingers wont move…cracking start ´.

Within minutes I was close to experiencing another persons death up close…in fact, if the guy hadn't swerved away from the oncoming car at the very last millisecond, I would've been covered with his insides…at least it would've been warm. I shouted “fucking prick”…I couldn’t help it. Years of driving in Cambridge has given me a slight hatred of cyclists, and even though I was on a bike myself, the words just came out. I don’t think he heard me.

After half an hour we reached a stopping point where we all got off our bikes to look out to the beautiful scenery below, and moan about the weather above. You can take Brits out of Britain…

So on we went, the weather improving every minute. Once my limbs had thawed I had an absolute blast…soaring down the mountain and racing the others, all the while taking in the breathtaking scenery…jungle trees, waterfalls, and majestic birds above. Ive never really been into mountain biking but this really was amazing.

We reconvened at the bottom and boarded the bus to take us up to our hostel in a little village and had some lunch…well, by that time it was an early dinner…As we were running late due to the flat tyre, the rafting had to be moved to the following morning…so we had a little free time.  One of the guides was big into football and suggested we go down to the little pitch for a kick about. I was buzzin, obviously, as I hadn't kicked a ball in while….in fact everyone was up for it. All 20 of us arrived at the little pavement pitch, split into 4 teams and had a tournament. My team consisted of one of the academy lads, Guy, John, James a Spanish girl and myself. I put myself in a centre midfield role…mainly as it didn’t require too much running. The combination of heat, humidity and lack of exercise gave me a sweat on within the first minute. I thought it would be a friendly tap about, and had already told myself to curb my competitive nature…noone wants to be the guy who breaks a girls nose with their elbow.  Apparently, I was one of the few who had this little conversation with themselves…tackles were flying in. One Argentinian woman was weeelllll up for it and had already floored a guy in the first game…game on.

After a few rounds (and a couple of wins) the teams started to change…the girls slowly dropped out, no doubt thinking ´OK, lets let the boys have their fun now´…we went on a little run so were still on the pitch when a team of locals turned up…fully kitted up…one of them even had shin pads. I believe ´Full kit wankers´ is the term. When a game finished, they moved onto the pitch, asserting their dominance of their home turf (concrete).  They seemed keen to get rid of us, but none of us wanted to finish. I challenged their main guy to a game…his reply was brillint…he just flicked his finger towards the side of the pitch with a scowl on his face….after a bit of cajoling and some quiet chicken noises they agreed to one game…first to two goals.

The match started and within the first few seconds it was clear they meant business…slick passing, tricks and nutmegs. We had to up our game.  Guy tried a shot from way out which sailed waaaay over the bar and over a roof. We had to do the whole “Can we have our ball back please” job…luckily the ball was returned and we resumed the match.

Slowly we grew into the game, and after some great work down the left hand side, John (donning his Scotland shirt) broke free down the wing…he looked up and saw me approaching the area and picked out a perfect cross on to my trusty left peg…I finished with aplomb, through the keepers legs..ooooooosshhhhhh. We scored another soon after (I didn’t score so I wont bother going into detail) and that was it…game over. They were NOT happy…but we were sporting and all applauded and left the pitch for them to take over…great afternoon.

Returned to the hostel to shower and get dinner…a three course meal and decent conversation. The guides tried to inject some fun into the proceedings by playing a game. The look on their faces suggested it was the highlight of their trip…I have no idea what the game was about…something to do with picking a card…whatever it was, we lost….The other table, with all the Spanish speakers, won…but, in order for them to claim their grand prize (one bottle of beer between the ten of them) they had to select one person to do a challenge.  The guide had something on a tray, covered by a cloth, and said that the girl had to drink from whatever was underneath it. I whispered to Elly “I bet it’s a massive penis”. After building suspense…the guide took the cloth off to reveal…….a massive penis! baaaanteeeer. She took ages to do it, all bashful and embarrassed etc so another girl just jumped up, grabbed the big old member, whacked her lips around it and took a swig…this was met with a big round of applause  and a few raised eyebrows from the laaaaaaaaads…she obviously got their attention.

Got back to the hostel and played Sapo with an Argentinian guy…Sapo is a straaaange game. Theres a table, a bit like one of those old fashioned billiards table, but square shaped. It´s backed against the wall and has an open-mouthed metal frog in the centre surrounded by holes. The aim of the game is to throw metal discs into the frogs mouth (which is near impossible). You get nine throws, and you get points for any disc that falls down a hole. It didn’t take long before we got frustrated and gave up…neither of us got it in the frogs mouth. (Sapo means frog)

Decided to call it a night and joined Elly, James, Guy, John, Argentinian, and Sam in our dorm room. Once the light had gone out and we´d said our goodnights, I rolled over on to my front….this loaded up a giant fart in the chamber. It was silent in the room, and I was aware that this one wasn’t going to go unnoticed buuuut it just had to happen. I unleashed one of my finest farts and after a moment of tense silence someone started giggling…this allowed more people to join in laughing and asking who it was etc. I stayed silent for a few seconds just to see who got accused before owning up to it…”There´s a girl in the room Jamie!” John exclaimed before ripping his own fart…All the boys were giggling like little school girls…I think Elly was trying not to laugh…either that, or she was holding one in.

Day 2

Awoke at 6am to the sound of rain. By the time we got to the restaurant for breakfast it had cleared up and the jungle heat was closing in. After a decent little breakfast of omelet, pancakes and coffee we split into groups for rafting. The British group weren't partaking so I was put with the laaaads. The rafting was pretty good; a few challenging rapids but they didn’t reach past level 3. I was hoping for it to be a bit more extreme but you cant really complain when you´re sailing down a river between Peruvian mountains.

After, we joined the rest of the group for the trekking part of the journey…covered in sun-cream and mozzy repellent, we started the ascent through the jungle. It was quite a steep incline, and with the humidity and midday heat we were all sweating buckets by the time we reached our first pit stop. This was Monkey House 1, a small family house with refreshments for sail, a toilet and a PET MONKEY. I absolutely love monkeys and apes so I was a little upset to see it tied to a pole…The rope had enough slack for him to jump around and swing about, so I got to play with him for a while. He was a right cheeky fecker; play-biting and hair grabbing. If he had been let off the rope, he would've been a nightmare. The guide called “Vamos” so I reluctantly left the monkey and joined the group for another incline towards monkey house 2. This place was similar to the last, just better looking. A wooden building that houses a small family…the house opens up to a beautiful view of the jungle below and also has a pet monkey. This one was on a very short leash and had a white moustache.  Here we rested and were shown a load of local produce such as coca leaves, coffee, chocolate and fruits. All of it was made by hand up there by the family and was deliiiiicious.

Sam discovered that he´d been bitten on the arm…we´d all been bitten quite a few times by mozzies and sand flies, but Sam´s one had swollen up so it looked like he had a golf ball tucked under the skin of his elbow-pit. Even though he´d packed enough to last him and a small family for a few years, he didn’t have anything for the bite so had to make-do with squeezing some lime juice on it…

Suitably refreshed and full of knowledge (I´ve forgotten most of it now) we headed towards the beginning of an original Inka trail that had been discovered in the last few years. We were told a lot about it, but the jist was that 500 years ago, people would walk all the way along this trail carrying goods (potatoes, coca leaves etc) all the way to Machu Picchu from Cusco, taking various routes. This part of the trek was my favourite…the treacherous path lay halfway up the mountain, with a 500m almost-vertical drop to the left. The view was sensaaational. A river flowed between the mountains, meandering away into the distance. The only sounds were the gentle breeze carrying the calls of exotic green birds and insects, with the distant hum of the river below.

We made our descent towards the river, looking forward to a lunch stop halfway down.  We finally arrived at the restaurant which doubled up as a chicken farm. There were loads of cockerels as well, so after lunch when we all found hammocks for a cheeky siesta, the incessant noise prevented us from snoozing. Annoying little shits. We started walking again, with the energy in the group a little low…I thought Id try lighten the mood with a joke…and here it is in allllll its glory:

A black piece of tarmac goes in to a pub and says “Oi! You lot! If anyone in here wants a fight, Ill batter them”…no one responds so he take a seat at the bar and orders a pint…A few minutes later, a red piece of tarmac walks in and says “Does anyone in here wana fight? Cos Ill smash anyone” … Again, no one responds, including the black piece of tarmac…after a short moment, the barman goes up to the black tarmac and whispers “I thought you said you were hard, why didn’t you fight that red piece of tarmac?”…

“I aint fighting him…hes a Cyclepath”

BOOOOOM.

This gem of a joke brought out a few tickled laughs and led to everyone telling their own crap jokes. With the mood ever-improving, the rest of the trek was quite pleasant: Once we´d reached the bottom of the mountain, we walked alongside the river until reaching a big rickety bridge, swaying somewhat over the water below. A few slats were missing but we all made it across without incident…even Sam. An hour or so later, A hand-pulled cable car took us back across the river and we arrived at some hot springs to finish our day´s walk.  While waiting to board the little cable-car, we sat on rocks and removed our bags. Apart from Sam: he sat on a rock with his massive backpack still on, and when he got up he just toppled sideways like a felled tree…that guy.

The springs were half natural, half man-made with three pools ranging in temperature. We got ourselves into the hottest one for a good soak…perfect way to unwind after a grueling trek in the jungle.

While we were floating away, chatting about our favourite flavour crisps and how we have our steak, the guides came over for a quick chat:

“Well, we are pretty much done for the day – there are options on how to get to our hostel for the night…as its dark, we can all take the bus which gets us there in about 20 minutes with no walking…oooor you can walk…if you want.” Everything about his tone implied that no one ever chooses to walk, but as its on our itinerary they kind of have to give us the option…he even followed up with: “If you choose to walk, then one of us will have to come with you and walk in the dark to the hostel…it should take about 2 hours…sooooo if anyone wants to walk we would have to leave now while the others chill here in the nice hot pools…”

We all replied “bus”

Except Sam…Sam wanted to run back. Which meant one of the guides had to run with him…in the dark…for about an hour…mostly uphill…aaaah Sam.

The rest of us got the bus back later and arrived at the hostel at just about the same time as Sam and his guide who I bet was loving his job. Another 3 course meal and an early night, ready for day 3…

Love

For those of you who read my blog for the witty observations and light hearted travel-banter - you might not want to read on, cos Im about to go deep....baaaaaalls deep.

Since leaving England, perhaps even before, I've been burdened. It has felt like I've been going against the tide, fighting my way through. This feeling isn't always present - in fact it's in my unconcious, just liiingering there. It doesn't ever show itself full on, its a lot sneakier than that...It absorbs a little happiness each moment, like a sponge; tainting the present. Don't get me wrong, I've had fun - lots of it...but the fun feels hollow, like the spark of life has been taken out of it. 

Told you it was deep...

Someone I admire often says "We are responsible for our own happiness" and over the last few weeks I 've been trying to do just that - take responsibility, make choices that lead towards happiness. But how? How am I supposed to know which choice to make? ... I can listen to other people's advice, think about what certain people would say - but all that leads to is more confusion...and if it goes wrong, who's to blame? Me or the advisor? I found myself shying out of social situations, choosing not to speak my mind. I lost confidence.

Luckily I noticed another feeling - another force in my unconcious, far more powerful than the lurky lingery wet sponge. That force is love...now before you cringe yourself to death, hear me out....

I call it a force because it guides, almost nudges you in the right direction. Little serendipitous coincidinks that happen every day...those little moments where you think "ey? thats wierd" Like when you think of someone you haven't talked to in ages then bump into them at the morrisons salad bar...or a word jumps out on a page for some reason, then for the next few days it seems to be all you read or hear....these little moments I'm sure happen to people all the time - whether we notice them or not is another story, and whether we choose to act on them is yet another. I've had a fair few of these moments in my life, and many on this trip...and they've led me to realise that Ive been fighting against love, swimming against the tide in hope of finding a distant, mysterious treasure. 

I've decided to make some changes; In 11 days I fly to Norway to stay with the love of my life, Stine - Ill pop the house-husband-hat on while she works and saves...Then return to Cambridge for a week over Christmas to see my family and close friends, back to Norway to spend some time planning The trip Stine and I are going on in February: We fly to Rio for carnivale and backpack our way south into Argentina and possibly Chile.

Although this wasn't what I had originally planned, I don't regret a thing: I needed to go on this trip to realise what I have...and Ive also had a lot of fun and met some awesome people...but as soon as I made these changes and booked all the flights I felt elated. The lurky sponge squeezed out all the happiness it had accrued over the last month and for the first time in a long while I felt genuinely happy. Deep down proper happy. I've chosen to go with love, and it feels pretty damn good.

Right, thats enough of all that........

Tomorrow morning I start the Maccu Pichu trek and will be back Thursday night - then Friday I board the Boliviahop bus towards La Paz, stopping at Lake Tititaka (somet like that) to visit some floating islands...A couple days mooching in La Paz and then off to Norway...

Ill bang out another couple blogs for Maccu and La Paz, postpone them over the Christmas period and then pick them back up in Feb.

Cheers x

Onto Cusco...

I departed Huacachina with mixed emotions; sad to leave such an awesome place, but keen to continue the adventure. With Maccu Pichu drawing closer I didn't look back.

As was custom, we stopped at the Pisco vinery tour - The second time for me as I blagged it a few days before. Same guide, same script, same jokes, same great quality Pisco and wines. Pisco is the Peruvian spirit....they absolutely love it over here - and I don't blame them. A favourite cocktail here is the Pisco sour, made with lime and egg white..its a bit of alriiiiiight.

Anyway, after a few shots we jumped back on the bus for the long old voyage to Arequipa (over night...yaaaay). I tried to do the old trick of placing all my stuff on the seat next to me, guaranteeing double space and a better sleep. I noticed an older English guy, who was quite hyper and full of dad jokes..he was looking for a seat near the girls he was flirting with - and mine was the closest. I stared straight out the window, hoping he'd move on....nnooooope. I slept for ten minute intervals, interrupted by the feel of his hairy arms against mine. Brilliant.

Got to Arequipa and stayed a couple days, mooching about and relaxing - not much to report here; there's a canyon tour but I didnt fancy it.

Within a few days I was back on the bus - this time, a 12 hour journey to Cusco, and my own double seat oooooosh.

There was a stop for lunch and another for the Nazca lines: shapes drawn in the ground by ancient people...now this sounds impressive, buuuut when you turn up and climb a 'viewing tower' which is really more like the climbing frame on cherry hinton rec, you can only make out little bits of the shapes. I was breathtaken, but only because it was windy.

On another stop, I picked up a baby sheep, Llama or Alpaca for a pic...not quite sure what it was but its a weeellll cuuuute pic.

Back onboard and to sleep - which didnt last long as I woke up with a splitting headache, and soon worked out I wasn't the only one. The drive to Cusco steadily climbs to a few thousand metres above sea level...the altitude causing poor circulation and sometimes some bad-man-illness. 

I visited the onboard Shaman, Mark. He isn't really a Shaman...he's an English animator...but he seemed to know what he was doing. He prescribed me Coca leaves with a calcium catyliser. You basically just chew it all and stick it between your gum and cheek - the alkaloids absorb into your bloodstream, sped up by the calcium. This, in turn,

thins

your blood and increases circulation, and therefore oxygen delivery....apparently. It worked....and yes, its legal.

The rest of the journey was broken up by movies: The Call, starring Halle Berry (not bad, had promise but lost its way towards the end, 6/10) and The Dictator (mingin, 2/10). Also a little drama: the driver decided to drive over a speed bump at a million miles per hour which sent Mark, who was laying on the back seat, up into

the air - smashing his head, then returning back to his seat - crushing his chest against the arm rest. He could'nt breathe properly for a bit, and some fuss was made...but he was ok.

Arrived in Cusco safe and sound. Cusco is the base city for Maccu Pichu, which Ill come to later.

I've been here a week now, so I'll just go for the highlights;

Walking tour: These are free, and last around 2 hours - the guy runs on tips as his living so they put in a good shift - explaining everything in detail. Did you know that Tupac was named after a Peruvian revolutionary? Did you? Nooooo neither did I. They took us to a musicians shop, where he played some quite beautiful little ditties with his ugly guitar made of an Armadillo. He then played a Pitbul + J-Lo number on a pipe. Was just as shit as the real thing.

The tour concluded in a bar, serving free Pisco sours and displaying all the pics their covert mate had been taking the way round. I looked either bored or serious in all the ones I was in so I didnt bother buying any.

After deliberating with the others over how much to give as a tip (not wanting to look tight - but at the same time not wanting to overspend) we agreed on something like 3 quid each and left.

Football: Another highlight of Cusco was going to watch the local team Calcieno play in a league match. Due to the fact it was an 11am kick off on a Wednesday, the 42,500 capacity stadium had about a thousand in it. Mark the Shaman and I arrived a little late so we bought a ticket off a tout - this tout wasn't some cockney geezer smoking a Camel - it was a little Peruvian lady. Still could'nt haggle her though. The original ticket booth was a tiny little square carbed out of the wall - the punters pop their cash in, then a little hand pops out with the tickets. Bit like a Flinsyones vending machine. The crowd were great, a barmy-army behind the goal kept the drums and chants going throughout. The game finished 1-1 with a red card for the home team's left back. They all looked knackered in the second half, the heat and altitude taking their toll. We got out of there as soon as the whistle went as we were starting to fry in the midday sun - Stopped in a market on the way home to buy traveller pants (kind of like Harem) and a wooly jumper for the evenings. I proper look the part now with my headband and pants...great look.

Had a cheeky couple nights out, and visited some very interesting bars owned by some strange characters - one being a rasta-man as high as the  sky above us.

I really like Cusco, a town with beautiful architecture and a rich history...but its time to move on...

My next adventure is the trek to Maccu Pichu, the top of my bucket list (alongside high-fiving a chimpanzee). There are many ways to get to Maccu Pichu: the most traditional being the 4 day Inca trail - 8 hours a day of walking , sleeping in tents etc. This does appeal to me, however you have to book months in advance and comes with a price tag of about 500 squids. Im choosing to do the Inka Jungle Trek - a 4 dayer that includes zip-lining, mountain biking, rafting and trekking. Absolutely buzzing my testicles off for it!

Huacachina, a desert oasis.

Huacachina is where I feel I properly arrrived on this trip - In lima I was bogged down by jet lag and the big city feeling. Paracas helped to shake that off, plus getting meet a load of cool people got me settled in. Huacachina is the first place where I felt it was all worth it.

So this is a desert oasis; a small lagoon with small hostels, bars and restaurants. The sand dunes around the outside are HUGE, they put Hemsby to shame...it takes about 20-30 minutes to climb to the top...but more of that later.

Once we'd arrived at the hostel, I was given the choice to either go sandboarding with the israeli's, but for an hour - or wait until the following day and join the Paracas group for 2 hours...easiest decision Id had to make so far. A bus was going to a wine tour nearby, so I fluttered my eyelashes at David (daveeeed) the ultra-camp tour guide, and he let me join in. Met a few new peeps, who's names escape me but I rememer there was one guy from Sheffield...anyway, they were all buzzin over the sandboarding, so I couldnt wait for that.

Later, after I was reunited with the group, we found out it was club night at the hostel. The biggest club in Huacachina was directly behind our room, in fact the bathroom 'window' was an opening into the club. Might as well have a few cerveza's and join the party. Francisco organised a meal and so e drinking games before the club opened, so we all entered the party in good spirits. We were pretty much the only foreigners in there, but the locals were friendly and loved a dance and took pics with us etc. The music was mainly latino/salsa/regaton type music with a few american club 'hits'. Most of the night is a bit of a blur but good fun was had by all.

The next morning, after very little sleep, I went and found a hammock and some fried chicken to get my head together...worked a charm...and it needed to, because at 4, it was time for sandboarding.

We were picked up outside the hostel by these beasty dune buggies, each one holding around 14 people...the driver, aptly named 'smiley' took us slowly to the edge of the oasis, paid his tax to get out and we were off....The guy drove like the devil! With the roar of the open engine and desert air blasting our faces we ragged it around, up and down the sand dunes at full speed. Smiley obviously loves his job, and took every opportunity to scare us shitless....he'd drift along the ridge of a dune before plummeting to the bottom, encouraged by our screams.   It wasnt for the feint-hearted, but I absolutely loved it...when we stopped on top of a dune for the first bit of sandboarding, the scenery sunk in. It was incredible, to one direction Ica, a city close to the oasis, with the Andean mountains as a back drop - in the other, sand...as far as the eye could see, with the various slopes and curves of the dunes...breathtaking.

But enough of that, it was time to plummet down the huge, steep dune on a board. The boards were similar to snowboards, slight fatter and with less strapping. Being completely inexperienced on the snow, I opted, along with the rest of the group to do the first one on the belly. Once the board was waxed and Id pushed fear aside, I got on and went for it. It was a rush: the pace was insane and I was down to the bottom in no time. Luckily we had a few more goes. I tried a couple standing up, I managed a few yards before stacking it onto my arse...and when I nearly popped a bollock I called it a day...well, for standing up anyway. Smiley took us to what couldve been the steepest dune around for one last go before ragging us over to a nice spot for the sunset. A good opportunity to take those photo's where it looks like you're jusr sat there looking out, thinking about life and someone manages to grab your camera, find the perfect angle and take several pics for you to choose from....yeeeeh you know the ones.

Got back, ate and slept.

The next day, after sleep deprivation and the excitement of the dunes, was a day for chillin. Sunbathing, swimming and eating...before a 30

minute trek up the dune for sunset. It looks easier than it actually was to climb, but the reward was something special...not to mention, you get to sprint down the dune so quickly your ears pop.

Peniltimate day in Huacachina, so Nick the Canadian and I thought we'd be a bit adventurous and trek over to a shanty town the other side of the massive dune. The night before we thought we'd seen a nice easy route around the dune...buuuut when we got there, it was even harder. So we climbed all the way along the edge of the dune to the very top. With every step, you lose half your energy pushing sand to the side...its fecking tiring to say the least...what with the heat an'all, i was a mess. We got there in the end and were thankful that it was an easy descent to the shanty town. We'd not seen any white people enter this place, so we took with us the essentials: camera, water and a little cash. As we entered the town, we were greeted by angry dogs and friendly humans...luckily the locals have good control over their canines so we were safe to venture further. The place was very similar to the shanty towns Id already seen, but was good to get a closer look and a feel for the place. We mooched about for a while, looking like absolute tourists, taking pics - much to the amusement of the local kids. "hello....gringo" a few of them said as we passed. We found a little shop and bought a couple of ice cold beers to celebrate the journey...wasn't long until a few of the kids came to have a look at the wierd little white men sat drinking out of plastic cups. A few dogs got involved too...im a lover of dogs, but I shit myself whenever I come accross one abroad. Especially as I didn't complete my Rabies vaccinations.  Nick showed them a lot of attention and was rewarded by being humped by one of them. 

The sun was setting, and the temperature plummeting, so we said our adioses and headed back up the dune. Night had fallen by the time we reached the summit so we stopped to check out the moonlit dunes and half lit cities...spectacular. Bombed it down the dune again - I remember thinking half way down "Im sprinting down a dune under the moonlight towards a desert oasis" Not a bad feeling at all.

That feeling wasn't present at 3 in the morning when I woke up needing the biggest poo ever (twice as big as the one on the plane). It felt like my entire digestive system was full of it. Legged it to the toilet; needless to say there was no toilet roll, ran into the ladies (of course there was toilet roll) back to the mens and AMEN, it was a godly affair. 

The next day it was time to leave Hicachina...definitely my favourite place so far. Now on to even bigger and better things.

Paracus

So I hopped on the Peruhop bus, eager to leave Lima and explore the more beautiful parts of Peru. I was joined by a group of Israelis from our hostel: a clique of 5 that had one guy who I was certain I wouldn't like. Its not a particularly 'cool' thing to look at someone and prejudge - but as soon as I saw this guy, a voice in my head went "Stay away from this knobhead" There was nothing I could consciously gain from his appearance that supported this, but maybe his body language or the way he moved sparked an alarm bell inside. I didn't act on it, just noticed it and then discarded it...

Anyway, we joined the half-filled bus and I took my window seat towards the back, placed my bag on the seat next to me and settled in for the journey. After a couple of pick-ups, the bus was nearly full - I could see a few couples, one of which I could sense was English (based on dress, skin, hair style etc) - I could hear Canadian, spanish and Irish accents and was happy to see that the average age, from what I could gather, was around 30. I had feared that the Peruhop would be a bit of a gap-yaar job with a bunch of pretencious douchebags, so this was positive.

First stop was the Peru sign in Chorallitos, a big old red thing saying 'Peru' placed in front of a Hollywood style CHORALLITOS sign. Not much to excite me here, although I did get talking to the couple, Edd and Sarah...they were English and very pleasant. 

I noticed, at one point, that Knobhead decided to lay on the grass with his hands behind his head...hmm...a little later, while standing with others, he put his head down and spat onto the concrete.

Back on the bus and up a cliff overlooking a very poor part of Lima - I could see, in the foreground, a huge shanty town - dusty half built houses, noone to be seen but plenty of dogs to be heard. In the background, the tall finished buildings of Miraflores...the contrast between rich and poor highlighted once again...our guide at the time, Paolo, was educating us on the history of everything, Im sure it was interesting but I wasn't really listening - I was distracted by his accent...He kept saying "so guuuuys...nice one...cheers.." with an irish twang. I learned later he works for two irish lads so it had obviously rubbed off...I tried to listen again but could hear the sound of water hittin the floor, coming from the bus...Wasnt sure what it was at first, but then realised someone was in the toilet and the piss was flowing straight through the bus and onto the road...I caught the eye of a girl had noticed as well and we started gigglin like little kids, trying to keep it in because Paolo was still talking....guess who it was in the toilet...knobheeeeeaaaaadd.

There was also a smaller Christ the Redeemer type statue, which overlooked the town...I've only seen the one in Rio in photo's, but Im pretty sure it puts this one to shame.

Stopped for lunch on a beach, deserted but for a long row of identical restaurants. The food was awesome...I tried Cerviche, a Peruvian speciality which is a selection of raw fish..I've never been a fan of Sushi or the like, but this was delicious. 

After lunch we dropped off Paolo and headed towards our stop for the night, Paracus...

Paracas is a strange little place, some of it modern, some of it proper rough...lots of travel shops but noone visiting them, like a place waiting for a convoy of buses filled with moneyspending tourists to come...but never does. Im sure they do ok, but the time we were there it was a bit if a ghost town. 

We all stood like school-kids on a trip, backpacks on and waiting to hear the sleeping arrangements. There were over 30 people for Francisco (our new guide) to organise so it was pretty stressful for him...The first 4-bed dorm would house the Isreali group, meaning one of them would have to join a different room. knobhead was not happy, and instead of waiting til we were all sorted, he kept interrupting Francisco, telling him there was five of them in their group. "there's only

four beds, so unless you want to share a bed one of you will have to join another room" Fran said, but knobhead continued to interupt and show his annoyance...I looked about to see how other people were reacting...some impatient shuffling and eyebrow raising. Finally, we were all given our groups - I was placed with a couple of Irish lads that I hadnt yet spoken to...as we walked to the room, one of them (think it was Jon) said in a thick irish accent "dat israeli guys a fuckin' dick like" ... 

Our room was basic to say the least - and Jon found out the toilet didnt flush after he laid a massive egg in there. We left our room to fester and rejoined the group for some lizza and drinks in a cool little reggae place. Got to know some people in the group a bit better...and remembered the usual backpacker conversational script Iearned on my last voyage...

"Where you from?"

"How long you been travelling?"

"Where did you start?"

"What route are you doing?"

"Where do you finish?"

Then you can move on to:

"So what do you do back home?"

Works 60% of the time, every time.

Anyway, after the meal we headed to a hostel that had a little halloween shindig going on. The people who were already there were all dressed up and obviously far more drunk than we were - so after a beer a few of us left them to it and got back to get some sleep....early start for the boat tour.

Up at 7am for a boat tour...Wasn't sure what to expect but it was included in the bus ticket. It was awesome in the end - The lot of us jumped on board a big old speed boat and set off to some islands about 15 mins away. Saw a ton of wildlife, including Sea lions, Pelicans, Penguins and starfish. The boat got us really close to the Sea Lions, where knobhead decided he'd get his go pro as close to the Sea Lions face as possible, it went mental and the guy nearly shat himself, much to the amusement of everyone else (who had all, by then, expressed their dislike for the guy). You know its bad when the local wildlife hate you.

The boat journey back to Paracus was cold and wet...I spent the time with my hood up and head down..not ideal but grabbed a coffee which sorted me right out. 

Had a walk about Paracus, and on closer inspection its actually a pretty little place: lots of little cafès and shops with friendly locals. Returned to the hostel to find out I was due to be on the bus that was about to leave, so had to run and grab my stuff and head out, leaving the rest behind (apart from the Israeli's, of course) 

The scenery changed from coastal to desert within minutes, and we were well on the way Huacachina...a desert oasis.

Note: Ive talked about knobhead quite a bit, but its the last time Ill mention him...Although he's clearly a twonk, I actually quite like havin knobheads in life: it unites the rest of us.