 
Dickon Springate

A Man of Mystery's Global Adventure

Outward Bound

The personal chronicles of my solo voyage around the world including the delightful characters I met, the sights I photographed and the things I got up to; as well as how I tried to keep a positive outlook despite abandonment, imminent financial ruin, scam artists, conniving taxi drivers and some of the worst weather in living memory.

This volume covers the first half of my amazing journey, spanning 43 cities in 16 countries, and covering in excess of 22,814 km.

Dickon Springate Home Publishing

Gillingham, Kent, England

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A Man of Mystery's Global Adventure - Outward Bound

Published by Dickon Springate Home Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright © 2011

Cover design by Dickon Springate

Book design by Dickon Springate

Text by Dickon Springate

Photographs and Illustrations by Dickon Springate

Dickon Springate

Visit my blog website at www.DickonSpringate.blogspot.com

First Printing: March 2011

ISBN-13 978-1-4466-2891-1

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Table of Contents

Pre-Travel Planning

Holland

Germany

Czech Republic

Austria

Switzerland

France

Spain

Brazil

Bolivia

Peru

Ecuador

Colombia

Panama

Costa Rica

Honduras

El Salvador

Top Travel Tips

Acknowledgements

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Prologue

Whilst travelling around the world from 1st September 2008 to 11th April 2009 I attempted to keep an up-to-date blog journal of my exploits and wanderings.

On average, at least once a day I would write an entry and post it, often without the time to proof read or even spell check it, eager as I was to get back to the actual travelling, and although it attracted a small and loyal following, it never told the full story.

As I progressed on my travels my writing style became more personal and defined, and I even learned how to include digital photographs in my blog, but it was still a learning curve with no time to go back and correct the mistakes of the past.

Once I got back to the UK I tried several times to rewrite my story from scratch, but time and again I would get bogged down with how best to write it in order to appeal to a certain target audience or to fit into a certain category.

After almost a year of fruitless beginnings I came to the conclusion that, like so much of real life, the story that I was so desperately trying to write did not conform to any template or style and crossed over into multiple genres on more than a few occasions.

I also realised during this time that my blog entries, though riddled with schoolboy errors, were the bulk of the very story that I wanted people to read.

Thus it was that in February 2010 I finally gave up trying to write it from scratch and just began completing it by revising each blog entry, one at a time, and fixing the mistakes of the past through what I have learned along the way.

Or to put it another way, I stopped trying to write it and just wrote it.

Of the original blog entries, all have ended up being reworded and corrected for spelling and grammar mistakes; however I still do feel that there is enough core information and overall sentiment to keep it honest when I say that this is a book based upon my trip and the blog that I wrote while journeying.

That said, having worked hard to represent it here, I hope that you as the reader will find this book far more entertaining and easier to read.

The other change to my initial idea is that this is no longer designed to be a guide book in the normal sense, though at times I have decided to include a few of my top travel tips, though to maintain the flow I have stuck them at the back of the book.

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Pre-Travel Planning

As I am barely a week away from my trip I decided that the time had come to make the long walk to my doctors to get my potentially-life-saving travel vaccinations.

In the end it turned out to be a wholly positive experience as not only was it barely a few minutes from my sisters and the weather was good, but when it was finally my time, I spent more time chatting with the nurse, a delightfully Irish lady with a well travelled daughter by all accounts, than it took her to actually perform the tiny pinprick and push.

In fact the only minor downsides were firstly that I had to purchase two boxes of anti-Malaria tablets and secondly as the yellow fever jab has to come with a certificate, you have to go to a specialist clinic in order to receive one.

The Cambodian Embassy Rocks

If you, like me, ever decide to do some real backpack travelling in the Far East then I really strongly suggest that you do not overlook the country of Cambodia.

Not only does it have some truly picturesque countryside, beautiful and friendly people, the architectural marvel that is Ankor Wat, low prices and religious practices that don't involve declaring jihad's on anyone that have shorter beards than they do, but they also have the little known gem that is their online embassy where you can obtain an Entry Visa.

'What? An Entry Visa being a good thing, that's insane!' I hear you cry, but just hear me out before you throw me out.

You see, aside from the fact that these days far too many countries are freely letting in every Tom, Dick or Harry, but the thing about the Cambodians is that they are streaking ahead, so to speak, by allowing you to process and purchase your very own visa completely online, instead of the usual rigmarole of having to visit an embassy and leave your passport.

The application form was incredibly easy to use, so easy in fact that I only fudged it the first time round through pure giddy eagerness to complete it in record time.

Next you have the superb idea of allowing applicants to use ANY decent head-shot photograph as a jpeg attachment, instead of straight jacketing them into using the bog standard passport booth photographs.

This means that, within limits, you can have a super cool image on your visa instead of the tired looking passport photograph that you had taken at the last minute when your acne was impossible to disguise.

Their Embassy's final finishing touch of brilliance was that their website has an authentic Cambodian melody set up on its homepage, so that as even before I had packed a thing I had the sounds of Asia drifting through my laptop speakers.

In short, it was a great experience and I'm now back to thinking that a visa is a good idea once again, instead of continuing to liken them to a court ordered subpoena.

So Giddy I Can't Sleep

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was saying an 'au revoir' to my dear friends or maybe it was the thought of yet another injection, but for whatever the reason I really couldn't get any sleep last night.

You see, my Kentish friends had all banded round, some at less than an hour's notice, to make my last weekend in the U.K. go with a bang, and thank to a house a few roads up we even had the odd firework or two wishing me farewell, or at least that what I convinced myself after a couple of pints.

There was much laughter, some good food, a little drink and plenty of conversation that was probably deep and meaningful to start with but ended up like most others with talk of Sci-Fi movies and Monty Python.

I even got to fit in some more practice with my new digital camera, a leaving gift from my former London colleagues.

My Final Day of Work

Departure day, or D-Day for short, may be just the other side of the weekend, but the start of the rest of my life officially starts now.

I have not just left my job, but even the extra spot of temping in the final run up to leaving the UK has now come to an end and all I have left to do is the last minute packing.

I have collected my P45, emptied what was my desk, wiped what was my computer, said all my goodbyes, had one last meal with the faces that I have come to know almost as well as my own and I have signed myself out for the very last time. From now on there will be:-

No more early morning commuter trips to a city miles away, to work for a job that is neither exciting nor inspiring; no more fussing with suits, ties and wondering how I can ever make it to lunchtime without falling asleep; and no more pathetic office one-upmanship contests or office debacles to bore me to tears.

But it was not all bad, or I wouldn't have willingly put up with it for so long. For example, here are just a few of the things that I will miss dearly:-

No more sharing lunches with my friends in the park; no more free broadband internet and landline calls; and no more regular income, free health care or additional pension contributions.

From now on I have just my forward planning, previous travelling experience, my wits and the occasional guidance from a local pen-pal to navigate me from the safety of my front door to the further reaches on the planet and back again.

It has all the potential to be a truly amazing adventure of epic proportions, one that could rival the epic s stories of Greek legend, and though the idea may have been conceived many years ago it really only became a reality a few months back.

So Long and Farewell

It only feels like yesterday since my first interview,

But through six years I've had to say goodbye to quite a few.

Yet this time round it is my fate to face the curtain call,

And so I say a hugely great farewell to one and all

'Just what on earth now will you do?' I've been asked lots of times.

The truth I'll here enlighten you, but using different rhymes.

Ohhhhhhhh...

I'm chasing the sun and I'm buggering off,

just as fast as my two legs can run.

I've earned all I can and I've saved lots of dosh,

think I'm long overdue for some fun.

I'm off after women, and burn to a tan,

just as much as my body will stand.

Drinking bottles of vino and catching some waves,

if I'm lucky I'll sing with a band.

With cheap flights and hostels I'll scour the world,

from the Swiss Alps to deepest Peru.

Be it swimming with the dolphins or feeding the sharks,

I'll rinse each single moment right through.

Please don't bug me for postcards or cheap souvenirs,

as a bitch slap will often offend.

And I just won't have time for the posting of mail,

so it's facebook or nothing my friend.

I'll be back in a year with a head full of jokes,

and a fistful of coins with a note.

I just hope that I make it back all in one piece,

and am not married off to a goat.

I wrote the above poem as a thank you to the co-workers from my former London job upon my leaving party.

Final Night Before the Off

What does the average person do the night before they are about to go off alone into the big wide world and in the process leave all that is familiar and safe far behind?

Well, statistically speaking the average person wouldn't be going in the first place, and a non-average person might do just about anything due to their un-average randomness, so it's a pretty pointless question, but I can at least answer with what I did on my last night.

First, I took notice of what one of my sisters suggested, which was to write a complete list of everything that I could think that I might possibly want or need and then practiced packing and unpacking my rucksack until I got to know how best to stack it for maximum comfort.

I was also glad to find out that the entire list fitted neatly into a rucksack that weighed less than thirteen kilos, which made it ideal for putting most in the main flight carriage luggage and keeping my laptop and a few essentials with me as hand luggage. #1

Then I checked my forth coming travel documents and ensured that a detailed copy was with my sister in case of emergencies, before doing some very mundane general household chores like washing and paperwork.

And finally I chatted with my sister, had a meal and watched a movie before bed. All in all it was a fairly calm, stress free and unremarkable day.

But did I feeling nervous? No actually, I didn't, at least no more than normal, and the reason behind this is similar to the logic used that explains why a murderer held on suspicion can fall asleep while two innocent suspects held on the same charge will be up all night fretting.

The fact is, that with as much prep time as I had given myself for this, I had already done every last thing that I could possibly think of and now my body and mind just wanted to get as much rest as they could before things kicked off for real in the morning.

Harwich International Train Station

Waking up for the final time still in the UK I felt ready to tackle the world, but before I did so I begged a last traditional England lunch, and my sister kindly went out and bought all the necessary ingredients.

Thus it was that on a Monday afternoon in September I had a lovely traditional Sunday roast, complete with best beef and Yorkshire pudding, and all topped off with strawberries and cream for dessert.

However as the afternoon drew on, I realised that the longer I hung around the closer to tears we were both becoming, so even though my suggested train did not leave for several more hours I felt it best to get an early start and headed out.

I was booked on an overnight ferry from Harwich to the Hook of Holland, but in order to reach Harwich I had to head into and then cross London before heading out again Essex way.

After a train journey, a half hour walk, a tube journey and another two train journeys I made it dark but early to Harwich International train station.

Finding the port entrance from inside the train station was a doddle, so was check in and I even found a place where I could use the Internet prior to boarding, which for the departure that was only a few minutes shy of midnight was no earlier than after the watershed.

Ferry across the Channel

In the waiting lobby to get on the ferry I met a Danish lady with her New Zealand Border Collie and a Geordie biker who sadly was on his way to play the Organ at a relative's funeral.

We exchanged pleasantries for quite a few minutes before we were allowed on board and although throughout the night I bumped into them a few times, because of the lateness of the hour not a lot of socialising went on.

I did plan on visiting the ferry's onboard casino, but being the off-season the entire ship was mostly deserted and that meant there was not enough call for a dedicated croupier, and as I didn't feel like keeping myself awake for the midnight showing of Hancock in their miniature cinema, I just grabbed a quick bite and then retired to my room.

The ferry's interior cabin that was mine for the night was actually quite well decked out with features and accessories, but sadly the ships Wi-Fi signal was restricted to the main lounges so surfing the net was one luxury it didn't have.

Just before I closed my eyes I had fleeting paranoid thoughts of a Titanic nature, so I decided that I had better pack my rucksack for a fast exit should any disaster befall the ferry during the night.

It seemed like prudent and sound logic at the time, but I soon regretted it in the morning when everything was packed away tight and I awoke much later than planned. #2

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Holland

Amsterdam (Capital City) - Arrived on 2nd September 2008.

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Arrival in Amsterdam, Capital of Holland

I chose to arrive in catch a ferry to Holland instead of France because I had been made redundant a month earlier than planned and so it was either tour some of Europe or sit at home bored for a month doing nothing but worry.

Needless to say, despite it being financially a dubious decision, I chose to leave early.

I am so glad that I did not bother staying up for the midnight movie, as I woke up not fully with it and barely had an hour to get up, dressed, showered, fed and all ready for the off.

As proof of my sleepiness and disorientation, I ordered a very modest breakfast and not only did I fail to spot that the one I was served was not the one I ordered, but I also forgot that I had already paid for it when I made my booking, thus all I had to do was shown them the compliment slip and I would not have had to pay a second time.

On the early train to Amsterdam I began to feel a bit of a head cold and it was only after I was fully awake that realisation dawned on me.

This was the flu-like side effects of taking the yellow fever jab that the kindly Irish nurse warned me about.

Thinking back, I remember her saying that if anything was going to happen then I would start to suffer slightly by Friday, so I guess that I am a late flourisher is all.

The train ride passed quickly and the only thing worth mentioning was that I shared the carriage with four university students from Ipswich who were talking about visiting the Ann Franks Museum.

Around mid morning, the light grey sky turned dark and before I knew it I was diving from cover to cover to escape the worsening downpour.

What I didn't know at the time was that Loki, having seen that I was travelling alone, had mischievously tricked Thor into granting me my own personal thunder cloud to keep me company on the long road ahead.

The Cycles and Streets of Amsterdam

Having already visited quite a few foreign cities, I have occasionally lectured that if you can walk the streets of London then you can walk anywhere, but after just one afternoon in Amsterdam I am thinking that London is not as exclusive in this as I once thought.

Walking along the canal side as I made my way to my first hostel on my route, I soon deduced that in general cyclists do not have a fair deal in Amsterdam, Indeed far from fair, they seem to have the very best deal on the market.

No matter how carefully I tread, or which directions I looked there did not seem anywhere that I went where I wasn't being constantly buzzed by a speeding cyclist or two. It was not just the frequency of them that was unsettling, neither was it that along every canal or boulevard you can see dozen of the things all lined up and hogging the pavement.

No it's far worse for you see they are silent, they are fast, they can fit through even the tiniest of walkways and there appears to be no law or reason that dictate in which direction they have to travel!

The Amsterdam I met was like a very proud aging lady, wearing her best dress despite it being out of style, moth eaten and frayed at the edges. I have never figured out why people think of places as feminine, but it just seems to work better than the other way!

Her canals and waterways seemed to wind betwixt its roads and avenues without rhyme or reason, and although free of litter, she was far from tidy with her beggars in doorways and her wooden painted façade that was faded and flaking off before my very eyes.

Restoring Amsterdam

What I found lovely was that the locals all seemed to be very proud of her age and history, so much so that they shunned modern technology and materials and did their level best to keep her overall age much the same.

For instance, I passed a carpenter who was repairing a warped doorway and instead of replacing a section of wood, he was painstakingly trying to chip away the old bits and then replaces it with an equally old bit of timbre and then glued it all together.

Like much of Europe these days, smoking in public places has been banned in most of Holland, and so despite the rain, many an aged covered doorway had a couple of smokers doing their very best to shorten their lives by another few minutes.

Possibly due of the constant downpour but I felt that Amsterdam was not only old, but also fairly empty. Despite the sudden and unexpected dash of a passing cyclist I often found myself being the only person walking along a side road.

My Amsterdam Hostel

The hostel I had booked ended up being about a ten minute walk as the crow flies from the centre of town, but I challenge even the fittest crow to be able to walk the distance in less than twenty as the streets were forever winding and looping away from my desired direction.

The entrance to the hostel was down a side street that looked like it had suffered a very tidy apocalypse, as all the houses and cars looked old and all the shrubs and vines had grown completely out of control, yet there were no litter or bone carcasses on the ground.

What I found a little bizarre is that the hostel was owned and run by a Christian organisation, one that also ran a second hostel smack in the middle of the cities red light district, yet their website clearly states that these hostels are not for anyone who would want to come to Amsterdam for sex or drugs.

Christian Irony

But it was not their stance on drugs or prostitution that shocked me, no it was that even with the pounding rain outside, the receptionist would neither let me check in nor shelter from the storm until the afternoon, all because the hostel guidelines said no early check ins.

As that left me with several hours to kill I had no choice but to leave, though as a small mercy the receptionist allowed me to leave my rucksack and said that they would keep an eye on it for me. #3

Considering their nativity story is dripping with scorn for the inn-keepers who turned Mary and Joseph away, I thought they could have shown just a little more compassion for a tired overseas traveller who only wanted a bed for the night, especially one who had a reservation.

A Rain Soaked Evening in Amsterdam

By the early afternoon I felt that I had walked a marathon, my feet felt achy, my clothes were saturated and all I could think of was me lying on a warm dry bunk. Trying to ignore the fake warm smile that the receptionist gave, I handed over my passport and paid the balance of my reservation.

Finally able to check in, I headed on up to my room and found that I was sharing it with a couple of guys, one seemingly a local and the other was clearly Australian. I didn't feel like chatting very much, exhausted and wet as I was, but I did find out that the Aussie was from Melbourne and that I had been pronouncing Cairns wrong all this time.

After I had dried out a bit, I headed on down to the hostel restaurant, where I found the prices were all pretty respectable and the menu fairly varied.

Though I doubt any Italian would have recognised their offering of a lukewarm spaghetti bolognaise, the fact that mine came with free fries and they had a large stock of chilled Doctor Pepper more than made up for it.

Uneventful Night in Amsterdam

Though I am far from perfect, I have never been into the whole drugs scene, so the cities coffee shops where I could buy a joint with my cappuccino held no particular lure for me.

Having said that though, it would have been a shame to visit here and totally reject such a unique experience out of hand, so I made mental plans that if the weather dried out tomorrow then I might well venture out and spend a turn in their Hemp Museum.

Sitting in the cafe, with my laptop and music blaring through my headphones I was still able to spot a friendly group of guests, and I almost got myself involved with them before I deduced that without it being part of a drinking or forfeit game, Jenga just isn't that fun for adults.

As part of my travel itinerary I had also previously booked a night time tour of the red light district with a private guide called Randy Rod, but as I was knackered and it was still raining I decided that what I wanted more than a soaking strip club crawl was a good night's sleep.

Canadian Travellers

However before I did retire for the night, I managed to strike up a conversation with a friendly female Canadian called Suzy, who was just coming to the end of her own extended travels.

As she was on her way home after a year away I was curious to hear what she planned on doing next, to which she replied that the first thing she was going to do when she got home was burn all of her clothes as she had been forced to wear the same ones for months on end.

After I left the Amsterdam I managed to get a few emails off Suzy, however she was quite the determined good Samaritan and although I don't think she ever did burn her clothes, from reading her blog I did find that she soon got bored of home life and travelled to Uganda where she worked with the local children as a volunteer nurse.

A Dark New Dawn in Amsterdam

The next morning I woke to a sky that was grey and overcast, that complete with a forecast of more rain mid afternoon pretty much quenched my desire to visit the Ann Franks museum or anywhere else that involved long outdoor queues.

Instead I made my mind up early that after the briefest of walking city tours, and a bite to eat, I would see what the situation was about catching an early train to Dusseldorf, Germany.

Amsterdam's Hemp and Red Light District

Although the area is actually rather small and easy to overlook, I found the red light district fairly easily and only a five minute or so walk south from the main train station.

I am not sure whether it was originally planned by design or just grew through mutual association, but Amsterdam's main region for exotic coffee shops turns out to be right up the road from its very own red light district, with the hemp museum and the erotic museum being almost within spitting distance of each other.

Having long heard the rumours of Amsterdam I was expecting the place to feel very sleazy and seedy, but in truth at this time in the morning the place looked mostly respectable and apart from the buildings having far too many windows for normal use, you could almost pass right through it while deep in thought and not be distracted.

I was surprised to notice that there were very few giant neon lit signs, and though the women in the red curtained windows wore next to nothing and were constantly tapping and beckoning to passersby, all in all I got the impression that the place was far less tacky and in-your-face than I had imagined.

As I continued down the entire length of the street I noticed that the further south I got, the more mature and less attractive the women became, or at least that is how it appeared to me, so perhaps the properties nearer the top charged higher rent and thus only the most youthful and desirable women could afford the prices.

Being unable to resist the temptation of talking to one of the girls first hand, I finally plucked up the courage to return back to the top of the street and then, as casually as I could muster, I allowed my eye to be caught and the entered within.

For the price of a pair of inexpensive trainers I was offered a quick rub, tug and a bit of the other, however though I had managed to get up the nerve to go in, I had neither the time nor the budget to go through with the full act.

Furthermore, even if I had been inclined to do so before, once I saw the state of the room and of the girl up close any fleeting thoughts of intimacy fled from my mind and now my only desire was to get the hell out as quickly as possible.

Mexican Eatery in Amsterdam

Once outside again, I left the shadowy world of the illicit sex and following my instincts and nose I headed north to try and find something to eat.

I was still trying to decide what to have when I came across a bizarre Mexican cowboy style restaurant and upon seeing their menu the answer became clear.

The place really went all out with its western theme, right down to the uniforms and thick leather place mats, but what made me chuckle was that you could have anything from the menu as long as you had the steak.

With only a stray ginger tomcat for company, I had the place almost all to myself, but only wanting a light meal before the journey ahead I skipped the huge T-bone selection and chose a hearty burger with fries and a cola.

Leaving Amsterdam, Holland

Then, with the sky still clouded over and threatening more heavy rain at any moment I concurred with my initial assessment of the day and returned to my hostel to collect my rucksack.

On my way to the station I spotted a store that I thought was much more the Amsterdam of my imagination, being that it was a condomery, a store that specialised in selling condoms.

Even carrying my full rucksack, I reckoned that I could spare a few minutes in order to find out why anyone needed a whole shop just to sell condoms, however my curiosity was to remain unsatisfied as it was closed and too dark inside to see anything.

Amsterdam Train Station

Arriving at the station I knew that I was still very early but as my ticket was for a reserved seat on a much later train I was unsure if I could use it without paying extra.

So, with time to spare, I decided that the best choice of action was to go ask someone at the central stations main service centre, but this is where things got tricky. What I found appeared to be a warped hybrid of Argos, a nightclub and an airport check in desk.

Staring at the number C203 on the tiny blue queuing ticket I had taken off the dispenser, I was disheartened to find out that there were more than fifty people ahead of me in the queue, and this fact became worse when despite the place being huge after ten minutes they had only processed a few queries.

After another ten minutes of painfully slow progress I calculated that there would be a good chance I would still be here queuing by the time my original train was due to leave, so I thought to hell with it and just made my way down to the platform where the next train for Dusseldorf was due to pull in shortly.

My revised plan was now to quietly slip on board moments before it actually left, remove the earlier train reservation attachment and then if any guard queried it I would show them small blue queuing slip and play on the polite but stupid English tourist act to carry the day.

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Federal Republic of Germany

Dusseldorf \- Arrived on 3rd September 2008.

Wegberg \- Arrived on 3rd September 2008.

Roermond \- Visited on 6th September 2008.

Berlin (Capital City) - Arrived on 8th September 2008.

Dresden \- Arrived on 11th September 2008.

~~ **** ~~

Crossing the Border into Germany

I have known Karrie for a good many years, as she and I used to hang around the same biker pubs when we were still teenagers, but about a decade ago she had got married to an old sweetheart who was a serving British soldier and as his military career moved on, his current posting was overseas here in Germany.

As it turned out, I needn't have worried as not only had I guessed right that my ticket would be valid on any outgoing train, but apart from a brief ticket inspecting shortly after I left Amsterdam nobody cared, and likewise no one bothered to ask for my passport either as I crossed over into Germany or even when I got off at the other end.

After this ridiculously simple border crossing I thought that I had got the efficient German train system sussed, how little did I know.

With unexpected changes to the timetable, technical difficulties, delays and long periods stuck on platforms waiting for trains to arrive all combined to somehow leave me an hour behind schedule even though I left more than an hour early and the actual travelling journey time was meant to be less than three hours long.

Pulling into Monchengladbach, or MG, on a later train than planned, I discovered that its delay had caused me to miss my onward connection by less than five minutes, and when I then learned that on that route the trains only ran once every hour, I am afraid to say that I totally lost the plot and instantly turned the air blue with rich profanities.

Once my wits began to return I frantically called my friend Karrie, who was living with her husband in the nearby town of Wegberg, to explain the situation.

Of course, to cap it all off, my mobile phone battery was already hazardously close to empty, so I barely managed a minute's conversation before it cut out.

Thankfully, Karrie is a bright spark and having got the gist early she sent a text to say that rescue was on its way and that I should wait for them outside the train stations main entrance. #4

When they arrived a little while later, I could see that they were all laughing like hyenas, and upon climbing in the back of the car I found out that I was the source of their amusement.

It turned out that due to the traffic jam they could see me long before they reached me, and that upon catching sight of me standing there in the rain with my rucksack slung awkwardly looking pathetic, wet and pissed off they found the whole thing hysterical.

Arriving at a Base in Wildenrath, Germany

As the next few days were basically chilling out with Karrie and Les, watching quite a few movies, getting drunk and playing either guitar hero or first person shoot-em-ups on the Xbox 360, I won't bore everyone with including repetitive entries.

However I will say that I even with the rain I enjoyed my stay a lot, and equally that it was a great way to casually ease myself into a more disjointed travelling lifestyle.

The drive from MG's train station to Les's place in Wildenrath took us through field upon field of corn, and it was my impression that as we had passed so many fields that there could be no need for any other such fields throughout the rest of Europe.

I was never quite sure of my official status there in the base, but the place seemed very friendly and easy going, and being completely honest once I looked past the barbed wire and machine gun posts, with its layout and everyone speaking English it was not that hard for me to imagine that I was in a university campus back home someplace.

In fact, the only dead giveaways to serve as constant reminders of my real location were the fact that everything was either in Euros or US dollars and that every third person I met was wearing combat fatigues.

The base had almost everything a normal town would have, everything except a cinema, and when Karrie took me shopping at the local NAAFI I could not help but crack a smile to spot groceries and DVD's on the shelves right next to hunting blades, night vision goggles and combat fatigues.

One thing that I certainly wasn't expecting was that in order to buy strong alcohol you had to produce a rations card.

Sleeping on a Sofa

As an impromptu guest in Karrie and Les's place I didn't have the luxury of a private bedroom, but they did have a very comfortable L-shaped settee and an ample supply of extra duvets and throws, so as long as their dog stayed in their room I was fairly certain that I could get some sleep between our drinking sessions.

The place also had a couple of old school British pubs, complete with beer garden and pool table, and though I was feeling a bit rusty I did enjoy bashing the balls around a bit while the others sat at the bar drumming me up some competition and choosing random songs on the jukebox.

I had always planned on this stop over as a way of breaking up the travelling and to help ease me into the whole epic voyage sort of thing, and in this fashion it worked a charm.

European Road Rage

In fact, the only episode of any real action of a personal nature was on taking a short shopping trip across the border back into Holland to do a little shopping in Roermond, when as we queued to pull into a multi-story car park we somehow triggered the road rage of a crazed Eastern European crone who got out of her car and tried to attack the four of us.

The fracas ended as fast as it began once she realised that even with sticking her arm partly through an open window she couldn't really hurt us, and as we showed no signs of getting out the car to start a fistfight, she just threw us a final hateful glare and then storming off back to her own car.

With that as the prelude, it was almost an anticlimax to go shopping, but the fact that the Dutch superstore thought it perfectly acceptable to include vibrators, porn movies and things that go buzz in the night on the opposite aisle to the frying pans and toasters made us all chuckle.

Though I doubt anyone would call Karrie a prude, I could not help but share a giggle with Les as we watched her try to keep a straight face while she attempted to distract her daughter's attention away at the same time.

Drinking With Heroes

I have never been a big drinker, but when it's raining outside and you are miles away from the nearest town and spending lots of quality time swapping stories with a bunch of soldiers on R & R away from the front lines of the Middle East, I found it was surprising easily to slip into the habit.

As it turned out, one of Les's closest army buddies was a guy called Dave, who was also posted there with his wife and kids, and over the course of the week we ended up spending most evenings together drinking and chatting away like old friends, and never once did I feel unwelcome or even a stranger to their little band.

We also spent a lot of time making each other laugh, and one of the lighter moments was when the boys showed me an internet clip called 'Amarillo' by the Royal Dragoon Guards.

It was quite a good spoof made all the funnier for them as between Les and Dave they could name over half the guys who were performing silly walks in the background.

Another light moment was when I used my digital camera to make the first video recording of my trip, being that of Les and then Carrie playing tug of war with the family dog.

News from the Front Lines

However, life in Germany was not all beer and skittles and there were plenty of serious moments to reflect and look back on.

Being on a military base we spent a considerable amount of time watching the news for the latest updates of how things were going in Afghanistan, and each bit of bad news cut everyone deeply.

In a way, it was very revealing to spend time with people who knew that it was not only their job to put themselves in harm's way, but having spent time on the front lines at Afghanistan, they knew that when violence suddenly sparked up, which it frequently did, they and their comrades were the most likely to be among the first casualties.

Quite often even a neutral news report would spark off a story from one of the lads about how a soldier they knew had lost their lives in one way or another, and hearing their stories first hand really brought it all home to me, especially when those who had died were barely out of their teens.

The most chilling story for me was a young turret top machine gunner of an armoured car who was killed from a moving car bomb, as although he spotted it early and turned the driver and vehicle into Swiss cheese with an entire belt of ammunition, the cars momentum was hardly reduced and it continued on and exploded.

A Rare Interview

One of the things that I had packed and been carrying with me was a digital Dictaphone, and after just a few hours with Les and his army buddies I knew that it would be a really great idea to get a couple of their true life stories on record, assuming that they didn't mind of course.

Thankfully they didn't and I ended up with a couple of really good interviews, ones that came over quite genuine and friendly, and although I had scripted the questions I was pleased with how they went.

One of the answers that surprised me was that Karrie said she didn't feel like she missed anything in the UK except her family and a few close friends and could easily imagine herself never going back.

Regrettably, the recorder was such a cheap and cheerful one that it was next to useless and I gave up using it when its limited memory became full less than two weeks later and despite uploading the data to my laptop I was unable to clear or reset the memory to take further recordings.

The Legality of Sex

During one of our more drunken conversations I learning that there was a quite infamous brothel just a few miles down the road, which used to be called Thirty Five's but recently has changed its name, and just for laughs Karrie offered to take me along when with her and together we could see what it was like.

I can't remember exactly how we got onto the subject but it probably stemmed from me talking about Amsterdam and how prostitution is viewed and treated quite differently in various countries around Europe.

Thankfully, come the following morning after a bacon breakfast and some strong coffee, more sober thinking returned and the subject was not mentioned again.

A Farewell Parting in Wegberg

On our final night together the lads suggested that as a group we all go out to a fancy restaurant just off base, and so it was that as a leaving gift from them all I was treated to one of the best Chinese meals that their little part of Germany could boast.

It was a nice restaurant which the gang had been to several times before. It had a large fish tank and for some reason sold Chinese souvenir placemats.

Thinking that they might make a good present for someone back home I bought them then left them at Les and Karrie's, and as fate would have it, it was the first thing I bought on my travels but the last thing I got back.

Although I was only there for about a week I really felt that I fitted in well with my friends and their lives, which is strange as outside family I rarely feel that I truly belong anywhere.

There are not that many people, outside of family, who would pick you up at a train station, bring you back to their house, water and feed you for a week, do your laundry, entertain you and introduce you to their best friends as an equal, but that is exactly what they did and I will be forever grateful to them for it.

As it turned out, in this I was pleasantly mistaken as a number of times I was taken in by an overseas friend and treated like a true lifelong friend.

Leaving Dusseldorf

As Les had official military duties to attend to on the morning of my flight to Berlin, he was unable to drive me back at the train station so I was very thankful to accept Dave's offer of a lift, and doubly so when he said that he was happy to take me all the way into Dusseldorf, or Duss as we all called it, and drop me off right at the airport.

So it was that with fond hugs all round, and Karrie insisting that I send her my dirty socks whenever they got dirty, that a potential nightmare of a train journey back to Duss became a delightful cruise with a friend. #5

Just for a change, the sun was out and shining its brilliance down upon us as we drove and the good weather remained with me in Dusseldorf all throughout the day.

However, contrary to the image that everything in Germany is super efficient, my flights gate number was changed at the last hour and didn't begin to board until it almost half an hour later than first notified. Thankfully we still left and arrived in Berlin all according to schedule.

All in all, although Wegberg is far from my ideal choice of a perfect holiday location, it hardly seemed to stop raining and I didn't have any extraordinary adventures, I had an amazing time and if I could go back and do it all again I wouldn't hesitate for a second.

In fact, I had such a good time that even before I left I was already planned to vary my route back through Europe on my way home to visit them all again.

Sadly though it was not to be, as a few months after I left Germany I received an email from Karrie to say that she was splitting up with Les and was returning to the UK.

Not only that, but less than a month after that I heard from Dave that he had received his latest orders and was being posted to Cyprus with his wife and family, so the chance for a fond and happy reunion in Germany had slipped away faster than my life savings.

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in Berlin, Capital of Germany

Central Berlin from the air seemed both eerie and beautiful, with rows upon rows of neat and identical houses everywhere, all with lush green trees and gardens, so much so that I was not sure if it was real or some fantastic advert for Legoland.

This is mainly due to the fact that Berlin had to be almost completely rebuilt after the end of the second World War, but from a purely architectural point of view this was not such a bad thing, as it gave the city elders the chance to start again, without having to worry about trying to keep old and decrepit structures safe and solid.

Considering the last time one of my flights was switched gate entry at the last minute was also the time that I lost my luggage, I was a bit fearful that the same thing might happen again, but thankfully the landing and unloading went smoothly and they started to send the luggage up within ten minutes of touch down.

An Airport Hotel near Berlin

Having just spent a week on a settee, I had decided to go treat myself to an unplanned luxury and so broke with my original itinerary and booked myself a hotel nearby the airport though I soon regretted this decision.

Firstly the hotel I found that although it was closer to the airport that my hostel, it was also in the opposite direction to the city centre, which meant an even longer journey tomorrow morning.

Next was that once I arrived and had checked it that I found that the whole area was almost dead after dark, and as I had dozed on the flight over I was wide awake but with nothing to do.

The hotel's restaurant, bowling alley and beauty parlour were all closed for the night, they would not take any laundry for single night reservations and it was only thanks to the main hotel bar being open twenty four hours a day that meant I was able to salvage anything from the experience.

As all the satellite channels were in German, without even a movie or music channel to speak of, I found the whole affair to be a wasted of effort and the final insult was that the advertised Wi-Fi was nothing more than a T-Mobile hotspot that cost almost as much as the room itself.

First Night in Berlin

Determined to make the most of the luxury of having a private room, and because I had just spend that last week on Karrie's couch, I asked the hotel receptionist if they had a masseuse on staff.

Unfortunately for me although they had a spa and wellness centre but it was only open during the day, so they suggested that instead I try going through the phone directory.

Flicking through the rooms phone book I managed to find one that did late night calls, a Polish lady, and so I booked her and a short while later she arrived.

The good news was that she was younger than I expected and fairly pretty, but the bad news was that she did not have her own massage table and also knew next to nothing about giving a firm deep massage.

I wouldn't say that her visit was a complete waste of time, as by the time she left I was definite feeling more relaxed and ready to sleep, but apart from rubbing in some scented oil she had done little to ease the stiffening to my shoulder blades, which was my main reason for booking her after all.

A New Dawn in Berlin

Waking early I felt that I had slightly failed in my attempt at enjoying some luxury, though I did at least eat a filling breakfast before I checked out of the hotel.

With the sun high in the sky, I felt that the time was right for me to go for a proper stroll and risk getting lost for the first time since I left home.

I had never really appreciated how big Berlin was, so considering I had decided that half an hour with a backpack was adequate to tire me out, I felt that I needed to break up the walk by making some pit-stops, so to speak.

The getting lost part was almost guaranteed as I had decided to shun public transport and the hotel reception had only an inner city map on sale, however the sudden attack of Berlin Belly was totally unexpected and I was so glad that I was carrying plenty of changes of clothes on my back at the time.

Benefits of Carrying Spare Clothes

In order to facilitate my own quick change routine, I dived in a medium sized cinema complex thinking that I could get to the toilets easy enough, but I ended up having to buy a ticket for a movie.

Thus it was that I got to see the movie "You don't mess with the Zohan", the latest Adam Sandler flick; as it was the only film that I thought I would understand even thought it was in German.

I had hoped that it would either still be in English or at least have subtitles, but I got unlucky and had to suffer it all in German.

That said and being brutally honest, I have never been one of his biggest fans and so to me, especially unable to get into the dialogue properly, it just seemed like one long string of unfunny dick jokes.

For the second pit stop I treated myself to a lovely meal overlooking the River Spree, just past the Marx-Engels Forum statue, but not really knowing what my belly was going to do next I played safe and ordered the pasta.

Although the centre of Berlin looks all bright lights and free of graffiti is it not long before you start seeing signs of urbanisation and real life seeping into even the most pristine districts.

My Berlin Hostel

I almost gave up on my hostel several times, however the price of the hotels that I came across combined with an inability to find a taxi meant that I was destined to just continue until I found it or die in the attempt.

Luckily for me it was the former, though even discounting the time I spent on my pit stops it still took me a good two hours of walking.

By the time I finally reached my hostel I was ready to drop, but instead of my rucksack it was my jaw that hit the floor, as the state of road that my hostel was in harked back to something out of the middle ages.

Thankfully the door I had spotted was not the hostels main entrance, only a disused front facade, and the normal entrance that everyone used was through the slightly more modern side entrance.

I had a few grumbles about the hostels interior, in that the internet connection signal was forever dropping out, the tiny bunk beds were too shallow to sit up in and for some reason there were only four tiny lockers in a six bunk room, but generally the conditions were not unbearable and the price was reasonable. #6

A Friendly Italian Roommate

Being as bushed as I was I had intended on doing nothing more energetic for the rest of the evening, however once I met my new roommate, a lively blonde Italian woman, I felt my spirits perk up.

What is more is that after she introduced herself and found out that I was staying here alone, she invited me out for a drink and a meal.

The promise of good food and attractive female company had their usual effect of instantly rejuvenating my mind and body and within moments I felt ready to take on the world once more.

Thus it was that for the next few hours we took in the upper east side of Berlin together, swapping stories, grabbing a bite to eat and supping a few drinks along the way.

Once we got chatting I found her to be both open and talkative, and also more than a little Bohemian, catching me unawares by lighting up a joint without even a seconds thought for what I might say or think.

The only real downer on the night was that she first she professed to being camera shy and then she informed me that she was only staying in my dorm for one night as in the morning she was meeting up with a friend and they were going to share a private room between them.

However, with the rain holding off for the rest of the night, it was still a delightful and unexpected evening in Berlin, and if only I had thought to have asked for her email address then I am sure that we would have kept in touch for at least a little while longer.

A Second Dawn in Berlin

Despite having had plenty of time to prepare, I don't think I was quite ready to tackle Berlin, and certainly looking back I didn't make the best use of my time or see even half of the things that I should have.

This is one of the few locations that I really do regret being too cheap to book a proper city tour.

I woke up this morning feeling fine and more determined than ever to actually get out of the hostel and start doing some proper sightseeing, not that the weather helped as it was a drab and grey start to the day.

Now I knew that Berlin was big, but I never really understood that until I thought I would just walk from my hostel into the city centre.

Berlin Transport Network

Having shunned an expensive taxi ride, and not yet wise enough to think of public transport, I found this out the hard way when on a directly straight road after more than an hour walking I had barely covered any distance according to the map.

Feeling slightly demoralised I resorted on grabbing a taxi for the rest of the journey.

But being stretched over a large area is not Berlin's biggest fault no, that dubious honour belongs to the annoying fact that in the city outskirts there is not nearly enough underpasses or pedestrian crossing across the city's main roads and train tracks.

This was another hard learned lesson that I discovered when, just trying to cross a train line; I was forced to go so far out of my way that I had to turn the page of my map and on more than one occasion I considered jumping a fence and taking my chances with the railway lines.

An Afternoon in Berlin

I also thought that for a capital city like Berlin its outskirts had a distinct lack of ATM machines, which was something that made even less sense than anything else.

The result of so many unnecessary diversions and hopeless causes was that I ended up doing little else but walk for the entire day and the closest I got to finding the last remnants of the infamous Berlin Wall was in a souvenir shop where tiny chunks had been stuck on the front of novelty postcards.

Thankfully when I did finally managed to reach the heart of the city centre things began to improve rapidly, and it was then a totally different story with well laid out roads making it incredibly easy to get around.

Berlin's Famous Architecture

Having at last found what myself within a sensible walking distance of what I had come to see, it was a treat to visit a few of the city's most iconic landmarks.

The first was the famous Berlin parliamentary structure being the Reichstag Building which looked stunning set against the dying sun, and is most popularly known for having almost burned down by a fire in 1933.

Then there was the nearby Brandenburg Gates which is even older dating back to the late 18th Century, and known for its ornate statue of four horses drawing a chariot perched on top carriages has become one of Europe's most famous landmarks.

With the sun already beginning to set before I even reached them I felt it was not worth paying an entrance fee just to rush round them for a few minutes each, but if I had arrived a lot earlier then I would most certainly have done so.

Sightseeing in Berlin

However just because I did not enter inside it did not mean that my visit was a total loss as it did give me a chance to witness the totally crazy phenomenon that is the six-seated tourist cycle.

Now this was not a cycle in the normal sense, as you only had one person who steered it and you all seemed to face inward, but the most insane part was that once everyone started pedalling it was capable of moving very fast and is seemingly random directions.

With its passengers all whooping with delight the tour guide sent it round the plaza grounds at a breakneck speed and I am amazed that they managed to get it to stop as easily as they did.

When it came to food and restaurants however, it was simplicity itself and from any street corner I could see dozens of fashionable restaurants with outdoor seating and of almost every variety you can name.

In fact the only kind of restaurant that I couldn't find was a good old fashioned German one, but then again perhaps I had walked past dozens and could just not read the signs.

One thing that I did manage to find before I ended up back at my hostel was a little oriental massage parlour, and as my feet were extremely tired from an overdose of walking I decided to stop in and treat myself.

My Oriental Masseuse

The masseuse on duty today was a young, slim Thai lady that believed in being firm but gentle. In fact she was a little too gentle for my liking, but thankfully she was not so soft as to be just smearing oil over me without any real therapeutic benefit.

Somewhat of a disappointment was that there was no soothing music playing softly in the background thus I didn't feel that the ambience was quite as it should be, but when she clicked all my joints and then finished off with a nice foot massage it was worth the cost and I was glad that I decided to swing by.

Below is a few of my own personal thoughts on massage techniques and masseuses, so feel free to skip and continue on to the next section if you so wish.

I have always been a great lover and keen advocator of a good relaxing massage as an effective stress busting technique and on my trip I was to able to sample quite a few differing styles, and though I never found a great masseuse I also noticed that their overall performance wasn't really affected by nationality or geographic location.

For me personally, a good massage will be firm but not painful, using oil, and ideally it will include a moment or two of Indian head massage and feet reflexology.

I should be faced down for the most part faced down, I do not really care what my masseuse looks like or wears; but them being female is a must and if they have soothing music or candles then so much the better.

Finally and most importantly is that my masseuse should be fully prepared before they actually start to massage me and there should be no interruptions or phone calls for any reason whatsoever.

I mention this here to just say that I like massages, and that for me a massage is one of the few things I like to experience wherever I go; just like other people pick up souvenirs or always pick destinations with sandy beaches or wild nightclubs.

Last Night in Berlin

Unable to face another long walk back I quickly rationed that another taxi ride would not break the bank by itself, and so as it had begun to get dark and I had an early start in the morning I grabbed a quick bite to eat and then headed back to the hostel.

I guess that on the first night I was too tired, or possible too drunk, to notice; but now as I laid down and tried to drift asleep I discovered that the outer door to the hostel didn't really close without being locked.

It wasn't that this was such a huge security risk, but it did mean that it didn't do such a great job of cutting down the noise from outside; so I was very glad that I had brought along some ear plugs with me.

Final Morning in Berlin

I woke up with my feet still mildly throbbing, testament to the vast amount of walking I had done over the last two days, and so even before I finished packing and checked out I had already settled on not attempting the mammoth walk to the city's main train station.

However equally I did not feel that I could afford to keep taking taxis everywhere I went and so I left earlier than I really needed to and deciding to bite the bullet I tried to find a bus.

As the hostel was in the middle of nowhere in the outskirts of the city I expected that this might become a fairly arduous task, yet it was remarkably easy to do and for barely the cost of a packet of chips I was able to take a ride into the city.

With the journey taking just under an hour, even when I discounted the time it took to pick up new passengers it was a still a long journey; and I thanked my lucky stars that I had not been insane enough to attempt the same journey alone and on foot.

Leaving Berlin

The main station, or HBF, was unlike any other train station I have been to, I mean this place was gigantic. The place was set over seven floors and had well over one hundred platforms that headed off into just about every conceivable direction except straight down.

In addition to the many platforms the station also had enough shops and business's to occupy a small town centre, and had I not had my rucksack with me I could have quite easily spend my remaining time here in Berlin just exploring the station.

While I was waiting on my platform I spotted a couple of elderly Americans women nattering away to an Australian girl.

I didn't start off intending on getting involved in their conversation but when one of the Americans started doing on about how pathetic Stonehenge was, I felt a sudden surge of patriotism and rose to the bait.

I was just settling back down again when the Australian girl dropped another verbal bombshell.

She calmly announced that it had become so old hat to go off touring alone, that for many young Australians it was now considered almost a drag; and little more than an irksome chore that they had to get out the way before they could get back to whatever it was that they actually enjoyed doing.

Despite her being polite enough generally, I couldn't get over her utter contempt for travelling and travellers; and I was incredibly glad when the train arrived which meant that I could leave them all to themselves without appearing rude.

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in Dresden, Germany

The train journey into Dresden was smooth two hour ride that took us through more lush countryside and green hill, with yet more corn fields and also some of the quaintest and most adorable little country hamlets that I ever did see.

I tried to photograph a few as we whizzed by, but the efforts were never productive and most of the time I ended up with nothing more than a fuzzy blur or a great big tree would flashed past and obscured the view, so after a half a dozen attempts I gave in.

The outskirts of old Dresden looked like the ideal picturesque holiday destination, with everything looking authentic but still in perfect working order.

The centre of new Dresden on the other hand was a patchwork of old and new buildings all thrown together with no apparent plan or design.

Through a stroke of luck I chose to get off at the newer train station, and this was quite fortuitous as it brought me a good fifteen minutes closer to my hostel.

My Hostel in Dresden

The walk was just beginning to get tiresome when I arrived at my hostel, and with the city centre not only close by but also tiny, thus I felt confident that I would have ample time to wander round and see the few sights it had to offer in the single night I had checked in for.

Wandering through the hostel I had mixed views about its charm and character, and certainly it was unlike any hostel I had visited. That the place had a certain atmosphere, I do not deny, but I have always preferred it when a places character is not painted on the walls, literally.

My dorm room had unusual black and white cartoons of frogs, flying dogs and clouds painted on the walls and ceiling, but this seemed normal compared to the fact that some bright spark had filled the bathtub full of sand and after adding several rubber dinosaurs had attempted to turn it into some sort of prehistoric wilderness.

Whenever I find a hostel that charges for Wi-Fi by the hour I can't help but feel cheated, so when this place also charged for linen and had no in-room lockable storage areas, this place was at risk of fast winning the worse-hostel-ever award. #7

The use of a kitchen, breakfast facilities and such did little to improve my opinion of the place and so it was only thanks to their very own free map and 'Dresden Survival Guide' that it raised itself above last place.

Dresden City Centre

When I first created my route, I was aware that things to do not always go according to plan, and so I decided to add in the odd additional layover location here and there, to allow myself a small amount of flexibility.

The selection of Dresden as a destination was one such additional layover and I had chosen it for no other reason than as a convenient midway point between Berlin and Prague. I knew absolutely nothing about it, had not planned on even spending a full day here, and were it not for old war movies I wouldn't have even known that it existed.

Also, at this stage I was unaware that I was literally eating through my savings faster than planned, as due to my being always on the move and trying to travel light, I had considered it to be totally unpractical for me to waste a few hours in each city trying to find a cheap supermarket and then buying stuff in bulk to eat back at the hostel.

Thus it was, that armed with nothing more than my newly acquired survival guide to the city, I headed out and up the hill to make the best of this extra destination; and if possible find a nice place to get a bite to eat.

Walking through the city streets I was always on the lookout for something cool to photograph, however when it came I was a little too scared to do so.

On one side of the street I passed a group of black wearing Mods shading from the sun and sipping beers, while across the street were a gathering of bearded hippies all smoking and complimenting each other on their impressive dreadlocks.

Looking back at them, either group of folk would have made a nice addition to my collection, but had I thought to get a little distance and then take a panoramic photo of both groups together then what a picture that would have been.

One place that did stand out head and shoulders above the rest, and that was the area called the Terrassenufer, which overlooked the river Elbe and together with its ancient arched bridges made for a wonderful photo opportunity.

I have no idea why, but I have always been a sucker for a good bridge, and the older the better.

I did eventually find a quaint little Italian restaurant that served a mean spaghetti bolognaise, and if the service had been more prompt considering I was the only patron; then I would have certainly felt like leaving a bigger tip than usual.

First Morning in Dresden

I woke up this morning to a grey but dry morning and with an early train journey to take I skipped breakfast and just headed out, never having really unpacked properly the night before.

Leaving Dresden, Germany

Having already walked the route to the station once recently I didn't need to worry about taking a taxi to get to the train station, and having already purchased all my European train tickets in advance I didn't have to worry about buying a ticket either.

The early morning train ride from Dresden into Prague was about as smooth and comfortable as I could possibly expect and so all in all I had a good feeling about the day.

Like the train journey from Holland into Germany had been, with it all being Europe there was no one checking passports as we crossed over the border without stopping. Neither was anyone waiting to check them as I disembarked at Prague; which just added to my sense of calm and tranquillity.

Regrettably this feeling didn't last very much longer, as from the moment I got off the train things started going wrong and as the morning wore on it seemed to snowball from there.

~~ **** ~~

Czech Republic

Prague (Capital City) - Arrived on 12th September 2008.

~~ **** ~~

Arriving in Praha (Prague), Capital of Czech Republic

I think I had been spoilt with western standards up to that point, and was still under the impression that I was in modern Europe instead the post Communist Eastern Bloc, thus when the harsh reality struck me it took me much longer than usual to process and adjust my expectations accordingly. #8

I have been a pen-friend of Tereza for a few years now, having met online several years ago, and like most she was very excited at the prospect of me visiting her city and getting a chance to meet me face to face.

Equally, knowing that the internet has plenty of creeps and liars, we had agreed that we should meet up some place open and public during the day, just to be on the safe side.

Firstly, I got off at the wrong stop, which meant that the directions I was using to find my hostel were next to useless, though of course I wasn't aware it was the wrong stop until long after I had left the station.

In fact, I must have walked for about an hour growing more frustrated and irate with myself before this particular piece of information clicked in my brain.

Once the realisation finally sunk in that I was in actual fact hopelessly lost, and not just slightly off course, I did the only sensible thing left open to me, which was to hail a cab, and chalk it down to experience.

Needless to say, as this was a spur of the moment taxi journey I was totally unprepared and failed to have any change for the fare, which meant that we then spent the next ten minutes trying to find a place to exchange a note for coins.

Thoughts about Researching Destinations

One of the biggest problems I found myself dealing with time and again was a lack of research.

Considering people spend entire lifetimes researching a place only to find themselves still surprised and unprepared when they actually go there proves that no one can learn everything, but I think to visit a place without at least a modicum of research is a waste of time and money.

Ideally I would recommend spending a week on each location that you intend to visit, however as my route took me to over one hundred and thirty cities and locations if I had done this it would have taken me two and a half years, and I did not feel that I had that much time.

In reality I spent about six months, which sounds a lot at first, but when you take into consideration that this was not solid research time but time spend in between working, sleeping and socialising it only works out to be a few hours on each location, which is not nearly enough.

Because of my crammed research, a lot of the information merged together in my brain and gave me a general overview of a country but meant that I was poorly lacking in exact details and specifics.

Looking back I feel that the trip was amazing and I do not regret going for even a second, but I do regret trying to fit in as much as I did in such a tight timeframe. I would have to say that I had the best journey around the world I could ever have hoped for, but to get the most out of the locations I would have had to stay at least a week in each one and have done ten times the research.

There are currently 911 UNESCO World Heritage Sites, of which during my travels I visited 46 in total. Surprisingly it was only when I began to do a bit more research for this book that I realised I could easily have visited around 150 more without significantly altering my route or choice of countries, if only I had known in advance where they were located.

Here are the list of listed sights that I visited from London to San Salvador.

Netherlands - Defence Line of Amsterdam

Germany - Palaces and Parks of Potsdam and Berlin, Dresden Elbe Valley

Czech Republic - Historic Centre of Prague

Austria - Historic Centre of Vienna

Switzerland - Old City of Berne

France - Historic Fortified City of Carcassonne, Historic Site of Lyons, Episcopal City of Albi

Spain - Works of Antoni Gaudí , La Lonja de la Seda de Valencia, Palau de la Música Catalana and Hospital de Sant Pau - Barcelona, University and Historic Precinct of Alcalá de Henares

Brazil - Historic Centre of Salvador de Bahia

Peru - City of Cuzco, Historic Sanctuary of Machu Picchu, Historic Centre of Lima

Ecuador - City of Quito,

Colombia - Port, Fortresses and Group of Monuments, Cartagena

Honduras - Maya Site of Copan

My Czech Hostel and Hotel

Once freed from the taxi driver I tried to check in, though even in this I was unsuccessful as the hostel had a sign in its door saying that it was closed for a couple of hours for lunch. When two hours began to stretch closer to three I gave in and went for a walk to try and find a different hostel or hotel.

My walk through the city in search of my own holy grail, the cheap hotel with a room immediately free, was fraught with its own hazards and disappointments and so by the time that I finally found one I was past the stage of contemplating mass murder and had moved on to what was the best alibi to employ when the police arrived.

The hotel I ended up in was relatively modern and ideally placed near the city centre, so it was no surprise to me by that point that my actual room was triangular in shape and no bigger than a postage stamp.

However it was warm, dry and private, so after I chucked off my rucksack I thought that as the room did not have a bathtub, the only thing that could make me feel happy and normal again was to get my laundry done then book myself a relaxing massage.

The ice bitch from hell, who currently was staffing the hotels reception, seemed to delight in telling that the laundry service would not be available until first thing Monday morning, which had me teetering on the edge of violence as at this point it was only Friday afternoon.

To her credit though, she was able to recommend and organise a visiting masseuse to come see me right away, which did wonders to calm the situation.

Laundry Issues in Prague

Before I left I had a gut instinct that foreign entry Visa's and cleaning my dirty laundry were potentially two big hurdles that I would have to overcome on my journey.

As most countries forbid applying for a Visa with more than three months in advance of entry, this was an issue that I could not really avoid and would have to deal with in due course.

With regard to laundry I had decided that most hostels would not have adequate washing facilities, so to get round this I had planned my route to include booking myself into a hotel at least once a week thus enabling me to get by with as little as seven changes of clothing.

Regrettably this line of reasoning was not shared by my Czech hoteliers, as they felt that not providing a laundry service after midday or over the weekend was perfectly acceptable.

Thus it was that I found myself in nothing more than my shorts and personally designed travel t-shirt, the one I wanted to hold onto for special photo opportunities but not actual wear thus reducing the risk of me getting it dirty or ruining it. Arghhhhh

As it turned out my hotel Vs hostel laundry logic proved to be flawed on both counts, as more often than not hostels did indeed have perfectly suited and cheap facilities available twenty four hours, while having my laundry done by a hotel was often inconvenient, frequently damaged my clothes and was never ever cheap.

Indeed midway through the journey I realised that one hotel had actually wrote my room number onto all my clothes using a permanent marker, and if I ever catch the Einstein that did it I will personally tie them down and then graffiti their wardrobe to see how they like it

Prague City Centre

After the masseuse left I spotted that the sun was still shining brightly, and as the hotel was slap bang in the middle of the city centre I felt that it was still worth taking a look around, refreshed as I was and now also furnished with a map of the city.

Without a heavy rucksack on my back and an urgent need to find a place for the night, I was able at last to take my time and view the surrounding area and buildings at a more leisurely pace, and what I found took my breath away.

It was another month at least before I realised that dusk was the best time to go out looking for great photo opportunities using the setting sun as the perfect backdrop. #10

Considering that the Czech Republic had been invaded by both the German and Soviet Army within the last sixty years, the city centre of Prague was remarkably well intact and this was a real blessing as the culture and history of its buildings was staggering.

It was a true classical architects dream, a place where the history of the city was visible all around and thankfully what little graffiti was there had been limited to the back streets and alleyways.

Down every street, along every tram route, past every street corner and from every angle there was always some marvellous feat of architectural beauty to behold that could stop me in my tracks if I let it, and as I was in no hurry I did.

And best of all is that such works were not restricted to churches or town halls, but every business right down to the humble cafe or souvenir shop was set in a magnificent looking building that was impressive enough to be mistaken for an embassy if it located anywhere else in the world.

A Friend in Prague

My initial reason to visit Prague was in order to meet my Czech friend Tereza, so I was a little confused when we finally caught up with each other and she told me she had to take a long bus journey to get here, which made no sense until she also told me that she lived on the outskirts of the capital.

I was unsure if my first full day in Prague was going to be better than the arrival was, but within a few minutes of meeting up I was laughing and joking and knew that everything was going to be fine.

We were only walking for a few minutes when we came across a disarmed Soviet tank, just one of the many relics of the past acting as a constant reminder of their past and of the freedom that they fought for so valiantly.

Although I had previously taken a look round yesterday, with Tereza's local knowledge and experience I was able to appreciate anew much of the marvellous buildings as well as visit the pick of the tourist spots which were off the beaten track, like their very own miniature Eiffel tower.

On our way to our first main stop we passed two pieces of art remembering the Second World War. The first was the cities liberty statue, which was of a beautiful woman in a dramatic pose.

The other was more macabre as it was a ascending flight of large steps, with each step showing an increasingly damaged wounded man. At the base of the flight of steps the man was fully intact but by the time we reached the top only two broken feet remained.

Petrin Hill's Lookout Tower

The lookout tower, or Petřínská rozhledna, was built in 1981 and has two hundred and ninety nine internal steps that ascend up the inside of the sixty meter metal structure.

Not being geared up for mountain hiking I quickly agreed to take the Funicular up to the top of Petrin Hill where the tower can be found, but the effort is it worth for the view alone, as once up there you can look down and see all of Prague stretched out beneath you.

The tower had no lift, so to reach the top we had to climb the double helix staircase that rose up inside it, and as I had Tereza with me I only allowed myself to get mildly annoyed with the pushy tourists coming down the staircase clearly marked on every step 'up'.

I would have enjoyed it more and stayed overseeing the landscape longer if it didn't creak, groan and sway in the wind so much, but as it was, we spent exactly long enough to take one of my fastest photo sets ever before clinging to the handrail in search of the stairs clearly marked 'down'.

Coming down again was much easier, as we took the long winding path that led through the forest and got to stop and take pictures by a statue of the author Karel Hynek Mácha, who is still considered to be one of the greatest Czech romantic poets that ever lived.

Prague's Astronomical Clock

The Astronomical Clock, or the Orloj, dates back to 1410 when it was made by the clockmakers Mikuláš of Kadaň and Jan Šindel.

Back in the city centre Tereza took me to see another really cool thing being was the Prague astronomical clock. This clock tower was like a gigantic multi faced cuckoo clock, where little ornate figures come out of their trap doors and do a little dance every hour.

Though the show only lasted about two minutes the crowd watching it was huge and Tereza said that it never ceases to draw a crowd during the daytime.

Thinking that it would be great to capture its animated workings for posterity I switched my digital camera to video mode and as still as possible recorded they full hourly chime.

However what I had totally failed to appreciate was that although you can rotate a still image simple enough, it isn't quite as easy to do it with a video recording.

As Tereza was a university student here for a time, she knew all the best places to go to for really traditional food at dirt cheap prices, which was very handy as I was meant to be on a budget.

She also took me to the Municipal library that had a conical tower of books rising right up to the ceiling called the Idiom.

The tower is partly open at the front and thanks to a pair of hidden mirrors both top and bottom, it creates one massive optical illusion that is very funky.

Around mid evening the rain showed signs or returning, but luckily it was only passing showers and so there were still moments of dryness when we could walk from one tourist spot to the next.

Tereza also showed me a place that was not only the most expensive café in the whole city but also a great place to go celeb spotting, but when I suggested we check it out she suddenly came over all shy and refused to go in with me.

When it was time for Tereza to head on back it was a shame, but we agreed to meet up again tomorrow, and it is very true than having a friend in a foreign city goes a long way to making a bad place seem bearable, a bearable place seem good and a good place seem great.

Prague Night Life

As Tereza had left me as soon as it started to turn dark, and my hotel was so central and easy to find I felt sure that I could do a little twilight exploring without getting into any trouble and still be back before midnight.

The first thing that I noticed was that after the sun had set all the fascination architecture may have lost their daytime charm but in its place that same unusual features made some truly eerie shadows and at from every darkened corner and alleyway I kept half expecting a statue or grotesque to come to life and approach towards me. #11

Once I got used to the lack of light I found that the city map I had was almost no help at all as the street layout was something akin to a caffeine doped spider, and I was constantly doubling back on myself or trying to fit through an alleyway that appeared huge on the map but in reality was about only six inches wide.

Thus it was that even after a day's travelling in a city where I am now able to identify key buildings, and armed with a map and a compass I was still unable to find my way back to the hotel without going past it two or three times.

However the most unexpected thing about Prague after dark is that its buildings manage to perform a miraculous transformation act en masse, as every third shop became either a bar or a strip club complete with neon lights and signs.

The effect was very disorientating as having just spent the best part of two days walking round the city centre without noticing a single one, to suddenly find myself surrounded by them in all directions left me feeling like I had somehow slipped up and inadvertently entered the twilight zone.

And if the morphing of the buildings was not enough to confuse me, to finish the job off the entire streets were filled with the sound of drunken English singing.

I vaguely remember hearing in the news recently that Prague had become a popular destination for stag parties, and though I could not see many about I could certainly hear them.

A Rather Unlikely Pimp

Trying to make my way back to my hotel I was approached by what appeared to be a kindly old lady and so I was a bit bemused to see that she was giving out fliers for one of these strip clubs and even offered to take me on a tour of a few if I did not like the one she was promoting first.

Partly out of curiosity and party out of misplaced politeness I allowed this lady to usher me towards one of the strip clubs and though once inside I realised I was the only patron, it was actually the décor that freaked me out the most.

I had thought that the fantastic architecture did weird things to the shadows out in the street, but that was nothing compared to the gothic and macabre phantoms they cast when set against thick velvet curtains and neon strip lighting.

Wearing a boob tube and chequered skirt, I don't think the anorexic lass on stage knew if she wanted to offer me a lap dance or drink my blood, but it took me all of thirty seconds to be totally freaked out and so I downed my coke and headed out before she could make up her mind.

The kindly lady giving out fliers was still there but I managed to avoid her gaze and after a couple more spiralling circuits I spotted my turning and made it back to my hotel without further incident.

A Second Morning in Prague

I know that everyone has good days and bad days, but it didn't take long to see that for my friend Tereza today was going to be a very bad day.

In an effort to save my mobile phone battery I had switched it off when I went to bed and typically I forgot to switch it back until around lunchtime, all the while wondering why she was not calling to arrange a time to meet up.

By the time we did meet up she seemed very out of sorts and it appeared that her sister was having a bit of a domestic and as they all lived together the entire family was being drawn in.

I did my best to try and help her take her mind off it, but barely two hours passed when she was called up and then said that she had to quickly go back home to try and help sort things out.

Czech Family Ties

Tereza felt very bad about having to leave me again after such a short time, but she offered a compromise and found me a very nice Mexican restaurant midway between Prague city centre and her home town of Koln and told me to have a meal there and by the time I was done eating she would have returned.

She wasn't quite back in time, but I didn't have to wait for very long and then we headed back to the city centre as she wanted to show me a few more sights.

But her bad luck wasn't over even then, for as we walked back she popped in a shop to buy a top up card for her mobile only to get outside and find that the card was cancelled and reported as stolen.

Worst of all was that she had not thought to keep the receipt and the shop refused to either replace it or refund her back her money.

In an effort to break the run of bad luck she bought me a little troll key ring and told me that I had to keep it always on my rucksack for good luck, and it seemed to work as the rest of the day went off without any more disasters.

Before she had to go back home I asked her if she minded taking part in my little interview idea and as fate allowed it became the last one before my digital Dictaphone gave up on me.

I was very happy that Tereza was willing and able to give me so much of her time during my stay in Prague and it was a real shame when a few weeks later her good luck troll broke off its key ring.

A few months after I arrived back home, Tereza emailed me to tell me the good news that she had been green lit by her university to come over and study English, and before I knew it she was living in West London for a time.

Leaving Prague, Czech Republic

Although the main train station was only a short stroll from my hotel I was glad that I arrived early as it turned out that the train for Vienna did not depart from this station at all, but from the much smaller station on the other side of town.

Thankfully Tereza had versed me well in what tickets to buy and having taken me on a tram, bus, funicular and underground the short three stop journey didn't faze me in the slightest.

What did puzzle me, however, was why the Czechs people had gone to an awful lot of trouble to hide their train stations as both stations were poorly signposted and almost totally hidden behind several rows of dense trees.

Once I finally found the entrance I made my way down to the platform and with still a bit of time left to kill I started to browse a rack of postcards, and as one really caught my eye I could not resist the impulse buy of a sepia 3D postcard showing of a bevy of women wearing authentic looking period lingerie.

Having now bought one postcard in 3D and another with a genuine chunk of Berlin Wall, I suddenly regretted not buying the one I saw in Amsterdam that had an eighth ounce of marijuana stuck on the front, as together they could have been the start of a really unique collection, one unlike any other I have seen.

From then on I did indeed attempt to purposefully hunt out and buy only bizarre looking postcards, yet even though I saw a few that were unusual in size or shape I never found others as interesting as my starting pieces.

~~ **** ~~

Republic of Austria

Vienna (Capital City) - Arrived on 15th September 2008.

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in (Wien) Vienna, Capital of Austria

I think my personal storm cloud had caught an earlier train than me, as it had stopped raining in Prague just before I left but was gushing down merrily as my train pulled into Vienna.

I'm sure that Vienna, much like Dresden, might have many interesting things to see and do but my main reason for coming here was purely as a stop gap between the Czech Republic and Switzerland.

Switzerland, on the other hand, was a country that I had always wanted to visit right from when I was a small child, even having chosen to study it as part of a school Geography project; yet thus far the closest I had ever come to visiting was the briefest of airport stopovers a few years ago.

Having left Prague in good spirits, I made up my mind that the new plan for my immediate future was to check in and then, after a flying visit into the city centre, to spend the rest of the day checking the weather forecasts and booking up as many trips for Switzerland as possible.

On the Intercity train to Vienna I had a few hours to myself but as I had my rucksack to guard I felt that falling asleep would probably be a bad idea. Instead I took out my laptop and started typing away, quietly cursing that my laptop battery died on me before even an hour had passed.

I cursed even louder once it was time to disembark as it was only then, as I leant over to grab my rucksack that I spotted a power socket tucked away behind the curtain. Then again, it was partly my own fault for not even thinking to look for it. D'oh!

Austrian Public Transport

With my new determination to cut costs I decided against hopping in a taxi and instead chose public transport. Frustratingly my plan to do so did not get off to a promising start as I didn't have any change for the ticket machine and had little choice but to buy a drink from a station kiosk at triple the price in order to have the correct coins. #12

Never the less, having learned my lesson I did eventually manage to obtain a tram ticket and despite the rain I was soon checking into my hostel with a modicum of self respect and dryness.

The Viennese Hostel

Considering that the average price of anything seems higher in Europe, I think that I really lucked out when I booked my Vienna hostel, all things considered.

I would not recommend it for business men or the more mature traveller, as it seemed a very loud, fun and hip place, but for me it was the ideal jolt of energy and excitement that I was craving.

One thing that made me smile was that in the main hallway there was a variety vending machine which stocked among other things, their very own branded condoms. Even though I never planned on using it, I couldn't help but throw some coins at it to add it to my accumulating bric-a-brac of random souvenirs. #13

The staff seemed wonderfully insane as well as being extremely helpful, with all of them being former travellers themselves, and almost all of them able to speak at least three languages.

As far as on-site services went, it aced it. The place had its own bar, all day laundrette, two pool tables, a restaurant and comfy leather sofa's in the main foyer which also doubled up as the main free Wi-Fi hub. The grandness even extended into the dorm rooms as the one I was booked into was huge, practical and had its own en-suite bathroom.

Finally, the hostel had a security system that bested anything I had come across while staying in a hostel up to this point, and was even better than a good few hotels I had stayed in.

I was issued my very own swipe card which only worked on my own hallway, my own dormitory and only opened one private locker, which also happened to be plenty big enough for my entire rucksack and jacket.

I never did use the condom in the end, so it is still in its foil packet gathering dust with all the city maps, flight stubs and confirmation printouts that I kept and occasionally sent home in bundles.

Mozart Turning in his Grave

Before I started my left the UK I had been planning on sampling some authentic music of other cultures in their own environment, partly to help set the mood, partly for the experience and partly as music is a great aid to memory which should help for when I am finally back home and writing up my notes.

Being aware of how music had shaped the city's past, I thought it strange that wherever I went I could only hear either US or British pop music. In an effort to find the reason for this anomaly I let my curiosity get the better of me and ask the hostel receptionist, to which their only reply was,

"Have you ever heard Austrian rock or pop? It's not very good".

With that quandary solved I next turned my thinking cap to working out why all the tour companies wanted and expected me to go travelling in the other direction. After a bit of thought the best reason I could come up with was because of the weather.

For instance, I have been rained on almost every day since I left and because of this I feel that perhaps it would have been prudent to have started a couple of months earlier, as already the weather has spoilt more day trips and photo opportunities than anything else. #14

Without much else to do I retired to my bunk early, and only hoped that the Aussies who I shared my dorm with would either come in quietly or not until after I was sound asleep.

I suppose I could have gone back out and looked for something slightly more exciting to do, but I thought that my poor feet could do with a break; and I didn't suppose that walking in the rain was doing them much good.

Looking back on it all now, I am so glad that I was unaware of how easy it was to view the BBC iplayer and similar movie streaming websites, as even though they would have helped me get through my bouts of homesickness, I would probably have spent far too long online instead of actually visiting the places I was travelling through.

Rain Induced Soggy Feet

Sitting on my bunk, I decided to check how my feet were holding up under the rain and constant walking and sadly I found that they had developed an unhealthy puffy whitening between my toes and around the heel. Further probing yielded that I could easily pick or peel off large chunks of the skin that had been affected, but as I knew that this would leave my toes more vulnerable I decided against it.

But I was now more aware of how fragile my feet are and from that moment on I did my best to ensure that I kept them dry, and that I changed my socks more regularly when wet.

Finally, as the weather forecast showed that there would be no let up in the rain anytime soon, and as I could not really afford to buy a new pair of shoes I also came up with a rather ingenious temporary remedy. #15

A Waterlogged Morning in Vienna

As I was sorting out my laundry this morning I overheard my fellow roomies discussing the wonders of the city centre, and so despite my own earlier plans I returned back to my original idea and took to the streets of Vienna to see how friendly it was for myself, rain or no rain.

In its own way Vienna seemed very much the Lake District back home in so much as I bet it would look absolutely beautiful and majestic in the glorious summer sun.

Sadly though, because all I saw it through was rain, rain and more rain, all I could see were grey clouds, plastic yellow rainproof ponchos and peoples trying desperately to prevent their umbrellas from turning inside out.

Secret Underground in Vienna

As the rain continued to pour down for much of the day, I spent most of it stuck in my hostel, but on a few occasions I did go out for a stroll I ended up desperately trying to find the entrance to the tube stop.

Having been through a few capital cities now, I feel that my biggest criticism of all of them is that their tube stops are not that well signposted. Indeed most of the time I had been reduced to following the tram lines on the roads to get back to a station and in a few cases I had simple lucked into walking into them.

Thankfully my hostel turned out to be very close to a station, at which point things became a whole lot easier as said station had some very high tech automated ticket machines.

These machines included a 'translate to English' button, which made everything child's play and I began to wonder why not every major European city had tickets that could be displayed in more than one language.

Having purchased a forty eight hour travel card, I was determined to make the most of it even thought I still had no idea where to visit with my new found freedom.

Another Afternoon in Vienna

Although I hoped on a train going away I had no real idea of where I was going and my directionless meanderings at the other end brought me little success the first time I tried it.

I did at one point I pass what might have been a Thai massage place, but at first glance it looked ancient and rickety, as if it would collapse at any moment.

Upon closer inspection I also noticed that the windows were grubby and had a pink hand painted sign that might have said anything, but to me it just said 'sleaze', so I ignored it and came back to the hostel.

Second Night in Vienna

Back in the hostel I realised that the rain did not seem to be dampening the mood of the other guests and it turned out that many of them had not even stepped foot outside the whole day, instead happy to use the hostels as both a meeting point and social club.

After chatting to a few in the internet lounge, it appeared that most of the guests were either just using it as a late night stopover and were gone by the morning, or had plenty more time on their hands than me and were fully prepared to just get drunk at the bar and wait out the bad weather.

For the very first time I started to ponder the wisdom of having organised a fixed itinerary and of only allowing myself two or three days in each city, as staying put for days to wait out the bad weather was something I had never considered.

I had factored in a day here or there to play catch-up should I get slightly delayed, but my basic timetable was set and I could neither skip ahead nor stick around without having to rearrange every other booking I had made, of which there were hundreds. #16

With my head spinning in uncertainty, I figured I needed to let off some steam so I drifted down to our very own nightclub and social bar, and found that unsurprisingly the place was cram packed with Australians.

The good news was that they were a fairly friendly crowd and that meant there was always someone I could talk to that understood English. The flip side was that there was no quiet corner and once my head began to thump I had little choice but to retreat to my bunk with a painkiller and ear plugs and hope for the best.

Taking the Weather with Me

I can hardly believe my sodding luck, and who says that I don't have bad timing?

Unable to sleep this early, I slipped back down to the internet lounge to check my emails, and I thought that while I was here I may as well just check the weather forecasts for the next few days.

I almost wished I had not bothered as first I checked Vienna, then I looked at Zurich; Berne and finally Geneva, and if I had believed it was even remotely possible then I would have sworn that it was all a huge bloody conspiracy.

According to the forecasts each city was due to have glorious sunshine the days before I arrive and the days after I would have left, but for the days I intended to visit them they all were due to be either foggy, overcast or with occasional showers throughout.

Considering that I had not had a couple of totally dry days back to back since I started, this news that the rain is going to stay with me for at least the next week made me wonder what I had done to upset mother nature.

Maybe I should have prayed or left an offering or something, like the superstitious travellers of old used to do before embarking upon a long journey.

However, with most of my bridges back home still smouldering, I was already committed to seeing this through to the end and so without any spare days to wait out the storm I saw little choice but to grin and bear it.

So with dogged determination I say here now and now, stubborn though I may be, I simply refuse to be beaten or put off by a little bit of rain.

I had been hoping and dreaming of this trip for over a decade now, so if I was meant to give it up then it would take something like Hurricane Ike to stop me.

I mean I am British after all, and suffering the rain is what we Brits do best.

Returning to my dorm, I took another look at my poor tootsies and felt that my earlier visit into town might have been a little foolhardy, as by doing so I had managed to saturate both pairs of footwear at the same time and I have a nasty premonition that neither would be even half dry come the morning.

"As it turned out, over the course of seven months I was:-

voluntarily evacuated from Manizales, Colombia to escape Hurricane Lenny; washed out and left seeing purple in Panama City, Panama by Hurricane Martha; stranded in a flooded Fijian airport by the approach of Cyclone Hettie; arrived days after Brisbane and Darwin were rocked by Cyclone Charlotte and Cyclone Billy respectively (deftly keeping two days ahead of Cairns' own Cyclone Ellie in the process) and submerged in Jakarta, Indonesia by Cyclone Freddy.

But despite all these, not to mention forging through numerous smaller unnamed tropical storms and seasonal downpours, I still didn't take the hint or quit. In fact, if they didn't know better, a person could easily be forgiven for thinking that I actually went out looking for them."

A Semi-Dry Day in Vienna

This morning I snuck a peek out of the dorm room window, to see if it was worth trying to go out or not and as it was overcast but not actually raining I thought why not. So after taking advanced water saturation measures, i.e. wrapping my socks in plastic bags, I headed out to see what mischief I could get up to. #17

Without the rain keeping me locked up all day I actually managed to take a good look round the city centre and found that it was almost the perfect contrast of old and new.

It had the beautiful and magnificent historic buildings of Prague mixed with the modernisation and convenience of Berlin' and somehow managed to make it all make sense so that the crossover was both gradual and interlinked.

At one stage I even I found myself going backwards, as I would often try backing up to take a photo from the best possible angle and as I did I would bump into an even more impressive building and then have to repeat the whole process.

I have always viewed human statues as harmless fun, in the same way that I think of jugglers, so it was great to spot a couple together dressed up as a royal courtier and his concubine, complete with period costumes and white painted skin.

It also made me think that perhaps I really ought to try and find an opera to go to later tonight, but that idea didn't last very long.

Vienna's Adult Shops

After a few hours of rubber necking and snapping at anything that didn't move, I felt that I ought to try and do something else, so I moved on to shopping, food and maybe even a trip to a cinema.

Taking the public transport train network I went on a little joyride. With my freedom ticket I randomly jumped on a off a couple of trains until to another part of Vienna and in the process passed by what I am guessing was its own red light district only to end up a few stops later emerging right outside its own equivalent of an Anne Summers shop.

Curiosity once again got the better of me, and before I knew it I was heading inside, following a teenage girl being escorted by what I am guessing was either her mother or aunt.

Inside the sliding glass doors I found it was open-planned and very spacious, not to mention being brightly lit and neither gloomy nor seedy.

It also appeared to be staffed totally by middle aged women wearing little makeup and more clothes than I was.

Underground Cinema in Austria

I knew the rain would not hold off for ever, so I was very glad that I had timed things perfectly and was right next to a cinema when it started to come down.

True, the cinema looked small, pokey and smelled of stale popcorn from the outside, but once I went down and round the interior corner the smell subsided, and as it was showing the new Vin Diesel film, 'Babylon A.D.' in its original English it turned out to be quite an entertaining diversion.

Babylon A.D. was a post apocalyptic sci-fi flick and though it wasn't one of Vin's best, it was well worth a watch and as it kept me out of the rain for a few hours it earned Vienna a few more brownie points.

Last Night in Vienna

Heading back to my hostel I grabbed an overpriced hotdog from the cinema kiosk as I did, which despite being a bit bland filled the space, and soon after I was back at my hostel.

While I was trying to perform my usual routine of downloading photos and updating my blog, my laptop crashed and would not accept my cameras memory card. I must have silently cursed a little too loud, as a friendly American woman sitting next to me suggested that I just insert the card directly into the machine.

Ok, being totally honest, the first thing she suggested was that I launch it against a wall, but once we laughed off the joke she then explained what she was talking about, and considering I think of myself as fairly techno savvy I only felt like the biggest twonk in the entire universe.

Still looking like a beetroot, I tried hard to remind myself that not only it was new and bottom of the range, but also I had never owned a laptop before, so I had every excuse in the world for not knowing all its ins and outs.

Night of Madness

After I got over my blonde moment I decided to go and grab a bite to eat, and as I had spotted a pizza place and a KFC just a little way down the road I felt that I should finish the day off in style and so had a large burger and fries with a coke.

It was a bit of a shame really, as once I got back to my hostel I decided to see what was happening in the bar downstairs and perfectly mistimed my arrival with the final whistle of a Champions league goal-fest between FC Bayern Munich and Steaua Bucharesti being shown on their widescreen television.

With the game already over, it was amusing to see the lone overjoyed German supporter trying to get some enthusiasm going from a couple of Australians, with nothing more than the TV highlights and his very own riveting story of the great goal keeper Oliver Khan.

Hardly unsurprising they were not overly impressed with his tribute to a man they had never heard of, which just made the whole scene funnier to me, as with his wispy thin beard and little round glasses I just couldn't get the image of a small garden gnome out my head.

I guess that the Austrians don't like cider, as it was never on offer at happy hour, and as the rest of the bar was quiet, having missed the game I gave up and heading up after one pint.

When I got up there the three Austrians girls who I shared the room with were all tucked up in bed, the single Korean guy had already packed up and left for the night and the newcomer to the room, a slender Asian girl had decided to turn her, and my, bunk bed into a clothes horse by hanging her sopping wet trousers and undies all over them.

Considering I could still get to my bunk I let decided to let it slide in the name of free styling and just went to sleep. What I didn't expect was to be woken up a couple of hours later by the noise of an irate oriental guy who was arguing with our young widow Twankey.

It turns out that the girl had not reserved the bunk, and possibly wasn't even meant to be in our dorm room, so how she managed to get in the room without a door pass card is a bit of a mystery, but it wasn't important enough to keep me awake so I did my best to ignore it and drift back to sleep.

Final Morning in Vienna

How they managed it I'm not sure, but the three Austrians had silently dressed and packed up their stuff in the dark and were already halfway out the door before the noise from outside work me.

Now why can't all roommates be that quiet and thoughtful? Those girls were my kind of roommates, and I would gladly share a room with them again anytime.

Today I had an early flight to catch too, so now that I was awake I thought I may as well get up and dressed, and as the American guy had left his copy of Ben Elton's 'High Society", I felt that I would carry on the great book exchange tradition and intended on reading it and dropping it off at my next hostel after I was finished with it.

Spotting the book on the table reminded me that I had not read a good Clive Cussler book in awhile, which was unusual as for many years his Dirk Pitt adventures have always a favourite travel companion of mine.

Nothing beats a good book for killing time when you find yourself delayed or arriving too early at a far flung station or airport. #18

Staring up at the mornings sky I couldn't help but feel ever so slightly pissed off. After being drenched for the last few days it had finally dried up and showing every sign of being a scorching hot day, while here I am, desperate from sun and what am I doing?

Instead of sunbathing like any normal tourist, I am about to fly to a city where it due to start raining any second.

But you know what I think. Go ahead and do your worst, because after Switzerland I am heading to the south of France, the Spanish coast and then South America. Yessiree, soon it will be all sun cream, mojitos and sandy beaches. Arriba!

Well I was half right. I did go to all those places, but with my little private storm cloud keeping me company the opportunities to sunbathe were few and far between!

Leaving Vienna, Austria

One of the receptionists said that the best way to reach Vienna airport from here was to take a bus that goes via South Haupbahnhof, runs every half hour and is a cheap half hour journey.

But having spent a short while wandering around the station trying to find where the bus could pull in I failed dismally.

So, with no guards or station staff to ask for help, and the information booths so crammed with data that I could have spent a week studying it and still been none the wiser, I gave up and decided to try and use the last of my freedom ticket to get there, or at least to get closer.

With a bit of effort, some lateral thinking and a good deal of guesswork, I reached a stop were you could pick up the City Airport Train, or CAT, and getting off found myself in the middle of a construction site.

Following the Green Line

In somewhat a bit of a hurry I foolishly hurried out of the underground and while still in the station I bought what I thought was the right ticket using an automated ticket machine.

Moments after I let it eat my change I saw a sign in English saying that the CAT is run by a different organisation and requires a different ticket which you can only get at its own pickup platform, which was kind of annoying.

But the really annoying and slightly intimidating part, was that the CAT platform was at another station down the road and round the corner, so it felt being back in the London and getting out of Cannon Street and then walking to Bank.

However, even I was unable to get lost, though I tried hard, as some bright spark had decided that in order to prevent tourists and travellers getting lost that they painted a long green line right down the middle of the pavement which took you all around the block until you reached the entrance to the CAT.

Finally arriving at the right platform I had to pay almost double for a CAT ride that only lasted around sixteen minutes, so had I been able to have found that correct bus platform to begin with I would saved myself time, money and the risk of getting lost going from one line to the next.

~~ **** ~~

Swiss Confederation

Zurich \- Arrived on 18th September 2008.

Berne (Capital City) - Arrived on 19th September 2008.

Geneva \- Arrived on 21st September 2008.

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in Zurich, Switzerland

After all the hullabaloo of finding it, Vienna International Airport turned out to be a bit of a letdown as it was far smaller than most international airports I have been to and had very few shops compared.

But before I criticise it too much, it does have a few redeeming features in that it was very easy to find the correct gate, the security check and passport control was fast and un-bothersome and it has a café where you can buy the world's greatest hot chocolate.

True, it may also be the world's most expensive, but if you absolutely must have the best with no exception then this is the world's equivalent to hot chocolate nirvana.

As forecast, it was raining when I touched down in Zurich and so I was glad that I had chose to make this just a day stop over before travelling on to capital.

I thought that I was being clever in buying a more detailed and comprehensive city map that than relying on any tourist freebee on offer at the hostel, but sadly it exploded in all the directions except the one I needed to cover my hostel, so it was no help whatsoever.

To protect myself from the light rain I took out my trusty portable umbrella, which I had purchased only days before leaving the UK, only to find that it was neither trusty nor portable as it had broke while stuck in my rucksack and how hung limp and broken on its string handle.

My Zurich Hostel

Mercifully I had extensively studied the route to the hostel and it was very close to the train station, via a short change of trains from the airport itself, and so I was soon able to walk and rest up in my hostel before the rain got to soak my feet yet again.

I was especially pleased to see a road sign giving the direction and distance to the city of Chur, as if I ever get round to completing the detective stories of my Swiss investigative doctor, Justivan Jevic, then I would like to return one day and gather more information as Chur was meant to be his place of birth.

After a brief tour of the hostel by the owner, I was shown my bunk in a two man room, and informed that as luck would have it, I was sharing with an Irish guy who was also due to arrive any minute.

Noticing that the room in question had only a single power socket, I was quick to get out my laptop and dug out my travelling power multi-adapter in order to prevent the potentially awkward ordeal of negotiating a time share deal with the newcomer.

My great idea was soon quashed when I subsequently I learned another valuable lesson, or more accurately revisited an early one.

Not only has Switzerland refused to join the rest of mainland Europe with its political and currency viewpoints but also in its electrical plug requirements.

Even more frustrating was the fact that the hostel owner did not have any plug adapters to sell or to rent out to guests, and so knowing that I would be put to extreme difficulty to go without electricity for the next week and a half, I was left with the option of finding a local shopping complex in order to buy yet another adapter.

The rain was still showering down but thankfully the hostel was just a few blocks away from the nearest shopping mall and even though it cost double what I paid for all the other adapters combined, in no time at all I was jogging back to my room.

Uneventful Evening in Zurich

Shaking the rain off my jacket, I headed on up the stairs and entered my room to find that my Irish room buddy had indeed already arrived and being a repeat visitor to the city, he already had his own plug adapter and was merrily utilising the room's only power socket.

Or at least, he would have been had he been able to get a Wi-Fi signal in the hostel, but as his own dongle was limited he wasn't reaching anything.

Being ever the gent and diplomat, I offered him the use of my laptop to check his emails, which facilitated me in deftly grabbing the plug socket for the remainder of the night without any feeling of ill will or recriminations.
After he finished checking his onward journey preparations, he gave me back my laptop and furthermore offered to pop down to the local Chinese and bring me back a takeaway as he was going that way himself.

Thus it was that without having to get wet yet again, I was able to scoff quite a satisfactory Chinese meal and chat to my new roomie and all the while recharge my various electronic devices in a mood of perfect inner peace and tranquillity.

It turned out that my roommate was a bit of a Tai Chi buff as well as a real natter box and together we must have been one of the last rooms in the hostel to finally turn out the lights and hit the hey.

New Morning in Zurich

I woke up fairly early the following morning and not wanting to wake my roommate up, I kept fairly as quiet and still as I could, but at the same time I wanted him to wake up at any minute so that I could continue the chat and even possibly get him to participate in one of my recorded interviews.

In fact it was a shame that I was only staying the one night, as a little later on he was due to meet up with some mates and it would have been cool to tag along, but unfortunately my plans were already set in stone and I had a morning train to catch.

Regrettably he was both a heavy and a late sleeper, and even as I was checking out he was still snoring soundly so I guess that this was just not meant to be.

Had I known that he was such a slugabed I would have roused myself as soon as I had awoke and taken advantage of the break in the rain to do a tiny bit of sightseeing in the city centre, but having already left it so late I had missed the opportunity.

Leaving Zurich

The main train station in Zurich was more than a little overwhelming and even thinking back to Germany, the place was still huge by comparison.

It may only have around fifty platforms, but in addition to these it not only had the usual selection of shops, restaurants and banks but it even had its own gymnasium, cinema and sex shop.

As the entire complex was under one all encompassing clear roof, it was like the whole place was a mini city in its own right, and it only took a small stretch of the imagination to think that a person could spend their entire life without ever leaving the confines of the station.

Indeed, this is much like what Tom Hanks did in the movie Terminal, loosely based, I believe, on the true story of a political refugee who became stranded in a Paris airport in 1988 and ended up living there for almost twenty years.

~~ **** ~~

Arriving in Bern (Berne), Capital of Switzerland

It is a little known fact that centuries before Bram Stoker learned of Vlad the Impaler and inspired him to pen his novel Dracula, the earliest origins of the first vampire stemmed not from Transylvania, nor indeed any Romanian / Hungarian province, but actually are akin to the myths and legends of the remote and harsh mountain regions of Switzerland, some one thousand kilometres away.

The intercity train route between Zurich and Berne was so simple and frequently occurring that I again regretted not turning up earlier, as I had the choice of at least four in the space of twenty minutes, and were it not for the rucksack on my back I would have enjoyed taking a stroll and coming back later to catch a later train.

I never thought to look for or enquire after them at the time, but I short while after I left Berne I remembered that certain large stations even have coin operated storage lockers and airport check-in desks to enable travellers to unburden themselves as soon as possible.

For me, arriving in Berne was like a dream come true, and the city of Berne itself was actually the very first European destination that I marked out on the map.

From my train coaches window seat it seemed so idyllic and I could not wait to drop off my rucksack and start walking down its cobbled streets steepened with history and culture.

For a change the sun was out and it cast down a wonderful glow down onto the streets, its bright rays flickering off the green and yellow brickwork of the old town.

Much of the surrounding countryside was forested hills, dark green mostly but with the occasional touch of gold or red suggesting that autumn was fast approaching.

Gazing down to the turquoise river Aare far below I came to notice that running along its bank was a promenade of period buildings, each no doubt worth a king's ransom, and I paused to wonder what kind of person lived below.

Were those houses, overlooking the river as they were, the country retreat of the young and affluent or perhaps the stately homes of rich farmers and landlords of bygone days, passed down from generation to generation?

Pulling into the station at Berne, I could not help but be impressed with how authentic and timeless everything appeared and, apart from the people wearing brightly coloured clothes, I was hard pressed to see anything that would not look out of place in a Victorian Christmas card.

A Hostel in Berne

From my first few glimpses I felt that Berne would be my kind of place.

It has some beautiful architecture, it felt modern, clean and tidy as well as being host to all the usual conveniences and luxuries that I so often take for granted.

I could not imagine a more picturesque setting that offered countryside, history, cinemas and a main line train station all in such a small and close environment that at the same time gave the impression of anything but close or confined.

Walking through the streets I was able to find my hostel very easy, located as it was above a thriving bar district, and as a clue to its popularity was that by the front door there was a small wicker basket with free packets of ear plus for all its guests.

Being already prepared for loud noises, I would much have preferred it for them to forego the ear plugs and instead allow guests to use the elevator or for them to extend their Wi-Fi signal to actually reach into the rooms upstairs, but then I guess we all have our own interpretations of what are priorities and what are added luxuries.

One of my own theories is that I would much prefer for a hostel to have up-to-date tourist information on their own city including gigs, shows and exhibitions rather than adverts for a thousand other hostels spread across the length and breadth of the continent, but having been in a few hostels now it would appear that in having this view I am very much in the minority.

After checking in and noticing that all my hostel dorm mates were either asleep or out, I felt that this would be a perfect opportunity to do a bit of after dark sightseeing.

Thus as usual, I took the usual precautions and headed out into the night to see what mischief I could find. #19

However, if you do decide to go out, leave an email or note saying where you intend to visit, avoid wearing a valuable watch or jewellery, and leave any camera, excess spending money and passport behind, unless of course the local law prohibits this.

Berne, a City of Cinemas

Heading out into the city I was curious to see what kind of a night life Berne had, and I was both pleased and disappointed to find out that the only thing that was happening was that one of the local cinemas was showing a late night showing of 'Batman : The Dark Knight', a great film and one I have seen several times.

At first glance, central Berne seemed to be a haven for cinema lovers, as on just a brief stroll I must have counted twenty of them, each with at least two screens and a seating capacity for a hundred or so viewers.

It reminds me of a time gone by when it felt like every other house in my own home town of Gillingham was either a cinema or a pub.

Nowadays there is not a single cinema left where I live and even the humble DVD/video rental stores are closing one by one, mainly due to the increase in popularity of online websites offering downloadable games and movies.

The best part about my Swiss cinema experience was that the seating was extremely generous and widely spaced out, so that the person immediately in front would have to be about eight foot tall before they were in any way obscuring the view.

Not wanting to be too user friendly however, the Swiss managed to come up with a couple of ways to ruin the movies all of their own.

First off, they have totally rejected the notion that silence is golden; and without exception I had never witnessed an entire audience continue to talk that loudly throughout an entire film before.

Secondly and equally annoying, was that they completely mistimed the unnecessary half time interval, splicing it right in the middle of a high tempo action sequence.

Berne's Erotic Nightlife

Being totally underwhelmed with the its cinema experience I decided that as Berne seemed about as safe and peaceful as any town or city I had ever been to, I felt that I would take in a live cabaret show complete with dancing girls in frilly dresses.

There is a reason that Switzerland is known for its chocolate and its clocks but not for its wildly outrageous nightlife, and the logic behind this I was about to experience for myself first hand.

As it was still before midnight and I was still awake, I decided to take a stroll through the town centre until I found what appeared to be Berne's biggest nightclub.

I did pause to wonder why the place had no bouncers or scantily clad women outside, but as I generally find both these elements rather off-putting I took their lack of presence to be a good sign.

I pushed open the set of glass double doors, and descended down a spiralling staircase illuminated by pink neon signs and strip lights.

I was expecting to encounter the deafening thump of background music, a bored bartender cleaning glasses and a few dancing girls preparing to start their routine onstage but instead I found it as empty as the Mary Celeste.

Not wanting to be put off right away, I took a look round to see if in the pink seclusion booths, leather sofas and mirrored dancing poles hid any signs of life but I drew the link at shouting out anything, so eventually gave up and headed on back to my hostel feeling very deflated.

Arriving back at my hostel it appeared that the bar underneath the place was just started to get going, but as I had already bruised my excitement gremlin enough for one night, I declined the temptation of eating peanuts off the bar and drinking overpriced cocktails just to get rejected by the local women so I skipped it and went on up to my room.

I have often pondered what normal people do, besides drink, when they find themselves alone at night in a foreign city, but the obvious answer always comes back that normal people don't often travel alone to foreign cities and when they are they do indeed like to get drunk, be it a disco, club or with the contents of their hotel room mini-bar.

The final proverbial kick in the crotch came when I started to unpack and found that sometime during the train ride over from Zurich, the plastic bottle of suntan lotion felt the need to explode inside my wash bag and thus covered everything with a thick white cream.

All in all I feel that Berne is about as far away from an exciting night life as you can get without actually abandoning civilisation, but once I came to terms with this realisation it only served to add a certain respectability to its charm, as well as help promote its claim as one of the most safe places to visit in all the world.

Morning Bells of Berne

Despite the earlier weather forecast that Berne would be under deluge for much of my visit the morning sky was bright and clear so after breakfast I was totally up for wandering around the city, taking some photographs and seeing what it offered the humble tourist.

Walking away from the city centre I found a nice quiet bench beside an old church that was shielded from the sun by an overhanging branch and so I decided to sit for awhile and enjoy the peace and tranquillity that few capital cities offer.

Around midday the church bells began to chime and I was momentarily whisked away to paradise.

Regrettably what started off as quaintness deteriorated rapidly when the church campanologists decided that today they would challenge each other to see who would give up first as the chimes droned on, and on, and on!

It was a real shame, as there was a lovely clear blue sky overhead and I had managed to find an unoccupied bench that was both in the sun and out of the wind, but nevertheless with their unending monotone ringing I was fast going out of my mind.

I have no idea what their final tally was, but I probably started counting around ten and I gave up and walked away when I reached fifty.

Walking back through the old city I did my best to ignore the tolls and as soon as the church was out of ear shot I could once again appreciate its quaintness.

In addition to having lots of statues of bears, hence the name, Berne city centre also boasts an astrological clock, or Zeitglockenturm, that was similar in design and age to the one I saw in Prague.

That said, impressive though it was, the image that most vividly burned itself in my memory was of the covered shopping arcades with their arched walkways; home to boutiques, second hand book shops and the like.

Berne is Closed for the Weekend

The city centre of Berne isn't actually that large and before I knew it I had walked its entire length and was out the other side heading up and away from the built up metropolis. As the road stretched onward I was suddenly aware of how very quiet and empty the roads had become.

The passing cars became as infrequent as passing flies and the other pedestrians out walking were even fewer.

Within minutes the quiet and stillness began to take on an eerie feel as I found myself completely alone on the streets. It was almost as if the entire population had been spirited away or under silent house arrest.

It was almost inconceivable to me that within five minutes walking distance of a central European capital city that I could be the only living creature within sight in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, but here I was, believing it or not.

As the city was lacking a buzz of activity I decided to opt for getting a trim at one of their barber salons, but even this seemingly simple task proved harder monumentally difficult.

After passing by three closed salons and one that did not serve male clientele I found one that was seemed ideal, a single male barber trimming another man's beard in an otherwise empty salon.

It turned out that the sole owner and resident stylist was Italian by parentage but was born and raised in Bolton, England. Frustratingly, despite the shop being completely empty of other patrons, he assured me that he was fully booked out all day but that if I could perhaps return one day during the week then he would be more than happy to cut my hair.

As I was not planning to stick around Berne for that long I had to turn down his offer, and as I likewise refused to take my custom to a premium priced salon I gave up on this particular hunt and headed on back to my hostel to see what the other dorm room maters were up to.

Playing Mr Sociable in a Berne Hostel

Although at the time I thought that I was bonding nicely with the rest of the gang, it was only much later that I realised the truth. Most travellers are not out to make new friend with other tourists, but after a few bad experiences with locals they figure out that other travellers generally make the safest buddies.

Fellow travellers don't get commission by suggesting one restaurant over another, they want pictures with themselves in them as much as the next person and most are equally paranoid that their expensive camera might be stolen at any minute by just about anyone except the person that they share a room with.

Having given out dozens of personalised traveller business cards and tried to collect as many email addresses as possible, my personal average of keeping in contact with a travel buddy is only about one in five, even though I believe that I make more effort than most in such endeavours.

I don't suppose that it will surprise many people to read that part of the reason why I chose so many hostels to stay in was about meeting up with new people, sharing our collective stories and hopefully making new friends.

So, while some hostels do indeed have private rooms, most frequently chosen by couples and first timers, the vast majority of its guests are groups of friends and solo travellers like myself, people prepared to forgo a little privacy for the benefit of likeminded people and cheap rates.

Back in the hostel I found that quite a few of its guests had congregated around either the kitchen or the movie room, and it didn't take much effort to start up a conversation.

It was pretty unanimously agreed that being a UNESCO world heritage site, Berne is a very sleepy town, even at its touristic peak, and many of the other guests were feeling as bored and cooped in as I was.

Canadians Bearing Swiss Chocolate

After our conversation and a DVD, I was just about to pack up my laptop when a middle aged Canadian lady came up to me and asked me where she could buy some large batteries or a plug adapter at this time of night, as she needed it for her sons-in-laws massively expensive anti-smoking device.

As it had was almost midnight I doubted she would find any store open that would sell them, so I offered her my battery recharger and power adapter, a simple solution that wasn't really an inconvenience to me but to her it was as if I had saved his life.

At first she wanted to leave me with some form of ID, but I refused deeming it unthinkable to hold her passport as security for a power adapter, after which she then thanked me a thousand times before heading off to plug in her son-in-law.

Guessing that it might take a couple of hours, I used the time by chatting to the female receptionist, a friendly woman who taught me the correct way to pronounce the city of Chur, and who after her shift was planning to go clubbing with her younger sister.

Considering how much of a fuss the Canadian lady had made over what I thought was such a trifling matter, I was still half wondering if I was somehow being set up in complicated scam when she finally returned with my adapter and a huge bar of Swiss chocolate as thanks.

Very grateful and puzzled at the same time for the unexpected reward, I thanked the lady for her kindness and then headed on up to my room, totally forgetting about asking the receptionist for an interview or indeed if she minded me tagging along with her and her sister when they went clubbing.

A month or so later I decided to send home this bar together with a bundle of other stuff, and upon my return home was tickled to find out that my mother had opened my parcel to see what was in it, and upon spotting the bar of genuine Swiss chocolate couldn't resist it and had scoffed half by Christmas.

All Change in Berne on Sunday Morning

As was so frequently the case, a new day meant a whole new bunch of faces as the old ones moved on and a new batch took their place.

The Australian girls have left for northern Italy, the Irish couple are leaving for Geneva and then on to Barcelona and although they were not actually staying in my dorm the friendly Canadians from British Colombia are heading home today as well.

Grabbing them briefly, I got chatting to the young Dubliners who had been travelling around Europe since January and were proud of their longest stay which was in Hungary where the tarried for about three months.

Apparently their plan is to travel around till they find a hostel where they could work in and then look for any additional part time bar work they could find. They even were open to the idea of teaching English wherever the locals were prepared to overlook their lack of formal qualifications.

The French lass who was travelling with her father, was doing a bit of a switcheroo as they had been sleeping in separate rooms for the past two days but today he moved in to our dorm so that they were together.

Leaving Berne

I always figured that it with my poor sense of timing it was bound to happen sooner or later, and today just so happened to be the day when I totally lost track of what day it was and what I had planned on my itinerary thus I almost missed my train to Geneva.

There I was, sitting on my bed doing nothing at all of any importance when the hostel manager came into the room to change the sheets and asked me politely what I was still doing there, as I was suppose to have checked out an hour ago.

Either through good luck or coincidental planning, it transpired that I had booked myself onto a midday train to Geneva, so even with this minor hiccup I still had plenty of time to pack up and make it back to the train station without giving myself a heart attack.

Sadly the kindly female receptionist from last night was still sound asleep after a heavy nights clubbing and so I missed my chance to get her details or her interview, and I am sure that hers would have been a doozy. #20

I have a feeling that my sense of direction must be improving as for the last day and a half I neither looked at my compass nor the mini travel map once during my efforts to navigate around the old city centre.

Then again, there is the other train of logic that goes along the lines that as Berne is so small it is virtually impossible to get lost without really trying, especially as the river Aare almost completely encircles the city.

Like the rest of the city, the station was no more than half full, and so I whipped out my laptop and quickly dug out the directions of how to find my next hostel from the train station, being completely unsurprised that the stations Wi-Fi signal was locked and charged a few Franks per hour for its usage.

Sad to say, time and time again I found out that the vast majority of train stations and airports refuse to offer a free Wi-Fi service, despite the fact that it would greatly facilitate many of the travellers already using their services.

~~ **** ~~

Arriving in Genève (Geneva), Switzerland

Despite a thorough investigation of my seating area I was unable to find any plug sockets with which to plug my laptop into, and was coming to the end of my Ben Elton book earlier than planned.

Halfway through the journey the group of Swiss teenage girls that were sharing my carriage all started giggling and cackling like a coven of witches. Indeed it was so loud and high pitched that it went right through me, and even with headphones and my mobile phone volume turned up to max it was only barely enough to drown them out.

Finally freed from their maniacal screeching upon reaching Geneva, I impressed myself by managing to find the hostel first time and with only minor glances at the map.

I also enjoyed a private chortle when I spotted the two other travellers that had also alighted at Geneva and gone off steaming ahead of me only to have gone up a one way street and being forced to double back, eventually arriving after me.

My Hostel in Geneva

The hostel that I had chosen in Geneva happened to be one of a chain of youth hostels throughout Europe, and upon first glance it appeared to look more like a college than a hostel.

With plenty of facilities for students it was the ideal budget hostel as almost everything was included in the basic price, though sadly that did not included access to the hostels eight computer terminals or the huge dinner hall.

Entering the hostel was a bit weird as the hostel itself was located in a tall apartment block but protecting one side of the compound was a tall archway wall that abruptly ended halfway along the perimeter.

Having managed to leapfrog ahead of the other two tourists I was regrettably unable to crown this glory with an immediate check in as the hostel staff were still cleaning the rooms, being yet another example of a hostel that does not allow early check ins.

One of its many freebees that the hostel gave to all their guests was a free travel card for the local public transport and thankfully although the receptionist wouldn't let me check in they did see fit to hand out my pass upon my arrival. #21

So as the sky was dry for the time being, and still lugging my rucksack with me I was at least able to nip into the old town and grab a bite to eat.

Geneva's Restaurant of Flies

Reaching the city centre I took a nice stroll down along Lake Geneva and could not fail to spot the huge four hundred and twenty foot high pressure geyser that is one of the city's landmarks, and is apparently is only turned on when the crosswind is low or else it would drench all those walking nearby.

Feeling a bit peckish I took a wander past what looked like a small fort and an actual street merry-go-round which showed slight signs of aging on the paintwork but never the less appeared in great condition, and ended up at a rather tacky looking Italian place. #22

I should have paid more attention to the lack of customers in the restaurant and less at the street market, as once I had sat down and ordered I noticed that the place was empty of other diners but literally swarming with disgusting fruit flies.

The flies were everywhere, on the walls, on the tables, around my head and dive bombing my food so many times that I spend more time trying to swat them than I did eating.

Of course, it was a futile gesture as no matter how many I killed, the longer I sat with my food in front of me the more my food attracted and by the time I got half way too many had managed to land for me to consider eating anymore and I gave up.

I did mention the flies to one of the waitresses, but she didn't seem to understand and just shrugged and went to serve another customer, so at that point I stood up, paid without leaving even a cent as a tip and walked out in utter disgust.

I am not sure what they could do to prevent the infestation of flies, but the fact that this occurrence has never happened before or since seem to suggest that it is in some way their fault.

Although I suffered a few bouts of food poisoning during my trip, it was this meal that stood head and shoulders above the rest in my mind as the worst dining experience during my adventures.

A Geneva Cinema Experience

In Swiss schools all the pupils are taught French, German, Italian and English, with the first three all being equally recognised as official national languages. However Romanish is considered the Swiss fourth main language ahead of English, despite it only being taught in a few schools and mainly at home by parents of Romanish descent.

After the worst meal experience in my life, I took a few more photographs and then still encumbered with my rucksack as I was I grabbed a tram to the nearest cinema.

Instead of having a myriad of tiny cinemas dotted around the city like Berne, Geneva had a more conventional approach with its main cinema boasting the latest in high tech sound systems, thirteen screens and perfectly placed on the top floor of a large shopping complex.

Because there is no individual Swiss language, going to the cinema can be a bit of a lottery as they might chose to show a Hollywood blockbusters in its original English, but equally likely is that they will dub and/or subtitle it in a variety of languages.

The other neat thing that I found interesting about Swiss cinemas, is that they all seem to be much happier working with each other, and in almost any cinema you can pick up a little brochure that is both a map showing where all the cinemas are located as well as a guide to what's showing and where.

It's a small thing, but it's the little touches like that this that really make a place tourist friendly.

Being only mid afternoon the only film I was interested in being screened at this time was Kung Fu Panda, the animated martial arts movie, animated film, and as Geneva is very close to the French border it is also the localised main language and so the film was dubbed in French without subtitles.

As part of my routine, I went to the confectionary counter and grabbed a cola and some sweets, hoping to make them last beyond the trailers.

As it turned out, the only drink of offer was diet and very syrupy, but it was better than nothing.

Considering my French is very rusty, I missed all the in-jokes and subtleties but it was still worth a watch.

As it turned out, I could have saved my money as Kung Fu Panda was a very popular choice with several airlines and I ended up watching it about four or five times during my travels.

Almost becoming Dickon R.I.P.

After the film ended I guessed that it was still early evening and cloudy outside so I decided to take in another movie, this time an action movie called 'Bangkok Dangerous' starting Nicholas Cage, with the added bonus that it was being shown in the original English with subtitles.

Bangkok Dangerous was being shown on the same screen as Kung Fu Panda, which somehow managed to confuse the projectionist as at the allotted time he started to play the wrong movie.

The mix up clearly confused some of the audience too, as about half got unsurely to their feet and started making their way to the exit the rest just remained in their seats, possibly thinking that it was just an overly long trailer.

It was at this moment that the full extent of how bizarre the situation was struck home.

Here I was, in a Swiss cinema, waiting to watch an American film based in Thailand with Germany subtitles and instead I was watching for the second time an American animated movie based in China that was dubbed in French.

The thought made me crack a smile, then I shrugged, then I giggled and then without thinking I stuck a seemingly innocent jelly bear in my mouth just as I began to burst into quiet laughter.

However, my laughter quickly transformed into choking as the jelly bear slipped down the wrong passage and became lodged.

With the auditorium in darkness, and the surrounding seats empty of other viewers as they had left seeking answers, I was alone and unable to attract anyone's attention as I continued to choke and edge nearer to unconsciousness. #23

Thankfully I managed to cough it up with almost my last conscious act, as I had already fallen to my knees and my vision has started to spin and grow dark.

In a way it was almost ironic, as before I left the UK I had been lectured countless times by those closest to me to avoid a whole host of potentially fatal situations, but the hazards of eating Swiss confectionary or what I should to do if I started choking in an empty cinema was not on anyone's list.

Anyway, back in the land of the living, I took a good look at the offending jelly bear before biting his head clear off and finishing off the rest of the sweets while I watched the film, once the projectionist got his act together.

Bangkok Dangerous was an ok film at best, dark and moody in place, but I could guess the ending from as early as the opening credits so I don't think it will ever achieve cult status or be considered a classic.

Much like the handyman snafu episode, where I trapped myself inside a wardrobe I built around myself, I don't expect this quite satisfies the requirements for a Darwin Award, but rest assured when I do finally kick the bucket, I expect the circumstances surrounding my demise to be both absurd and even amusing from a certain point of view.

My First Night in Geneva

After my dice with death, I left the cinema and continued to ride my luck following a kid who was making a beeline towards the alley beside the shopping centre car park, being what I hoped was a short cut back to the main road. Lady luck was apparently still with me as it was indeed a very short cut and brought me right next to the tram stop.

I caught a tram and found my way back to the hostel, again taking a slight short cut detour and left myself feeling really confidence in my honed sense of direction.

Once I checked in I was shown to a smallish dorm room where my two roommates were already unpacked and planning an early night. The first roommate was an American guy that worked as a swimming instructor in a posh school who had somehow wangled free European trips as a perk of the job.

The other guy was Swiss, friendly and very chatty but also a little eccentric. Apparently he was on taking part in a Pilgrimage from Zurich to the coast of North Western Spain, walking the whole distance and only stopping along the way to eat and sleep and rest.

He seemed a little eccentric to me as he was an experienced distance walker, but had decided to forgo a change of clothes and hefty rucksack in preference of a single set of high tech clothes that looked like a diving suit only were ultra light weight and also apparently odour eating in design.

It may have sounded like a good idea to him, but they didn't look so hot to me, and I can't imagine the friends I hoped to stay with along the journey to be overly impressed if I tell them that I have magic clothes that means I don't need to bathe or change clothes from one week to the next!

However I wished him all the best and, as we had both set off on our respective journeys on exactly the same day, I suggested that we keep in touch as I was keen to find out how he gets on and what he feels at the end.

He never did keep in touch, but from surfing the web months after I found that his pilgrimage and clothes were more common than I first thought.

In fact, so many other groups of like minded souls were undertaking treks of their own that I was unable to identify his particular blog from the crowd, try as I might. #24

A New Day in Geneva

Berne may be the capital of Berne and a wonderful world heritage site as protected by UNESCO, but Geneva is the perfect example of everything that comes to mind when I think of the modern Switzerland.

Situated right on the banks of Lake Geneva, it has more than its fair share of chocolate shops, watch makers and places where I could buy a Swiss army knife.

Saying that there is a large immigrant population in Geneva is almost an understatement, as almost a third of the entire population of Switzerland can trace their roots abroad.

However when you consider that after its own internal bloody history during the dark ages, Switzerland has been the only mainland European country that has remained unconquered and largely conflict free for the last few hundred years it not so hard to see why.

In fact, considering how many tourists and immigrants there are in the city, the surprising fact to me at least was that it didn't feel like the city was overcrowded, or indeed even a little crowded for that matter. Perhaps it was because it was late September but the whole country actually seemed a little deserted.

Street Walkers of Geneva

Having failed to find an open barber's in Berne this past weekend, I set out this morning determined to find a place to get a trim, though having already been to through the city centre yesterday I wasn't sure where to start looking as I was fairly sure that I hadn't passed one so far.

Taking a looping circuit of the roads and streets around my hostel, I found that there were indeed a number of barber's and salons situated near where I was staying but regretfully none that were open.

Apparently the majority of barbers here had all agreed to have Mondays off, as time and again I saw a sign that said 'Lundi Ferme' hanging on a closed door or in a darkened window.

What I did pass were a number of already open brothels and night clubs, as well as some dark mature street walkers of dubious cleavage size.

I'm not sure what kind of political or social statement they are trying to make, but allowing you to be propositioned in broad daylight on a weekday after you have only just had breakfast and yet being unable to get a haircut is one of the weirdest occurrences I have experienced so far on my trip.

Then again, thinking about it, sex and salons have always had a rather hazy but close relationship down through the ages and I am sure that somewhere I learned that it is even where the saying "something for the weekend" originated, being one of the first places where a man could obtain a condom no questions asked.

A Rather Painful Massage

Steering clear of the brothels I took a break from the barber salon hunting by diving into a normal massage parlour that was staffed by a lone Seychellois lady.

I was relieved to find that she didn't try and offer or try and entice me into any extra services, considering what neighbourhood we were in, but what she did do was about the next worst thing.

The massage table they had was beyond basic, as in it didn't even have a cut out hole for the face, and so whenever she was applying a lot of pressure to my neck and shoulders she kept squishing my nose.

Also, as if a busted hooter wasn't bad enough, being the only member of staff here meant she also left me alone whenever the door or the telephone rang, a cardinal sin in my book.

With her dashing out every few minutes she left the whole experience felt very disjointed and a waste of time as far as enhancing my calm.

The Barber from Seychelles

Back on the trail of the elusive barber shop I finally spotted a newly opened salon run by a pair of French speaking guys that were keen to cash in on any passing trade and who also happened to originate from the Seychelles.

This led me to believe that although Switzerland's populace is culturally varied you can still notice areas where people of each ethnicity chose to gravitate towards others of the same background.

Their grasp of English was almost as woeful as my grasp of French, but as it was either this or start learning to braid dreadlocks I gave in to desperation and gave what I hoped was clear instructions of a big trim all over.

Much like my masseuses, I try to ensure that my barbers to be of the female persuasion. A personal choice you understand, and based on the simple preference of a woman rather than a man running their hands through my hair, but it was not this that upset me or had me regretting that I didn't turn around the second they couldn't understand me.

No, it was the fact that even after an hour with my barber using just about every kind of electric device razor known to man, he hadn't even touched the front or the top and so all I had paid for was a very expensive and lengthy trimming and styling of my sideburns. #25

I did try to gesture for more and pull on my fringe in the hope that he would understand, but when he just smiled and then tried to spike it with some gel I gave up and tried to pay and leave.

Or at least I would have, but at that moment I only had on me a large note and being a Monday in this neighbourhood it took him about ten minutes to find another shop keeper who would give him change.

I still say that my best haircut was in Penang, Malaysia, where they couldn't do enough for me and all for the price of a can of coke, and I will be doing my best to go back there when I go through there again. Whereas this guy needs to leave his clippers alone and learn what a pair of scissors are for.

Sad to say, by the time I was reaching Malaysia I had already running short of money and never made it back to my all time favourite salon, where the women smiles and you could have a drink for free while you waited.

I feel that late September is probably not the best time to visit Switzerland as although the snow hasn't quite started to fall yet, it feels just as cold as if it is and the sun stays out for only a few minutes a day. However, for me, anything that wasn't driving rain was an improvement on the earlier weeks of my trip so despite the biting cold I decided to wrap up warm and see what else I could find to do.

A Cruise on Lake Geneva

Freshly groomed I decided that the next place to visit had to be the lake, though I felt that the waters might be too cold for me to enjoy any actual water sports. Arriving at the lake I spotted a miniature land train for tourists that might have been worth it for families but being on my own I discounted this and headed on over to the short cruise operators.

As there are a few different companies offering tours around the lake, I went with what I assumed was the most frequently used by foreigners, but as it was very cold I only went on the smaller loop tour.

Being somewhat aware of its violent past, I was pleased to see many castle and historical ports all along the coast of Lake Geneva, and pointing out these forts formed the basis of much of the tour companies monologue. It also offered an unrivalled panoramic view of the quayside which I am sure in the summer would be perfectly picturesque.

As there is no universal Swiss language, the tour company decided that the best way to cover all its bases without having to employ a very talented linguist was to record its tour monologue and then have each section repeated in seven languages.

As English was thankfully the second repetition, it wasn't too bad for me but I do pity the poor Portuguese as they were last and so I expect that they were far passed any location before its description and identity was announced.

They monologue also said that on a clear day in the distance you can see the snowy topped mountains of the Swiss Alps, but not being a clear day all I saw was clouds on the horizon.

With the waves gently lapping at the side of the boat it was nice to see a bit of froth and with the clear plastic canopy enclosure the inside was pleasantly warm, a little bit like a conservatory.

However, for some insane reason, towards the end of the tour all the protective flaps were pulled back and I went from sunbathing to my impersonation of Nanook of the North in a matter of seconds.

Also out of the lake there were a few private boats cruising up and down, as well as a few daredevil kite surfers riding the waves.

Wearing nothing but a wet suit to keep them warm against the elements these thrill seekers using a cross between a kite and a parachute, skimmed across the surface on their modified surfboards and seemed to be having a whale of a time.

Back on dry land I noticed that the sky was growing dark and as I was not sure if it was the approach of rain or just the night drawing in, but decided not to take any chances and hightailed it back to my hostel to spend the rest of the evening considering what to do tomorrow.

New Day in Geneva

Waking up early I took a stroll around the hostel as my morning constitutional, and yet again caught the feint waft of a subtle burning smell.

Upon a brief investigation I could neither fully identify nor trace the source, yet thinking about it at several times during my stay in Geneva I had noticed a similar aroma bourn on a slight breeze.

Also, considering how the weather was forecast to be constant showers throughout my visit to Switzerland, I felt fortunate that although the sky was grey and cloudy it was still dry, at least for the time being.

Completely misquoting him, a wise old hobbit once said "It can be a dangerous thing, opening your front door. You take one step and then another and before you know it you don't know where you will end up!"

Now, although I accept this logic I also know what is likely to happen if I don't open my door, absolutely nothing, and as I certainly didn't plan this world tour in the hope that absolutely nothing would happen, I decided to borrow an idea from the alternative travel book I once read, and so headed out on my own Mystery Journey Tour.

It was only at this stage that I realised that outside of the UK the humble tram still is a widely accepted and much loved method of public transport, and so it is that I wonder why we Brits gave them up such a long time ago when they are clearly still a viable solution.

The Geneva Mystery Tour

Armed with my hostel issued freedom pass, good for all city buses, trains and trams I decided to hop on one at random and stay on until it reaches its destination or I pass by something that really attracts my eye.

It may not seem like much of a worthwhile freebee, but when you consider that it costs the same as a single night of cheap accommodation in most cities I was determined to make the most of it.

Armed with a map that I promised myself I would only use in a dire emergency, or to find the quickest way back if the heaven opened, I stepped out from the hostels front door, walked to the end of the road and then hopped on the first tram that came along.

It was a good start, taking me away from the city centre and everything I had already seen, but all too soon it started heading directly due north and as I had no desire to cross over into just yet France I had to get out while it was still making stops.

The surrounding area of the tram stop didn't impress me all that much, and as the only half interesting building was a closed snooker hall, I felt that the best thing to do was just cross the road and get on the first tram going the other way.

This time the tram took me right into the centre of town, but as I had already been there I wasted no time before hopping on another and headed out again in much the same direction, crossing bridges that spanned lush green forested gorges as we went.

Eventually we were getting near the opposite edge of my map and as I didn't want to leave the city limits so I hopped out at the next stop and carried on my exploration by foot.

The Geneva Zoo

As it turned out, the nearest thing of any interest to me was a small public zoo, mainly for birds, though it did also have a few pigs and a deer.

I am not sure if it was meant to be free or if I had somehow wandered in through an un-gated side entrance, but the place was fairly empty and so I was rarely disturbed by anyone as I did my best to photograph the ducks, swans and peacocks in flight.

I also came across a quaint looking café with tables and chairs surrounding it among the undergrowth, but sadly the owner wasn't as easy to locate and so despite fancying a can of Ice Tea I ended up leaving empty handed.

I did for a moment consider just taking the drink, and/or just leaving some change by the till, but I had no idea how much it was and so I thought to hell with it and just put it back in the fridge.

It also occurred to me that the Swiss must be very trusting, as I had been hoping on and off trams quite often for a few days now but so far I had not spotted a single ticket inspector.

Geneva Botanical Gardens

Making my way back to the main road through the zoo I came to a bridge that spanned a fast flowing river and not expecting anything unusual to happen I didn't have my camera to hand.

This was a shame as suddenly an inflatable raft full of white water enthusiasts sprang out from beneath its tall supports but all I could do was stand there and look on with a smile as they furiously paddled off into the distance. #26

I have only ever gone white water rafting once, and although it was immensely fun, it was also quite expensive and very wet. Having been reminded of how much fun it was I made a mental note to try and organise another trip if I got the chance, but somehow I never did.

I never got bored with looking at or hopping on and off trams, and for a brief moment I got a glimpse of what a train spotter probably feels like.

The next random stop turned out to take within walking distance of the Botanical Gardens, and if my mother was here with me know I know we would not have left until the sun went down.

This place had plants and flowers from all over the world and I loved their rockery wall that had a few hundred different kinds of moss or lichens growing in neatly segmented sections.

With so many different and beautiful flowers to chose from it might have been hard for me to have chosen a favourite but the moment I spotted a Bonsai tree that had been allowed to grow naturally and was full sized I knew that nothing was going to top that for me.

Bonsai trees will only remain miniature if they are carefully and constantly clipped and shaped to do so. As anyone who has tried to grow them can tell you, it is a delicate balance as too much pruning will easily kill it but too little will allow it to grow into a sapling.

Headquarters of the United Nations

Right outside the Botanical Gardens is the headquarters of the United Nations.

Now as much as I would love to say that I went inside and did something dramatic, the fact is that I was totally unprepared for this eventuality and so as no deep and meaningful political statements sprang to mind I did what every other tourist did.

I set up my camera on a tripod and took a few posed shots of me standing underneath the giant broken chair that encouraged people to ban cluster bombs and went on my way. #27

Deciding that I would be a better cameraman than a random stranger I decided to use my tripod instead of getting one of the many Japanese tourists to take a photo of me. Not only did this ensure that it was going to be both stable and in focus, but also my tripod was unlikely to run off with my new camera.

Leaving the UN headquarters behind me I hopped on another tram but this one was heading off the map again, and so as it was starting to get dark and I was due to leave for France tomorrow I headed back to town, where I took a final stroll back to the Hostel and grabbed a bite to eat before an early night.

Overall I think that the Mystery tour was a success, and I am now wondering which other suggestions I could use to mix things up a little on my odyssey.

As I am mostly travelling alone I don't think I can play the chess game, but I might try the alphabet or the chance rendezvous suggestion.

There is also one that mentions going around wearing a fake horses head, and although it sounds like fun, wouldn't you know but I had accidentally left my pantomime costume back in England. Oh well, maybe next time.

Final Morning in Geneva

Looking back at all this now, I think that at this stage I still felt that this whole endeavour was some kind of race, as I had pushed myself into catch earlier trains on at least three occasions.

Today I was due to leave Switzerland and cross over into central France. Though I can't see where any of it has gone, my spreadsheet said that I was already into Octobers travel funds, so I decided to tighten my belt and head on over to the train station early and see if I could get an earlier train.

In just a few short weeks I had already accumulated quite a sizeable and hefty amount of gumph, and so in order to de-clutter I arranged to make my first return home package.

In it I crammed all the maps and brochures that I had collected, as well as some of my precious and essential travel accessories which over the course of a few weeks turned out to be far less than essential.

Leaving Geneva, Switzerland

I arrived at the coach station several hours early, and as usual had no problems catching an early connection. The bus journey over was at least two hours long and although I love nature the trees that lined the roads also obscured my view from taking photos of the wonderful scenery I passed through.

Looking out from the window I caught a glimpse in the distance of a narrow gulley between two mountain ranges and as headed onward and upward we seemed to be aiming straight for it.

Each turn in the road seemed to bring us closer to this gulf and as we did their magnificence seemed to grow.

After ignoring several turns for Lyon I had a momentary thought that our driver was trying to kidnap us before we eventually turned onto a smooth and direct toll highway and suddenly the logic their logic became clear.

~~ **** ~~

French Republic

Lyon \- Arrived on 24th September 2008.

Toulouse \- Arrived on 27th September 2008.

Carcassonne \- Visited on 28th September 2008.

Albi \- Visited on 29th September 2008.

~~ **** ~~

Arriving in Lyon, France

Having had so much success in Geneva with the network freedom ticket, I felt a renewed confidence in my ability to traverse around foreign cities using their public transport systems and so I obtained a booklet of ten Lyon network tickets.

I had looked to see if Lyon also offered a similar one card fits all freedom ticket, but I could not see any signs or machines that seemed to suggest that they did.

I did later spot such a travel ticket on offer in a tourist office, but of course by that point I had already bought the other tickets. #28

Calling Home

Having now been on the road for a full twenty four days, I realised that I had already surpassed my previous longest time away, which was my eighteen day whistle-stop tour through Asia, and so I thought that it would be nice to touch base and see what was newsworthy.

Making my way towards my hostel I stopping off at a delightful little restaurant, where I gorged myself on the tastiest Calamari I have ever tasted, before making my first call home.

With typical timing, I just missed my mum who must have already left for the morning, but I had better luck with one of my sisters and we had a lovely natter for a few minutes.

We could have talked for hours but I remembered that calling home from a mobile would cost a fortune, so once we said all that was important I said a fond cheerio and disconnected. #29

Although there wasn't much actual news to get updated with, it was nice to let them know that I was in high spirits, eating well and that hopefully I was now through the rainy patch and was heading on to sunnier climates.

It was also nice to hear that they were all reading the blog as often as they could, that I wasn't really missing anything back home and that so far their only real criticism was that I was not posting enough photos on my blog.

Not having bothered to check the weather forecast, I thought that as I arrived in sunny Lyon that I had successfully passed through the 'rainy patch' of my trip and that from now on it was now going to be all sunshine and mojitos. How little did I know!

A Lyon Hostel

As usual, this hostel check-in time was not until the early afternoon, and as I had left earlier than scheduled all I could do was sit and wait or take short strolls with my rucksack until the mid afternoon.

When I booked this particular hostel I had not appreciated the gradient or the length of the hill that it sat atop of, and struggling up that long road was the longest four minutes of my life.

Despite my youth and regular city walks, I was still unprepared for hiking up a hill with a fifteen kilo rucksack on my back and twice I felt I could not go any further without a short rest.

During one of these pauses I noticed that set into the hillside beside the road was a fake waterfall that looked very pretty and though I certainly didn't disagree I wondered why exactly it was placed here, on this particular hill.

Once I survived the climb and reached the top, being still a few minutes early I had a tiny wait before checking in but from my first glimpse round the place I was far from impressed.

My dorm room facilities were both cramped and minimal, with bunk-beds, miniature lockers and not enough power sockets to go around, and I had the feeling that the steep inclined road used to get to and from the city centre was really going to make my life here unpleasant.

On the plus side it did have a view overlooking the city centre and free Wi-Fi when you could manage to find a good spot to receive the intermittent signal.

What I didn't know at the time, as it was not advertised on their website or directions printout, was that not only was the hostel about five minutes walk away from one of the city's best examples of ancient Roman ruins. It was also only a hundred yards downhill from the ideally located and inexpensive funicular station that runs directly down the hill and connects with the city's main transport network.

Little details like that can really affect your impressions of a place and help you appreciate it a whole lot more. #30

Lyon City Centre

After checking in I placed my valuables in the dorms laughably tiny locker, glad that I had brought along a couple of spare padlocks, and had no choice but to leave my rucksack in the room and hope that it was still there when I returned.

This in itself doesn't seem much of an immediate problem, but as always leaving it in a room unattended while I go exploring invalidates my travel insurance if I am honest, leaving me unable to make a claim should anything happen to it.

The unburdened stroll down the road was so much pleasant and relaxing than the tortuous hike climbing it had been, and as the sky above showed only light grey clouds I was starting to look forward to seeing what the city of Lyon had to offer a tourist such as myself.

However as I saw more of the city's streets and buildings this optimism started to fade and before long I began to wonder what had influenced my decision to come here in the first place, at least until I remembered that Lyon was another of those in between city stops and I had only really chose it as they have a fairly successful football team!

Having visited many cities in my travels I can say that I have not noticed any comparison with successful / rich football teams and successful / rich cities, leading me to believe that the two are not as directly linked as I had previously thought.

The Heights of Lyon

The first thing that I could not fail to notice about Lyon is that it is one of the most unlevel cities I have ever been to, with almost every street and road seeming to go down one hill or up another.

The next thing that I saw was that building space must be at a premium here, as to see a row of buildings seven stories high in Lyon was not an uncommon feature, and not just of modern office blocks but also of older residential and period housing.

Finally, the third thing that struck me, apart from the rather unusual body odours of the locals, was that there was so much graffiti here. Zone 2 and 3 got off lightly but there were parts of Zone 1 that I thought would collapse under all the added weight of the paint, so much had been splashed about.

Having said that, of course there are things that Lyon can boast, like the Ancient Roman ruins of 'L'Amphitheatre trois Gaules', and the ballet theatre, both of which seemed impressive enough to warrant taking a few photographs.

With a great view overlooking the Amphitheatre I found a suitable named restaurant called the Three Gaules, however like so much of the city, during the afternoon it was running on a skeleton staff, being currently without a chef thus all the hot foods were off the menu and all you could get was a refreshing drink or an ice-cream sundae.

Having spent a good few hours walking around with little to show for it, I gave up and headed back to the hostel to see who was about to talk to and see if anyone else had any good ideas for what to do here in a city that seemed to be mostly closed during the day.

There didn't seem anybody around to talk to in the hostels main reception, so I retired early to my room, failed again to find anywhere that could receive the hostels Wi-Fi signal and in the end gave up and had an early night. At least, that was the plan.

Things that Scream in the Night

A few hours later I was roused from my early slumber by the eerie sound of a guy who was either crying, yelling or screaming. It didn't seem particularly high pitched or urgent sounded, but it sounded incredibly loud and unending.

I'm not exactly sure how long I laid there, with the crying going on in the background, but eventually a paramedic arrived from somewhere and then possibly departed from a side or rear exit as I didn't spot them go out the front door again afterwards, despite keeping a vigil until I managed to fall back asleep.

Another Dawn in Lyon

I'm not really a normal early morning breakfast kind of person, but occasionally when the hostel or hotel is offering a free breakfast and I have got nothing better to do I will help myself to whatever is on offer.

In the hostel today they were serving up cereal and orange juice. Having sampled it I was immediately reminded of why I rarely bother as the cereal defied analysis and I have no idea if it was meant to be muesli, bran flakes or finely pulped wood chippings.

However part of the appeal of the dining area was the chance to chat to a friendly Canadian girl, who I judged to be in her early twenties and was also travelling alone.

It turned out that she was travelling the world very slowly as she was doing it through WWOOF, being the World Wide Organisation of Organic Farming, who apparently were paying much of her costs.

This information both interested and intrigued me as try as I might, when I was first planning my trip I had not found any organisations or charities that did not try to expect both my labour and my cash, so to finally find one that actually made sense was very good news.

The other great bit of advice that she passed on was that the McDonald chain of eateries often have a free Wi-Fi service for their customers to use, which considering that many hostels charge and this particular signal was always pretty weak was great to hear. #31

After out little chat I decided to give the old McDonalds Wi-Fi a go, and maybe in the process also try their burgers, something I always try to do, and to get rid of the last taste of breakfast in the process.

The Lyon branch of McDonalds was nothing out of the ordinary, but I was thankful for a free table to type at and a few swills of coke did wash the taste of sawdust from my mouth.

Frances Keyboard Madness

Once the battery of my laptop gave in I realised that I still did not have much of an idea of what to do next and there was one or two other things that I should have checked out instead of just blogging.

With this in mind I decide that before I headed on back to the hostel I would try and find a cheap internet café for just a few minutes and no sooner did I find one that I wished that I hadn't.

I don't think I ever took the time to notice before but there is something very strange about French keyboards. Exactly why their keyboard manufacturers think that a ';' is more important than 'q' is beyond me, but to show I'm not just grumbling for grumblings sake, let me just say this.

I consider myself ;uite a ;uick and ;uiet typist and have fre;uently found ;werty keyboards wherever I have roamed. However here in France the ;werty keyboard is not considered a re;uirement and though I ;uested to find one I was unsucessful. Finally, typing without a ;werty keyboard makes my typing look all ;ueer.

I only managed a few minutes of this before I realised exactly how much I had become accustomed to the good old QWERTY keyboard.

Using these horrid keyboards I spent longer correcting my spelling than I did type, and as for my trying to type in hidden character passwords, forget it. In fact, I am quite surprised that I didn't accidentally manage to lock down my various accounts with the amount of retries I took.

Giving up before I starting bashing things and getting myself kicked out, I decided that I would take a slightly different route back to my hostel, a route that was less steep and more scenic.

Taking the longer route did take me an extra few minutes but going this way round I spotted not only a handy funicular station but also a very impressive site of ancient roman ruins.

Much larger and more complete than the three Gaules Amphitheatre, this amphitheatre was the stuff of that I really enjoyed visiting and as an added bonus the site is now overlooked by its own Museum that just happens to be free to the public on a Thursday.

I have no idea why my hostel didn't have any leaflets about the Amphitheatre or its museum, especially as apart from the crematorium or the laundrette there is nothing else close to the hostel that would justify why anyone would chose to stay here and not elsewhere in the city.

Photoplicity

Possible due to its lack of advertising or its location, but there was almost no other tourists visiting the amphitheatre this morning, so I decided to have a little fun and try out another idea I had that I am sure would look terrific if I could.

Positioning the camera on its gorilla tripod and setting it to take multiple shots, I took a large number of photographs where I was all sitting or standing in slightly different positions, planning to later use my laptop merge them together and multiply myself on image.

After I had taken enough snaps to have plenty to play with later on I took a wander through the museum and it was here that I learned that the plays of the ancient times would have been a lot more impressive than I first thought.

Not only did the amphitheatre have excellent acoustic properties but through a series of levers, ropes and pulleys the stage hands could make a wide collection of scenery and props rise up from hidden trap doors in the stage floor.

The effects must have been amazing to those not already familiar with it and indeed the basic mechanics of this technique has changed little over the last two thousand years and can still be seen in modern theatre performances today.

The photo-plicity idea worked out better than I could have ever expected and after a few more attempts I got quite good at it, even with using just the most basic art package.

The only real problem was finding the chance to use it as because I was using the tripod the other tourists around had no idea what I was doing and so would often walk right in front of me and ruin a run of takes.

More importantly though, I regret not also taking more video clips and on reflection I could also have spend a few weeks before hand cribbing some sort of story and script and then made my own mini movie using myself as the main protagonist and the real places that I was visiting as the best possible film set locations.

Lyons Park, Zoo and Botanical Gardens

Feeling pleased with myself, I nipped back to the hostel to drop my laptop off in my room and then went off in search of the park which also housed a miniature zoo.

Both the Botanical gardens and zoo are free to the public all year round, which was good news, though having so recently visiting Geneva I was not as impressed as I otherwise might have been.

It was lovely and peaceful in the gardens, and I am sure that plenty of people visit here for that reason, but for me it almost just a case of go on, take a few photos to show that I was actually there and then move on to the next place.

Un-Bowled Over in Lyon

To finish off the rest of the day, I watched the new Jackie Chan and Jet Li film, the Royal Proclamation, which the cinema had again decided to dub into French. This does not normally bother me with films, but even though it was a martial arts movie there was quite a bit of a back plot that I just couldn't follow and so I only got about half of it.

Then, with still plenty of the day left I stayed in the cinema complex and went ten pin bowling. Bowling is one of those games that I love to play but even if my life depended on it I doubt that I could even guarantee a spare let alone a strike, and in four games I played I racked up more complete missed than I did anything else.

It was far from the world's best bowling alley as, like everywhere in Lyon, they too had closed up their snack bar so all I could get was a coke or a beer.

Finally, though it's may seem a little childish, I actually rather enjoy watching the cartoon animations of the scoreboard, but here even this little treat was denied me as the alley had only the scores and nothing else.

The funicular continues to run until quite late into the night so I had no problems in getting back to my hostel and as I have run out of clean clothes, tomorrow will be laundry day. I did sort of plan on having a quiet night in for a change, but the hostel owners had other ideas and belted out a mix of alternative and indie rock tunes until the small hours.

New Morning in Lyon

A good friend from back home asked me what I thought of the sexy women here, and truth be told so far I haven't seen enough to comment either way. True, Lyon did have a few clubs and bars that catered towards the erotic, but generally the French women I met here were no better looking than those from anywhere else.

Having almost run out of clean clothes, I had already made my mind up that today was linen day, so when I found out that mine was one of the few hostels not to have its own laundry room I was again glad that I had spotted a nearby laundrette on one of my earlier jaunts.

Bundling all my clothes together I went up the road to the launderette and it was there that I met a couple of Australian students living and working for a year in Lyon as part of a exchange program.

Thinking back to the other Australian traveller I met a few weeks ago I took the opportunity to quiz them about their views on travel.

The conversation confirmed in my mind that travelling has definitely become part of the culture and mindset of almost every young Australian, though I heard nothing to support the idea that part of this was self inflicted through peer group pressure.

Mentally kicking myself again for having brought a mix of whites and coloured clothes with me, I had to split my washing into two piles that doubled the cost, and through trial and error I found that when drying my clothes I had the choice of either burning them on high heat or sticking them on a warm setting that even after three attempts left many items still slightly damp.

I also learned a bit of French as a sign saying 'Hors Service' is not what it appears to be, but is actually informing you that the machine is out of order.

Final Night in Lyon

Back in the hostel after I decided to doze for a bit and then go out to see what trouble lurked in the darkness of Lyon, seeing as I haven't been out late in almost a week and it's my last night in Lyon.

From casual chats and half heard conversations I had come to the conclusion that according to public opinion Ville de Hotel was the most happening part of the city, so that was my chosen destination for tonight. Regrettably, it turned out to be exactly what I imagined it would be, chock full of restaurants and quaint little bars but precious little else.

My main problem with restaurants is that I don't like being charged a fortune to wait for ages only to end up with a tiny portion of food, and my main problem with bars is that I hate drunks and being charged a fortune to stand crammed in a bar with a glass of cola.

Going with a friend or loved one makes the situation bearable for me, but that is about it and so whenever I hear a place has a lively nightlife I often wonder what else it might have.

After meandering for awhile it seemed that Lyon had nothing more to offer than anywhere else in terms of alternate sourced of mature entertainment. At one stage I found a group of drunken revellers wandering along, with one of them blindfolded and having a sign around his neck that seemed to I gather that he had just completed some level of exams.

Thinking that they might be celebrating it by taking him to a strip club or something, I decided to trail them but after ten minutes I figured that they were all too drunk to find anywhere like that, even if they knew where one was.

Lyons Naturist Club

I must have been wandering for about an hour and I was all about to give up and say that Lyons nightlife was sterile when I spotted two little red lanterns hanging either side of a doorway near the riverfront. Filled with a mix of mischief and adventure I decided to let my personal adrenaline gremlin be victorious and entered the dimly lit doorway.

Crossing the threshold it took only a few moments for me to realize that I had entered a privately run naturist club where nothing sexual was taboo unless you personally said it was.

Passing through a small waiting room where I was given a towel and a locker key and requested to take a shower before venturing into the main club.

Thankfully I am quite confident in both my sexuality and my physical body, so as the place was fairly well heated I had no concerns using jus a towel to protect my dignity.

Stretched out over three levels, the place was quite expansive and there were little rooms coming off it all over the place, but either it is for the very rich or was past its prime as the place was about as quiet as it could be without being totally empty of other patrons.

The ground floor level was set up as a dungeon, where non-stop hardcore porn was fed to the large television screen and a variety of leather, rope, whips, chains and dildo were all available on display to take as use as you saw fit.

The central level was the main reception, changing rooms and shower, sauna, Jacuzzi and bar with its own obligatory dancer's pole, mirrored walls and Enrique Iglesias pumping through the stereo system.

The upper level was more set up fantasy rooms, such as one for a gang bang, a double bed, a water bed, corner bed, the swinging chicken harness, the massage table and even one for those who fancied doing something with gym equipment.

It made perfect sense to me that throughout the place all the furniture was functional first and secondly coated so that they could be easily wiped clean afterwards.

There were also quite a few ornaments of erect penis's decorating the place, but they were tastefully ones and strategically placed rather than overdoing it and ramming them down your throat, though I am sure no one would try to stop you if that was your particular fetish.

I half expected that there would also be a few working girls on the prowl, but either they are forbidden here or they don't bother arriving until after midnight as the place was virtually empty.

All in all, it seemed to be a well laid out club, let down only by the one inevitable truth that a single guy should not really go there alone with any expectation other than to catch a free floor show.

So after about half an hour or solo wanderings, I took myself home again, feeling fairly sure that to my way of thinking I had totally busted the myth that about French and sex.

Last Morning in Lyon

Another of my great ideas had been to book a dawn train to Toulouse, as here was another city where I had already had a good friend waiting to meet up with me again.

Booking a train that left before breakfast would normally have been a bad idea, but for some reason I couldn't stay asleep very long and so well before first light I was up, packed and ready for the day.

Leaving Lyon

Making my bleary way back to the Lyon train station wasn't as bad as their metro service started at ridiculous o'clock in the morning, and I wasn't even the first one on the platform.

One of the few benefits of travelling through Europe and booking in advance was that I had already been able to purchase online and have delivered all my relevant train tickets, which included details of their times and seating arrangements.

The upshot of it all meant that often all I had to do was make my way to the station and find the right platform rather than arrive earlier than necessary in order to find train times and then unravel the mysteries of how to buy a ticket in a foreign country.

It was a double edged sword kind of deal as it took away a bit of the hardship of travel but also a lot of the unexpected and wonder of it all, as I had already done so much from the comfort of my own home.

A Brief Walk through Narbonne, France

The train route from Lyon to Toulouse was not a direct one and required changing at a place called Narbonne which name seems to ring a bell for some reason but right now for the life of me I can't say why.

As my onward connection was over two hours later I decided, backpack and all, to go for a tiny spot of sightseeing, remembering not to stray too far as I didn't have a map for Narbonne and would not want to consider the consequences of missing a train and being stranded here wander and see what the city had to offer.

The area around the train station was pleasant enough, but nothing out of the ordinary and when I did spot a restaurant it was too early to get a full meal and all they could offer was a sandwich.

It never ceases to amaze me that in much of mainland Europe the restaurants seem to keep their own unique opening times and chose to serve food only at select times of the day, and not for the first time I miss the open non-stop greasy spoon café's from home.

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in Toulouse, France

My friend Mira is a very interesting and charismatic person as she has a mixed background of Spanish, Arabic and French and is also fluent in about three other languages. She is also well travelled, has an amazing voice and can easily best me for having a diverse and international group of friends.

My most memorable occasion with her is tagging along to one of her works parties in Dublin only to find that everyone was speaking in German as it was the only language that they were all fluent in besides their own native one!

I made it back in time for my connection with plenty to spare and having already let my Mira know what time my train was due to arrive it was a real pleasure to discover that she had chosen to have a half day off work and meet me at the station.

As Mira lives with her fiancé and his kid, it wasn't really practical for me to stay over with them, but I didn't mind this in the slightest as I had never planned on taking advantage of any of my international friends.

All I hoped for was to have them meet up and spend some time with me, and I had already a complete itinerary of booked hotels and hostels regardless of whether I had a friend in that city or not.

It was a great feeling for me to step off the train and see my friend there waiting with open arms to greet me, and it was a feeling that put a huge smile on my face.

It also took much of the stress and hassle out of the journey as I was sure that my friends would never allow me to get lost or check into a hotel or hostel that was in a rough or dangerous part of town.

A Hotel in Toulouse

As luck would have it I had chosen a hotel very close to the train station, and so a five minute walk was all it took until I was there.

As I was on a very early train over from Lyon I was not surprised when my hotel room was not ready, but it did mean that I could not check in and drop off my rucksack.

However Mira reassured me that I could leave my luggage with the reception and it would be perfectly safe, and that this was acceptable all over France and much of Europe.

So considering I had her as both a witness and to help fight my corner should anything go missing, I somewhat unsurely left my rucksack with them and we headed back into the day.

The apartment that Mira and her fiancé live in was quite a walk from the hotel, being in another part of the city, but the sun was out and although it wasn't hot it was perfect weather for walking and of course having not seen each other for many months we had lots to catch up on.

Meandering down by the riverside we stopped off for an ice-cream and the view of the nearby bridge was so pretty that I couldn't help getting my camera out and snapping away. Putting my camera back away I thought that I had somehow managed to lose Mira, but I found her again by the river's edge with her legs dangling over the side and smiling away like a schoolgirl.

Leaving the river's edge we made our way through the town, and as we did I saw something that just demanded that I pause to give it the attention that it deserved.

Possibly as part of some campaign or as a political statement, I'm not exactly sure which, but in the middle of one of the streets they had cordoned it off an area and erected a mountain of shoes.

Furthermore, perched atop this shoe mountain was a lady dressed as a clown complete who was shouting and calling out to the passers-by.

After being baffled by this unusual structure we continued our walk and eventually arrived at my friend's apartment, which turned out to be modern and beautifully furnished.

Although French is the first language of both Mira and her partner Laurent, they decided for my benefit that they would speak only in English while I was around.

Such generosity succeeded in embarrassing me a little as I could not fail to notice how easily it was for them both, yet the little French I could remember from school was barely enough for me to say my name, age and eye colour.

A Slow Restaurant in Toulouse

To celebrate this reunion, Laurent had booked us a table at a lovely little restaurant that he knew nearby.

Being born and raised in the region, Mira was very proud of her heritage and in the walk to the restaurant she delighted in telling me much of the city's history and culture, more than I could possibly remember in all honestly, but it was great to hear her tell it with such enthusiasm and authority.

Also with architecture being of a mutual interest, they also pointed out that among other things Toulouse was also famous for its unusual bricks colouration and design.

From the outside the restaurant looked very authentic and like a great choice, however a few minutes after we arrived we all began to have second thoughts as the service was appalling.

Apparently, so the waiter told us after, there was also a huge group booking in the room below ours but despite the extra customers the manager felt confident that the junior chef could handle it all by himself.

Such confidence was not shared by the rest of the staff or the majority of customers who like us had to wait over an hour to receive a starter then an equally long delay before being served their main course.

If I had been there alone I would have walked out long ago, likewise both Mira and Laurent would equally have left without paying, but none of us wanted to ruin the night so we all put up with the managers incompetence; though we all agreed to leave only the most minimal of tips on principle.

For tomorrow we planned to visit the medieval castle called Carcassonne, which they promise me that I will love, as well as stopping off for a picnic along the way, so it should be quite an eventful day.

With the delays in restaurant being as long as they were, we didn't really have much of the night left and as we had a busy day ahead I bided them goodbye and hoped on the metro to go back to my hotel.

True to their word, the hotel staff had not touched my rucksack and so breathing a small sigh of relief I headed on up to my room and got a good night sleep.

At this stage my own personal thunder cloud was keeping quite a low profile, and only really laying down a fine misty rain during the nights, doing its best to lull me into a sense of false security that all my weather worries were behind me.

First Morning in Toulouse

When I woke up I discovered that I had come down with a bit of a cold, but as the sun was up before I was and promised to behave I felt that I should be ok and so started to look forward to the day ahead. In fact, the weather has been such a pleasant change these last few days that I was caught a bit unawares and even caught a bit of sunstroke.

Knowing that we were due to have a couple of long car journeys ahead of me I wanted to tuck into a nice hearty breakfast, forgetting that on the continent full fried breakfasts were few and far between.

That said, a bit of fruit, yoghurt and couple of croissants smothered in jam did take the edge off my appetite and of course the picnic should fill me up much more around lunch.

Fresh Meat and Fish Market

A little after breakfast I met up with my Mira and Laurent again and together we headed towards the local fresh meat and fish market in order to pick up a few more bits for the picnic later on.

Having grown up in a small town and never having had time to do much grocery shopping in London I don't think in all my life I have previously wandered round such a vast and ranging market of fresh produce before, I mean this place was huge.

Excepting the extremely rare and the illegal, just about every conceivable meat, fish or bird that is eaten in the known universe was on display here on one corner or aisle.

"Duck heads with feathers and pigs legs with trotters; plump breasted chickens and noses of otters; hard and soft cheeses tied up with string, these are a few of its novelty things."

Ok, I didn't actually see any otter's noses, but I can't think of anything else foodie that rhymed with trotters and then again just because I didn't see it doesn't mean that they were not there!

What was even more amazing than the variety was that most of the meat sellers would even let you cut off a small slice to taste. While I know that I don't currently go to enough fresh food markets, this place sure makes a good argument to start going to them pronto. #32

We ended up with quite a haul of assorted foods and after throwing in some water and fizzy drinks we had all the ingredients for a slap up picnic, continental style.

A Picnic by the Lake

The car journey to visit Carcassonne was due to take a couple of hours, and so we left as soon as we were packed and started out own little road trip.

After an hour or so we stopped off at another place that they knew well and as it turned out I learned that it was beside the banks of a lake reservoir. Looking all around you could see how low the water level was at the moment, its own clear sign that times have changed.

The reservoir banks were gently sloping and filled with sand and hidden from the main road by a thin line of trees, that both cut down the noise and the wind and made the perfect secluded retreat.

Gazing up at the sky as we all relaxed on the sands I could not help but notice that the clouds above had formed themselves into a very eerie pattern, being a thin line stretched directly from one horizon to the other while the rest of the heavens were completely clear.

Once we had ate out gourmet picnic we skimmed some stones and lazed about sunbathing for awhile at it seemed too nice an afternoon to be spent stuck in a car driving, though here I really should have put on some sun block as I got quite a red face before we were back and moving again.

Before we reached Carcassonne we drove past the space centre, and for a long moment I considered asking if we could just stop off for a few minutes to take some photos, but then as I could not see anywhere safe to pull over I decided against it.

The real shame of it was that even though I was due to have a day to myself tomorrow, the NASA centre will be closed tomorrow and so I can't even catch a bus and visit it solo.

Medieval Carcassonne, France

After another hour or so we turned off the main road and as we climbed along some winding steep roads we saw the castle turrets peaking over the tree tops, and already I could see that it was a lot bigger than I had imagined.

As we were pulling off the road into one of the nearby parking lots I saw the ideal place to stop and take a photo, but it was right in the middle of the road, so I just hoped that the view from close up would be as impressive.

Once we got inside the castle grounds the whole place seem to open out in front of us and I was amazed at how well preserved and complete the castle was. Carcassonne was no mere ruins this by any stretch of the imagination, and in fact there is still a thriving community that works inside its protective perimeter.

Although there are no residential houses within the castle's defences, it does boast at least two high class hotels in addition to the plethora of tourist shops and restaurants that abound.

To add a touch of medieval drama to the proceedings, most of the store vendors were garbed in period costumes, which looked really great and left me wondering if they made them by hand or if there was a central company that would produce as many as required.

Sitting atop its steep hillside the castle has a very impressive view overlooking all the surrounding fields and despite its height when I offered to take Mira's picture she literally bounded up onto the wall and stood posing on the narrow stone window ledge, exposed to the winds within the oversized window space.

I have never thought of myself as particularly scared of heights but never-the-less I still took a bit more caution when it was my turn to pose, and though the view out across the surrounding fields was very impressive I refrained from looking directly down off of the ramparts.

The inner keep and gatehouse had so many turrets and towers that I soon stopped counting, but having seen it I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that Walt Disney visited here prior to sketching out his own iconic palace.

Over the course of the next few hours we walked and wandered, we gazed and admired, and as far as history and culture are concerned I doubt I could have hit a bigger jackpot without leaving Europe. Although I had never heard of it before today, just one brief visit and I was a total convert and it instantly became one of my all time favourite places to visit.

As we continued to exploring the city I must have taken hundreds of photos, and I could easily have kept snapping away all day long.

However the time just flew by and so it felt like only a few moments before we were making our way back to the car park and heading back to Toulouse.

I was not at all surprised to learn that the attraction was and is still so popular that the French had built a small international airport nearby, with both main and budget airlines flying there direct from all over Europe.

I was also only half surprised to hear that during an earlier visit the singer Michael Jackson had enjoyed his stay here so much that he decided to return and when he did so he rented out the entire main hotel for a weekend.

A Brief Twilight Walk around Toulouse

Returning to Toulouse, Mira and Laurent dropped me back in the centre of town and bade me adieu as they went back to their apartment, while I chose to see what delights the centre of Toulouse could offer during the late evening and early night.

Having already watched everything I was even remotely interested in seeing that was currently doing the rounds in cinemas across Europe, I found that outside of the usual offering of restaurants and quiet bars, there was not much to do after dark.

I was particularly surprised to discover that whenever I happened to pass an exotic bar it would inevitably be closed and not due to open for at least a few more hours yet.

Laurent also kindly offered to let me crash over in their apartment for the night and offered me a lift to the airport the following day after he knew that my flight was incredibly early in the morning.

Although I always attempted to avoid such ludicrous flight times whenever I could, sometimes the extra cost of not doing so was just too high, this being one example, as my flight was under half the price of a more sensible departure time.

With hindsight I could have asked directions to the nearest British Pub, but at the time I had not the wit to enquire.

Britain being known as nation of prolific drinkers does have this one tiny saving grace, most cities that are frequented by foreign tourists will have at least one dedicated British pub, either owned by locals or just as commonly owned by a British Expat.

With not much going on that I could find, I was keen to review the events of the day, so I soon made my way back to my hotel and retired early.

Final Morning in Toulouse

Being a normal Monday, both Mira and Laurent were busy today, but following her suggestion I decided to take her advice and so I planned to visit the city of Albi, which is only an hour away by train and well worth a visit in her opinion.

However, as I planned on taking Laurent up on both his offers I had to check out of my hostel a day early. Normally this would involve me then having to lug around my rucksack with me for the day, however again following Mira's advice I decided to risk leaving it in the hotels reception another time.

Not having a proper laptop bag I even had to leave my laptop in the main rucksack, which was something I almost never did, and I have no idea what I would have done had anything happened to it.

A Whistle Stop in Albi, France

Catching the train over was comfortable and easy but trying to guess which train station I should alight was slightly more tricky, as the wrong one would leave me with a fairly long walk back to the Cathedral, and of course being unscheduled I also did not have a map of the area.

With a mixture of luck and educated guesswork, I headed into what I assumed was the centre of the Albi and very soon spotted the tall steeple of its Cathedral to guide me the last few streets, though in doing so I almost got stuck in car park and ended up having to climb a very steep bank to escape without doubling back.

I must say, upon viewing the Cathedral it was a trip well worth making as it was a very impressive feat of architecture and from its position had a wonderful view overlooking the hillside. The actual entrance and roof work of the Cathedral were wonderfully ornate and detailed, casting elegant shadows upon the ground.

Here in Albi the weather could not be more ideal, as there were almost no clouds in the sky and the sun was shining down bright and glorious, so much so that I stripped down to as little as I could and regretted even bringing my mini rucksack with me.

The only real shame was that I had once again forgotten about South Europe's siesta time, and had arrived here a fraction before lunchtime. Thus almost everywhere was closed and this included the tourist information centre.

I am afraid to say that being denied a map or a brochure really pissed me off, despite it being partly my fault, and I am afraid to say that instead of me enjoying a leisurely day in Albi I built up a head of steam and decided that as soon as I had taken a few photos I would come right back to Toulouse. #33

It was a few months later before I realised that as Churches and Cathedrals were such large and dimly lit buildings that they could not be photographed with the normal indoor setting, instead I had to use my tripod and either the night time or firework setting.

On the train back to Toulouse a census taker handed me a questionnaire without even checking to see if I could read or write any French. At first I ignored the form, but quickly inquisitiveness took over as I wanted to know if my French was adequate enough for me to complete it or not. After labouring over it for most of the journey I ended up surprised and chuffed for having understood enough to justify giving what I felt were fair responses.

A Small Taste of Home

As soon as I reached Toulouse I realised my mistake as after returning to the hotel and collecting my suitcase I was still had several hours to wait till I was due to meet up with my Mira once more.

Unsure of what else I could do I walked round in ever increasing circles searching for something to do and as luck would have it, it was a John Bull pub called the Old London Town. The pub was decoration appeared quite authentic, and I loved the fact that they had a chessboard even if one of the pawns had been borrowed from a different set.

Another nice touch was that the landlady was a slim brunette with tattoos and she went about marking up all the blackboards with all the events in October that they were hosting, complete with a bilingual pub quiz.

Seeing it up there it reminded me that I might want to do find another English style pub at the end of October to enable me to celebrate Halloween properly, something I always love to do.

And while it had no pool table or jukebox, it did have a collection of reading books and a television to watch a game of soccer on, albeit from Seria A and not the Premiership, so with a freshly poured pint of cider and a packet of crisps I whiled away the remaining time until my friends finished work.

Last Night in Toulouse

Once Mira finished work we all met up again and headed over to their apartment for my last night in their city. While we ate our evening meal we chatted freely and I learned that Albi was actually her place of birth, which explains how she knew it so well and was so keen that I visit there.

Being a keen lover of sleight of hand and magic tricks, I took the opportunity to show off one of the only trick I knew that I could do without any prep work or marked cards.

It went down well, especially with Laurent's young son Rafael, and then we all settled in to watch some French soap opera before a very early night.

Leaving Toulouse, France

Thanks to Laurent giving me a lift right to the airport I was able to sleep in later than I thought, and as I had also grabbed an early night yesterday I was neither grouchy nor sleepy as I repacked my rucksack for an international flight.

With hugs all round and a promise to keep in touch, I bid Mira and Laurent a fond farewell and then made my way to the airports check in desk.

For the first time since I left home I passed through an emigration checkpoint who took more than a casual interest in the contents of my little rucksack, and such was their fascination that they made me open it up and allow them to examine the contents.

Despite feeling slighted and un-randomly chosen, I nevertheless allowed them to rummage in my bag, unsure as to what it was that they had spotted on the x-ray machine to cause them to stop me.

With an audible cry of 'Au Voila' he proudly pulled out his suspect item, only to realise its innocence and his mistake when he discovered that it was a genuine shop bought DVD and neither a bomb nor a pirate DVD that I was trying to smuggle through customs.

Feeling rather smug, I was barely able to suppress the vindicated grin that so was trying to plant itself upon my face, as I was handed back my rucksack by the disappointed guard and told to proceed.

Having kept in good touch with Mira through emails and the occasional messenger chats, I was very happy to learn that a few months after I returned to England that she had recently fell pregnant with their first child together. I wish them all a very happy and healthy future and am looking forward to meeting up again when finances permit.

Brief Return to Home Soil

When I first began to organise and book my flights I was under the impression that I was going to be doing Europe last, and that the cheapest way to reach Brazil was via Spain.

This plan later changed due to timing problems and so instead of trying to rebook everything else I sort of hurriedly bolted on most of Europe at the beginning.

Up until now this was never an issue, but here it became one as there was no cheap airline offering flights over the Alps from Toulouse to Barcelona, and so my cheapest solution by far was to get an indirect flight via Gatwick back in the UK of all places.

In fact, far from being a one off, I have found that this is much more frequent than I first thought.

For instance, when I was initially planning on flying to Egypt, Morocco and Mali I found that it was far cheaper to get return flights to each of them from Madrid in Spain than buy direct flights from one to the next, and Spain isn't even in the same continent as the other countries.

I have since found out that you can take a lengthy but allegedly picturesque train journey from Toulouse to Barcelona, but in my defence when I searched the web looking for train routes I didn't find it, hence why I resorted to flying.

So it was that in order to reach my next destination I had to first board a flight back to good old Blighty as part of my odyssey.

While it could be argued that technically my actual round the world trip did not start until I boarded my outbound flight from Gatwick, I don't feel that this one hour stop over really. #34

~~ **** ~~

Kingdom of Spain

Barcelona \- Arrived on 30th September 2008.

Valencia \- Arrived on 1st October 2008.

Madrid (Capital City) - Arrived on 3rd October 2008.

Alcala de Henares **-** Arrived on 3rd October 2008.

~~ **** ~~

Arriving in Barcelona, Spain

After my brief hiatus I was back on schedule and soon touching down in my final European country on this first leg of my trip.

I was both impressed and disappointed in the airport and Barcelona, for much the same item, the travelling walkways.

All the main areas of the terminal were linked to each other through a system of moving walkways that were rubber and springy, and sort of left the impression that I was moon walking, bounding along merrily. Built to support extra heavy luggage and trolleys they were kitted out with a suspension system that was also very easy going on the old leg joints.

However, whatever initial joy I felt at being able to bounce like Tigger through the airport evaporated when the route to the luggage carrousel failed to end when the main airport started and soon after I realised that I had to cross the entire terminal just to pick up my rucksack.

The cynic in me spotted the reason for this deliberate ploy right away, having to cross the entire terminal meant that you were also going past every shop and restaurant in the place, thus chances are that the average arriving passenger will buy something have skyrocketed, especially if you think there will be a long wait before your luggage is disgorged out into the main collection area.

Refusing to fall for such a blatant marketing scam, I finally grabbed my rucksack and headed out through the arrivals lounge, shunning the black and yellow taxis that looked like a procession of giant wasps and instead turned my attention to the intercity bus stop.

Occasional Hero

The travelling business cards that I always carried with me had on them, among other things, that I was an occasional hero.

Now, although I included it with a certain amount of humour and have never claimed to have any super powers, I do feel that sometimes being in the right place at the right time, and being prepared to do the right thing regardless of the inconvenience factor, can be enough to elevate a person to 'occasional hero' status.

I had already bought my ticket and was about to get onboard the bus when the plight of a frustrated couple of British families caught my attention.

Apparently they did not believe in travelling with credit cards and so while they had booked for things online they had also brought with them enough cash to see them through the fortnight holiday.

This logic seemed ok at first glance, but the Spanish airport car hire firm would not accept cash as an acceptable form of payment to rent out their cars and so both families were stuck at the airport unsure of what to do and desperately trying to call home to anyone who could help.

Now I did consider that it might all be an elaborate con, but I felt that I could not just ignore them, as the Spanish authorities were less than helpful and it did seem rather unusual and unfair to my mind as well.

So I got chatting with them and when they half jokingly asked if I had a credit card I surprised everyone by immediately and willingly saying that I did and that in exchange for cash I would be happy to put the two lease vehicle charges on my card. #35, #36

Being honest, I doubt that my inner hero would have been as eager to help if it was just a couple of lads travelling alone, but the thought of how frightened and upset the children would be at this point tipped the balance firmly in their favour.

Considering it was their first time in Spain I half expected that the children must already be feeling unsettled and so after their patience runs out, if they started to lose confidence in their parents as well then it could all quickly degenerate into a nightmare holiday for all of them.

The appreciation of the two families was clear, and at one point I almost ended up travelling along with them to their holiday hotel resort, but then I remembered that I was only meant to be here one night and so the longer I dallied here the less time that I would have in the city centre.

So after they thanked me a final time, I waved good bye and climbed onboard the next bus to the city centre, happy that I had done a good deed and also partly earned the right to have included the descriptive blurb on my business cards

A Hostel in Barcelona

Using the hostels directions as a guide, I got off the bus at the appointed stop and then descended down into the metro station in order to catch the transfer to my hostel.However, once out at street level I still had a hard time finding the place, especially as it wasn't exactly well advertised or visible from ground level.

The hostel was actually on the middle floor of a really old period building and had a wonderfully gothic metal cage elevator that looked so aged, fragile yet unyielding that it could have come right out of a Stephen King book.

It also had an aged looking intercom system, but despite this the place wasn't very secure as after signalling them to let me in all I said was "hola" and they buzzed me right in.

True, they could have guessed from my hideous accent that I was not a local and thus likely in need of accommodation, but that's hardly a good enough reason if you ask me to buzz after just replying hello.

But far from being unhappy, I found the whole ensemble terrific and promised an interesting stay. Once inside, I found that the style and atmosphere was quite relaxed and friendly, with free Wi-Fi and breakfast but not free sheets or pillow cases.

I was about to get concerned when I spotted that they didn't have any locks on the rooms, but then I relaxed when I found out that they did have large lockers in the rooms that were lockable and as a bonus they also provided you with the key free of charge.

Barcelona Beach

With barely a day to spend here, I hardly paused to glance at the rest of the hostel, or even its surrounding area, before making a beeline for the beach.

Having already researched where the beach was, I jumped back on the very reliable public transport system, and was soon strolling along merrily with yellow sand beneath my trainers, as I had not taken the time to switch into my flip-flops.

The air seemed hot and humid, but without any actual sun, so despite not being sunbathing weather it was still nice to laze on one of the many sun loungers.

I was surprised by how few people were at the beach, but I had to remind myself that for the locals today could hardly be considered hot. Quite the reverse of the old mad dogs and Englishmen phenomena, only crazy tourists go out to the beach when it's cold.

With my watch and other valuables that I had on me wrapped up in my shirt as a cushion, I kept one eye out on anyone who was approaching and used the other the try and take in as much as I could.

I'm not sure if it was a nudist beach or not, but I did spot a nearby young lady without her bikini top on, obviously doing her best to avoid getting tan lines.

With a cool breeze blowing in from across the water the beach would have been ideal to lie back and relax were it not for the two irritating noises that shattered the tranquillity.

The first being a couple of bronzed locals playing a game of thwack ball, or at least that's what it sounded like. Using two wooden paddles and a hard rubber ball they continued to smack the ball between each other, with each strike echoing through the entire beach.

The second was the beaches flag cord whipping against its pole in the wind, and for the life of me I wanted to either make it extra tight or extra lose just to break up the rhythm of the beats.

After about an half an hour I was approached by a lady offering massages right down on the beach front, and never having been offered one before, I accepted just for the sheer novelty value.

What I didn't realise is that they must need licences or something, in order to do so, as half way through she suddenly stopped and ducked out of sight from a cruising squad car.

Had I realised that it was slightly dodgy I would have thought twice before accepting her offer, especially having only just arrived.

Once the patrol passed, she returned to her work and though it was ok, the fact that she had stopped half way through meant it was never going to be a great massage experience.

Once she had finished I paid her and then took a slightly more circular route back to my hostel, mainly because I got on the wrong bus that took me first to a university campus.

Thankfully being a bigger tourist destination that Lyon, although many of the restaurants still closed around mid-afternoon, the ones along the main and central strips stayed open all day.

The main strip, being Las Ramblas, also has many street acts, like the moving statues, but I had already grown tired of them before I started this trip and so these days I scarcely paused to look at them. On the other hand, if they were jugglers or street magicians then that would have been a different matter entirely.

Barcelona After Dark

Having eaten and changed back in my hostel, I knew that I wanted to make the most of my time here, but I didn't feel like going nightclubbing on my own, and even my appetite for movies and cinemas was already satisfied, so instead I went in search of alternate entertainment.

They say that there are certain cities that never sleep, and certainly Barcelona seemed one such place.

As I had already missed visiting the Big Sisters back when I was in Prague, and I had a good idea of where I would be heading in Thailand, so I figured that a fair comparison would be to visit the Bagdad club, a place that the internet described as the biggest and old club of its kind in Europe.

The Bagdad Club

At the other end of the city was a club that promised a show of erotic entertainment, not exactly high art, but at least it attempted to be something other than a front for a knocking shop. Much like a theatre, it had a fixed show and although it was open for six hours, each performance only lasted two unless you paid for another ticket.

Walking through the entrance I bought a fairly expensive ticket, all things considered, and wandered through to the main stage, avoiding the front row for obvious reasons. The décor seemed a bit tacky but it did enough to narrowly avoid also appearing seedy, though perhaps as the night drew on that line too would be crossed.

Similar to the set up in the Big Sister house in Prague, the venue had multiple webcams and was being streamed live over the internet, so I guess that simply because I entered within, there is a small chance that I might be on a small clip whizzing round the internet.

Waiting near the back for the main show to start, I could not fail to notice that the place was mostly empty and also that a few of the female performers were making the rounds trying to entice the clientele into buying them an overpriced drink in exchange for a quick chat, and when I say overpriced I mean I have bought cheaper airline tickets.

I must not have sounded convincing when I declined her the first time, as she took my reply as a haggle, but rather than lowering her price she said that if I upped the money we could go backstage and do anything I wanted.

Stunned into silence at how much she felt she was worth for a few minutes backstage, all I could do was shake my head in refusal and this time she got the message and moved on to another audience member.

In the first half of the show the most entertaining act was a young brunette duo, dressed in school uniforms and each time they threw the ball the other had to remove an article of clothing.

Once naked the act became slightly more sexual with them playing with vibrators, but it was all very theatrically and neither made any real attempt to reach a climax.

Audience Participation

Shortly after the midway point, a smoking hot Brazilian woman with real curves and a mischievous smile stepped upon the podium and began her performance.

Like all the other performers, she did a little striptease and pole dancing but a few minutes into her set she took the act to the next level as she beckoned a guy me onto the stage and lie down for her.

First she undid his flies, pulled down his trousers and boxers and then straddling him gave him a few dry humps for the sake of the audience.

Then she switched into the classic sixty-nine position and allowing him to kiss her privates, she rolled on a condom using nothing but her tongue, and did it so quickly and easily that I would bet she had practiced that move hundreds of times before.

For her finale, with the guy from the audience now wearing protection, she moved back and straddled him again, guiding him into her for a few deep penetrating thrusts.

I was curious to see how far it would go, but as quickly as it started it was over, as before either even came close to an orgasm she stopped, kissed him on the cheek and then ushered him off the stage in time for the next performer.

Apparently that was the most the audience or performers were allowed to do on stage without crossing the line. Well, either that or that was all she was going to give away as a freebee!

My second guess proved to be correct, as after her set was over she came back out on our side of the stage and made a beeline right for the guy who she had been performing with. Needing almost no further encouragement or persuasion the guy was again out of his chair and following her backstage before you could blink.

What amused me was that one of the other audience members got up and moved to sit in the same seat that the other guy had only recently vacated, and considering it could not be for the view, I can only assume that he figured that he had located the hot seat for audience participators.

I stayed for one more act before getting the feeling that I had already seen the best of the show and not wanting to be getting back too late I left before the final curtain; started the long walk back to my hostel. #37

A Long Walk Back

To finish of the night perfectly, as I was walking back I happened to pass a traditional English pub that even at this late hour was still doing brisk business, mainly thanks to the barman drumming up trade through a coin toss promotion.

First I had to order and then once I had been served the barman would flip a coin, boobs or butt coin and if I guessed right then my drink would be free of charge.

While it seemed to be that they were giving away free drinks, the point was that by this stage I had already been enticed into the venue and few people enter a bar at this time of night and only stay for one.

Having always been a boob man, my choice was obvious and as my luck held; my vodka and coke ended up being on the house.

After my first drink I did indeed consider staying for a second, but by this time the barman was busy chatting up a new female customer so instead I shrugged and headed back into the darkness.

Running the Gauntle of Streetwalkers

Because the cities metro stopped running around midnight, I had a very long walk back to my hostel ahead of me, and I was sure to have tired feet before the end.

Not wanting to risk getting lost at this time I had little choice but to walk back along the main strip of La Ramblas, despite the route being the main stomping ground for many of Barcelona's street walkers.

By the time I reached my hostel I had been approached by at least five such ladies, but that is not really my scene so regardless of how pretty they might have been I just smiled and shook my head before they even got close.

Back in my hostel room it was still fairly hot and muggy, despite being well after midnight, so after gulping down a few glasses of water and splashing some on my face, I just stripped down to nothing and crashed on my mattress, thankful that I was at the top of a pair of bunk beds.

A New Morning in Barcelona

In hindsight I guess I should have asked if they minded if I just left it there while I went gallivanting around for a few more hours, but even coming right after Lyon I didn't have enough wits to think of asking if they had a safe storage room that I could use until I was due to catch my train.

After a snack filled breakfast, I had a cool shower and then tried to stuff as much into my rucksack as possible, as I was shortly to check out and doubted that I would be returning to my hostel this trip. #38

With my rucksack on my back, I headed out into the city centre and hoped that I could find something interesting to see where my luggage would not be a hindrance. Thankfully the sky was clear and the day promised to be a scorcher.

The first place that I came across was a huge indoor market, one of the biggest so I was told, and certainly it looked easily as big as the one in Lyon.

Almost regretting that I hadn't paid it a visit earlier, I knew that I didn't have any extra space to buy anything so I nosed around a little but didn't spend too much time before moving on.

As Barcelona is both an old city and an old port, exploring its streets and avenues I could tell that it had different quarters, some that were perfectly safe for a tourist to meander down and others I doubt I would have entered with anything less than a fully armed escort.

The Works of Gaudi

Antoni Gaudi was a Catalan architect born in 1852, who's ideas were so revolutionary and unique that his style and influence can still be seen in many places today.

However, there was one unifying factor that seemed to sew all the districts together and that was the influence of one of the city's most famous sons, the Artist and Architect Gaudi.

Considering he designed around seven of the city's most impressive buildings, each with their own individual style and theme, including Barcelona's Cathedral, but arguably his most famous work was the building called La Pedrera.

When I arrived in Barcelona I was largely ignorant of his works, but having plenty of walking yesterday I had already spotted several interesting and unusual buildings and when I returned this morning to visit the first one I soon learned that all of the ones that had caught my eye were among his creations.

La Pedrera

Because of the threat constantly posed by ETA, several years ago the city council decided to step up the security measures around La Pedrera, considering it too important a building to let just anyone wander round unchecked.

To safeguard its security, much like an airport terminal, in the main entrance they have installed security scanners and also a separate bag room where you must hand in all bags and suitcases, which for me with my rucksack was a lucky break.

From the outside, looking up at La Pedrera I could see that it was very unlike any other residential block that I had ever seen. In direct contrast to the average residential block, which does its best to look identical and symmetrical, La Pedrera was an organised chaos of curves and differences.

So fascinated was I, that even thought there was a small admission charge to enter within, I could not walk away without first taking a curious glance at the interior.

Once through the main entrance, and relieved of my rucksack, I was handed a multilingual walkie talkie style radio guide and was instructed to press play whenever I entered a new section of the building.

The guide suggested that I take a leisurely two hour tour of the building, but as I didn't have two hours to spare, I hoped that I could see enough in one.

La Pedrera was designed to be a block of individual residential apartments, no two apartments being the same, and although some have since been converted to office blocks the majority remain and form the bulk of the attractions.

The first thing that struck me was that Gaudi had a great knowledge and understanding of architecture, stress lines and the ability to create space using struts and arches as well as supporting walls. Most modern open planned offices and airports still use the same principals today.

The second key feature is that every room in the entire building, from kitchen to storeroom, has access to natural light thanks, due both to the way in which he laid out the floor plan and through the inventive use of adding light access corridors and open vertical shafts that span the entire height of the building.

Not content with simply designing the structure and layout of the building, Gaudi also focused him talent and imagination on the furniture within.

Walking around in amazement, I would have to say that every colour, shape, size and texture had been used to create the most luxurious of apartments possible. Also being the consummate perfectionist that he was, he even went so far as to design and create hexagonal floor tiles and even ergonomic chairs, in a time when such ideas were almost unheard of.

Making my way up I entered the attic, which was originally just designed to support the intricate roof, but had since been converted into part of the museum and displays several wire models of his works, including one that I could only view upside down in a mirror.

When I finally reached the roof, I was expecting it to just have a magnificent view of the city, being as high as it was, so when I stepped out and witnessed was at the top was a complete surprise.

Gaudi's attention and creativity had not ended at the attic, far from it, for instead of just topping it with a boring flat roof, here he complemented it all with a very beautiful finishing touch.

The roof of La Pedrera was designed to be multi-levelled and boasts a unique chimneys system that was meant to look as though smoke is still bellowing from deep within, though personally I felt they looked more like helmets than anything else.

As I looked at them in more detail I suddenly realised that I had seen them before, as their images had been used on just about every postcard and tour guide of the city that I had come across.

I left La Pedrera amazed at how much personality and character an architect can build into it, and although I didn't have the time to visit others I did wonder what inspired him to design the building that was adorned with giant skulls, which again I could not see at first glance, thinking that they were giant oyster shells.

The View from Montjuïc Castle

Built in the mid 17th Century, Montjuïc Castle is located on the top of one of the highest parts of the city, and has been used as a barracks, prison and place of execution as well as a museum in more recent times.

I knew that I had only another couple of hours here before my train ride down the coast to Valencia and so being a lover of military history, my final destination was clear, I was off to visit Montjuïc Castle which overlooks Barcelona.

Like most castles situated for defence, Montjuïc castle was built atop the largest hill in the region, making it harder to storm and also giving its guards the most notice of an approaching army.

Nowadays, what this means is that to visit the castle you either need to walk an insanely long zigzag route, catch a bus, or the quickest method by far which is to take the funicular cable car which zips right up the side of the hill.

Being short of time I opted for the cable car, and lucked out again by getting one all to myself, so I had plenty of opportunity to take photographs of the surrounding area, but as getting a car to myself was unexpected I wasn't prepared enough to try my hand at another multiplicity shoot.

Montjuïc castle is a great example of a European castle of its time, being still almost fully intact and the local authorities do an admirable job of keeping it restored and open to the public.

The outer courtyard area has plenty of wall to walk along and peer over, boasts cannons of both the colonial and modern era and also a couple of little restaurants and ice-cream shops that in the heat were at risk of selling out.

Admiring the view, I dumped my rucksack for a few minutes while I licked and slurped my way through a slightly expensive ice-cream and cola, but considering the unrivalled view I didn't mind a bit.

Thinking back to home for a moment, I sent a few text messages off to family and friends updating them on my progress and saying how wonderful the weather has been recently, as the sky had been mostly rain free for the whole week and today especially the sun could hardly seem hotter for this time of year.

Had I scheduled myself more time I would have loved to have stayed there longer and enter the inner keep of the castle, which has since been restored into a military museum, but alas my train was due to leave shortly and I still had to get back down the hill and find the train station.

I think that one of my messages must have got misdirected to my own personal rain cloud, who then decided that they had left me alone for long enough and so they should catch me up and start keeping me company again fairly soon.

Barcelona's Underground Train Station

Catching another empty cable car down, I then made my way to the train station, and the connections across town were so smooth that I somehow managed to get ahead of myself.

Having said that, I am glad that I was coming here via public transport, for most of the train station is underground and when I first searched for it on the map I completely missed it as I was looking for a huge building only at street level it isn't.

Having said that, what it lacked in visibility it made up for in security, rivalling most airports and I even had to pass my rucksack though an x-ray scanner before boarding.

Leaving Barcelona

Being a train commuter for the last few years, I was hoping for a smooth ride down along the coast and a chance to plan for my time in Valencia but within a few minutes of pulling out of the station I had found something far better to occupy my time.

I have never taken a train ride along the Mediterranean coast before, but if I get the chance I will do so again and it was without doubt the most beautiful and scenic journey I have ever taken.

In fact, the guy that I shared the carriage with could easily be forgiven if he thought that I had never seen a train before, as the whole time I was rubber necking and jumping from seat to seat looking out of one window or another.

I think if I ever take that trip again I will take a video camera with a long running battery pack with tripod, and then just mount it beside a window set to record the whole trip.

A Most Picturesque Train Journey

From out of the windows I caught a kaleidoscope of flying images and colours, each one an encapsulated moment in time.

Green mountain ranges rose up majestically, with idyllic hamlets had been erected centuries before. Cresting their ridges sat a long abandoned fort, battered by the elements by still standing proud and immortal like something out of an epic fantasy novel.

Massive swathes of scarred orange earth lay all around, eaten away by glaciers and erosion, now displaying their soil like the cross section in a textbook.

Golden yellow sandy beaches stretched on for miles, too far out for most tourists except a single determined sunbather on their towel, seemingly challenging the waves themselves.

Shimmering blue waves, accompanied by their white foamy wash, crested and crashing against the dull grey rocks, flattened and smoothed by repetition.

Orchards in geometric symmetry coexisted peacefully with neighbouring groves growing wild and chaotic.

Slate roofed bungalows competed against apartment blocks and hotels for prime waterfront location, all the while a farm labourer had paused from his work and having leaned up his aging bicycle now stood munching a sandwich.

And just moments before it pulled into Valencia I spotted a modern casino that flashed its neon signs at me, beckoning me closer; but thankfully gambling is not really my chosen vice.

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in Valencia, Spain

The train journey from Barcelona had been a pleasantly unexpected treat that after alighting at Valencia it instantly topped my all time favourite train routes. Admittedly this is a relatively new and as yet unqualified chart, but nevertheless this goes in right at the number one spot.

Having been surrounded by so much colour and nature for the past few hours, my mind was still clouded up in a world of poetry, and I barely even noticed my surroundings as I drifted through the Valencia train station and merrily headed on out towards my hostel.

A Hostel in Valencia

Feeling a little braver, or more careless, than normal I chose a direct route to my hostel that took me through a few side and back streets, handy but also meant that I had no idea where anything else was when I arrived at my hostel.

The next hostel I had booked promised much, as it was another large chain branded international hostel and its website had displayed many interesting and inviting images and attractions.

Having been midway through a beginner's Spanish course in London before my group teacher decided to return home, and not having bothered to try in Barcelona, I was newly determined to try and put my limited linguistic skills to good use.

However before I even opened my mouth the receptionist greeted me with an English hello, which caught me completely off guard and before I knew it I had said hello back and was giving her my name and reservation details without so much as an stab at a Spanish accent.

Realising what I had done, I mentally shrugged and continued on in English, fairly certain that I would have ample time at practicing my Spanish over the next two months while travelling up through South America.

The hostels security was fairly tight as I was given a security card which I was reminded not to lose as they opened the doors, and also a purple business card that had my individual details on it and had to be shown whenever I entered the building as without one I would not be allowed to pass beyond the reception.

After checking in I took a wander around the hostel and decided that it must be the off season here too, as the place looked a little empty and quiet, and not the bustling hub of activity that its website suggested.

While it boasted a pool table, bar and laundrette, the pool table cloth needed replacing and levelling out, the bar was mostly empty except for couples enjoying a private drink and the laundrette was in the attic space and closed at 10pm, whether it was still in use or not.

I found this out the hard way when I came back expecting to be able to dry out my clothes and found the stairway padlocked up for the night.
In the common room I found alongside a lot of the usual batch of other hostels in neighbouring cities but also quite a lot of tourist books about other places, in a way making their own library of tour guides.

Despite being in competition with each other, as they are usually run and owned by former travellers, the staff and hostels go out of their way to be a font of all knowledge when it comes to travelling and not just in their own city but to as many places as possible. #39

This is especially true if you have not made a route and just packed a rucksack and headed out, as the native hostels can tell you where the absolute cheapest local restaurant is but the bigger hostels will often have travel information on neighbouring cities and crossing international borders.

They also all have great stories to tell, which helped put my own exploits into perspective.

Stowing away my stuff I found that I happened to be sharing a ten bed dorm with a bunch of German party animals, and were I more of a drunken socialite myself I might have tried to break into the group, but as it was I just kept my distance and dashed out as soon as I had shut my locker.

n fact, I deeply regret that my Dictaphone machine was not working as I know there is a great big book of real travel stories out there waiting to be written, and I am sure that not only is a real page turner, but it will also be an eye opener and a rib tickler at the same time.

Valencia City Centre

As I had already lost part of the day to the train ride over, I did not want to lose any more so I struck out in search of an interesting diversion and almost instantly became lost.

The reason being that Valencia is a maze of small roads, so many in fact that hardly any of them are bothered to be labelled or even indexed on the tourist city map that I had with me.

After passing through five unknown streets I finally turned into one that was and found that I was quite a way off where I thought I was, and this was using my wrist compass.

I also found out that part of my mistake was that the map makers had not chosen to orientate the map so that North was at the top of the map, something that I was not expecting and makes little sense to me. #40

Tear-Up Advertising Fliers

Now it might be that I just never spotted them before, but I was very taken with the A4 paper tear-off strip advertisements.

The basic idea is that you have most of the page being a normal advert for something, but the bottom section is all perforated into thin strips with the contact details on there, and so rather than having to write anything down if you like it you just tear off a strip and take it away with you.

I mention it here as here in Spain the idea seems to have caught on much more than in other cities as they were on almost every shop window and telegraph pole that I came across.

The Beach at Valencia

Feeling confident that public transport was the way to go, I spent a good while wandered around trying to find a station or stop and I really think they need to be better signposted at ground level.

Having finally located one, I breezed through the process of buying a pack of ten, then wanting to make the most of the sun I headed off in the direction of the beach.

Choosing the direct route I was momentarily thrown when the tram stopped half way and ordered everyone off, and it was only a few minutes later that I found out that unless you take the longer round-the-houses route you have to switch trams midway.

After a short delay I made it to the beach and was greeted by a long stretch of soft golden sand, sun loungers and the typical round sun shade umbrellas.

The temperature was scorching, the waves were lapping gentle and it amazed me that during the middle of the day; with no shops or restaurants open that the place was not packed full of locals and tourists alike.

Despite it being a lovely warm day, I guess for the locals it was not considered hot enough to sunbathe, as the beach was almost empty.

One of the problems with travelling alone is that I had no one that I could trust to leave my belongings with, so as I didn't want to run the risk of leaving my valuables unguarded I had to pass on stripping down and going for a dip in the ocean.

I enjoyed the change of pace and stretched out happy to do nothing for a couple of hours in the sun before my inner excitement gremlin nagged me into agreeing that I really ought to do something more than just sunbathe, and so I headed off back to town. #41

Valencia's Infra-Red Light District

On my way back I passed through an area that I had read somewhere was considered to be a notorious red light district, however after a bit of curious nosing around I was far from sure that I had the right area.

However, either times had really changed or the author was talking about some other place entirely as there was absolutely nothing there to suggest there was any illicit or erotic shenanigans going on in the neighbourhood.

Now, not that I make it my business to investigate every red light district that I can find, but having worked in London and recently passed through such places like Amsterdam and Zurich I have formed a rough idea of what makes an area red light and this place seemed far from what I have come to expect from such regions.

I couldn't spot a single neon lit bar, strip joint or street walker on any of the corners or side streets.

Valencia's Bashful Birds

Not having come upon anything else that caught my attention, I arrived back at my hostel around mid evening, and at this time I noticed something that tickled my funny bone.

Although I could not see it, there must have been a very small bird that was sitting in the tree right outside my hostel, but the bird was very shy and stopped when I got close enough to inspect the tree.

Partly to amuse myself and part to test my theory I actually crossed the road and waited to see what would happen when other people walked by. Sure enough I was right as each time a person got within a few meters the bird would cease it singing for as long as it took for that person to walk on by.

For a moment out of sheer devilment I considered climbing the tree or making a lot of noise to scare it, but then sanity returned and I quietly and respectfully gave the tree a wide birth and entered my hostel.

Back in the hostel I decided to take a look at their tourist board and found that I had missed my chance to visit the newly built Science and leisure complex to the south east of the city, as there was no metro station nearby and as it closed in about an hour it was too far to walk.

However, on the positive side I did notice that tonight was the night when a local late night cafe was having a performance by a travelling Flamenco troupe, and this I felt sure was something that I would really get a kick out of watching.

As the show didn't open until almost midnight I knew that I wouldn't be able to stay awake long enough to enjoy it unless I took a little nap now, so with ear plugs in and hoping that my German roommates would be out all night I retired extra early and set my alarm.

Flamenco Night Life

I woke up with plenty of time and took a tram across the city to as close as I could get to the café, planning on picking a good seat out early. That was the plan but when I first arrived I found that not only did the performance not open until almost midnight but even the café itself.

In fact, considering from the outside all I could see were the cast iron shutters with a small painted sign on them, so for awhile I was not even sure if the café had not closed down for good, and that the advert was not out of date.

Not yet prepared to give up, I went for a stroll around the area for what I imagined would be an hour and noticed that despite the lateness of the day there were still plenty of people going about and doing their normal routine, be it jogging, walking the dog or playing sports.

When I came across a outdoor concrete football pitch with a couple of teams running about I almost considered giving up on the Flamenco, but then without a crowd or knowing anything about either team I just couldn't get into the game and so shortly afterwards I continued on my way.

Valencia's Flamenco Café

This time I had timed my arrival perfectly as the place was open and just beginning to buzz with activity but there were still a couple of empty bar stools, so I nabbed one and ordered myself a vodka and coke.

The café itself had a small bar along one side while the rest of the space had been cleared of tables and had its chairs lined up facing the opposite wall where a section had been set aside for the performers.

British Flamenco Appreciation Committee

I had only been perched on my barstool sipping my drink for a few minutes when a small group came and sat next to me, and as one of them moved to take the stool next to mine she said excuse me in a very British accent, and as soon as I replied that it wasn't a problem, she smiled and that was all that it took to start up the conversation.

My new Flamenco appreciator buddy was a slender brunette woman about my age, who comes from Farnborough and was over here in Spain visiting her old university friends whom she had kept in touch with over the years.

As we continued to chat I almost felt bad that I was keeping her from her friends, but then they seemed engrossed in their own conversation and she seemed happy and relieved that she could once again talk freely in English, so I guess it wasn't a problem for anyone.

Considering how well we were getting on I thought that we would probably continue to chat quietly throughout the performance, but this idea was soundly quashed by the locals for as soon as the performers came out on stage a hiss went up and I was thrown several dirty looks whenever I so much as breathed a little too loudly.

That said, when I realised that the gypsy performers solely consisted of one acoustic guitar, one singer, one seat-box drummer and four background clappers without a microphone or amp in sight, I can see that if everybody continued to talk then they would have drowned out the performers.

So it was only in tiny whispers that we occasionally exchanged a comment or two, but mostly we had to sit in absolute silence and enjoy the show.

Flamenco Music

Up until now I had always thought that Flamenco was a style of dancing only, but during the performance I learned that it was a dance style but a music genre that was different and distinctive.

Once the guitarist got going it was easy to be carried away with it all as at several times during the night I found myself swaying and clapping along with the rest of the audience.

According to my new acquaintance, whose friends were all regulars, it was not unheard of that by the end of a performance for all the chairs to be cleared away with the entire audience joining in.

I would not call the singing melodic or easy listening, but it clearly spoke volumes to the throng of supporters who clearly appreciated the raw emotion and understood its meaning fully.

It might have helped if I could have understood the lyrics, but then again I don't think that would have made much difference as I would also need to understand the routes and culture for its true meaning to make sense.

Often the gravelly voice of the lead singer would seem to go from a whisper to a controlled shout within a few words, but this clearly appealed to the audience who would roar our 'Ole' whenever he did.

After half an hour the troupe called a break and everyone mobbed the bar to grab a drink as quickly as possible before the second act started.

It was impossible not to notice that during the first set the café had continued to fill up and by now was ram-packed with gypsies, most of who seemed fairly rough and ready, but at least a couple that manages to carry the look off with a certain degree of panache that made it seem quite stylish.

Flamenco Performance Act II

The night continued with more singing and as even more cafe regulars came in it was not long after midnight before I could hardly see the band anymore, so I further learned to appreciate their almost zero tolerance attitude towards talking during the performance.

During the second set the lead singer gave up the stage to the lead clapper, then his cousin who was eagerly waiting in the crowd and then finally his nephew who took a turn at not only clapping, but also singing and then to end off the night he tried some Flamenco dancing.

Very disappointing for me was that he was not accompanied by any attractive young gypsy girl wearing a long flowing dress, as was my hope and initial attraction to the proceedings.

Now I don't want to seem ignorant or belittling his performance in any way, but to my untrained and slightly drunk eyes it appeared that he just got on stage, mentally psyched himself up, held his hands aloft then suffered a series of controlled spasms.

The spins and twirls were quite interesting to see, and certainly the crowd loved it, but I personally think he was wearing slightly the wrong clothes and shoes as he didn't seem to look like he should be there, dancing in front of the band who were all more traditionally clothed.

Regardless of its artistic merits, the dancing certainly took it out of him as before I knew it he had stopped and was panting like crazy, much to the pleasure of the crowd.

Not wanting to appear forward, and also because I was drunk and not thinking clearly by this point, I didn't invite myself up on my fellow Brit and her friends who were all going back for a bit more drinking and chatting, so I just said goodbye and headed off, and it was only after I had left that I cursed myself for not thinking of at least giving her one of my travelling business cards.

The Only Strip Bar in Valencia

Being drunk I also temporarily forgot that North was not at the top of my map as fifteen minutes later I neared one edge of the city only to realise it was the wrong one. Trying to get my bearings I did a little circle and as chance would have it I came across what might be the only strip club in Valencia.

For some reason I thought it was a good idea to go in and try to ask for directions from whoever was at the bar, but things didn't quite go according to plan.

I plonked myself at the bar and tried to strike up a conversation the barman when I was interrupted by a fairly pushed middle aged lady who thought it would be a good idea to try and sit on my lap and entice a drink out of me. Needless to say, she was very much mistaken.

However, once I convinced her that she just wasn't my type, I didn't even have time to turn back to the barman before a second woman approached me and tried much the same thing.

She received much the same treatment, but alas again no sooner had she departed than the woman who had been gently swaying by the pole thought it was her opportunity to accost me, and after she gave up and returned to the podium the first lady returned saying that maybe I had changed my mind and liked the look of her after all. #42

I have never in my life felt such like a piece of meat as much as I did that night, and thankfully I never have again. One of my newest and most deeply desired hopes is that for as long as I live I never will again!

Deciding that I was not going to be left alone even long enough to ask for directions, I tried to shake the cobwebs from my brain and muttering my contempt I left and eventually found my own way back to my hostel.

When I finally crawled back into my room I felt a small glow of pride as I could hear around me the snores of the German party crew, which meant that I had outlasting them in terms of tonight's entertainment and thus I went to sleep a happy man.

Final Morning in Valencia

By the time I woke it was almost time to check out of my Valencia hostel and regrettably there was no time to attempt a visit to the Science place before I had to catch the midday train to Madrid.

So instead I just surfed the internet, had a shower, and took a slow plod to the station, which I was surprised myself by finding even without the map, which led me to the slightly novel theory that perhaps the city was like a reverse maze, hard to find your way into but easy to escape.

Again I had to send my rucksack through the security scanners, but being no more a threat or a terrorist than I was coming into Valencia there was no problems and they let me board the train without further delay.

Leaving Valencia

The train journey from Valencia to Madrid was just over three hours long and although it was far from boring, the route cannot compare in beauty to that of Barcelona to Valencia, as Madrid being a central city, the route does not have the coastline and along with it all the wonderful colours that made that previous journey so magical.

However after the first hour they did show a movie to relieve the boredom, a slightly unusual choice being a Christmas Movie and all dubbed in Castilian with Castilian subtitles for those who were out of earshot of a speaker.

As per usual, I enjoyed the film and still managed to grasp the storyline, only really missing out on the clever wordplay jokes that rely on your being able to understand every word that is being said, when of course I could barely make sense of parts of any individual sentence.

~~ **** ~~

Arriving in Madrid, Capital of Spain

Gretna and I have been friends for a few years now. Originally from Peru, her and her family have lived and worked in a town just outside of Madrid for over almost two decades and I have had the pleasure of travelling to stay with her and her family a couple of times.

It was also my pleasure to have had her mother come and stay with me while attending lectures in London for her career. To me they epitomise all the best parts of the Latin culture and truly embody the phrase "mi case es su casa" which roughly translates as "my house is your house".

I have travelled to and through Madrid a number of times in the past, but I always seem to end up in different parts and coming away with a totally different perspective than before.

This time my visit to Madrid was going to be a few days, and because of my good friend Gretna living in the neighbourhood it was one of the first destinations I put on the route rather than a link city of afterthought.

However this time, arriving by train as I was, I did not have the usual trip from the airport to worry about, so I just had to get off the train and then make my way to the nearby metro station before hoping on a train to reach my hostel.

Madrid's metro trains are not the same as those of London, for these are more like bendy caterpillars and not segmented into individual carriages, meaning you can walk the entire length if you chose. They also seemed taller and wider inside than their UK counterparts.

Reflecting on this I took a few moments to wonder if this was why London's metro system is always so much more crowded and poorly ventilated compared than other European cities.

After a few moments I concluded that probably this is because London has more frequent commuters and passengers as well as that both its trains and its platforms are smaller and more compact.

Emerging from the metro station I was thrown for a few moments as the station nearest my hostel had exits in a number of different road and directions, before finally figuring out where I was and where I need to go. #43

The digital camera I use was bought for me as a leaving gift by my former work colleagues, and is compact, light weight and very easy to use.

My Madrid Hostels

As I had brought most of my route through Europe from the end to start of my journey almost at the last minute, I had been unable to book myself a bunk in the same hostel that I had stayed in last time, which was a shame as it was actually on the site of a former Arabic Palace, and had great staff and facilities.

However, this time I had chosen a hostel that was much less grandeur, and which seemed to stretch out throughout its own building in unusual directions.

It was also much harder to find, as the area was full of small roads that seemed to change name either side of a cross roads for no logical reason.

My dorm room was basic and a little pokey, shared as it was with five other people, but it did have the nice bonus of having free Wi-Fi access and seemed clean enough.

Quick Change in Madrid

As I had forgotten to recharge my laptop last night I was eager to check my emails and booted up my machine before I even unpacked.

As it turned out that was the right thing to do as there was a message waiting for me from my friend Gretna who was more than happy to meet me today and was also offering me the chance to stay with her and her flat mate for a few days.

As Madrid was only a short train ride away and I had been there many times before, I jumped at the chance to visit Gretna a day early and so sent her a quick confirmation message before shutting down my laptop and checking out.

The hostel owner did give me a rather strange look when I handed back my keys, and asked if everything was ok, but I assured him that his hostel was fine and not at fault, just that my plans had changed and meant that I was leaving sooner than previously planned.

Exactly what he thought I'm not sure, but considering I had already paid for the first nights stay when I checked in I doubt it was anything too negative.

So less than an hour of checking in, I had repacked my rucksack, checked out and was back on my way to the same train station that I had only recently arrived at, in order to catch a train out again to Alcala de Henares

In fact, I had spent longer trying to find the hostel from the train station that I had stayed in the hostel, though of course this was not the reason I was leaving so soon.

Apart from shifting a train forward by an hour or so, this was the first time I had diverting from my planned itinerary, which considering I had been travelling for almost a month this is actually quite good going, especially as even this recent alteration was positively motivated. #44

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in Alcala de Henares, Spain

As I was going to be spending several days here in Alcala, with it being one of my main destinations, I will skip over some of the more routine elements here to save repeating myself.

One thing that tickled me was seeing a double-decker train pull into a platform in Madrid, as I have never seen them anywhere else.

Mind you, I expect you need an extremely flat and direct route to run a double-decker train as you would never get them through a standard bridge or tunnel and neither would I want to be on one that goes round a corner at anything less than a snail's pace.

Because I had left Madrid in such a hurry, and the train across was such a frequent route, I arrived in Alcala de Henares a little earlier than Gretna finished work. So with time to spare I took the opportunity to go for a snack and was just finishing an ice-cream when I got the text from her to say she was on her way.

Alcala de Henares appears to be too small and quaint to be famous for many things, but one thing it is fiercely proud of is being the home town of Cervantes, undeniably one of Spain's most influential writers and the creator of the hero Don Quixote.

The last time I was here I remember catching a glimpse of a Don Quixote cartoon in a bar called "La Vaja Flajas", which roughly translates as 'The Thin Cow', and for some reason is considered hilariously funny when said in Spanish to a Spaniard!

Speaking In Tongues

As Gretna is quite a reserved person there was no big cinematic reunion when she rounded the corner, but her smile said that she was pleased to see me again, and I too was happy that we could talk freely and not in disjointed emails.

She also jokingly warned me that over the next few days we would be meeting several of her friends and family again, so I had better brush up on my Spanish as they won't let me be lazy and speak English all the time.

On the way back to her apartment we caught up with some of the latest gossip, and I always find it funny that she understands my English a lot better when I try to attempt to speak it using a Spanish accent.

It is only a very subtle change, but apparently I sound a lot more like her former teacher, so the words become more familiar to her.

This adopting a foreign accent I something that I do a lot in Spanish, as it also helps me practice my Spanish, but not being able to speak any other language this is not something that I can do everywhere.

Despite this making me the source of funny looks from some of my English friends, I think that this is far more helpful and less insulting than exaggerating every word, raising my voice or slowing down my words like I am talking to someone who is just starting to learn to read lips.

A First Evening in Alcala

Gretna's mother, Lucia, is a very learned scientist and researcher, and although when she talks about her work it goes over my head, the fact that she can explain it in detail is testament alone to both her knowledge in the field and of her command of the English language.

By the time we reached Gretna's apartment her flat mate Monica was already home and so the three of us chatted for awhile, waiting for Lucia to arrive, as to mark the occasion they had invited me out for a nice meal.

With all the travelling I had done I did not have much energy left for staying up late and chatting, but it was really nice to meet up again with her mother and also her sister, Romy.

Excusing ourselves as early as I could without causing offence, we all walked back and then crashed out almost as soon as we got in the front door.

Being the consummate host that she was, having already offered to let me stay in her apartment, Gretna now refused to let me sleep on the couch and insisted that I have her room, saying that for a couple of nights she could share with her Monica.

I did my best to say that this really wasn't necessary but Gretna was having none of my British politeness.

Thankfully with my arrival here in Alcala a day early, and as Gretna only works during the week, I had lucked into being able to spend a full two days together before I would be left to my own devices for awhile.

First Morning in Alcala

Despite having done a sterling job of avoiding tacky souvenirs, I had still somehow accumulated sufficient maps, receipts and brochures to fill a small box worth sending home. However, being the weekend I would have to wait until Monday before I tried to find post office to send it home.

This is also where I found out that my electronic Dictaphone had filled up and was faulty, thus it was now just a piece of useless plastic taking up space, which is why it ended its brief tour in an rubbish bin in Alcala.

The last time I was here we took a half day trip together to Segovia, which is another lovely old town nearby that has an amazing Roman Aqueduct which I hoped I would get time to visit again, but today's itinerary was a stroll around town before heading off to central Madrid to meet with her mother's Peruvian dancing group.

Cervantes Festival

After a light breakfast we left her apartment and headed off through the town centre, where I could not help but notice that everywhere the locals were putting up banners, flags and other historic regalia that gave the place a very medieval flavour.

Not that Alcala needed much to make it feel old, as although the town had embraced things like the internet, relics of the past can always be seen on every street corner in the authentic wooden beams and metal gargoyle drainpipes.

The reason being, I soon found out, was that I had arrived just a few days before the start of their Cervantes festival, a weeklong celebration where all the townsfolk pay homage to their favourite city son.

As part of the frivolities a local theatre company, complete with fabulous period costumes put on several performances throughout the town, all free of charge, and as a warm up they stage individual acts or scenes in the town centre for a day or three before the main event.

Coming face to face with an old fashioned knight on donkey back, chatting loudly in antiquated Spanish to a King seated on a throne held aloft by serfs was a sight to behold.

Even though I could hardly make out what was going on I could have happily stood there and watched them for hours, but Gretna reminded me that we were on a bit of a schedule, but that if I was really interested then there would be other chances to catch their mini performances.

She also suggested that I might decide to stay on for another week to attend one of the full performances, but with my flight to Brazil already booked this was something that I was going to have to miss this time round. #45

Sadly, I was never again in the right place at the right time to catch other impromptu dress rehearsals, but the next time I visit Gretna in Alcala I will ensure that I do so during the first week of October, and I'll book early to avoid disappointment.

It was also another example of why a more flexible route and timetable is often preferred by travellers.

Shortly after we left the show with its growing audience of locals, we passed my friends favourite shop, a nice retro boutique where the clothes, knickknacks and joss sticks all hark back to decades past.

Finding it a very funky store myself, I was more than happy to afford her a quick window shop when I heard some great guitar riffs coming from the back of the store and ventured further to investigate.

As luck would have it, the next song played was much more familiar and I realised that we listening to a Jethro Tull concert recorded live from Italy.

Such an unexpected bonus put a real smile on my face and I with the sun peeking out from behind the clouds I had an idea that the day was going to be great.

With this and the street performance still going on outside Gretna had a hard job of dragging me away, but we had little time until the train ride to Madrid.

Peruvian Dance Association

The venue of the dance clubs meeting was a fairly long but acceptable walk from train station, in an area of the city that looked a little run down and aging badly.

I would never have spotted this place for myself, as the place doubled up as the current headquarters of the "Partido Comunista de Espana", or Spanish Communist Party.

As I expected, the place had its fair share of slogans and posters of a beret wearing Che Guevara, but it was their W.C. that made me laugh as in their impoverished state they had bodged its placement and had to saw off a section out of the toilet seat lid just to give it enough room to be lifted up.

I had assumed that being a dance club there would be some dancing involved, but it appeared that today's meeting was more a meal and fund raising event, so unfortunately I did not get to watch any traditional Peruvian dancing.

By the end of the meal I was feeling very relaxed and I think all the late nights and rushing about was still catching up with me, as I was almost asleep on my feet by mid evening, and very glad that the rest of the night was free from activity.

After the meal Gretna took me round Madrid city centre, back to the Royal Palace and being here once again it brought back a flood of warm memories.

The neatly shaped ferns and hedges in the palace gardens were almost too green for reality however they complimented the many white statues perfectly as did the foot high shrub maze.

On our way home we chatted some more and then, as I could barely keep my eyes open any longer, I was happy to have an extremely early night, especially by Latin standards.

Despite it being only a medium sized suburb of Madrid I did have another potential friend named Yaneth who also lived in Alcala, but she had not been in contact for several weeks and throughout my entire stay I didn't receive a single communication from her.

Needless to say that soon afterwards I decide to stop writing to her.

Third Day in Alcala

In hindsight, this would have been the ideal day to visit Segovia, as you can't really close a massive stone aqueduct that runs through a town, but I didn't think of this when I when woke up.

I have always viewed Sundays as easy restful days, and certainly here in the quaint town of Alcala where they are generally a might more religious than back home in the UK, this is certainly the case.

With there being no street performances or tourist places to visit today, Gretna and I instead decided to spend the day with her friends, eating, drinking and practicing my Spanish and their English.

Fluent English Speakers Abroad

I was again humbled when over the course of the day Gretna introduced me to about a dozen of her close circle of friends and everyone I met was miles better at speaking English than I could speak in Spanish.

It was at moments like these that made me wonder what would happen should any of my overseas friends come to visit me. How many of my own friends could even introduce themselves in another language, let alone hold a decent and lengthy conversation.

However, this is as much a comment on the growing influence of English around the world as it is about the British educational system, as in every European town and city that I have ever visited, the one thing they all have in common is that I frequently came across schools and companies that dedicated in teaching English.

Culturally, it would be a sinful shame if in another fifty years English had forced its way into becoming the first language of the entire world; however I can see that a common language would have some benefits.

During the evening we met up with more of Gretna's friends in a nearby restaurant but as they all had work the next morning nobody felt like staying up until the small hours.

I remember the last time I was here we left the house gone midnight to arrive at a friend's birthday party, and we were not the last to arrive!

As Gretna's family are originally Peruvians but now living in Spain, so it is also that her group of friends are a mixture of both slightly different cultures, and it was great to meet and learn how and why others like Gretna had chose to leave South America and settle in Europe.

I also learned that one of her closest friends Llames is quite a respected classical opera singer, so much so that in she was booked to perform a concert in Alcala in a few weeks time.

I have never been one of opera's biggest fans, but being on friendly first name terms with a well known performer changes things slightly, and I was more than a little disappointed to realise that I would not be around to catch her next performance.

It was also interesting to hear from Gretna's Spanish friends that they were all lovers of the South American accent and pronunciation, saying that they felt the European Spanish sounded quite harsh in comparison, whereas the American Spanish was more like singing than speaking.

Forth Day in Alcala

As both Gretna and her flat mate Monica had work today, I was left to my own devices to amuse myself today, however here in Spain Monday is as much of a closed day as Sunday is when it comes to museums and similar tourist attractions.

Thus I felt that a return visit to Madrid was very much in order, as being the capital there was bound to be something I could find to do, even on a Monday.

If I had got my act together a little sooner I could have made my way to the meeting point of a free walking tour of the city, as I had earlier spotted an advert from a tour company that arranged such tours around various cities in Europe.

Sadly for me, following a slight misunderstanding and confusion in directing myself back to the train station I was not able to catch a train until about half past and without knowing their route I could not even try and catch up with them. #46

Similarly, there is a private company that has agreed a deal with most of the major carriers and for an annual subscription whenever you arrive at a major airport you can utilise the full facilities of the VIP priority lounges regardless of who you are flying with or what class of ticked you have purchased.

Cervantes in Madrid

I already knew that in Alcala they were extremely proud of Cervantes, but I was not aware of how much the rest of Spain loved him, that is not until I rounded a corner and saw a huge fountain overlooked by a giant statue of him and his hero Don Quixote.

Making a mental note to ask more about him when I got back to Alcala, I continued my way around Madrid, reminiscing from past visits as well as forging out into new districts that I had previously ignored or overlooked in my haste to see the major tourist attractions the first time around.

Invisible Tourist Attractions

Fool that I am, I decided that as I had missed the organised walking tour, that I would attempt my own tour armed with nothing more than my own compass, map and dubious sense of direction.

This would probably have been fine had I not chosen my first stop to be a place that seemed interesting on the map but was a little way away from any nearby metro stop.

I am not sure if it was a misprint of something, but after more than an hour or walking in circles I was still no closer to finding my goal, and I am sure than unless its entrance in hidden underground that currently no such area existed.

Having scoured the immediate surrounding area several times, I eventually gave up, and after resting my feet for a few minutes I began the trek back to the centre of town.

Madrid's Ladies of the Day

During my walk back to Madrid's main train station I was walking down a shopping street, minding my own business, when all of a sudden a woman stepped out from a doorway and called right in my direction "I looooovvvvveeeeee you".

Being confronted totally unexpectedly, I paused for only the briefest of moments to get a look at her face to confirming that I didn't know her, and then carried on my way for about twenty yards before finding a place to sit on a bench nearby and reflect on what had just happened.

At first glance it looked like any normal Saturday afternoon in the centre of any town in Europe, busy but not too much and with teenagers hanging about in shop doorways not doing a lot.

However, upon a closer look I was able to spot for the first time the few discreetly advertised sex shops, cheap and grimy looking two star hotels and that all the doorway teenagers were female, well at least in appearance!

Even if the warm afternoon sun, the girls were not overly exposed with most easily undistinguishable from normal pedestrians, which no doubt is the look that they were aiming to pull off. But not all of them were modestly dressed, with some wearing the tell tale FMB's and enough make up to cover half a city street, a look that few women consider suitable.

I hadn't even considered trying to find out if Madrid had a red light district and if so where it was, so I certainly wasn't expecting to walk right into it between two of the biggest shopping streets and less than two minutes away from its central station.

Fiddling with my camera inside my jacket, I was debating whether or not to attempt to take a photo or two when from further down the street I heard the sound of a very heated argument between one of the girls and a passerby.

In typical Latin passion, once angry the woman was speaking so fast I didn't' have a hope or understanding her, but I got the feeling that probably they felt the same way about having their picture taken as did the window girls in Amsterdam. That being the case, I discarded my own plan to take some shots and recommenced my route to the station.

A Raining Evening in Alcala

By the time the train pulled into Alcala's station I reckon that, barring a pause for a bite to eat and the train ride into and from Madrid that I had been walking for about eight hours solid.

So, I decided that I would surprise my friend by meeting her back at her apartment, which would save us both some time and would mean that I could rest my feet.

However fate had other plans, as no sooner had I reached her place than she sent me a text saying that she was on a bus and wanted to meet me in the town central plaza, as she had planned to apply for her Intermediate English course and wanted me to come as a British observer and to testify to her fluency at a basic level should they require it.

This was not quite the news I was expecting, but not wanting to be an ungrateful guest, I trudged back to the centre of town and waited for her.

As I sat there, resting my back on Cervantes statue, for the first time in days the sky began to grey over and show signs of rain.

This was a double blow as not only was I not carrying my umbrella with me but it also meant that my curse of being rained on in every country was not going to be dispelled here in Spain.

When Gretna's bus got a bit delayed, she sent a message to her sister and brother to come and meet me, as together they were all going to the education enrolment office, which was cool as it meant I was not waiting there alone for too long.

Considering the size of the town there were plenty of locals queuing up to enrol for their English course, though I noticed that few were mature students which could be for many reasons.

A Traditional Spanish Meal

Once the forms were handed in, and it wasn't necessary for me to certify of Gretna's fluency after all, we then all headed back to her parents for a nice family meal, which her mother was already preparing for us.

Gretna's family always put on a big spread whenever I visit, which never ceases to make me feel special, and this time was no exception. The table was almost overloaded with food and if I didn't know her mother better I would have had a sneaky suspicion that part of it was to help improve my Spanish.

Despite the fact that in Latin American Spanish they do not seem to lisp thhh's, I had spent the entire day practicing my pronunciation, though the ability to properly roll my rrr's still defeated me.

Despite my feet on meltdown and my poor tied and confused brain I did my very best to dredge up every word I knew and engage them in conversation till my knowledge gave way and I ended up just smiling and nodding, hoping that they didn't feel I was being rude or impolite.

I was very pleased when they complimented me on my pronunciation of Spanish, saying that I was very clear and understandable despite having a strictly limited vocabulary, and so now I feel that my next hurdle is to keep practicing and not give up my studies after I leave .

After the meal and conversation we headed back, and I was glad that Gretna's apartment was not too far from her parents place as the heavens had indeed decided it was time for more rain, and it was bucketing down aplenty by the time we left.

Sad to say that after I left Mexico I did stop practicing, partly because I did not have the time and partly as I no longer had any immediate necessity to keep it up any longer.

Worse still was that my inner child only held onto a few of the words that they taught me, and they are not really words one should say in polite company.

Anti-Malaria Pills

Back indoors we got to talking about my preparations and flight to Brazil when I suddenly remembered that I was meant to have started the course of anti-Malaria pills a week before my flight, but having been caught up in the fun of the place I had completely forgot.

Feeling that I ought to start right away I dashed to my rucksack supplies and ferreted out my first dose, which I promptly regretted it and felt as if they might ruin the delicious meal that I had just eaten.

They taste foul and are meant to be eaten with a meal, not an hour or two after, and even a glass of milk was not enough to rid the last of the taste from my mouth as I fell asleep. However as I am going all over South America it is my pain to have to take them for the next two months or run the risk of not being protected!

Tomorrow Gretna and her mother Lucia had offered to escort me round the many beautiful sights of their town in the morning and then in the afternoon we could all go for a nice walk.

However as I felt that my feet were about to drop off, I suggested that I spend the morning finalising and studying my route to my hostel in Brazil and then in the afternoon we could go sightseeing.

Trying not to think of the taste in my mouth, I drifted asleep and hoped my feet felt better come the morning.

Final Day in Alcala

The rain had carried on pouring for most of the night, and although by the morning it had finally stopped the sky still looked dark and menacing as if the next deluge was only seconds away.

As planned, I spent the morning rechecking my dates, routes and figures, finally getting a little bit nervous as I was about to leave the safety and familiarity of Europe for the strange and far away continent of South America.

In the afternoon we all met up and visited some of their favourite parts of the town centre, occasionally catching the suns reflection in the puddles making them look like liquid silver.

The House of Cervantes

After we had lunch we made a bee line for the Cervantes House museum, which the town's folk had done their best to repair and restore without destroying any of the original character of the place.

It wasn't very big, being his actual home of residence, but it was full of authentic furniture and belongings and walking around it gave me a wonderful sense of history.

It was also here that I learned that during his life Cervantes had wrote more than thirty books, which considering he lived in the time of quill and parchment was quite a feat in itself.

Being the last night before my flight this afternoon I popped round with Gretna to say farewell to her parents, and was more than glad that her mother offered to escort me to the airport, which would save me both time and money and give us a bit longer to chat before I left.

Having said my goodbyes to Gretna's father and sister, we left so that I could pack ready for my early morning flight, and although I thought I had checked everything I somehow managed to miss the fact that my wallet was missing, having accidentally left it at her parents.

Unexpected Delays Leaving Alcala

Dressed and packed for my trip I treble checked that I had packed everything and suddenly realised that I was missing my wallet. After running around like a headless chicken for a few minutes, with the clock ticking down fast I took a gamble that I had somehow left it at Gretna's parents place and requested that we go back there with all speed.

Lady luck must have been with me this morning, as I found it almost instantly, tucked down the back of the sofa cushion where I had been sitting last night.

Allowing my heartbeat to return to normal, I tucked it away safely in my secret pocket and then together with Gretna's mother we went to the bus stop to catch a connection to the airport.

This should have been a doddle, but not only would the ticket that I had bought last night not work but also some local hooligans had vandalised the very bus that I needed, smashing the driver's window glass into the cab and making it unsafe and unsecure.

Latin Unconditional Friendship

Whilst we were waiting for a replacement bus we got talking about my trip through Peru, and in an act of unconditional generosity she gave me the contact details of her family in Lima and strongly recommended that I contact them before I made any other plans.

As part of my trip through Peru I had already booked myself all the hostel reservations that I should need, however the chance of spending some time with a real Peruvian family in Peru was a very tempting offer.

I also learned that not only is she a well respected scientist in her field but also that that her boss is one of the world's leading experts.

She did attempt to tell me about her work, but it sounded quite specialised and beyond my understanding in science. She was also supremely proud that her home country or Peru has stationed one of the three largest antenna arrays in the world.

Thanking her for the kindness, I took down the details of her family in Lima and said that I would contact them before I got to Peru, though privately I didn't really expect anything to come of it, especially as it was on such short notice and I had other friends there that I was meant to be meeting.

Like most Westerners I had heard of the Latin phrase, "mi casa es su casa", but I had no idea that it might extend to the homes of my extended family.

Despite my family being both sociable and friendly, I can't imagine it going down too well if, for example, I were to give out their addresses to the family of my pen pals just prior to a visit to the UK. As such, I hoped for the best but did my best not to put too much stock into her well intended generosity.

Once the replacement bus arrived and we reached the airport I thanked her again for everything and promised to keep in touch.I am pleased to say that I did meet up with Gretna's extended family back in Peru, and once again their friendship staggered me.

Less than a month after I had returned to the UK, Gretna's sister came over to the UK for a visit, however as she was travelling with friends and only visiting London for a few days I was only informed on the very day she was due to arrive I was regrettably unable to travel into London and help show her around London personally.

I did however, create a detailed and user friendly tour guide of London, with all the highly recommended tourist spots, complete with images and map directions. I did such a good job that several people later on suggested that I make a permanent career change into travel and tourism.

Leaving Madrid, Spain and Europe

As I had books so much so far in advance a few of my reservations were changed on me during the course of my trip, and the first of which was that the airline switched the change over from

Sao Paolo instead of Rio de Janeiro, and also moved the flight to an earlier time. Thus it was very lucky that I had arrived extra early as this last minute alteration could have been a mini-disaster.

Once I managed to figure out the changes in my flight, I checked in and then passed through security and passport control without any delay. Still with a tiny bit of time before my flight took off I spent it looking for a Clive Cussler book that I hadn't already bought and for a cheap map of Salvador. Regrettably I couldn't find a map of Salvador, but I did find one of Rio de Janeiro.

A Flight across the Atlantic

Crossing the Atlantic took a fairly long ten hour flight, not the longest that I have ever taken, but it was enough to make me glad that I had picked up a book with me for the flight. The timing of the flight also felt a bit off as I had to turn my clock back five hours to match the local time, so despite the duration I still technically arrived on the same day that I had left.

As I am still young and fit enough to make flights without much difficulty I always ask for a window seat as it both lets me look out the window from time to time but more importantly I am not constantly requested to move to allow other passengers out who crave a walk, the toilet or to get stuff out the overhead lockers.

However, choosing a window seat does not fully cover oneself from the inconvenience of other people. For instance, the two women sitting directly in front of me, built like rhinos and just as thick skinned, spent more of the flight with their seats in the full reclined position which forced me to do likewise as there was not enough space back here in the cheap seats to do anything else.

After sampling their in-flight food I surmised that cuisine is not TAM's strongest suit, but then again neither was providing movies in multi languages. With barely a handful of choices I opted to watch Kung Fu Panda four times as it was the only film being shown thing in English.

Something I had not noticed before is that when you are about fifty thousand feet up in the air the temperature outside the cabin is about minus sixty degrees, but if you open the window blind you can still be almost blinded by the sun's rays coming in.

Having finished my book, the flight was long enough for me to also browse my guide book, but personally I think that they keep it a lot more topical and up to date.

I mean, it's all well and good to read about immigration and sugar cane for a research project, but as a traveller I am far more interested in finding out how much a typical taxi fare should be or where I can eat for next to nothing.

At the end of the flight I was requested by one of the airline stewardesses to put my blind up, which I duly did at their insistence but it always has and always will irk me about this pathetic rule.

As far as I can see there is absolutely no health or safety benefit to it either way, and I'm willing to bet that some meddlesome back room politician is still laughing over slipping this one into the book of rules.

~~ **** ~~

Federative Republic of Brazil

Itapua \- Arrived on 8th October 2008.

Salvador \- Visited on 9th October 2008.

Praia do Forte \- Visited on 12th October 2008.

Rio de Janeiro \- Arrived on 12th October 2008.

Sao Paolo \- Arrived on 15th October 2008.

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in Salvador, Brazil, South America

Being such a large country I had chosen only three cities in Brazil to visit, each in different areas and partly chosen for their cultural heritage but mostly for being cities where I had Brazilian contacts.

I had decided that although a trek into the rain forest with a canoe cruise up the Amazon river might be an amazing experience, lugging a huge rucksack around with me and trying to keep a laptop perfectly dry throughout would be almost impossible.

Also apart from almost certainly being eaten alive by mosquitoes it would be also far too easy to be thrown off schedule.

As such, none of my destinations involved visiting anything that I could not easily return from in the same day, as I was aiming at getting a taste in each place rather than a total-immersion experience.

When we finally touched down I was hoping for a quick exit, however fate had other plans and for over thirty minutes we just sat on the runway, not taxing anywhere.

According to the tannoy system a passenger dispute was the cause reason why the plane was not moving, though I fail to see how any passenger, however grumpy or annoyed was enough to affect the pilot and co-pilot.

The minutes felt like an eternity and I was tempted to attract an air stewardess for information, and would have done so were it not for the two rhino women were again blocking the gangway and showed no signs of giving a fig of consideration for anyone but themselves.

I have always been like this with regards to time. I am perfectly happy waiting or travelling for as long as it should take, be it five minutes or ten hours, but any unexpected delay and I start getting very itchy feet.

This has led some to believe that I am a bit of a control freak, which might be true, but personally I say that it is just that I don't like being messed about with by any one for any reason.

Switching Planes in Sao Paulo

Despite being just a change over, as I am British I had to complete two forms to pass through the Immigration office, the first is an import document saying that I am not bringing in food, drink, animals, plants or money and the second was for the background check.

Of course, being no threat or terrorist they passed me through without problems and for the first time this trip I actually managed to get a stamp mark in my new passport.

It may seem a little thing to some, but like many travellers I treat my passport stamps like badges of honour, so having it thus stamped was a minor achievement in itself.

The change over in Sao Paulo went much smoother than I had feared. All I had to do was collect my baggage from the carousel, recheck it in at the domestic connection desk right next door before finally clear security a second time.

As I had already travelled through much of Europe before, part of me always considered that my arrival in Brazil marked the end of my friend visiting phase and the start of my daredevil exploring phase of my journey.

Food Charged By the Pound

As I had tasted, or attempted to taste, TAM's in-flight meals twice already, and didn't care much for a potential third helping on the second leg of my flight I decided that despite the extra cost I would dive into a buffet restaurant before going to the departure lounge.

This turned out to be a mini education in itself, as its pricing policy was something unlike I had ever seen or heard of before in a restaurant.

Although there was a varied mix of foods, everything was of a uniform price per kilo and once you have loaded up your plate you take it to a weigh in, where you are given a printout of the weight which you pay as you exit.

Having to take your plate up and have it weighed before you eat was unusual to say the least, but on reflection I think that it's a great idea and I think more places should adopt this style as I believe that it will cut down a lot on wastage and could even help educate then people into only taking what they know they can eat.

It is true that some people still won't care about the cost and will always pile up their plates and leave most, but at least those sensible or on a budget can work it to their advantage, plus you don't have to stick to bread and rice as pound for pound shrimp or steak cost just as much.

I have to admit that my nerves were very much on edge, as I wanted so much for this part of the trip to go well, so to touch base I sent text messages to a few friends and was very happy that several replied right away, with kind and encouraging words.

One of them wrote, "You have a lot of friends who have faith and trust in you, so you really should have more faith and trust in yourself, especially as this is not the first time that you have been overseas". Sound advice and together they did a lot to reassure me and to dispel my doubts.

Short Flight to Salvador

The flight to Salvador left at few minutes before midnight, as they had again switched departure gates on me at the last second, and as this was exactly what happened to me when I lost my luggage in America, it was with trepidation that I boarded my flight.

Being a short flight there was no meal and I didn't bother with the in-flight entertainment system, instead ding my best to catch a little shut-eye during the connection to Salvador.

Waiting at the carousel for my luggage, I felt a flood of relief when it finally arrived, though because of the change in stopover's I now found myself in Salvador at a little after midnight instead of junk after breakfast, thus there was no chance of using public transport to reach my hostel for several more hours. #47

To really make my arrival seem foreboding of doom my personal rain cloud was there to welcome me to a new continent, and this time it had decided it was really going to make itself felt.

Arriving in Salvador, Brazil

In the airport I spotted a big poster for an Ibis hotel right neat the airport, but upon called them I found out that they were either fully booked or refuse to accept short notice reservations as they declined to let me book a room so I was at a loss for what to do next.

I must have been louder than I thought when using my mobile as the taxi clerk at the nearby desk had overheard my conversations, and offered to help me book a hotel at short notice.

Unsure of what might happen if I attempted to stay in the airport overnight I accepted her offer, at a price that I found out when I reached the hotel that was actually discounted due to the short notice.As luck would have it, it was also barely five minutes walk from my original choice of hostel.

First Cause for Concern in Brazil

One thing that did upset my Karma though was after she had helped book me a hotel and taxi she then added "Are you scared as you seem to be on your own?" Now although I have been to many airports alone and at all times of the day or night this was the first time that I have ever been asked this question.

Although I might have looked confused or lost, I am certain that I had started panicking or visibly shaking, so having this question put to me was both unsettling and slightly alarming.

However I did my best to control my growing doubts and replied that I was not.Brazil seems to have a varied reputation, with some people loving it while others would never return for love nor money.

As detailed in this volume, my own personal experiences were mixed but sadly the overall impression of the country was not a positive one and I place Brazil in my 'Countries not to bother visiting again' category.

True, I might have missed Mardi Gras, but that is just a festival and even the world's best festival would not totally eclipse all of the negative things that happened to me.

My First Hotel in Itapúa, Brazil

The hotel suggested was nearby, had a twenty four hour check in, and had Wi-Fi and breakfast included so all things considered it was not a bad choice and especially considering it was literally chucking it down outside with rain.

I definitely discovered the truth behind the saying 'any port in a storm' this night, I can say.

Though it was dark I could still see a few of the other hotels were having to use buckets to bail out the flood water, and so it was a relief when the taxi turned up the hill and pulled up outside a building where a porter was waiting to escort me in.

Checking in wasn't a problem and on my way to my room I passed a huge wooden naked lady built into the reception desk.

I did consider taking a photo but then I didn't want the bellboy getting the wrong idea or start suggesting dubious offers, so I decided it would be best that I should wait until the morning.

An Extra Early Start in Itapúa

The day started before dawn when the sun rose and due to its intensity it was already hot enough to sunbathe an hour after dawn, though most places do not open until a more reasonable time.

Salvador's main Airport was actually in the nearby town of Itapúa which is at least an hour bus ride away from Salvador, though I didn't fully catch on to this fact until a few hours later

This was a mixed blessing as the hostel that I had booked was here but it also meant that visiting downtown Salvador was too far to walk or even a short taxi journey.

Being that much close to the Equator than I am used to in Europe, Salvador's daylight started earlier than I was expecting and I was up at the crack of dawn despite a very late night and my general tiredness.

Then again, with bright sunshine bursting through the windows, as the shutters were less than useless at keeping the sunlight out, I don't feel that I had much of a choice.

Before I did anything else I once more checked to see if my local friend had sent me any recent message, but as they had not I felt I could not wait any longer or else miss out on what Salvador had to offer. #48

Realising that I might have to amuse myself for the next few days, as it was still too early even for breakfast I started to look for a few things to do, however as I had been unable to pick up a map of Salvador anywhere I had no idea where anything was and did not want to risk just going for a wander and hoping I would be able to find my way back. #49

As I shaved I noticed that my lower lip had exploded in a series of mini blisters, which caused me some concern, but all my jabs and pills were now up to date, so I decided to keep a close eye on them and if they get an worse over the next two days I will try to find a chemist and get some advice.

From the balcony of my room I would say that Itapúa looks fairly run down, and I go further to say it appeared the archetypal typical coastal town. Thinking on this I began to wonder whether the sun and coastal winds had a way of demolishing things at a much faster rate than expected or just whether they weren't built properly in the first place.

Down in reception, in the morning sunlight I could now see that the wooden naked lady was actually a mermaid and was just a part of the overall aquatic theme of the hotel. Indeed, throughout the city there seemed to be plenty of mermaids as statues or in artwork once I started looking for them.

Although I was not overly impressed with some aspects of the hotel, I could not be anything less than impressed with the marvellous breakfast spread that was on offer.

Bypassing the cereals section completely I eagerly stacked my little plate high with sliced meats, cheese, fruit plus chocolate cake, all fresh of course, and topped it all off with a glass of orange juice.

Then I stuffed myself before repacking my rucksack and checking out to find my original hostel.

Unhelpful Hotel Staff

Judging from the comments of people who I have talked to about my route, there seems a general opinion that Brazilian women are among the sexiest in the world.

However, though I did see a few that caught my eye, I wouldn't say that on average the locals here were that much prettier than women from anywhere other country.

Making my own way to my hostel by foot unassisted was next to impossible as none of the streets seemed to be sign posted and try as I might I could not get the locals to even understand a word I said.

Never let it be said that Spanish and Portuguese are similar languages, for they may be close but they are far from identical as I was finding out the hard way. #50

There seemed to be very little graffiti tagging here, but then I guess why would anyone bother when not only is the cost of a spray can more than most could afford but also together the sun, wind and rain would only blast things back to neutral grey before long anyway.

So without a map to guide me, before I wasted too much time wandering aimlessly in the blistering heat of the early morning, I went back to the hotel of the previous night and asked about getting a taxi.

Asking for a taxi to take me to another hotel didn't exactly go down too well but he did grudgingly accept to help me. #51

When I say that he helped me, what he actually did was walk to an open window, whistled a few times and having failed to get a reply came back and instead offered me directions to it, saying that it was a quick walk but down the hill not up like I had thought and had tried at first.

So much for the infallibility of the internet! It appeared that Google Maps is not always right and I am wondering whether this was a genuine error or if some mischievous hacker had uploaded a fake map of the town just to throw people.

Switching Hotels in Itapúa

After a nice short stroll downhill and along the beach I made it to my hostel and was very much relieved when I was able to take my rucksack off my back and check in.

Despite being reassured that people here do speak English I would have to argue that, as I am being given directions and information in first Portuguese and then in broken Spanish despite my telling everyone that I am from England.

In fact, saying Britain and England does not even register with most people as they all know it as Inglaterra, but when I dropped in London or Londres, then many of them got my gist and tried their best to speak some pigeon English.

Anyway, as I had my printout reservation I knew that I was meant to be in a six room dorm, but after a bit of a chat I was shown to a room that was a private double bed, and so I was more than happy as it was for the same price.

My room had a walk in shower come toilet, complete with a very unusual aroma, as well as a functioning ceiling fan. It also had a view overlooking the street below, but as the only thing that impressed me with the last place was the breakfast I was not about to kick up a fuss when I was getting a private room for the price of a dorm bunk.

It would have been especially unfair of me to raise any real objection when I could see all around me that the locals were not living in such luxury, many having nothing more than holes in walls for windows and broken makeshift ladders as entrances to their homes.

The bed had pillows but did not come with a cover sheet or duvet, but then in this humid climate I expected that I would end up sleeping with the ceiling fan on all night anyway so what use would any extra bedding be, other than to make it softer to lie on.

Catching a Bus Tour to Salvador

After getting changed into shorts and a t-shirt I went down to the reception to ask about a map of the local area, and was surprised to find that not only did they actually have one but also I was talked into taking a sightseeing bus tour to Salvador.

As this was something that I had considered doing anyway, it was almost a no brainer and considering the bus pick up was right outside in less than five minutes the timing could not be more perfect.

The tour was on a modern open topped double-decker bus, with a roll back roof to protect from the passengers from direct sunlight and an audio track that alternated between Portuguese and English but never seemed to be loud enough to hear clearly except when it was playing the music.

The price of the five trips combined throughout the day worked out a bit more than I hoped it would be, considering that I was in Brazil, but was still half the price of what I would have had to pay were this anywhere in Europe. #52

Salvador Highlights

I must have made a real spectacle of myself to the few other tourists on the bus, as I was jumping around from side of side like a lunatic and snapping away at anything that took my fancy.

Of course, being on a bumpy road meant that at least half my shots were blurry and on reflection I really should have thought about taking more video footage instead.

All along the coast the winds were strong enough to blow the palm trees around like they were toys and the noise totally drowned out the feeble volume of the audio recording being played, so unfortunately I had no idea of the names or significance of anything that I passed or photographed.

Speeding by, I was amazed at how many of the locals paused to smile and wave up to us at the bus, and it gave the impression that they were all really pleased to see us.

The bus stopped at plenty of places that looked like old fashioned town houses and had striking similarities to colonial Europe, but this was hardly surprising as it was the Portuguese who occupied Brazil and built most of them from the late 18th Century through to the mid 20th Century.

I did have to switch buses from time to time, as one tour ended and another began, but as the route pit stops often seemed to be in fairly rough areas I never wandered that far from the stop and was almost always the first back on the new bus.

Once we reached Salvador city centre the tour guide gave us a longer than usual brief oration, sadly all in Portuguese, but as best I could tell we had forty minutes until the next bus came to pick us up.

I am sure of this, as she used my watch to point to the time as I stepped off the bus and wondered what I could do for almost an hour.

Sadly she neglected to repeat any instructions in English, and neither did she attempt to confirm that I had understood the rest of the instructions in Spanish, which as it turned out was a big problem for the both of us.

Adult Cinema in Salvador

As all the other tourists broke off and headed separate ways from the bus, I headed towards what I thought looked the most promising area and was surprised when I rounded a corner and found that I was directly outside an adult cinema.

Having never come across one before, and having already surveyed the surrounding area for anything worthwhile snapping, I figured that I had plenty of time to spare and this would be a perfectly good way to kill time before the next bus journey.

For the cost of a coffee I was given a ticket and once through the an old turnstile I noticed that none of the lights were switched on, though I could hear a feint sound from deeper within so I guess the darkness was for anonymity.

Shuffling forward in the darkness I finally found a seat in an empty row, and sat down to watch the film, but I can't really say that it was enjoyable as the quality of the flick seemed like something from the mid seventies, complete with blurring and camera wobble.

Once my eyes acclimatised to the dim light I was able to see a bit better and I guess that the place had about twenty patrons, randomly spread out throughout the auditorium.

Occasionally I could make out more movement than I would have thought from a single person, and I put this down to the possibility that either they had brought along their girlfriend or some savvy working girls also frequented the place on the prowl for clients who were less picky than average.

Possibly both were true as after a few minutes a lady, of indeterminate age and looks came up and tried to offer me some service or other, rubbing her hands along my thigh and even haggling herself down to almost nothing, but this was certainly not what I came in for and once she got the gist that I was not interested she moved on.

In my mind, the word that best suited this venue was sleaze, but then for sheer novelty value alone this excursion was worth the price of the entry ticket.

However as I had no desire to be continually approached by mature ladies of the negotiable virtues, before another could attempt to solicit me I stood up and shuffled through the darkness and headed back the way I had come.

Lost Through Translation

Having left the cinema and bought a drink I made sure that I was back at the drop off point in plenty of time to make my next connection, however I soon realised that something was amiss when none of the other tourists had turned up with only a few minutes until departure.

After I had given what I thought was sufficient time for at least one other tourist to make it back, I made my way to the bus stop and tried to ask the driver what was going on. After calling up the other bus guide, I finally understood what had happened, and even with all the facts I can hardly see how it was my fault.

Now I can tell them time perfectly well, and I understood that I had been told I have a break of forty five minutes before the next trip started, but what I didn't understand was that the next bus pickup point was across the square, down a short elevator that overlooked the cliff and required exact change for the toll, then along a road, past another square and finally had to go behind a big mustard yellow building.

How they could ever expect a lone tourist to gather than much in a language that is alien to them is beyond me, and even with a phrase book I would have been hard pressed to translate even a fraction of the necessary directions.

What they should have done was to have used a lot more pointing and hand signals, or better yet provide a map with directions and arrows or something.

Once the other bus was informed that I was on my way I jogged the entire route and yet they still had not given me enough time and was already pulling away as I rounded the mustard coloured building.

Forgiving Tourists

At first the other tourists seemed a bit mad at me for keeping them waiting, but over time most seemed to mellow to me, especially as they noticed that from that point on I never strayed more than a few yards from the bus.

My reason for this was twofold, first without a proper guide I had no idea of the significance of where I was and it never seemed to me impressive enough to warrant a photograph, and secondly without a map I didn't want to wander too far in case I got lost as I doubt the driver would wait for me a second time

This reminded me of the time a few years ago that I almost missed a bus in Guilin, China. I was travelling with a female pen pal that I knew at the time and on that occasion the bus driver knew that he could not leave until the 'white man' was back on the bus. Occasionally being the odd one out is a blessing in disguise. #53

Salvador's Lighthouse

Quite unexpectedly, a couple of the other tourists felt sorry enough for me to buddy up with me a bit, introducing themselves by offering me a dry ice-cream cone.

The stop before, everyone had gone to the nearby ice-cream stall, possibly under direction of the tour guide, and I guess they might have been given a cone too many or thought that it would be a nice ice breaker.

Either way, introductions made, we started to chat in English and by the time we reached our final stop it was also taken for granted that I would walk round with them.

The final stop turned out to be tour of a lighthouse, which in the dying sunshine looked magnificent as it was stuck out over a crumbling cliff face.

The lighthouse had long since stopped being fully functional, however because of its history and beautiful location the locals had decided to turn it into a museum, which I thought was a cracking idea.

First Night in Itapúa

With no further destinations to visit, we headed back to Itapúa and I was dropped off right outside my hostel, which was a relief as I had not had time to have a good reconnoitre of the its surrounding area and doubted that I would have made it back first time.

As early as the day had started it was still dark by eight, and as Barbara, my friend in Salvador still had not called or texted to arrange to meet me I decided that an early night was in order.

New Dawn in Itapúa

Waking early I found out that there was no Wi-Fi signal in the hostel, though there was a computer in the main reception that guests could use for a small fee.

I also decided that as I was due to be here for another couple of days that I would get in some supplies and not have too many take always or restaurant meals.

With the morning sun blistering hot outside, I decided that a change of look was in order so before breakfast I decided to do a spot of shopping to get myself a hat, sunglasses and flip flops.

In theory this should have been a walk in the park as my hotel room overlooked a street filled with grubby looking shops and market stalls, all cheap as chips and selling everything from groceries to knock-off DVD's.

What I hadn't factored into my plans was that being Brazil, most banks and ATM machines here did not accept my European debit or credit card, so before I could buy anything I had to find one that did.

Eventually after much searching I finally came across one that did accept my card, but sadly it was one that offered a lousy exchange rate and charged for making cash withdrawals. #54

A Breakfast I'll Never Forget

Having finally been able to get myself some local clobber, my thoughts turned to food and being right beside the beach I decided to treat myself to breakfast down by the shore.

I had to walk a fair way down the beach before I found a place that looked like it might have someplace reasonably clean to store and prepare their meals, and so plonked myself down on one of their sun loungers and flicked through the menu.

As I was deciding what to chose a wandering merchant approached me and offered a selection of flimsy plastic some-things that I failed to grasp the use of, despite his putting them inches from my nose, thus a shake of my head and he departed.

Less than ten minutes he returned and repeated himself, perhaps thinking that I had changed my mind or maybe just out of boredom, but either way I was no more inclined to buy a plastic thingamabob than I was the last time and so my answer remained the same.

When the waiter surfaced to take my order I was feeling a little adventurous and so I ordered something that had chicken in it, and determined to break away from my habit of sticking to just a coke, I also asked for a glass of some drink that I hoped was a fruit juice as it had kiwi in it.

After a fairly lengthy delay, which I half imagined was due to them trying to catch the doomed chicken, I was presented with a tray that blew me away in more ways than one.

The chicken whatever-it-was turned out to be two whole fried baby chickens, the garnish was a spicy salsa sauce that even a gallon of mayo would not have mellowed and the kiwi fruit drink was a vodka/rum cocktail thick enough to almost be a meal group in its own right. #55

I should have known better than to take a random stab at a foreign menu, after the time in Spain when I was forced to eat a large fish that had been alive and swimming not a few minutes earlier when I thought I was ordering a steak.

I guess some lessons you have to learn more than once.In the spirit of hunger and adventure I tried a bit of each, but no amount of coaxing would allow my throat to swallow down more than a few mouthfuls and so despite an annoyed stomach I left an almost full plate and a tip that I hoped would be considered sufficient.

There is a general rule that you should tip around 10-12% when you are on holiday abroad, but as I was on a tight budget and staying in backpacker hostels for much of my trip I never got in the hang of it and only tipped if the service was excellent or I was part of a group where everyone else did.

An Itapúa Beach Experience

As I meander around and try to get a vague notion of where I am I notice that music is everywhere.

Indeed there is even a car that drives around slowly with a huge bass speaker strapped to its roof that pumps out music at all hours, clearly some form of advertising of the music but after the twentieth rotation became just noise.

Although the internet had not forecast any rain it has raining on and off since before I got here evident by the slightly darker patches in the deeper broken holes of the otherwise beautiful mosaic slab pavements.

The younger locals all seem to be keen on football and volleyball, which they play whenever they get together in large enough numbers, while the older generation adopt a less energetic lifestyle and prefer to sit under huge sun umbrellas and play dominoes or sup a glass of the beer.

On most street corners there are hawkers with boards of DVD sleeves showing movies to buy and though the price was very cheap and my movie taste fairly varied I failed to spot a single title I even recognised, so I pass them by without making a purchase.

Self Inflicted Blisters

Not having satisfied my inner excitement gremlin enough for one morning, I felt that I should go for a stroll along the beach and see if I could reach a place that I spotted early on during yesterday's bus tour to Salvador.

Regrettably my sense of distance let me down as badly as my sense of direction usually does, and combine this with the stupidity of trying to walk such a distance in sandals without any experience doing so and I had all the ingredients for a recipe for insanity of epic proportions.

As I left the Itapúa beach front I was passed on the road by a man with a small kitten sitting on his lap, slowly riding his motor cycle along the street, and I felt that this was a perfect example of the carefree and relaxed pace on life here in Itapúa.

Two hours later and the factor thirty sun block had melted over my face, the soles of my feet had blisters on their blisters and I had not come even close to reaching my proposed destination.

Midway through my jaunt I was passed a concrete shell of a garage that housed two very haggard looking working women, very much older looking than I was only clothed enough to prevent their skin from burning.

Travelling on foot I was not expecting them to attempt to solicit me, but I was not taking into consideration their lack of dignity or hygiene, as they tried to entice me by saying that for privacy we could go behind the garage.

As much as their invitation might have sounded reasonable to them, having a brief erotic interlude with either of them could not have been further from my mind or desire, and I barely paused to shake my head as I slowly trudging onward.

All You Can Eat Pizzeria

It wasn't much further that my resolution to walk gave way as I spotted a Pizzeria a little further down the road. Food, drink, shelter from the sun and a place to sit down, all seemed like heaven right then and regardless of the cost I knew that my trekking for the day had come to an end.

The open planned restaurant was one of those places where you sat down and they staff kept wandering around offering slices of pizza to all the customers and all you had to do was choose and maybe take a small trip to the salad bar for side orders.

It was at this point that I found myself really stuck as to accompany my meal in this heat the only thing that I wanted was a cool glass of water; however despite my every efforts none of the staff could understand my simple request.

I tried in English, French and what I am sure is Spanish but even adding a pouring motion and dropping in the word 'mineral' failed to obtain any comprehension from the waiters, so I fell back to my universally recognised internationally drinks, coca cola.

Together with McDonalds, these two brand names really are global and understood by just about everyone from ages six to sixty, no matter where in the world you happen to find yourself. #56

After gorging on pizza and chips I felt much better, however a casual inspection of my feet showed that I was in no fit position to attempt the walk back let alone continue onward, so I managed to ask for a taxi and used the hostels business card as a means of explaining my required destination. #57

Charity Starting At Home

The taxi pulled up just outside my hostel, but before I was able to step inside I was approached by a beggar who smiled, pointed at my flip-flops and then begged for some money by pointing at his mouth as if to say, "hey man, if your rich enough to have those then you can afford to give me a little change to get something to eat!".

Despite feeling his plight in more ways than one, I had to stick to my guns and shake my head.

I know that I am lucky enough to be born in a first world country and equally I have a caring and supportive family around me, but that does not mean that I am obligated to give whatever change I have just received from my most recent purchase to the nearest local several times a day.

My rational is that I currently have no job, I am using up fast my trip savings and all too soon I will probably end up spending on my credit card before I get back, which is money that I will owe.

So no matter how rich I may appear to the locals here, at the end of each day I will owe many thousands of pounds and will still have a mortgage to pay with no obvious means of affording either until I find another job.

A Spaniard in Brazil

It appeared that the staff who ran the hostel were working overtime in trying to ensure that I had a great time as when I arrived back at the hostel I was told that there was another guest from Europe who spoke English that had just arrived.

Needing to rest my feet further, I declined their suggestion that they go and get him right away, but I said that I would be down from my room in an hour or so and that perhaps we could meet up then.

Thus it was that a couple of hours later, after calling Giselle to suggest a meeting for tomorrow, I returned down to reception and was introduced to Jose, a Spaniard with a rather unusual story.

Jose was a Spanish dentist; one of the world's best by his own admission, and being fairly savvy with technology had cornered the market in a new method of the placing of implants.

By using a CAT scan and a clever but of 3D software from Scandinavia he can produce a casting that would give the exact direction and location that a dentist requires for the ideal mounting of an implant, which avoids all nerves or areas of weak bone strength.

Looking back, it might have seemed slightly inappropriate at the time, but I wished that I had asked him to give my teeth a going over, as he could have spotted the tooth that cracked when I was in Sydney and thus would have saved me a bit of pain and a lot of money.

But what made him interesting to talk to was that he had married a Brazilian and settled down in Spain before uprooting the family and moving to England in order to get the British medical board to acknowledge that his work had damaged his neck and back, and thus be eligible for medical and an early pension.

Partly due to the Spanish governments firm line on medical cases, he was very critical on Spain's failings, but he raved like a politician on polling day about the many joys of Brazil and in its infectious way I started to believe some of the things he said, often at my cost as I would later find out.

We chatted for what must have been hours before he suggested that we meet up again later and go down to the beach area for a drink and to admire the local ladies. Such an offer I found hard to resist, so I said farewell for now and tried to nap for a few hours before our twilight sojourn.

The Beach Nightlife in Itapúa

Without any real effort to polish our look, we just took a stroll down to the beach and then chose an empty table at random, which turned out to be in a little bar barely a hundred paces from the hotel.

Jose took the lead and ordered us a round of drinks and then we sat back and continued our conversation, but every once in awhile he would tell me to look around and notice the attention I was drawing from the local women.

It was not hard to imagine that I was the only white person within a thousand miles of this place, as just about everyone had clocked us sitting down and a few were doing their best to catch our eye.

It was then that Jose told me about his theory about the local women, which was that 'they all would be very happy to sleep with a western man as then their next baby would be fair skinned and have a much better education and life in the future'.

The logic was meant to be sort of a self fulfilling prophecy, in that because the locals view paler skinned locals as slightly superior to them they give them a slight preferential treatment, and because of this special attention it is easier for them to succeed and thus they become what the other locals perceived they were in the first place.

It sounded like total poppycock to me, but he said that his theory was incredibly easy to prove, or at least the first part was, as all we had to do was to smile and invite over any of the women who were looking our way and then see how forward and willing they were to be taken to bed.

The Mating Theory of Brazil

I have often wondered how it is that so many people tourists manage to find locals to have holiday romances with, but I never expected it to be so ridiculously easy.

Had I known this before then I would have spent a few moments longer deciding who to chose in order to attract a group of ladies who were more my usual type, which in turn would have tested my morals later on.

More out of curiosity and a desire to debunk his theory that anything else, I accepted his challenge and so it was that we turned to the nearest table of unattached women and waved them over.

Without even being able to hear us, the three women rose almost as one and came to sit next to us, all smiling, laughing and speaking quickly to each other in Brazilian.

They were all dressed in bikinis or similar revealing outfits which might have seemed out of place in another part of the world, but here they were quite the norm.

For the next hour we drank, laughed and Jose did a wonderful job of interpreter for us, but even without his help it was clear what was on the mind of all of the three ladies as their body language and the few words of broken English that they spoke was unmistakable.

Having performed his fait-accompli, Jose said that the next move was up to me but that as he had had enough drink for one night, he was going to retire soon to his room, adding that if I wanted to test his theory to the full I should chose quickly and only one for obvious reasons.

But as much as I might have wanted to help these ladies out, I was not so inebriated as to think that getting any of these beauties pregnant was a good idea.

As politely as I could I declined their obvious advances and after paying the bar tab I too retired to my hotel room and spent the next few minutes debating whether I had made the right decision. Soon after the potency of the local brew worked its final magic on me and I fell asleep whilst lying naked on top of the covers.

A Third Dawn in Itapúa

Having already tried and given up on walking very far I spent the majority of the next day doing a spot of souvenir shopping, people watching and hiding from the scorching sun.

I also took the opportunity to get my laundry done, after remembering that yesterday Jose had given me a stern lecture informing me that it would be unforgiveable to go to a laundrette and do it myself as I would be taking work away from a poor local who would do it for peanuts.

A day later I found myself reviewing the wisdom of following his advice, and I still find it mystifying that despite travelled through much of Europe; apart from a luxury hotel my most expensive laundry bill was here in the tiny Brazilian seaside town of Itapúa.

While I reflected on the blessing that my slight lip infection was clearing up I was never the less disappointed that following my phone conversation with Giselle last night she had not called back today to confirm a meeting time or place.

After a quiet day of inactivity except writing and watching some of the DVD movies that I had through to bring along just in case, I finally gave up on meeting Giselle and so though I might as well have an early night and get a good night's sleep.

Just after dusk I took a short stroll down by the water's edge and enjoyed taking a few photographs of the locals playing twilight beach football before heading back to my room. I also spotted the most beautiful flowers blooming atop the many Cacti that grew along the beach front.

To me this was amazing as I had never knew before that Cacti even had flowers, let alone that they would be so pretty.

However fortuitously for me, Jose had other ideas and I had only been dozing for about an hour when I was woken by a soft knocking on the door.

Without even the slightest attempt to quiz me on whether I had taken up with any of the girls from last night or not, he suggested that if I was at a loose end I could join him and some friends that he was meeting up with for a meal in one of the town's most luxurious restaurants.

Feeling both bored and in the mood for a bit of needless luxury I was more than up for tagging along and so I jumped at the chance, after requesting a few minutes to freshen up a bit and get dressed suitably for the occasion.

A Private Itapúa Posada

Jose's friend turned out to be another fairly wealthy Spaniard who was the owner of a private posada, or small bed and breakfast, however in my opinion with its exquisite decor and immaculate condition I felt it was more a luxury villa than anything else.

The other thing that to me hinted at it being something other than an ordinary hostel was that he did not believe in advertising and instead relied on word of mouth from his good friends to spread the word.

After being welcomed across his gated threshold, we were led through to the patio area where we were seated around a circular table and chatted while his friend plied us all with a fine red wine from his suitably stocked cellar.

I almost thought that the idea about the fancy restaurant had been forgotten until one of them suggested that it was time to leave and then offered us a lift across town, which of course we accepted.

The Cuisine of Itapúa at its Finest

The restaurant in question was a very plush carvery, possibly one of the most expensive in the whole town; but certainly one of the most modern and hygienic in appearance and style.

In fact it was so swanky that just for a moment I feared that Jose and I were underdressed for the occasion, until I spotted a family with kids and then knew that we would be fine.

Quality wise, I could not fault it as they management had thought of everything and no expense had been spared to bring the finest cuts of meat, fruit, and vegetables from around the world.

Equally the staff and furniture were top class and by the end of the meal I was not only stuffed but sure that I had just eaten the tastiest meal I had eaten in my life.

The only slight sting was that of course the bill was in proportion to the image, and although I did not begrudge paying my share at the back of my mind I knew that I had probably blown the equivalent of a week's food budget for the experience.

A little before midnight Jose and I decided to call it a night, and after thanking our host we grabbed a taxi and headed back to the hotel.

As it was my final half day in Itapúa I had already decided not to waste any more time waiting for on my original Salvadorian contacts and so I agreed to meet up again with Jose early in the morning and head on over to Praia do Forte to see the sea turtles.

It was a great end to an otherwise average day and I was glad that I had taken Jose up on his invitation.

A Final Morning in Itapúa

Waking up early, I checked out of my room and chose to leave my rucksack in Jose's apartment while we visited Praia do Forte. As dawn was so early we had a little time to kill before we could catch a bus, so we took a stroll and went for a coffee and breakfast.

Our timing could have been better as the moment we reached the bus stop our first bus arrived and then at the connection point our second bus was already idling waiting for passengers and all for a cost of little more than a few pence.

Praia Do Forte, Brazil

In fact our connections were so perfect that we arrived at the tiny waterfront turtle sanctuary and harbour much earlier than anticipated. We were so early in fact that most of the staff had not even turned up yet which left us with a dilemma of sorts.

Following Jose's lead, we took an investigatory amble around to the side gate where we managed to slip in unnoticed and free of charge, though for the record it was as much for the thrill of doing something naughty as much as not wanting to sit around bored for ages that tempted us both. With the entrance cost being next to nothing we both agreed that if a guard challenged us at any stage we would simply plead ignorance and offer to pay the fee instantly and without complaint.

As few staff members were on site at the time, most attractions were also closed and empty but thankfully by around midmorning the place started to fill up and that injected a bit of life into things.

Most of the exhibits and live turtles were pretty much as I expected and tricky to photograph, though I never thought that a giant turtle could grow to be around eight feet long. They must be a very impressive sight to come across in the wild.

During our roaming we came across three Brazilian guys, all in their early twenties, who were doing much the same thing as Jose and myself and after a brief chat they suggested that we group up, go for breakfast and then head on over to see the sharks, which we agreed to despite already having eaten one breakfast already.

Three Friendly Brazilians

Our new friends were on holidays from city just south or Rio de Janeiro, and with my Jose acting as a translator and me doing my best to speak in pig-Spanish we pretty much firmed a bond that I hope might last beyond the next dawn.

We shared a breakfast and a couple of bottles of beer, and when I mean shared a couple I mean exactly that as they put a single bottle in a cooler and poured out a glass each, rather than ordering a full bottle each.

I don't usually drink alcohol while I am travelling, and especially not this early, but I didn't think that a small one would hurt and indeed a chilled glass of cerveza went down wonderfully in the midday sun.

Unlike a lot of British tourists abroad, I desired to savour this experience to the max and I felt that getting shit faced, passing out and waking up with a hangover but no memories would be an anathema of everything I was trying to achieve. #58

Also take it easy when drinking the local brew for the first time as you will be unaware of its potency and how it will affect your reactions or personality.For an hour or so we discussed football, women, holidays, work and although my travel book was still in its infancy they loved the idea and wanted to have a copy when I finally completed it.

By the time we had finished our drink and breakfast the place had begun to fill up, which meant that a lot more of the attractions would be open with their own knowledgeable guides.

The shark tank was less menacing than it sounds but still worth the wait and after which we decided to take a short trip to the nearby beach and have a swim.

Pedallo Hire in Brazil

Feeling boisterous and full of energy my new found amigos chose to rent out a couple of pedallos, which are a similar to a cycle powered rickshaw, and insisted that I sat up at the front for the best view while they pedalled like maniacs from the rear.

At one point I offered to take my turn at pedalling, despite not knowing which way to hear, but they laughingly refused and seemed to be having far too much fun racing against each other along a well trodden path through the grass and nettles.

A Semi-Secluded Beach in Brazil

Eventually the green fields opened up to a sandy beachfront that was just along the coast from the sanctuary itself and had only a few other sun seekers lying under the midday sun. Once we managed to find a group of unoccupied deck chairs we all took turns guarding the group's valuables while the rest of us went for a splash and a swim in the ocean.

It never crossed my mind for a second that my new friends might try to run off with my wallet or watch, nor that Jose would let them and I was glad that my trust and character judgement did not let me down.

Not having expected to go for a swim, when it was my turn for a dip I felt that skinny dipping was probably not a wise move, so I stripped down to just my boxers and hoped that in the baking sun they would dry out before we had to start our return journey.

Despite wearing some sun block and carefully allowing myself only a few minutes front and back uncovered, as still managed to turn a nice rosy pink across my back and shoulders, which I was sure I would soon regret the moment I next had to lift my rucksack.

Returning to Itapua

It had taken my private raincloud a few days to locate me but once it had it kept close tabs on me and very soon made it presence felt in more ways than one.

Possibly the three young chaps were exceptionally nice or perhaps the stereotype of Brazilians needs a serious reality check, but despite my inability to speak either Portuguese or Spanish nothing stopped us all from having a great time together.

They made such a fuss of me that I felt a bit like a Z-list celebrity and by the end of the afternoon it was all back slaps and exchanging of email addressed before Jose and I had to make out way back to Itapúa.

Just as we reached the bus stop it began to rain, and as an added blessing it was totally empty of other passengers, which meant I was able to strip off and change from my boxers into my shorts without anyone noticing or being offended.

Our timing and connections went just as smoothly on our return journey and we were back in Itapúa before we knew it. After grabbing my rucksack we noticed that I still had a bit of time left to kill so Jose insisted that I try a local delicacy from a nearby cafe.

Widespread throughout the Latin world it turned out to be shredded chicken rolled up into a ball of mash potato and then lightly coated with breadcrumbs before being deep fried. Then, suitably fed it was time for me to say goodbye and headed off to the airport.

Sad to say but despite my best efforts to keep in touch I only every received a couple of emails from one of the local boys, Edson, and worse still was that I never heard from Jose again.

Slightly less sad was that never heard from Ponty who was one of the ladies who I had previously arranged to meet, nor Gieselle despite me speaking to her on the phone a few days ago, so feeling slighted I deleted their details shortly after leaving Brazil.

Leaving Itapua

Sadly saying goodbye to Jose was where my luck ran out, as after him helping me catch a local bus to the airport for pennies I arrived at the airport to find that my flight was not on the board.

Remaining calm I found my airlines information desk and found out that the reason for this was that it had been cancelled a few days ago, though nobody had thought to send out emails informing passengers of the change.

I refused to panic, and neither did I start to shout and scream or carry on, but as politely as I could I asked and I waited and I remained firm in the belief that this was their problem to sort out and that I was not going anywhere until they had resolved the issue to my satisfaction.

Eventually one of them managed to find an available seat on a later flight with another airline. It was not ideal as it mean that I had an additional four hour wait in the airport and I would also now be arriving in Rio after dark, but it was better than nothing. #59

With the extra long wait I was able to find time a toilet where I could put on some new boxer shorts, but as my legs were still sore I didn't feel like wearing jeans was a good idea, despite knowing that air conditioned airports at night can get quite cold.

~~ **** ~~

Arriving in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

I touched down in Rio a little after midnight and to add to my woes I found that due to my late arrival I had arrived having already missed the last bus into town and thus had no option other than to take an airport taxi, costing me a small fortune in the process.

Airport taxies are often a huge tourist trap as drivers often charge ten or even twenty times the normal going rate. #60

Whilst travelling I found myself dogged time after time by unexpected additional costs that overall probably doubled the cost of my trip, and none of which seemed to be covered by my travel insurance. #61

Hostel in Christ's Shadow

Locating my hostel turned out to be the easy part, as once I arrived I had to deal with the night porter who didn't speak anything but Portuguese.

Because of the rain he allowed me to enter the main reception area but wouldn't let me go any further until he had telephoned the owner and I had explained my situation and circumstances to his satisfaction.

After asking a lot of dumb routine questions I was finally given a key to my room and allowed to go and catch some much needed sleep.

I was momentarily relieved to learn that I was not sharing the four bed dorm with anyone else, but my happiness was short lived when I spotted a tiny cockroach walk along the floor and then get swarmed over by fleas within a minute.

Finally there was also a feint buzz of a mosquito which was likely to give me a bout of insomnia like nothing else.

After the rustic but simple pleasures of Itapúa I had high hoped for enjoying Rio to the max, though of course being still on a budget I had booked a hostel, not a luxury hotel, so I was not expecting the works.

A First Morning in Rio

When I woke I found that I had been bitten by various nasties during the night, but not enough to really kick up a fuss about.

In the full light of the morning I had a chance to get a proper look at the place that I was to call home for the next couple of days, and found it was quite small and basic, functional rather than decorative and with nothing out of the ordinary except that it has a battered looking billiard room that I planned to make use of later on if the heat ever got too much for me.

After passing on what the hostel supplied as breakfast I stepped out to do a bit of early morning investigating and from the doorstep was instantly impressed with the view.

On my right looking down the hill I had a wonderful view of the nearby waterfront at Botafogo Beach and the slightly more impressive twin mountain tops rising from the watery horizon that I had seen adorn so many panoramic photos of Rio.

A Modern World Wonder

The Iconic statue O Cristo Redentor, which depicts a robed Jesus standing with arms outstretched is 130 feet high, build of reinforced concrete and soapstone and was constructed between the years 1922 and 1931. It is considered the world's largest Art Deco.

It is not however the biggest of its kind, as that title belong to the Cristo de la Concordia in Bolivia, which is 2 foot taller and is coincidentally the largest statue of any kind in the Southern Hemisphere.

The world's top ten tallest statues are all in Asia and some are over 400 feet high, dwarfing anything constructed by their Latin cousins.

Most impressive though, was that on my left and looking up the hill I could see O Cristo Redentor otherwise known as Christ the Redeemer, or even the Dude to some, standing with his arms outstretched perched on top of the hillside overlooking all of Rio.

In the last year UNESCO held an online voting poll to decide which manmade structures should be deemed a World Wonder, and in keeping with tradition they selected seven that received the most votes.

They are, in no particular order, The Coliseum in Italy, The Taj Mahal in India, Chichen Itza in Mexico, Machu Picchu in Peru, O Cristo Redentor in Brazil, Petra in Jordan and finally The Great Wall of China. Interestingly the Great Pyramid at Giza, which is the only remaining original wonder of the ancient world was awarded an honorary status but did not rank in the top ten.

I personally would not have chosen O Cristo Redentor or The Coliseum myself, and certain not Stonehenge which was Britain's nomination, but I guess that that's what you get when you allow the number of the masses to outweigh the logic of common sense.

From my own personal post-travel perspective I feel also that Sacsayhuaman in Peru; Tulum, Cholula, Xochicalco and Teotihuacan in Mexico, Ankor Wat in Cambodia, Wat Po in Thailand and Copan in Honduras are all more deserving destinations.

I was only a little surprised to learn that Easter Island and Timbuktu made it into the top twenty but did not become winning nominations.

I also regret not researching the seven destinations more before I planned my route, as I have always been something of an amateur historian and through a mix of luck and judgement my route already encompassed six with the seventh, Petra in Jordan, being reachable with a single day trip from Cairo.

ATM Accessibility Problems

Having come from Itapúa I already knew in that I might find it hard to locate an ATM machine that accepted European cards, but I didn't realise how far I would have to walk in order to reach the nearest Citibank. I may as well have jumped in a taxi and told them to take me to the nearest one as it would certainly have saved me over an hour or more.

Considering Rio is known the world over for its annual street carnival that attracts millions of tourists every year, I was surprised how few people around spoke English.

This was a double blow as unlike most European hostels, my hostel did not have a lot of fliers or adverts informing its guests of the many activities that were going on in the city, and could not even offer a city map of any worth.

Again I felt that with more research I would have known exactly where to go and what to do, but I was still a bit disappointed that despite being in an international hostel it was up to the guest to find their own amusement.

In all fairness the hostel did a few adverts of various tourist attractions, and two of them caught my eye.

The first was a half day trip around the city centre in an air conditioned 4x4 Land Rover that covered all the must see hotspots of Rio as well as of course a drive up the hillside to reach the Dude and also to a nearby waterfall.

Samba Football, Brazilian Style

The other attraction, though it meant me staying in Rio for an extra day, was the chance to spectate at a live international football match between Brazil and Colombia.

Now it just so happens that Rio has arguably the world's greatest football stadium, and with the fluid samba style of playing football Brazil has always been my favourite international team, so the chance to see play in front of their home crowd was an opportunity almost too good to miss.

Though a ticket was not exactly cheap, I felt that this was one of those opportunities that does not come along every day, and so excitedly I paid at the hostels reception, using up much of what I had just obtained from the bank.

I did not book up the off road tour at the same time, as knowing how close the Dude was to my hostel I was curious to see if I could simply walk there and save myself some money.

What it meant in terms of my travel schedule was that I would have to catch the night bus to Sao Paulo right after the game, and have one day less to spend there, but as none of my contacts from Sao Paulo have messaged me in months and I had no other burning desire to visit Sao Paulo this was perhaps not such a sacrifice as it first appeared.

Playing the Real Frogger

After paying for my ticket I decided to return to the streets and wanted to take a few photographs of the nearby Botafogo beach.

However between the beach and my hostel was a complete mess of roads that could very probably have been the inspiration for the iconic computer game Frogger.

Although they were all parallel and adjoining to each other, there were a total of fifteen lanes of traffic that I had to cross in order to reach the other side, with nothing but a long and narrow grassy verge every four lanes to give determined pedestrians like me a sporting chance.

The traffic too had a very similar feel to it as you had everything from the slow moving mini vans and coaches, through to the speeding bright yellow taxis and business cars with hot rod motor cyclists and entire families on bikes thrown in for good measure.

In the past I have often thought to myself that if I could walk the roads of London then I could walk the streets anywhere, but here this theory was put firmly to the test and had I not already started out I think it would have been quicker to take the half a mile detour along the road to one of the occasional designated crossing points.

One sight that struck me as particularly cruel was when a driver sped round a corner, barely missing a girl in doing so and seemingly not content with that they then screeched to a halt and threw the vehicle into reverse almost knocking the poor girl down a second time.

Finally on the other side I rewarded with an unobstructed view over the bay and of some rather bizarre and colourful pieces of modern art. However without a sandy beach and with the almost deafening noise of the motorway behind me, I didn't tarry long before plumping for see if I could find a way up the mountain to visit the Dude.

A Disappointing Phone Call

Putting my life in my hands a second time, I re-crossed the road and started making my way back to the hill towards the green cliff that was home to O Cristo Redentor.

I had only gone a few minutes when my mobile rang, and as it was from a Brazilian cell phone I had high hopes that it was one of my contacts here in Rio asking to meet up.

This turned out to be true as it was Barbara, a pretty local beauty who I had been exchanging emails with for many months; however I was totally floored when she continued to speak in Portuguese instead of English. #62

In all our correspondences we had always used English and so, as she never told me otherwise, I naturally assumed that she could understand a little English, but apparently not.

I barely managed to get out of her that she was happy that I was here, but despite my best efforts I could not understand anything else and so after a few minutes of fruitless talking I gave up, said goodbye and hung up.

I felt really betrayed and frustrated that she had never once thought to tell me that she couldn't speak any English in any of her many emails, and had I know I would either have made better arrangements to meet up or possibly not even bothered in the first place.

A few days later I received an email from Barbara in which she admitted to having always used a translation programme to read my emails and to write her replies.

However having missed our best chance to meet up I decided not to remain in contact with her as all her previous emails had been of a romantic or sexual slant and now that I knew I would never return to Brazil I knew that any further communication was not only pointless but also misleading.

Mountain Climbing Houses

Feeling slightly deflated I returned to my original plan which was to find a way up the hillside to reach its summit and visit my first modern wonder of the world.

However this simple task proved to be a lot harder than it looked as time and again I found turning up onto a side street only to find that the end of the road backed onto a sheer cliff face.

In a feat of engineering and structural determination the locals seemed to defy gravity and logic by continuing to build their houses or hotel complexes right up the mountain side and I swear the end structures were built into the very rock itself.

This posed a bit of a headache for me as every time I thought I had finally found a road up and onto the crest of the hillside I sooner or later realised that I was mistaken and that in actual fact I was passing another dead end.

Eventually, after walking up to the foot of the mountain side and then along one side for several hundred yards I came to the realisation that the road up must start of the other side and that in order to reach it I would have to face the mammoth walk around the hillside.

As the implication of this reached my feet they suddenly threw a mutiny and started to throb and ache with a vengeance. Giving up on the idea of walking any further I decided I would instead head off to Copacabana beach and rest my feet awhile.

The Buses of Rio

In order to walk to Copacabana beach it was technically a longer distance, but I knew that the route would be flat all the way and so it felt easier, however managing to find a way through the mountain was not such an easier task.

I did find a tunnel leading into the heart of the hillside, however try as I might I could not see how it could be used by pedestrians as it seemed to be only for vehicles, so I soon warmed to the idea of getting there by bus.

There were plenty of buses that passed me heading into the mountain, and so hopping on one that wasn't exactly difficult, but as I could find no route either at the bus stop or on the bus itself, I kept my eyes glued to the road ahead in an effort to judge when to alight.

In their wisdom the bus companies here in Rio, and possibly in the rest of Brazil and South America, charge a fixed price per passenger, and not per destination or number of stops travelled which made an hour long journey cost the same as a five minute shortcut up or down a hill.

This also has the added advantage for tourists like myself in that with their 'one price fits all' payment structure I didn't even need to know any Portuguese to use it, I just passed over the correct change, collected my ticket and then passed through the mini turnstile and took a seat.

Copacabana Beach

Once through the mountain I stayed on the bus until we reached what appeared to be a shopping complex and spotting a group of girls in small bikinis following a sign that read Copacabana Beach I knew that I had to be close enough to walk and jumped off the next time it came to a halt.

Sure enough the beach was only a few hundred yards further up the road, and as soon as I cleared the row of luxury hotels I could see the expanse of the beachfront open out before my eyes.

For a moment I wondered why the beach was not more packed, considering the sun was certainly out and roasting hot, until I got my head around the fact that this was normal weather for this of the world and that most of the locals would of course be still at work.

The beach seemed to stretch for at least half a mile before it actually met the sea, which meant there was plenty of room to spread out and at regular intervals were drinks hut under a huge parasols.

Using my t-shirt as a makeshift pillow I found a clear spot and laid down, but having stuck to the shade for much of the morning I was hardly ready for a prolonged stretch beneath the direct sunlight and within minutes I could feel my skin start to tighten and knew that I would not be able to stand it for long.

It is almost Ironic that like a lot of Brits, I have fair skin and live in a temperate climate and when I am abroad I am keen to search out the sun, however at the same time I am totally unprepared physically and can't actually stay out in the direct sun for very long.

As my trip here was also an afterthought and not my original plan upon leaving the hostel, I did not have any suntan lotion with me and so after only ten minutes or so I knew that my poor skin had already exceeded its limit and that unless I liked looking like a lobster I had to find some after sun and quickly. #63

Not only had I not brought any sun cream with me, but I also did not have any change of clothing so after lying on the sand for awhile, the sand was sticking to the sweat on my back and despite giving my shirt a good shake I knew I would be finding sand in my clothes and hair for weeks to come.

Copacabana Shopping District

After my short lived trip to the beach I then felt that I should try to get some after sun lotion, and the sooner the better, so despite the likelihood that the prices would be sky high because of the location I trawled up the nearby shopping area looking for a pharmacy.

I could not help but notice that the entire stretch of real estate that overlooked the beach was plush hotels, you only had to go a couple of streets inland and then things started getting back to normality.

Once I had found some lotion I headed to the nearest McDonalds in order to use the toilets to slap on some cream over all over and then treated myself to an ice-cream and a coke, but even here I was surprised how few people understood any English.

As I had no idea where to get the bus to come back I tried to find my way back to the tunnel and then work backward and in doing so I walked right past an adult store, where a fast talking local tried to get me to go with him back to a great place he knew that gave special massages.

Typical, the only person I have met all day that speaks any English and they turn out to be a pimp!

Not wanting to be talked into entering any shady fleapit I just smiled and continued on my way until I spotted a bus doing in the right direction and thankfully there was a stop close by. #64

The bus ride took me almost right back to Botafogo beach and so I only had to walk a block or two before I could see the string of miniature international flags that adorned my hostel and knew I was home.

My gut instinct was correct as surfing the web a little later on I found out that I had narrowly avoided a popular con hereabouts.

The con goes, that the pimp would agree a price for an hour massage with the tourist and then take them to a private apartment where he could chose from a couple of local girls who would be waiting, along with a maid / receptionist. None of the girls or the maid would be able to understand English so the pimp does all the talking.

Then after the money is handed over the local girl gives a brief massage before suddenly stopping and demanding more money, indicating that the tourist's times is up.

Of course the pimp would already have done a disappearing act, and the poor tourist faces an apartment full of screaming women and had ended up paying over $100 for no longer than a ten minute massage.

A Warped Pool Table in Rio

Back in the hostel I thought I would see how true their billiard table played and was disappointed but not surprised with its poor condition.

Early on I had seen a couple of Americans slam the balls around and having investigated the cues and the table bay myself I can see why, as the only way to combat dead cushions and an uneven surface is to give the cue ball a lot of extra pace.

I spent a while playing by myself in the hope that if I stayed there long enough another hostel guest or traveller would eventually pass by and fancy a game, but after an hour I gave up and headed off to my room.

Online Hostel Reviews

Looking back I realise that having it all planned out might have taken a lot of the legwork out but it also took a lot of the fun and mystery out of travelling as well.

When I first started planned my route, to both to ease the mind of my family and to ensure that I would not waste any time searching for a place to sleep, I used a variety of websites to book up all my reservations in advance.

Booking online meant that it would be virtually impossible for me to lose a booking confirmation as I could always get another copy anywhere that had an internet signal.

It also doubled up as a backup for my travel journey as the travel agencies, loving feedback like they do, would automatically send me a review form for each place that I visited.

Considering that I filtered out any hostels that didn't receive at least 70% good reviews, I thought it my duty to be honest and do my best to review every destination I visited. #65

During to a slight change of dates in the planning stage I ended up making two bookings for this particular hostel, the first for a single night and the second for the remaining couple of nights.

The travel agency automatic review process did not recognise my stay as a day earlier and instead considered them individual booking, with the first booking now completed.

As such they had recently sent me a review form for the first booking, and as I was at a bit of loose end I decided to save time and complete it now when I had nothing else pressing for time.

What I failed to take into consideration was the speed at which the whole review system worked or how posting a review would affect me!

Twin Lifestyle of Latin Culture

While I was pondering how to phrase my replies I took a few moments out to consider the city of Rio and the whole dual lifestyle of the Latin culture in general.

Rio is a mix of modern and falling down, and there are cheap stalls to get food or a drink just about everywhere you look, so you shouldn't have to feel that they will direct you to all the most expensive places in town, and I know that with a local speaking guide around here to keep things honest a person could have a really nice time.

The thing is, and I found this to be as true in Southern Europe as it is here in South America, that there is a real split between the day life and the night scene, and as I have chosen to spend only a few days in each city I have to decide which world I want to frequent.

Many places are closed on Mondays, seem to be dead or closed between midday and early evening and then worst of all closed up for good around tea time, regardless of how many hours they were actually open. As a tourist it means that I am trying and cram in a lot in just a few hours.

Then the day may as well be officially over and nothing happens until around 9pm when the night life version of the city opens up.

This means that if you are meeting friends after work there is no rush to meet them and instead you have hours to go home and freshen up as your rendezvous destination probably won't open for hours yet, but once it does it will stay open until the small hours of tomorrow morning.

Second Morning in Rio

I woke up to another baking hot morning sun and after a light snack for breakfast I decided that my feet had recovered enough for me to try out the flip-flops again, this time keeping in mind that I should not try to do any real distance walking in them.

I didn't really have a plan for today, but I thought I would use the local public transport once more to see where it could take me and also if there was a stop nearby the other side of the hillside then I could try and take another go at walking up to see the O Cristo Redentor on foot.

The moment I stepped outside of the hostel I could feel the sun burning down on me, and even though I was wearing a thin shirt it did little to stop my back from screaming at me in protest.

I am sure that a few of my friends back home would be loving the heat and would be out on the beach every day sunning it up, but for me even the ten minutes that it took to crisp my back yesterday was enough and without a sunshade, sunglasses and never-ending supply of cheap mojitos or sprite I doubt that I could spend more than an couple of hours out there.

At around thirty eight degrees Celsius outside I should not have been surprised that I was wilting so fast in the heat, as it's a far cry from the mild British weather that I was accustomed to.

Rio's Underground Rail Network

Taking a look at the stupid tourist map that I picked up in the hostel I found that Rio does indeed have its own Metro system, although it hardly seemed worth their effort in building it as it only has a few stops dotted around the city.
As the map was pretty sketchy on details I had to use my nose and street signs to find it, but once I got there I found the whole place quite modern and even more surprisingly purchasing a ticket was child's play.

The metro used plastic cards that could either be reused if loaded up with credit or swallowed up for one way rides, and at the other end I found out that I didn't need to touch anything to get out, just walk through another turnstile.

But it was not only the buildings themselves that were more modern in the underground; the people too were of a different calibre to those wandering around the streets or the beach area.

Before I knew it I felt decidedly underdressed and like a cheap tourist for the first time since leaving Europe.

Even the looks of the average person seemed to increase, though I put this down to less time in the sun and more money to buy better clothes, makeup and cosmetics rather than any foolish notion that rich equal's beauty.

In a similar way it reminded me of being back at the airport, where every passenger must be considered at least well off by common standards otherwise they would not be able to afford a flight in the first place.

Certainly they were a world away from the truly poor of the area, like the guy without shoes in Itapúa or the homeless outside my hostel whose nightly ritual was to raid the garbage bags of nearby hotels in search of thrown away rice and other leftovers.

Cinelandia in Name Only

Being a lover of movies and films I thought it provident that on the map there was a stop called Cinelandia, and so I departed the train there in the hopes of catching a daytime showing.

However within minutes I realised my mistake as the main plaza was empty of cinemas and neither did the side streets seem to offer much promise.

As my Spanish teacher would say, I had befallen of the common 'false friends' language trap where I assume that a word means one thing because it sounds very similar to an English word, only to learn that it means something totally different. #66

The buildings around the entrance were fabulously good looking, by any countries standard and I thought that perhaps this was the parts of the city that I should be hanging around more and not the hostels or the beach, but alas it was not to be.

After taking a look around the main plaza I could not help but fail to notice that there was a distinct lack of cinemas of any description, so feeling sure that they must be nearby I went for a walk, nosing up side streets and completing a circuit of the area. I might have felt sure, but I was also wrong.

It turns out that there was only one cinema within walking distance of Cinelandia, and that only screened one viewing per day and only held one movie per season. According to the display boards, the rest of the time it hosted live bands, operas and concerts.

A Sexual Public Nuisance

Casting my eyes over the rest of the district I spotted a sight that filled me with disappointment which was that all the nearby public phone booths were littered with cards of sex ads. I had hoped that this particular phenomenon was localised only in London, but apparently not.

However disappointment soon turned to curiosity as upon a closer inspection I noticed one slightly peculiar fact in that all the adverts featured transsexuals, of either the pre or post op variety.

Whether this area was a hotbed of transsexual activity or the lack of heterosexual woman was an unusual rarity I am not sure, but it did strike me as bizarre.

Not wishing to try and gain entry into any of the ornate buildings that might or might not be museums, I made my way back to the metro station and feeling exhausted because of the heat I passed on my idea of finding a way up the hill to visit the dude on foot.

Instead I planned to try the other location where cinemas are often frequented, which was at the top of a multi-story shopping mall.

Central Rio's Shopping Mall

Finding the mall was not difficult, as I had passed it only yesterday morning, only a few streets down from my hostel, during my earlier effort to find an ATM machine that accepted western debit cards.

For some reason, shopping malls the world over attract only the most upmarket of shops and stores, often charging prices ten to a hundred times that of similar local branded stores just a few blocks away.

All the top brand names in fashion, electronics, cars and beauty products had their own outlets here, and it left me wondering why anyone bothers to go abroad to shop when all the top brands have already brought their goods to the furthest reaches of the world.

As I had hoped, the top level was a multi screen cinema complex, but it was so expensive for a ticket that I could not justify the cost to myself and so despite my desire I passed and instead went to investigate the other levels. #67

The next level down from the top was filled with an expensive ranch style restaurant that charged a fortune for a steak and chips, so I continued down to the next level below and located the much more reasonably charged international food mall.

English Cuisine Abroad

The central area was all chairs and tables, with the edge being crammed with small kitchen fronts and stalls from all over the world.

I was tempted at first to have Italian pasta or an Indian curry, but when I spotted the good old Union Flag I felt a surge of patriotism and an unconditional desire for banging and mash with mushy peas and gravy.

Forgetting all thoughts of foreign foods, my taste buds started to work themselves up for some scrummy British grub as I made my way round the hall to the British Stall, only for them to crash and burn at the total lack of anything that I would mark as traditional foods from my home country.

Considering the union flag was on display above the stall, I half expected to see a variety from Cornish pasties to Scottish haggis with the traditional roast beef and fried breakfast completing the mix.

However I could not have been more disappointed as the only food on offer was the mighty jacket potato, and not even with a huge variety of toppings but just cheese, beans or ham.

So incensed by this slur to my countries culinary heritage was I that I took out my camera in order to get proof, only for one of the malls security guards came up and not only prevent me from taking the picture, but they also showed me the exit.

At most other times I could have taken the restriction on photography in good spirit, but after being neglected by my Rio contacts, failed to reach the dude, failed to find a cinema in Cinelandia and now being ejected for being patriotic I could not contain my frustration any longer.

In a low menacing I turned the air blue with a string of expletives as I made my way back down to ground level via the escalators. #68

The Importance of being Honest

Back in the hostel I decided to try and cheer myself up by watching one of the hostels DVD choices in their lounge.

I managed to scrounge up some goodies almost akin to what I would normally chose while in a cinema and sat down to watch a good thriller, but even as the opening credits rolled up a large and imposing figure approached me.

Without any attempt at introducing himself to me the man asked me who I was and then started to ask me some questions, which though feeling slightly puzzled I answered.

This continued for about a couple of minutes and with each question asked a growing sense of unease grew in me, but it was only after about the tenth question or so that everything clicked into place and my unease grew into a mix of panic, anger and insult.

It turns out that the man was the hostel owner and he was both pissed and vexed.

Unbeknown to me, the travel agency automatically sends the hostel a copy of all online reviews as soon as they receive them, and judging from his demeanour the owner was unhappy about my entirely true but nevertheless unflattering review of his business.

It was not that I had said the hostel was terrible, for if it was that bad I would not have stayed or booked the football excursion through them, but I had been honest about the poor food, the overnight porter and the fact that since checking in I had been bitted at least a dozen times by mosquitoes.

After the day that I had had, I felt in no mood for any of this guy's shit, when all I have been was honest and had offered up some constructive criticisms. I defended my position and pointed out that I had not lied in any way, but this he took as further insult and started ranting and raving about the fact that," _This is Brazil and we are only a poor hostel. There are rain forests in this country, and mosquitoes live in rain forests so what do you expect?_ '

Considering the size of Brazil this argument fell flat with me, but such was his fury and my already black mood that I could not find it in me to laugh at his ridiculous and pathetic comments, so instead I fell silent and hoped that he would get it all out his system and then leave me in peace. Wrong again.

When he noticed that I was no longer looking at him and had gone back to the DVD he then pressed me with his finale.

"Hey, am I boring you?"

To which I replied, " _No, you're just ruining my night._ "

_"Good, 'cos that makes us even. Now why don't you leave!"_ was his immediate response.

That, I feel, was not only showing a very bad attitude indeed but to evict any guest at this time of night was no joke. #69

Leaving Rio de Janeiro

I was still in a state of shock as I went back into my room to pack my stuff. Of course, I would have to get a refund for my football ticket before I left, but more importantly I had to find a place to stay for the night and it had got dark hours ago.

A quick search proved no instant solutions in my price range, and I was sure that the hostel owner would prove uncooperative should I try to use my insurance cover, so I was left with no choice but to instead find a route to the main bus terminal and head on over to Sao Paulo.

Rio's International Bus Terminal

Thankfully finding the bus station wasn't hard thanks to the metro system and then taking a connecting bus the rest of the way.

Despite the fact that not one person on the entire station seemed to speak English I managed to purchase a ticket, which normally would have been enough, however in their infinite wisdom the bus company refused to let me onboard until I had also completed a form.

The form was, of course, written all in Portuguese, and with no one around able to Speak English it was far from easy completing, and several times I cursed at their needless bureaucracy considering I was only travelling from one Brazilian city to another.

Using a lot of guess work, some educated and others divinely inspirited, I put down as much information until I was left with one a single blank, document number, which turned out to be my passport number.

Not having memorised it before hand, this pissed me off even more as because of the enforced early packing I hadn't thought to keep it to hand and so it was naturally in the deepest recess of my rucksack and I had to empty it out on the platform in order to locate it. #70

Having finally completed their quite pointless form they let me onto the coach and I had a little run around trying to find my seat.

Even finding my seat threw me a little as they numbered their seats a little differently than I was expecting, which might be why I have spotted airplane passengers be unable to find their seat though to me it is perfectly logical.

With my detachable rucksack pouch clutched tightly to my chest, I managed to find it before the bus driver took off and under a thin blanket I did my best to get some sleep.

Extended Smoking Break

Even before the sun had risen I was woken by the absence of movement when the driver pulled into a lay-by so that he could stretch his legs and have a cigarette.

I do not normally begrudge drivers a break after five hours solid driving, but when he failed to get the engine going again I had plenty of time for begrudgery.

Considering how bad my previous day had been, this wasn't quite the way I had hoped today would start, being stranded in the middle of nowhere at the coldest time of the night, surrounded by a bunch of rudely woken Brazilians all swearing and demanding things.

About half an hour later the next bus on the route pulled in, and after a brief discussion the driver found space for all of us and our luggage.

It was a tight squeeze as we had to sit with our luggage on our laps, but at least I wouldn't have a struggle to get my luggage back when we pulled into Sao Paulo.

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in Sao Paulo, Brazil

With the delay in transit benefitting me in that I was not arriving at such a ridiculously early time, I made my way on foot to my hotel using another digital photo map, as my hotel was only about a mile from the bus depot.

The route from the bus stop to the hotel gave me an early chance to have a look round the area where my hotel was located, and from first impressions I guess I was in the wrong part of town.

I had assumed that Sao Paulo was going to be quite modern and well looked after, but as I walked along the streets I could see that most buildings were long overdue a lick of paint and for some a complete remodelling would not have gone a miss.

A Camouflaged Hotel in Sao Paulo

After getting lost a couple of times I finally managed to find the hotels address, only to be faced with a completely different building from the one I was expecting.

On the website the hotel proudly displayed a range of photos from both the interior and exterior of the hotel, only it was either of a different branch in the chain or it had since gone a retro-style refit as the building I found myself standing in front of bared no resemblance to the images I had seen online.

Unsure of how trading standards worked here, I shook off my disappointment and made my way to the main reception to ask for my room.

Despite there being no chance that the entire hotel was full, my particular room wasn't ready for such an early morning arrival and so I had to wait in the reception lounge for a couple of hours until it was made up.

Once checked in, I fell upon my hotel bed, the first semi-luxury that I had afforded myself in many days and it felt long overdue.

Through the stress and hassle of leaving Rio I was still plenty tired, the snooze on the coach over notwithstanding, so I decided to crash out for as long as my body wanted, which turned out to be about five hours.

Slowly unwinding I tried to think of something positive to take from the last few days but the best I could come up with was that it would probably make for interesting reading.

Bring on Peru is all I can say, as right at this moment I feel that I cannot leave Brazil soon enough and every minute here is a minute wasted.

Booked into the Wrong Neighbourhood

After my nap I was feeling a bit more chipper, so I decided to take a second go at walking around the local neighbourhood to see if there was a nice bar where I could watch tonight's international match with some of the locals.

The Hotel reception had very few maps of leaflets aimed at tourists, which confirmed my suspicions that it was aimed at locals more than foreign visitors, but it did have at least one map booklet.

The booklets contents was the usual gumph that I was expecting, heavy of adverts for hotels, restaurants and art galleries, all of which are no real use to me, but somewhat surprisingly was that all the reviews about where is the best places to visit for a few hours or that offered up amazing photograph opportunities seemed to be missing.

Spotting a small niche in the market, for the briefest of moments I considered writing one, but then the saner part of my brain kicked in and I realised that trawling every side and back street looking for promising sights in this heat was crazy thinking.

Sao Paulo Central District

Thus it was that I decided to go for a short stroll and see what the local area could offer. I had thought that as my hotel was almost in the centre of the city that this would be easy, but the more I walked the more I realised that I had picked a lousy place that must have been miles away from anything resembling fun.

Of course I didn't walk every street, but I did a fairly large circuit that me over an hour but everywhere I looked all I could see was dirt, dust, rust and broken down buildings.

I did spot several cheap corner stalls where if I knew what I was buying then I would have been able to grab a bite to eat and can of fizzy pop for next to nothing, but not recognising anything I chose not to risk a blind purchase being acutely aware of how bad my luck has been as of late.

Equally there didn't seem to be any newsagents, but instead there were hundreds of market stalls and kiosks offering up the usual postcards, newspapers, off the top shelf magazines and cigarettes.

Possibly due to a minor case of sunstroke but on the way back I managed to get turned around somehow and so despite being just a few blocks away it took me the best part of an hour to make it back to a place that I recognised.

It might have helped had the street names on my map been the same as the ones on the streets, but alas that would have been too easy. Instead they seemed to like giving everywhere two or three names, just to keep me on my toes!

After what felt like an eternity pounding the streets in the baking heat I spotted my hotel and almost ran the last few meters, so eager was I to see a familiar sight.

It was around this time that I definitely decided that Brazil was not for me, at least this part wasn't, and started making serious attempts at cutting short my stay here and moving on across to Peru without further delay.

Booking With International Travel Agents

Back in my room I got out my laptop and tried to connect to the hotels Wi-Fi signal, only to find that the only place I could pick up any signal was downstairs in the lounge right next to the main reception, due to the hotel having only the most basic of Wi-Fi routers.

I logged on and tried to rearrange my flight to Peru only I found that despite it being child's play to book a flight online, the only way to rearrange an existing flight booking was to phone up the travel agency and speak to one of their operators.

Considering I would have to use my mobile to make the international call while I myself was roaming, I couldn't even hazard a guess as to how much the cost would cost me, but if I could leave here three days earlier then I would feel it would be worth it.

Unfortunately, I had not factored into my logic that the online travel agency I had booked with was based in Australia and so could only be phoned during their office hours.

After hours of waiting for their offices to open I finally got hold of them, only for them to give me the news that they would love to help, for a fee, but in order to do so they would need to phone up the airline to confirm, which regrettably would now have to wait until tomorrow as being based in South America their offices had now closed. #71

Realising that by the time all the connecting phone calls were made and confirmed it would be time for me to leave on my existing flight I gave up and asked the price of a completely new flight, only to be quoted an exorbitant fare, thus negating it from being a suitable solution to my predicament.

An ill Fated Football Match

By around the time I had finished with the travel agency and drew my attention back to impending football match it had grown dark outside, so I also gave up on the idea of watching it with true soccer supporters and retired to my room to watch the game.

I am not sure if this was providence or not, but despite offering so much it was a very dull and uninspiring goalless game that only being in a stadium filled with thousands of screaming fans would make it in any way memorable.

It was almost two years later before I learned that this was mostly due to the Brazilian Manager Dunga, a former world cup winner himself, not being a fan of the traditional samba style and so had ordered the team to focus less on passion and more on pure results.

He had also dropped two of their most charismatic and technically gifted players over a dispute about his managerial style.

New Day in Sao Paulo

I woke up this morning in a bit of a funk and it I think it was fair to say that for the first time since I left home I felt truly homesick and miserable.

Part of this was being abandoned by all the contacts I had made in Brazil, part of that was due to the return of the rain and the remainder I put down to the fact that I was still reeling from the news that I was stuck here and could not just up and leave.

Although I never expected to give or to want to just chuck it all in and board the first flight home, it was nevertheless a shock to the system to be categorically told that I had no choice other than to continue regardless of how badly I felt or whatever problems I'd encountered.

Escaping the Funk & Giving Sao Paulo a Chance

Aware of my lack of options I tried to get myself back into a positive mindset and so set up my laptop speakers to belt out some classic 80's pop, which did the trick at least for a short time.

It really is true that music can have an enormous impact on a person's state of mind and I was determined that I would do more today than just mope about in my hotel room watching movies.

Feeling that I ought to give Sao Paulo a chance to redeem Brazils tarnished name I did a little online research and found that it had an Asian district, a public zoo and a water theme park that were both considered worth visiting.

With that in mind I got to grips with their Metro System, still being a firm believer that overseas taxi drivers often rip you off and headed on over to little China, alighting one stop earlier as it felt it would be a nice walk.

I ended up being a little further out than I had hoped but it gave me a chance to see how the Brazilians handled the lay of the land.

Unlike the UK, which is mostly flat due to glacial action many millions of years ago, here in Brazil there were hills and dips all over the place, so I was suitably impressed that in places the lanes of traffic were stacked on top of each other at least four deep.

It wasn't identical to an old black and white movie idea of an overcrowded futuristic metropolis but it wasn't far off!

Sao Paulo's Asian District

Reaching the Asian district was not a problem and even from the edges I was glad to see that in this area they had real influence and not just thrown into an area that no one else wanted.

From the hotels and restaurants it was clear that this was a very concentrated area of Chinese people, but what caught my eye was that they even changed the way the street lights were shaped.

I was half hoping to see some places where I could pick up a good massage but alas I failed to spot anywhere, so either they were tucked away on the side and back streets or were buried somewhere deep inside a shopping complex or restaurant and not openly advertised from street level.

It was quite a juxtaposition to see a very Asian theme in the middle of South America. Window shopping it was also quite alarming that despite having been to the Far East twice I have never seen so many samurai swords, throwing stars and knives display.

It didn't even matter in which shop I passed, they all had them be it a toy store, souvenir stall, restaurant or book shop.

There must have been some sort of parade or rally going on nearby as a little way up the road there was lots of commotion going on with a group of people wearing matching t-shirts.

Up until now I had not been overly approached by tramps or beggars, but for some reason they were a real nuisance here and I found myself almost running to escape them.

I had thought that I could escape them in the middle of the main plaza, only to find that right in the middle was a tramp in the process of undressing under half a blanket which totally freaked me out.

Sao Paulo Zoo

There were some very picturesque buildings but I was still bothered by the ever present beggars and so I decided to head on over to try and find the zoo, which involved getting a bus from the nearest metro station or a very long and poorly signposted walk.

From the tourist map that I had picked up at the hotel I thought that I would have to buy a separate entrance ticket to the bus, but wiser heads were at work here and there was a special kiosk to buy a entrance ticket that included the return trip from the metro station.

Being the middle of the day I had hoped to have the place pretty much to myself, but as it turned out I had chosen to visit on the same day as a school outing and so the children were everywhere, laughing, screaming and getting in the way of almost every photograph I tried to take.

I expect the caged animals were just as irked by them, as I doubt they could have made more noise if they tried.

The zoo was pretty much like every other main zoo that I have been to, with lots of cages, high fences, obscure animals and places to buy refreshments.

Aside from the moral debate about capturing and caging animals for public amusement, here in Sao Paulo I found another argument again a zoo in Brazil and that was the weather. Because of the heavy and the blistering heat in alternating seasons, I can't even think of a good time to visit when the animals would not be hiding from one of the other.

Possibly feeling pushed out by the children or just wanting to sit down, I seemed to have rushed my tour and arrived back at the exit without seeing either the wolves or the condors, both being high on my list of attractions that I had been eager to see.

At least I had arrived ahead of any of the groups of school children and so I had the bus back into the centre of town all to myself, though the driver kept me waiting for ages in the hope of not going back with an almost empty bus.

My Sixth Sense

Back in my hotel I brought my laptop down from my room and sat surfing in the main lounge just as I had yesterday. The lounge had some quite nice leather sofas and glass topped wooden tables, so it wasn't hard to get comfortable but today something was nagging at my subconscious and wouldn't let me fully relax.

I have no idea how many people passed through the main reception, and most of them failed to even register on my peripheral vision but this one guy with a bright red baseball cap caught my attention as he just didn't seem to fit in right. He seemed to linger a fraction too long for no reason before wandering off again.

Anyway a few minutes later my internet browsing was interrupted by the hotels main receptionist who informed me that there was a phone call for me and that I could pick it up at the main check in desk.

Now I had no idea who could be trying to reach me on the hotels main telephone line, as I hadn't given the number out to anyone and indeed didn't even know it myself, but the clerk was most insistent and so I went over to answer the call.

I did, however, chose a phone much closer to where I was sitting than all the way over by the main reception. Picking up the receiver I had some guy speaking in Portuguese to me and all I got was the word 'restaurant' before I knew that something was wrong.

Attempted Theft of my Laptop

Slamming the phone down I spun round in the same motion and was just in time to spot that the guy with the red baseball cap had returned and had been heading in the direction of where I had been sitting with my laptop.

Now I do admit that there is a slim possibility that the shifty looking man and the confusion over the telephone call were in no way connected and that this is all a case of my paranoia playing mind games with me, but in my mind I have no doubt.

If I had wandered over to the main reception desk and stayed on the line in an attempt to get to the bottom of the telephone call then I have no doubt that by then time I returned to the sofa both my laptop and the red baseball capped stranger would have been long gone.

I am also sure that the insurance company would have blamed me for leaving it unattended, regardless of how however short a time it was, and the hotel would have denied any complicity in the theft and insist that it was a genuine mistake, that is if I could even have managed to find someone that spoke enough English to understand what I would be going on about in the first place

I would rather be paranoid and owe someone an apology but keep my laptop than the alternative.

Tailoring your Trips

Having narrowly averted certain personal disaster, I returned to my room with my laptop to reflect on what had just happened and also why I was feeling so down.

When I think of South America my mind conjures up images of hiking through mountainous coffee plantations, rediscovering ancient ruins and battling the tropical wildlife in the deepest rain forests.

Now, in all honesty, the biggest problem with my visit to Brazil is that I vastly underestimated how large the country is and how lacking in organisation is their tourism industry.

Apart from the sea turtle sanctuary, which was a lucky break, none of the destinations I chose to visit were within a hundred miles of a mountain, ancient ruins or rainforest.

Had I done the proper amount of research I would have avoided going to these places, or at least drastically altered my preconception of what I would do whilst I was here, and thus would not be feeling quite so short changed.

I suppose if I had booked to canoe down the Amazon river then, apart from having to leave my rucksack somewhere safe and dry, I would have been having a whale of a time, but being alone in the middle of a city that cannot compete with London for attractions, safety, familiarity or the ability to get in touch with friends and family I was always going to be onto a loser.

Feeling Homesick in Sao Paulo

Thus it was that with a lot of mixed emotions, including a certain amount of homesickness, I spent the next few hours trying to research and organise things to do in Peru to avoid making the same mistake again.

Reviewing my itinerary I began to have some concerns about spending entire weeks alone where I had no plans to meet anyone.

In an effort to get organised I began by contacting several of the hostels where I had reservations requesting some tour suggestions, after which I hit the travel guides and online forums to start doing a bit of forward planning.

To round of the day on a high I decided to watch a couple of DVD movies with a delivered meal, but being unable to speak Portuguese I had the idea that I could get the hotel receptionist to order the meal for me.

More Miserable Hotel Staff in Brazil

So I headed on down to the reception and, selecting one of the menu fliers placed right there on reception, I did my best to ask them to call up the restaurant for me and place the order.

I was both shocked and stunned when the clerk shook his head and refusing to do so suggested that instead I go for a walk and try one of the many restaurants in the neighbourhood.

I simply could not believe that he steadfast refused to do this simple request for me, especially as I had chosen a takeaway from a company they clearly endorsed. Thus denied, I went off the idea and instead retired to my room and instead had an early night.

Looking back I am now confident in my opinion that for a sightseeing traveller, as opposed to a business trip or romantic getaway, it is the staff and not the facilities that set the standard of a hostel, hotel or resort.

Cosmetic touches like fancy wallpaper may look good on a brochure but they don't stick in the memory, and no amount of extra pillows or fold up ironing boards can best a truly helpful and pro-active receptionist or manager.

Equally, places where the staff were outright hostile or unfriendly I would not recommend to even my worst enemy.

Third Day in Sao Paulo

Today I had several plans for the day. Firstly I needed do wash my dirty laundry. Secondly I wanted to try out that water park I had seen mention of and finally, as I had had enough of carting around a load of paperwork, I wanted to send another package home and lighten the load.

I also noticed that, possibly because of all the bashing that my rucksack was taking, my Nokia charger had given up the ghost and being without a working cell phone in case of emergencies was not a prospect I relished.

A Spreading Plague of Unhelpfulness

In order to reach the water park I could already see that it was too far to walk from the hotel, but from the internet it appeared that from the main train station there was a bus service that would take you there directly.

Finding the train station was the easy part, but from then on it got tricky and even after I found a tourist information point where someone spoken English, they clearly felt that they had better things to do with their time than give me enough assistance to actually get on the bus.

They gave me a vague direction and send me on my way, but once out of eyeshot I was no nearer finding any bus or coach and ended up walking to where it was supposed to be.

Those Sneaky Brazilians

There was not a great deal of information on the water park on the web, but then as that seemed par for the course for anything in Brazil, I felt that once I started walking I would easily be able to spot the signs for the place.

After an hour's walk I passed right next to where it was shown on their website, but not a sausage, wet or dry!

All I can think of is that these guys are world class experts at hiding things, as so far even with maps and directions and a compass I have been unable to find a pizza restaurant, numerous metro stations, a bridge and now an entire amusement park

Years later I tried to search online for the theme park. I am not sure who was more confused, me or them, but apparently the water park was over seventy kilometres away, so hardly a walk-able distance.

Slightly more curious was that the internet still reports that there is a child's theme park right where I walked past, and if true them I can only surmise that either it was closed when I visited or is it one of those miniature parks, as I failed to hear a single sound nor see a single ride or flashing light the whole time.

The Return of the Rain

After the last few days of blistering heat it was nice to wake up to slight cloud cover, however as the day wore on I got my wish in spades and by dinner time it had become a full scale tropical storm complete with thunder and lightning.

Reflecting on this, I have found one of the several good reasons why the travel community suggest that you travel clockwise when attempting to circumnavigate the world, which is in order to keep ahead of the weather. Another is the changes in time zones. #73

Being far off the beaten track it took me awhile to find my way back to civilization, though along the way I found a very nice if slightly expensive restaurant.

Around this point my own little rain cloud finally recovered from crossing the Atlantic and made amen's for not being around by opening up above me, and once in full flow it never showed any signs of letting up for more than the occasional day for the rest of my entire journey.

Before I made it back to the hotel I somehow walked right into the middle of one of Sao Paulo's many red light districts.

I knew better than to try and photograph any of the street walkers, but I was amused by the effort that some of the night clubs had gone to in respect of their theme and outward appearance and so had to pause and take a few pictures.

Sao Paulo by Night

After letting my feet rest for awhile, and spotting a break in the rain, I decided to take a stroll and investigate the local night life, certain that it had to be more exciting than any nearby daytime attractions.

Not knowing what might happen I had already taken my usual precaution of leaving behind anything of value and sticking to the main streets.

Late night street walking has always been a habit of mine and one that I enjoy both at home and abroad. For note, as I have already mentioned I am not a big drinker and I am far too sensible to go street walking if I am even halfway inebriated. #74

With the rain over for now the night brought out the late night revellers, the tramps, the corner market sellers not to mention the pimps and the working girls.

On corners that weren't already occupied by a small kiosk I could see groups of homeless all huddled up around a little open topped fire, though what they were using as fuel is anyone's guess.

The street walkers were out in numbers, all with phones to their ears faking disinterest in the rest of the world, but as I walked past them they each offered me a smile, an 'ola' and an outstretched hand in the hope that I would accept it and them for a few hours.

Of course, this is not what I had in mind so with just a smile and slight shake of my head I would continue on my way.

Here Come the Drums

By late evening most of the local nightclubs that had been shuttered up and invisible during the day were now open, but it would still be many more hours before they would be jumping.

As I continued along the main road I would occasionally catch the beat of a drum sounding far too loud to be anything but a live band.

After a little more investigating it turned out that certain bands and certain coffee shops / restaurants had deals that allowed the musicians to play their music all night long.

It made a nice and welcome change at first, but quickly the novelty of them wore off and soon the repetitive banging became nothing more than an irritating noise that repelled rather than attracted me.

Unable to avoid the constant drumming I gave up on walking the streets in this part of town, and not desiring to stay out too late I decided against going further afield, so instead I returned to the comfort of my hotel room where it was warm and relatively peaceful.

Final Morning in Sao Paulo

In the morning I woke up early and did a spot more future attraction research before I realised that I had not yet had breakfast.

Not wanting to miss the totally scrummy pineapple or the equally delicious syrup cake that was on offer each morning I dashed downstairs only to find that the rest of the hotel guests had virtually devoured every last morsel.

Taking the last of both I stuffed myself before going back upstairs to take a shower and do a proper job of packing as I had a couple of long flights ahead of me later today.

Rain Stops Play

Looking out my window it was a bit of a kicker to see that the rain had returned in full force and as my flight was not until much later on, so I could either take an early trip to the airport and be bored there or remain in the hotel lounge and be bored.

Fate decided it when I spotted a news item about a local kidnapping of a fifteen year old girl that had just ended following the kidnapper, her jealous ex boyfriend, shooter both her and a school friend.

As I sat there trying to piece together what happened it was clear that the victim was not going to make it and it was touch and go if her friend would either.

In my life I have heard tales that Latino men treat their women very badly and that many Latina women would prefer to find a western boyfriend and husband. I never quite understood this before, but this might be a perfect example of why.

I am not saying that such things would never or could never happen in the UK, but what I do know is that here this type of tragedy is so frequent that not only did it fail to make the national news, but even years later on I found few details from any source other than from fellow travellers blogs.

In the UK there would have been huge public outcry and online forums screaming for justice, but here as soon as she was declared dead she became nothing more than another tragic statistic.

Leaving Sao Paulo, Brazil

On my way to the airport I noticed a few things that I had not previously spotted, mainly more people and how huge Sao Paulo was going by bus.

It was an effort to find the right bus to go to Sao Paulo airport, as it was not very well sign posted, but in the end I managed it.

It only took me a few minutes to appreciate my choice, as the driver must have been a keen formula one enthusiast, as we passed so many other vehicles I thought he was going to get pulled over for speeding.

At one point we slowed to a crawl and this enabled me to spot a disabled guy roll his wheelchair down the centre of the road, stopping at each driver's window to beg some change.

I'm not sure what emotion I felt most, watching him go down the road, but he clearly had an effect on the other motorists as he didn't fail to receive some change from every car that went by.

At another stage we passed a car showroom and it was here that I saw my first true Brazilian beauty; either that or it was the makeup, tight fitting clothes and possibly hidden padded bras that made them look like glamour models.

I would have liked to have had a closer look, purely for scientific research you understand, but the bus driver was like a man possessed and so equally they could have been old men in drag for all I could see.

Sao Paulo Airport

Arriving at the airport was not too bad, and it amused me that I didn't come across anywhere in town where I could get a massage, but here in the airport I could see at least three massage places all within spitting distance of each other.

My parting thought about Brazilians is that it is true that they are totally nutty about football. Wandering round the terminal prior to checking in I counted more television screens showing football than there were screens displaying information on flight departures and arrivals!

Having finally left Brazil behind me I had to accept the fact that being ignored by Brazilians had become something of a recurring theme and that I had not actually met a single one of my pre-arranged contacts.

This complete washout and Jose's unexpected disappearance after leaving Itapúa go a long way in explaining why I now hold such a dim view of Brazil and why I am in absolutely no hurry to return.

I doubt it will surprise anyone to learn that I did not chose to keep in contact with any of my Brazilian contacts, regardless of whatever apology or reason they gave explaining their actions.

~~ **** ~~

Plurinational State of Bolivia

Santa Cruz (Capital City) - Arrived on 18th October 2008.

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in Santa Cruz, Capital of Bolivia

When I first noticed what I had done in choosing such a long delay overnight I thought that it would be terrible.

But then I remembered that Hong Kong Airport at night was almost as busy during the day and certainly from what I knew Latinos were no strangers to all-nighters either, so I was almost looking forward to it. Pity my reality did not match my expectations.

My flight to Cuzco in Peru from Sao Paulo included a twelve hour stopover at Santa Cruz International airport in Bolivia.

I had chosen this in preference to a direct flight as it was substantially cheaper, and also as Bolivia was the middle name of one of my favourite literary heroes, I thought it might be a kind of cool.

My flight touched down around mid evening and I instantly gained an hour courtesy of the change in time zones.

Knowing that I had all night to explore the airport I did not pay too much attention to the actual airport per say, instead I was content to simply sit and people watch for awhile.

Santa Cruz International Airport

This was somewhat of a mistake, as had I done so I would have spotted that there were no more incoming flights due until morning and only a couple more outgoing flights, both of which were scheduled within the next couple of hours.

This becomes significant as of course if there are no more incoming or outgoing flights then there is no need to keep the airport open, staffed, lit or heated.

In Bolivia I thought that Santa Cruz was a fairly sizeable place, but if it is then you would never guess it from looking around the airport.

The terminal itself was much smaller than I expected, barely bigger than the size of my old school. It was modern but had only eight departure gates and a top floor that needed only two escalators, one for each way.

A local sports team, football I think, were all waiting for a flight and were milling about in their track suits, giving out the odd autographs and having their picture taken with any local who recognised them and were brave enough to ask.

When the last of the flights took off, understandably the various store clerks only stayed for a few minutes more, as did the remaining airline crew before they too heading off home or to hotels.

Quicker than my sluggish brain could react to I suddenly found myself alone; in darkness and without a clue as to what to do next.

Overnight In Santa Cruz Airport

For a moment I thought that, even though I should have made the move hours ago, I could still catch a taxi to the nearest hotel, albeit at double rate, but of course the truth was that with no passengers or staff due to arrive any time soon all the taxi drivers had also cleared out and gone home long ago.

What's more is that even if there had been a taxi driver waiting and prepared to take my fare, I had no local currency with which to pay them, and of course the foreign currency booth had closed when everything else did.

By the time I realised the full reality I was mildly disappointed and frustrated, both in myself and in the airport, but surprisingly I was not in the slightest bit scared.

Considering that I was the only idiot dumb enough to attempt to stay there overnight, it was incredibly remote that any thief or mugger would be hanging around on the off chance and because it was not heated and was miles away from anywhere it was unlikely that a hobo or vagrant would find there was in and disturb me.

Thus it was that due to being rather bizarrely safe through lack of numbers that I chose to rest on any seat I liked, often lying across a set of four and choosing a different set every few hours to break up the boredom.

Around midnight I thanked myself that I was at least clever enough to buy a packet of skittles and a doctor pepper before everything closed up for the night, as it afforded me the luxury of recreating a scene from Terminal starring Tom Hanks, where he is trying to make a packet of ketchup into sandwich.

I don't think a packet of skittles has ever lasted me as long or tasted so sweet, rolling them around as I did on top of the packet before selecting one and after giving it a ridiculously rigorous inspection seeing how long I could suck it until the sugar coating cracked and if it made any difference which colour I chose.

Boring well yes no doubt, but as it was this or nothing, I felt that I was actually being quite inventive with my little mind games.

During my more paranoid moments I managed to strap myself into my rucksack flush against a wall and hidden under a set of four seats with all the zips and locks facing inward.

However even using my jacket as a cushion and my travel eye mask I couldn't stay asleep for long in that position and so in the end I thought blow it, if anything gets stolen it gets stolen, and I got up off the floor and found a much more comfortable position on top of the chairs and fell asleep for the remainder of the night.

Leaving Santa Cruz, Bolivia

Despite my unusual sleep over, there seemed to be a huge rush for the queue to check in and thus I was at the back and for a second I thought that I would be left behind, aware that airlines often overbooked flights.

Luckily this was not the case this time and everything was fine. In fact everything was more than fine once I spotted a couple of the female air stewardess's.

I have no idea where their recruiting office was, but some of these girls could have doubled as models, and despite all the hype of the Brazilians women being the most beautiful in all the world for me these ladies put them all in the shade.

Having to pay for airport departure tax was a bit of a cheek, especially considering how small this place was and how limited the facilities were, not to mention that it was only a stopover and not even a proper departure, but I don't make the rules. #75

Triple Jump out of Bolivia

I was glad that the air stewardess could speak a little English as I was not told beforehand that my flight from Santa Cruz would be stopping off twice more in Bolivia and I almost got out along with some of the other passengers and then strand myself, not so good.

The first seat I had been allocated was an Aisle seat, which I've never liked, but then the stewardess asked me in Spanish if I preferred to go and sit by the emergency exit and let some other people have my seat I was eager to accept.

I have flown several times before, but I had never seen such breathtaking views as I witnessed heading north east from Bolivia to Peru. As our plane rose higher through the air we would escape one level of clouds only to find another level far above us each time.

The clouds looked so white and unspoiled that it almost brought tears to my eyes, and for a moment I would have given anything to trade places with a high flying condor.

~~ **** ~~

Republic of Peru

Cuzco \- Arrived on 19th October 2008.

Pisaq \- Visited on 20th October 2008.

Ollantaytambo \- Visited on 20th October 2008.

Sacsayhuamen \- Visited on 21st October 2008.

Machu Picchu \- Visited on 22nd October 2008.

Lima (Capital City) - Arrived on 24th October 2008.

Piura \- Arrived on 28th October 2008.

Fortaleza de Narihuala \- Visited on 31st October 2008.

~~ **** ~~

Aerial View of Lake Titicaca

From my childhood I remember three places that always sounded to me like they were more remote and exotic than any other, they were Java, Timbuktu and Lake Titicaca.

By the end of my trip I had passed two and the third, Timbuktu, would have been do-able had I been prepared to waste a couple of weeks travelling across the North African desert.

As we flew over Lake Titicaca and it was so strange to imagine that there was a huge lake, complete with fish, birds and river folk all living above the clouds that we had left far before, and it was not hard to imagine that some of them having no idea that a world below the clouds even existed.

Once we reached the snow tipped Andes the horizon reached a new level of magnificence, emerging as we did from beneath a thin veil of grey.

At one stage I was able to capture a mountain, a lake, snow and clouds all in one shot and my only regret was that I already knew that no amount of photographs could encapsulate even a fraction of its actual wonder.

Much like rock music having to be loud in order to be properly appreciated, the only way you can take in that much glorious scenery is to completely surround yourself within it, something that my digital camera could never hope to recreate.

The view alone was worth the cost of the flight ticket, and despite being no lover of the cold I suddenly understood something of the attraction that captivates mountain climbers.

Apart from cloud spotting the other activity I used to pass the time was to try to memorise as much of my tour guide books references and suggestions as possible, including haggling tips and fair prices. #76

Arrival in Cuzco, Peru

Much like Santa Cruz, Cuzco International airport is also very small, but what space they have they use to push the whole tourist thing, and I must have passed more travel agents than tourists by the time I reached the exit.

However, far from being upset, I was glad as I knew that at least here I would now be spoilt for choice, a far cry from the scant few tours and attractions I had been able to track down in Brazil.

My next job was to get some local currency and then buy something tiny from a nearby stall to get some coins and small denomination notes.

Sorry-No-Change Taxi Scam

While I knew that even a can of drink would be overpriced here, it was preferably to having no change and as I was about to get in an airport taxi having change was an absolute necessity.

Stepping outside the airport I had no shortage of taxis offering me their service, but try as I might I could not get any of them to lower their price more than a fraction, even though it was double what my tour book and the hostel suggested was a fair price.

The no-change scam is a very popular con used by taxi drivers the world over to extort extra money from tourists, and one I was regrettably stung with several times due to forgetting to keep back any small notes.

The scam works because the tourist is often in a hurry and does not want to seem rude or offensive, so when the taxi driver apologises but says that they have no spare change the tourist tells them not to worry and keep the change, even though it may be up to ten times the price of the fare.

The con is that they taxi drivers always have spare change tucked away in a separate compartment somewhere, but few tourists want to get into a heated argument with a local within the first few minutes of touching down when they are meant to be relaxing and enjoying their holiday. #77

Travelling Mentality

This psychology of the locals taking advantage of the easy going nature of tourists and holiday makers is not restricted to taxi drivers and one of the things that I grew to loath about dealing with most locals in the tourism trade.

As I was travelling for an extended amount of time and not just a visiting sightseer I found the contact deception and price uplifts gnawed away at my enjoyment and often prevented me from being able to relax.

The feeling of being cheated every day by almost everyone I met was one of the main reasons why I eventually cut short my travelling and certainly it tainted my memory of certain places.

Having spoken to other travellers I found that in feeling cheater, though I did seem to feel it than most, which I partly put down to being overly sensitive, partly as I was forever moving on so was always the new fish and partly as I was useless at haggling.

Reaching Cuzco Centre

As all the taxi drivers were standing together and presenting a united front I could really attempt to play them off against each other, so after getting a small discount I agreed and was on my way to my hostel.

My driver spoke only Spanish so I felt that this was the perfect time to practicing my Spanish and I must have done fairly well as we seemed to natter away happily, though I suspect that he understood a lot more of what I said that I could of him.

Cuzco centre was not too far from the airport, neither was my hostel, however because of the steep hillside and one way streets we did a fair amount of circling before we could no further without going directly up hill.

The decrepit taxi creaked and groaned in protest as it inched its way up the narrow cobbled streets, and I was not sure it would make it, but climb it did and I was extremely glad as I would not have liked to attempt that hill with my packed rucksack strapped to my back.

My First Peruvian Hostel

After knocking on the huge stable doors and being led through a smallish courtyard to the main building I got my first glimpse of my new home and right from the start there was no hiding its rich architectural heritage.

If someone would have told me that it was a converted monastery I would not have disbelieved them, as it had everything that my mind's eye conjures up when I think of the word.

Being in a city so steeped in culture and history, as well as stuck in the middle of the mountains, the hostel owners had opted to retain as much of its original charm and look as possible.

Although it had a functional bar area and boasted amenities such as WiFi access and six communal computers, it was the genuine fresco paintings on the walls, original wooden roof beams spanning overhead and curved terracotta orange roof tiles that set the tone of the place.

The dorm rooms too were fairly Spartan, with nothing more than an array of bunk beds and an incredibly tiny window to let in light from the outside world.

A closer look told me that under the bottom bunks were large storage lockers big enough even for my rucksack, so sleeping with my valuables would thankfully not be necessary.

The place was full of travellers from all over and of many different ages, everything from Australian pensioners to twenty something's Americans.

I was also rather surprised that many of the hostels younger guests had little or no interest in Machu Picchu and instead came here to party or just bum around for a few months chilling.

One rather attractive Asian American girl admitted that she had been here three weeks already but had not found time to go on a single tour of the region.

Cuzco Horizon

With my tour complete I went to the dining room to grab a bite to eat and was totally floored by the perfect view from its main window.

Being high up the hill it overlooked the entire centre of town and offered an un-obscured view past the green and brown valleys to the ice tipped mountain ridges in the far distance. It was quite simply, in a word, breathtaking.

Etched on a slightly nearer sloping hillside I could clearly make out the words "Viva El Peru" in letters that much have been a hundred foot high.

Turning to the bartender I asked him how on earth they were made and he told me of the interesting story that here in Peru the schools often take groups of students out and by clearing away the earth and scrub write signs for all to see.

It was not only very patriotic but it also seemed to me to be a lot more involving than most of the school trips that I ever went on. Having said that, I am not so sure that as a twelve year old I would have been jumping for joy if my teacher told me today we were going up a mountain and spending all day writing giant letters!

A Forgotten Lesson about the Sun

I have heard tell of a local saying over in Ireland that is you should always travel with a pair of sunglasses and an umbrella, as you could be almost certain to get both during the day.

Well here in Cuzco there was a similar phenomenon as, despite being more than a little nippy first thing in the morning, by midday the sun was definitely hot enough to give me a good roasting on any flesh I was foolish enough to leave exposed to the elements.

I knew this, and had gone through similar experiences in Brazil, and yet my brain continued to reject the very simple logic that in countries that have hotter days than Britain I would be well advised to wear sun cream if heading outdoors, regardless of destination. #78

Cuzco City Centre

Cuzco centre is a cultural tourists dream, as it is both old and beautiful, the people are colourful and the views are spectacular, and you could just tell that they made a big effort to keep it that way.

The central plaza was just down the hill from my hostel and every building looked like it had not changed since it was first built by its Spanish colonists.

Throughout all of Latin America you can see traces of the original Indian ancestry mixed with those of the more recent Spanish or Peruvian colonists, and despite reading about them in school it was only now that I made the link from the name Conquistadors to its actual meaning which was those who conquer.

While at School I had been forced to study French as a foreign language and because of it being forced on me I dropped it at my first opportunity.

I was never given the opportunity however to study Spanish, and it is only through private study in recent years that I came to learn any Spanish, which in turn helped me understand and come to this possibly obvious realisation.

Looking around the plaza I could see that every building seemed to be a tour agency, a restaurant or a hostel and I almost began to wonder where all the locals actually lived at worked.

I think it is fair to say that here in Cuzco the entire town was focused and centred on the tourism industry.

The thing that I loved about it was that its heart was fairly compact and there was no shortage of maps available and so I was able to wander around at my leisure and never be more than a short walk back to its centre.

Tourism around Cuzco

Having arrived late in the morning from the airport, I had missed my chance to catch any of the arranged tours for today, with the exception of a simple city tour, so I contented myself to my usual rambling tour on foot and went exploring to see what I could find and to get my bearings.

My entire reason for visiting Cuzco was that it is the closest main city to the Incan lost city of Machu Picchu, and with little more than a couple minutes looking around I found that there was no shortage of companies offering to take me there.

If I had planned my time better I might have been tempted to attempt the four day mountain hike across the Incan Trail, but being on a bit of a schedule I thought it wiser to skip the three days of camping in the wild jungle and just go on the single day trip.

Whist searching for a replacement mobile phone charger I found a rather ramshackle market that sold pretty much everything I could think of. Everything that is except a UK mobile phone charger and as my old one had died a few days ago I was pretty much stuck with a dead phone.

Around mid afternoon, after taking plenty of photos of the central plaza I came across a really lavish beauty spa that offered various treatments including one called an Inca Massage.

Not in the mood, or the funds, for one just now I nevertheless took a flier and thought that if I got time I would try and squeeze one in before I left.

The place was very upmarket, with fabulous decor and perfectly presented staff which made sense for as they were a little way out of the town centre thus totally the wrong location for relying on passing trade to keep it turning a profit.

Badly in need of a proper sleep, virtue of being stuck in Santa Cruz airport, I felt that an early night was in order, with hopefully me waking tomorrow at some stage before dawn.

I succeeded in spectacular fashion, finding myself wide awake in the middle of the night, hours before dawn and unable to get back to sleep.

A Second Day in Cuzco

I could tell that my brain was still not firing on all cylinders as I had forgotten to place to camera batteries on recharge, but this shouldn't have been too much of a problem as I had also not decided which company I was going to book my trip to Machu Picchu with and thus I wouldn't really be needing it.

That was until I overheard three friendly Canadians discussing their plans for the day over breakfast. As politely as I could I invited myself into the conversation and thankfully they were more than up for the idea as they had booked a private tour and the guide had given them a fixed price split between however many they could get involved.

Canadian Mountain Climbers

The three were all in their mid twenties, a pair of sisters and one boyfriend, though I never did quite manage to tell which sister he was dating.

It was not so much that the sister were twins, as they were not, it's just that he seemed equally close to both and not openly romantic or affectionate to either.

They all had the physique of people used to hiking up mountains and the knowledge of people who were both experienced travellers and studied in the region they were in, which was in direct contrast to me and very soon I realised that I was having a hard time keeping up with them both on counts.

They were also much better organised than me and knew to take sun cream, water bottles and a light snack, which on route they were kind enough to share with me.

I could try and argue that I was caught on the hop and that was the reason for my disorganised state, but truth is that I made the same mistake time after time and almost always turned up totally over the top or woefully unprepared and rarely the right mix. #79

As it was I barely had enough time to lock my laptop up safe before we were all meeting in the main courtyard area and I got my first look at our guide for the next few hours.

A Tour Guide of Pure Incan Stock

When our guide met us he surprised me immediately by being a lot more spiritual than I had expected, especially as he three Canadians university graduates were very clued up and had majored in subjects like geology and archaeology.

Our guide was more than happy for me to tag along, as there was plenty of room in the big off roader we would be driving around in, and though he said that he was a mix of Spanish and Incan heritage he felt that his soul and spirit were 100% Incan.

As ours was a very small group, he could also easily talk to us as a group without having to shout or repeat himself and he delighted in giving his views and opinions on everything from magic, aliens and the crimes the current Peruvian governments are making against the land and the people.

Trying to keep an open mind I forced myself to bite my tongue when he said that he knew a true spiritual mystic who could heal almost any injury or disease with Incan magic and was almost a hundred years old.

Likewise I only smiled inwardly when he said that regrettably he could not take us to meet him as he lived much deeper in the mountainous jungle than any tourist would ever dare go.

It first it was easy to dismiss him as just another charlatan, but he was very soft sell with his orations, always welcomed any question and never dodged any topic, so in the end I came to at least be open minded to his outlandish sounding theories.

Although I did not quite buy into everything that he said, the more I saw and experienced the more I had to question my own beliefs.

This was also a feeling that I shared when I visited other ancient sites around the world, and it was never the size that impressed me, it was the technical detail, the knowledge and the deep understanding of time and space.

Sacred Valley

Once the introductions were made we loaded up and headed out in the tour companies off roader, with our guide also doing the driving.

Although not our first actual destination, we did pass through the sacred valley and our guide did his best to give us the history.

The sacred valley was so called, not for any religious or royal implications, but because the Incans felt that this was the centre of their world and had some of the best growing soil in the whole world.

By creating several series of stepped terraces the Incans were able to use the entire area for farming and here they were able to grow anything they liked.

Apparently they were masters of cross pollination and had come up with at least one thousand different types of potato alone.

In addition to fruit and vegetables, they also grew a huge range of spices and herbs which they used not only for flavouring but also for preserving foods and for creating natural medicines.

Our guide also said that at one time there were more different languages and dialects in this valley system than in the entire rest of the world, though having been to China and knowing that every village seems to have its own unique dialect I am not so sure about the accuracy of this fact.

The Heady Heights of Pisaq

Beyond the sacred valley our first drop off and hike started at Pisaq, a complex of buildings and structures built high up along the mountain ridge.

A little disappointing was that our guide had not thought to tell us in advance that tourists needed to buy admission tickets, and it took all my remaining local currency just to afford it. #80

Following In the Incan Footsteps

Most people know that the Romans are famous for their straight roads.

Well it turns out that while the Romans like to build straight roads, the Incans had their own reasoning and preferred to walk in single file across the mountains and valleys, through repetition creating the trails that would be used for future generations.

There are so many Inca trails across the mountains and valleys of Peru that it would be almost impossible for anyone to say that they had trekked them all, especially as new ones are being rediscovered every few years.

Once we started trekking up one of these trails I could not help but gain a whole new level of respect and appreciation for the ancient Incan people, who all must be born mountain climbers.

Although I have done some other hiking in my life, this was like nothing else I had ever attempted before, and often I had to resort to crawling or sliding when the terrain got too rough or steep to simple walk.

The guide told me that once he had to retrace our entire route in only two hours to find a lost tourist, who he eventually found had given up almost as soon as they had started and decided to return to the jeep and wait for them!

Latin American Health and Safety

Dotted about the mountainside I could see single hamlets and tiny houses, where I was reliably informed that local families still lived and where the children have to trek a similar route to and from school each morning, which I thought was totally incredible.

I could hardly imagine a more forbidding terrain to cross and I was glad that I only had to do it the once, but the Peruvians did it as part of their daily routine and thought nothing of it.

There were no guide ropes, wooden gang planks or barrier bars here, it was all just as it had always been, open to the elements and totally up the individual to look after themselves, which was why wearing suitable footwear and clothing was vital.

It amused me to think that if this had been anywhere in the Western civilized world it would have all been closed off to the public on safety grounds, but here instead they gloried in it.

By the end of the first hour my knees and legs felt as if they were made of rubber, and I was glad that I had decided against the four day Incan trek to Machu Picchu.

I would have been reduced to a nervous wreck and probably upset everyone in the party long before we reached the summit.

I was also having second thoughts about the two later treks for today, however as it turned out they were much less mountainous and rugged so by the end of the day my legs felt like normal again.

Atlantean Aliens

Along the way we all exchanged views on the Inca's and the Spaniards and the Canadians had clearly done their homework as they knew a lot more than I did, and the more we talked about the Atlantean civilization the more I began to think that there might be some shed of truth mixed up within all the rumours and myths.

Despite the legends saying that the ancient city of Atlantis had been lost to the waves, they put forth the idea that their influence and territory was not restricted to the one fated island and that indeed much of the pre-Incan architecture and archaeology was due large to Atlanteans who may also be our first visitors from outer space.

Incan Stone Masonry

The route might have been hard to traverse but the view from the ridge was magnificent and after a couple of hours we reached the ruined settlements.

In fact, ruined is hardly a word that suitably described them as they were remarkably preserved and most sections seemed completely intact.

The stonework of the temples and walls were of outstanding craftsmanship, using stone slabs as big as sofas and placed together so tightly that not only could you not even slide a piece of paper between them but no mortar was even needed to hold them together.

But even more than that, was that the stones were shaped and cut perfectly smooth and fitted together at precise angles to increase their strength and reduced the chances of damage done from earthquakes.

Our guide said that many years ago a terrific earthquake had struck the region and while most of the Spanish colonial buildings had toppled like a house of cards, the original Incan walls did not even show hairline cracks, such was their superior construction.

On our way back our guide pointed out a series of tiny dark crevices cut high up in an overhanging cliff face and said that here was where they buried their dead.

I thought that it would take a well trained eye and a team of a dozen men with roped just to even get close, but sadly where there is a will there is a way, and just like the tombs of the ancient Egyptian Pharaohs all the currently known chambers have long since been looted by treasure hunters.

Ollantaytambo

The second site we visited was Ollantaytambo, an equally impressive mountainous complex of buildings albeit slightly smaller in overall size.

Here there were signs of advanced understanding of science and astronomy, as well as an accurate seasonal sun clock, which all again gave credibility to the idea that the Inca's were not savages or ruthless killers but an educated race of people who worked in harmony with the land around them.

Wherever I looked the same thought kept screaming at me, which was that the stone masonry skills of the Inca's was simply staggering.

Time and again I came across walls that were built not from hand sized bricks but man sized rocks and stone but which fitted together more perfectly than I have ever seen anywhere from any other culture, before or since.

Lethal Fauna of the Peruvian Mountains

Ascending a steep flight of steps to reach the top of the crest I got my first sighting of a localised death, being the black widow spider, though to be honest at first I did not even realise it.

Considering we were outside and hiking up a mountain I was not pay too much attention to the local insect population, but my keen eyed Canadian friends were much more on the ball and spotted it almost at once.

Having earlier purchased a large brimmed felt hat, I felt that now was the perfect time to try it out as the sun high up above was really starting to burn, and thus donned I asked my friends to take a picture of me with a rather unimpressed Llama.

Continuing our tour, our guide got very emotional when it came to the subject of the Peruvian government trying to sell off most of the mining, tourist rights and acres of forested mountain range to multinational companies and foreign investors, calling them a variety of names none of which were complimentary.

At the end of our tour of Ollantaytambo there is a rock, high up on the hillside and incredibly hard to reach, where it is said that the ancients would ascend to before flinging themselves off and transcending into giant condors and fly away.

My three Canadian friends were all willing to see how far they could climb before it got too hazardous, or until they could become Condors, but personally I felt that I still had a lot of living as a human left in me so instead I chose to sit this one out and become one with the spirit of the mountain at ground level.

Tourist Village of Chinchero

The final place our happy little group visited was Chinchero, a small and remote village of slightly more recent heritage where we learned about the crafting of the Llama and Alpaca wool into clothes as were being worn by most of the locals.

It was great to see how the locals used natural plants for dying both their wool and also as make up, but a part of me could not help but feel that this was just a well rehearsed sales pitch, as the local charm had the Canadian friends diving into their wallets faster than I could blink.

Sadly for them neither my budget nor my backpack was big enough to allow me the luxury of buying many souvenirs, so instead I just gave a tip and smiled a lot.

It did, however, remind me of the small handmade purse that my friend Ethel from Arequipa had bought and sent to me as a gif a couple of years ago.

After the mini shopping trip we visited a sacred rock which is said to predate even the Incan civilization.

The site was a huge natural rock that seemed too big to have been sculpted in its entirety, but looking at it we could see where sections had been smoothed into what appeared to be steps or seats.

Our guide suggested that this was a site of incredible age and possibly even interstellar significance, and although I had my doubts I was at a total loss as to explain how or why any primitive culture could perfectly carve and shape both steps and chairs out of the solid bedrock.

Returning to Cuzco

Finally, with the sun dipped low on the horizon giving everything an eerie red haze, it was time to head back.

My Canadian friends had an early start tomorrow for their epic four day trek to Machu Picchu, but I had less time to stay and so I asked the guide to take me to see a few other sights tomorrow.

Not wanting the day to end quite just yet we decided that as we were all pretty hungry by now that we would go to a nearby restaurant where they had been before. Typical of Cuzco, the restaurants interior decorations were great and had a real authentic feel to them, and I had a delicious meal of chicken on a bed of mashed potato with a mushroom sauce.

As we were in no great hurry to get back to the hostel we took a slightly more scenic route through the city and I could not help but notice how many pretty girls were standing on street corners handing out masseuse fliers.

I felt it a shame that this type of tourist attraction had become so prevalent here, but owing to its Latin heritage and moral values I suspect that the range of extras offered are a lot less than many male tourists might expect.

Feeling my skin already starting to tighten up, once I reached my dorm room I loaded up my skin with enough after sun to sink a battleship. However despite repeated the process a few times during the night I still woke up next morning not only sore but stiff and aching all over.

A Third Day in Cuzco

I woke up early as I wanted to get a breakfast and collect supplies before a second day of hiking, and after coating myself with yet more sun cream I resolved to do a much better job of looking after my skin for the remainder of my tip.

It was my second breakfast with eggs here in Cuzco and understandably also my last as it soon had my stomach doing summersaults and my rear more so.

Luckily all I have to do today is take a visit to Sacsayhuaman with my Incan guide, visit a few museums in the centre of town and book a trip to Machu Picchu for tomorrow, so no lengthy trips in the sun and a chance for my limbs to recover.

As it turned out, my resolve was very weak and getting burned became a regular occurrence for me despite the fact that I was forever getting drenched by rain.

Sacsayhuaman

Sacsayhuaman was the built by the Incan Empire as their capital city sometime after the year 1400 A.D. and was considered both of religious and a strategic importance.

Built of limestone blocks, the largest of which weighs approximately 128 tonnes, it is a major source of tourism in the region.

Recent archaeological studies have suggested that the actual location was also used by an earlier tribe belonging to the Killke culture and dates back to around 900 A.D.

My guide arrived on time and as Sacsayhuaman is nothing but a short taxi ride away we were there in no time at all.

There was another small entrance fee to pay, which I guess we could have bypassed if we had got out early and walking across a couple of hills, but the fee was so minimal that I didn't mind and it would have been very cheap of us to attempt it.

As it was so close and such a well known site it probably didn't really require a guide to find, but his insights and knowledge were very welcome and he was very vocal that this was his favourite Incan ruins.

Indeed such was his love that he had already agreed not to even charge me for this tour, and midway through the tour we picked up a couple of locals who joined our little group and so together we explored its wonders together.

We wandered round the ruins for half an hour, took plenty of photos and discussed how unlikely it was that the ancient rock carvings were the works of the Incas.

Then he told me that he was going to lead me through a tiny narrow passage through the very earth itself and that I had to trust him.

In total darkness I followed him as he ascended into the rock, taking hold of his shirt tail as much as feeling the sides around me.

Ascent of Faith

The short climb through the tiny crevice was not particularly difficult, apart from being pitch black, and once we emerged into the open air again the reward was immediate and breathtaking.

Having said that, considering that we did not have to descend through the gap on the return journey, I can only surmise that my guide chose that route to add a touch of suspense to the occasion.

As we cleared the tiny entrance we emerged into a huge circular amphitheatre, ringed with towering stones that were fitted together so perfectly that their very positioning was an engineering marvel in itself.

Magnificent Stone Amphitheatre

These stones were at least double my height and equal in width and depth, making them the biggest stones I had ever seen in my life, and seemingly as immovable as the mountains themselves.

Historically the Spaniards had taken great pains to remove or destroy all the indigenous sacred and religious sites that they found, and yet here they clearly ran out of ideas and probably decided it was simpler to just kill everyone or chase them away.

My guide suggested that this site was older still than the Incans, and again returned to his beliefs that this was a sight for alien landings, but despite sounding like hokum it seemed actually more plausible than saying a group of locals from a thousand years ago build it with nothing more than ropes and hand tools.

I asked for the guide to photo me by the stones but in order to even get one in completely I was already too small to see in much detail, and when he panned out to show the vast and complex pattern of the amphitheatre then I appeared so small I could have been anyone.

For a few minutes just bonding with the stones, but then my guide said that it was time to head back, which was a shame as I could probably have just sat there or walked the ruins for another hour at least.

After this I can see why people in the know say that although Machu Picchu is the most recent find and the most complete site, it is not necessarily the most impressive or the most important of all the Incan sacred places.

Once back in the centre of town I found the travel agency that the hostel had recommended and booked myself a trip to visit Machu Picchu in the morning. It meant getting up before dawn in order to catch the train out, so I used the rest of today to catch up on my blog, email a few friends and prepare everything for the upcoming hike.

I was also glad that I could give my poor feet a rest, as they were still pretty tired from all the hill walking I had done recently and I did not want anything to slow me down on the morrow.

A Forth Day in Cuzco

Before I arrived in Peru I thought that Machu Picchu was one of the only places left where you can see any evidence of Incan works, but actually there are plenty of ruins worth visiting, all with their own stories and offering their own insights into the past.

Having overheard plenty of travel agency horror stories off other guests in the hostel over the last few days, I was a bit nervous that the trip would be a total anticlimax.

Even after looking around, there seemed to be little difference in price between companies when it came to an all inclusive ticket of train, guide and entrance fee, and of that the lions share was spend on the train fare. Considering you can get a meal with a drink here for next to nothing, the cost was astronomical and never before had I come across such an incredible hike in price at other tourist sites.

The tour rep was meant to knock for me at six am and so by half past I was pacing back and forth in reception, moments away from thinking to hell with him and jumping in a cab to take me to the train station when he arrived.

Unsurprisingly he said that we had to get a cab and because it was his fault in being late he picked up the cost of the taxi himself.

Perurail

The train station looked a bit run down and was awash with locals and tourists all trying to get tickets at the same time.

Thankfully I had started to remember my own golden rules and so I had my passport with me, which was lucky as for some reason the Perurail staff insisted that all tourists showed their passports before we entered the train.

Not that they were actually taking any notice or recording passenger details, just going through the motions really, which considering how packed the station was I thought that they could well do without.

The train looked fairly old but reliable and I ended up sharing with a middle aged German couple and a retired ex-forces American called Art, who was a lot of fun and we got on great.

Despite our differences Art and I seemed to share a lot in common, not least our views of travelling and what to do when you get there, and by the time our train arrived we were firm friends.

Perurail's train to Ollantaytambo, the closest town to Machu Picchu, was a real experience. I had never before been on a train that made several switchbacks in order to climb a hill, but the locals had argued against a funicular ride to the top of the hill and so a zigzag to start was necessary.

The first time it happened it felt as if we had barely been going more than three minutes when the train slowed before stopped.

As this was an expected occurrence there was no tannoy announcement from the driver or conductor, however an enthusiastic French tour guide immediately hopped up and announced that the trip to Machu Picchu had been cancelled due to a faulty train.

Of course it was a joke, but even in my good mood I still felt it was lame, thought what I really thought pathetic was that I would bet any money he has told that joke a hundred times or more, each time under the misguided assumption that he was being funny!

For his attempt at humour he got a few subdued laughs, but from Art and I who both prefer our comedy spontaneous and original, all he got was a groan; a roll of eyes and a slow shake of the head.

It took about five steps to clime the hillside, before it finally crested the ridge and could then resume normal service and head on up the tracks for Ollantaytambo.

The Peruvians must really love their Llamas and other fauna, as with typical poor timing just as I turned to Art and said that I loved Cuzco because it was quiet the train started blaring out its horn and continued doing so intermittently for the remainder of the journey.

The Search for Darkest Peru

Whenever I have seen images of Machu Picchu it has always been of a perfectly clear mountainside dotted with lots of grey roofless buildings, so in my mind I pictured that the land around it would be equally clear.

This could not have been further from the truth as in fact it was in the middle of a tropical rain forest, which especially at this time of year was foggy, wet, green and populated with a whole host of bizarre looking plants, birds and animals.

Agua Calientes

Midway along our route the train halted for a brief pause while it took on more passengers, before rejoining its pursuit of our final destination of Agua Calientes, or roughly translated as 'warm water' and so called for the natural hot springs hereabouts.

After almost four hours of sitting on a train we reached the end of the line amid an extra heavy rainfall from above.

The rain, however, did not prevent the local's sellers from being out in force, and one of the bargain buys of the whole trip so far was a cheap plastic sheet waterproof poncho.

The good news was that this meant I was less likely to get totally drenched while waiting for the fog to lift. The bad news was that the price for staying dry was that I had to look like a purple telly tubby.

Even more annoying was that no sooner than we had all bought our little costumes than the rain stopped and within an hour it was sunny enough to need another application of suntan lotion.

Arriving at Machu Picchu

Machu Picchu is located 7,500 feet above sea level in the Andean Mountains was originally built by the Inca's around the year 1450 A.D., though it had long ago fallen into before it was rediscovered by the American explorer Hiram Bingham III.

With the financial backing of Yale University, Hiram came across it in 1911 after estimating its approximate whereabouts through a trail of clues and directions in historic documents and word of mouth, and yet when that failed to reveal its location he had to resort to enlisting the aid of the local native Indian guides.

However the word rediscovered isn't entirely accurate, as although not widely known to the outside world, Machu Picchu's location was still known by many of the locals and indeed it is only thanks to these native guides that he found it at all.

Once off the train we followed our guide through the tiny village of Agua Calientes to where we were split up and bundled into small coaches and buses for the final leg to the very steps of Machu Picchu.

For the moment I was separated from my new friend Art, but as only three hundred tourists are allowed on the site at any one time, we had already made plans to try and meet up again at the top.

I expected the whole experience to feel very spiritual and mystical, enshrouded as we were in fog and slowly driving along a tiny road cut through right through the very jungle, however the coach was not air conditioned and the driver chose to play some really weird music which, at least for me, totally shattered the illusion.

Arriving at the top our first view was of a luxury hotel complex build almost in the ruins shadow, and the beyond that nothing but fog and cloud, it was a real anticlimax.

For the longest moment I thought that it would have all been for nothing, and from listening to the other tourists around me I clearly was not the only one.

An Understanding Guide

Before the main tour really got going our guide announced that it was his birthday today, which as feared brought forth a sudden and rousing multi-national rendition of happy birthday from all the nearby tourists.

Sad to say the genius that thought to start singing almost immediately had clearly not considered that in order to sing the song they would need to know their guides name, and to hear it trail off into momentary silence before pick up again tickled me and more than made up for the general cringe factor of having to sing in the first place.

The other funny thing was that our guide wanted to explain to us a few of the facts and rules, however he chose to do so standing on the opposite side of the hill than the view overlooking Machu Picchu.

This meant that every time the fog started to lift all the tourists would dash across and leave him talking to himself until it descended again when they would drift back again.

Unveiling Machu Picchu

Thankfully after about ten minutes the rain stopped and the fog finally lifted to leave our little hill bathed in glorious sunshine, which caused a stampede to get the best photo and also ended the purple reign as we all hurried to disrobe our ponchos.

For a moment I simply stood in awe and wonder at both its size and of the bravery of the Incans to build such a settlement on such a remote an inaccessible region.

Now that I was here for myself I felt it no surprise that the Spanish did not discover it during their conquest of the new world, as until the winds changed the fog was so thick that I could not see more than ten feet in front of my face.

The chances that a Spanish scout would randomly come across it without an accurate map are so long as to be almost incalculable.

According to our guide, Machu Picchu isn't even the same lost city that Hiram was originally after, which legend has it is still much deeper in the mountains overgrown and waiting to be rediscovered.

However as not even the locals admit to knowing its true location it is unlikely to be found anytime soon if it even exists at all.

Perhaps if some generous corporation funds a complete aerial surveillance it might, but it would probably require scanning every square inch of thousands of miles of densely Rain forested Mountains with scientific equipment sensitive enough to detect overgrown brick structures.

When Hiram rediscovered its location it was estimated that Machu Picchu had been deserted for about four hundred years and was heavily overgrown with plants and trees, some root systems big enough to even damage the foundations of certain buildings.

So Hiram and his team, with the help of local Peruvians, did their best to restore the region.

Their efforts were successful in one respect, as Machu Picchu is now so popular they have to limit the number of tourists on the site at any one time, but without the know how or experience of the ancient Incas you can tell a mile away which bits are the original walls.

On Machu Picchu's Peak

Overlooking the peak from the slightly higher adjoined hill was staggering, but of course the real exciting part was when we were allowed to follow the path onto the actual ruined site itself.

Set inside an enclosed mountain range Machu Picchu and without any outer wall it is widely accepted that Machu Picchu was not considered a fortified settlement build for defence, but rather a religious location that was later extended in order to allow room for domestic housing.

The site also boasts a few small crop platforms, though not nearly enough to continually support the community and so the majority of the food would undoubtedly have had to be brought in from farms or depots many miles away.

The stone buildings were every bit as impressive as I imagined and the only thing that could have possibly made the experience even better is if they had also found time, money and experience to replace the grass straw roofs, or if some of the natives dressed up in authentic period clothes and acted out their daily lives throughout the city.

Here a basic mortar was used in construction, as it was far too impractical to use huge stones like at Sacsayhuaman, but they were equally well arranged and also clearly built according to an overall plan and not just randomly erected wherever there was space.

Such was their confidence and determination to use every available foot of land, the many small herb garden platforms and terraces did not even stop at the edges of the summit but continued right over and down each side, only ceasing when the cliff face slope became almost vertical.

Considering the three hundred person limit, I was surprised and disappointed that they also allowed tourists to wander around with huge rucksacks, and I was sorely tempted to push one woman over the edge as she was carrying the largest backpack I had ever seen and having no sense of spatial awareness had smacked it into me on at least three occasions.

Peruvian Humour

For the next three hours Art and I walked and talked, took photos and marvelled at how fearless the Incas must have been to have built and lived so close to the edge, where even a strong gust could have blown someone over the edge.

One thing that the guide told me that amused me no end was the fact that in one of the sacred temples it was said that if you stuck your head in one of the many purpose built alcoves that you could hear things from the other side of the room.

This because amusing when a whole row of tourists attempted to do this at the same time, and I could not help but imagine a row of hidden guillotines suddenly chopping all their heads off.

It made me wonder whether, if I told them that they could turn into an eagle by jumping off the edge, would any of them would have tried!

Another ridiculous moment was seeing a horde of them trying to steal a little magic from the sacred rock by rubbing their hands together and then placing their hands just centimetres away from it.

The actual myth involved touching the rock to temporarily gain its power, but the authorities were worried that acid erosion from our hands would damage the rock and so prevent anyone from touching it.

Well, I say it's ridiculous, but then thinking about it, it is no more crazy than kissing the Blarney stone or walking round a stone frog seven times while chanting, so I guess it's just a matter of what you believe.

A sad fact for lovers of antiquity is that Yale University requested that Hiram send then any discovered relics or artefacts for cleaning, cataloguing and safe storage on a temporary basic.

However they were in the possession of Yale University, despite numerous requests by various Peruvian governments over the years, they have steadfast refused to return any of them, citing a load of pathetic excuses and demanding that the Peruvians acknowledge their right of ownership over the finds.

A Meal in Agua Calientes

Once the official tour was over we had a little time to ourselves to explore, but with so many tourists milling and bumping into each other that we just decided to go back into town, grab a bite to eat and ensure that we did not get stranded there.

Agua Calientes seemed like a miniature version of Cuzco, at least in that it is very much set up for the tourist

and everyone seems to speak English, so it was easy for us to find a nice local restaurant. Never having tried Alpaca before, we both went for a steak meal of Pork and Alpaca, which as it turned out tasted quite delicious and to me like a mix of beef and lamb.

Suitably stuffed, we headed back to the train station where Art and I became separated by seat allocations, but again agreed to meet up back at Cuzco.

Instead of Art I had another American to sit next to, a real old timer from the Deep South who revelled in telling stories and jokes about the 'Yankee War of Aggression', otherwise known as the American War of Independence.

I had no idea that passions could still run so deep about something that ended hundreds of years ago, but as I have always had a fondness of the confederates anyway it was an unexpected treat.

Also beside me were a friendly couple of Argentinean women, who felt very talkative and were eager to exchange travel stories with me.

Throughout our conversations they were extremely polite, but being fiercely proud of their native land I could also sense that they were both disappointed and upset that I had not chosen to include a visit to Argentina as part of my travels.

Another Evening in Cuzco

Finally back in Cuzco I almost managed to get lost for the first time since I arrived, before I retraced my steps and realised I just took a left instead of a right at the top of the hill, and then from there it was just the long trek up the hill back to the Hostel.

As I was due to head on over to Arequipa tomorrow, and I was up very early tonight I did not spend too much time socialising with the other guests in the main lounge / dining area but instead headed on up to my bunk and tried to have an early night.

Getting to sleep here was not normally a problem, but tonight I was slightly disturbed by the guy on the lower bunk, who had met and bonded with one of the girls also staying here, and tonight they felt like having a little fun between the sheets.

I am happy to say that I have managed to kept in sporadic touch with Art ever since, and after a semi-serious medical emergency struck him while travelling through Thailand, he chose to relocate to Cambodia permanently and live out his retirement in a idyllic apartment which overlooks a river.

I have already said that when enough funds become available I am on the first flight out to catch up with him again.

A Fifth Day in Cuzco

In Arequipa I had a friend called Ethel, a local school teacher, who had been looking forward to my visit for a long time.

Although it did not really have anything to do with her, she was devastated and embarrassed about what was going on, and hoped that it did not colour my view of her lovely city.

At the time I did my best to reassure her I did not hold it against her, but despite my best efforts soon afterwards we began to lose touch.

Eventually, after she had not responded to several emails over as many months I finally gave up, which was a real pity as only a few months before she had send me a little hand crafted money pouch with a Llama on the front and I was looking forward to thanking her personally for her kindness and friendship.

When I woke up this morning I went to grab something to eat without eggs, and also to check my emails in order to perfectly plan the days travel to Arequipa and meet my friend Ethel.

However from the general hubbub I could already detect that something was not quite right, and after a few simple questions I found out what had occurred.My private little raincloud had also made a flying visit in the morning before trying to get ahead of me by heading on up to Lima.

Violence Erupts in Arequipa as Locals Strike

Exactly what my guide of a few days ago was telling me, the locals in Arequipa were extremely pissed at the government for trying to sell off everything, this time being the announcement that they have just sold two local power stations, so in response some of them have started to stone all forms of local public transport.

Following several buses having all their windows smashed, the bus companies temporarily suspended all routes into or out of the city, and the strikers even managed to close down the airport, effectively sealing off the city from the outside world.

At one point a few of the other guests and I talked about trying to hire out a private bus to take us all the way, which is still around an eleven hour trip, but there were not enough of us wanting to go there and so the price for each of us would have been too expensive to be seriously consider.

Several other dead set travellers said that they were refusing to change their plans and intended on just heading on down to the bus station and waiting for as long as it takes until a bus finally does leave for Arequipa.

Being on a tight schedule myself this option didn't suit me, as the protest has already been going for over a week before the recent violence started and even if it only took another day or two to resolve that would be all my time there used up.

Thus it was with a growing sense of frustration that I have had to change my destination and next port of call just to avoid a protest whose cause I agree with. It also means that this is the first time during my route around the world that I have had to totally miss out a destination I had planned.

This was a treble blow as Arequipa is not only meant to be one of the most beautiful cities in all of South America, but I also have a good friend Ethel who was going to show me around her city.

Unexpected Day in Cuzco

Seeing no better alternative, I emailed Ethel to let her know that I would be unable to visit her at this time and I also emailed my friends Erika and Carlajimena in Lima that I would be arriving a few days earlier than originally planned.

Unsure with what to do with the extra day, I spent a lot of it wandering around like a lost puppy, lacking any real direction or purpose.

After resigning myself to the fact that I would be taking a bus tomorrow to Lima, I knew I was already too late to join any organised tour for today, but the city centre was right on my hostels doorstep and so I did some walking.

Incan Massage

Without any intention I found myself retracing my meandering route of days gone by, and when I spotted the styling Massage Boutique that offered the Incan Massage I felt that it was providence that I should try it out.

The room's interior was just as luxurious as the outside suggested and with my expertly trained masseuse I could not have been in better hands. I was given some large baggy Fishermans pants and then laid on a table in a room that looked more clinical than anything else.

Add in some tranquil music being played softly in the background and I drifted away for the next hour. Also as I suspected there wasn't even a trace of playfulness in her approach, which made a pleasant change though I am sure it would disappoint some western travellers.

Worlds Highest Irish Bar

After the massage and getting lost by taking an extremely long route back to the centre of town, I found an Irish Bar that because of Cuzco's geographical altitude advertised itself as the World's Highest Irish bar.

It was a nice bar, crammed full of people and as there was a good game of football on the box I sat down and ordered a burger and potato wedges. Not exactly classic Peruvian but it tasted great and really helped to raise my spirits after the disappointment of having to skip Arequipa.

I also found than the branded Incan Cola tastes a lot like Dandelion and Burdock, only it is coloured yellow for some reason.

Anyway, trying to memorise the name for later use, I eventually made it back to my hostel and would have had a full night's sleep were it not for the drunken rabble that occasionally walked past the hostel screaming and shouting.

Final Morning in Cuzco

A day later originally planned, I finally checked out of my hostel.

As my bus was not due to leave for several hours I asked if the hostel could store it for me, which they agreed, placing it in a massive room filled with dozens of other bags, suitcases and rucksacks.

With nothing to do for a few hours I just took a final walk round the town and bought some supplies for the long road trip ahead.

I had enjoyed my time here, and had not even found time to visit half the ruined sites or museums that were in the area, so I knew that Cuzco had a lot to offer and I would be more than happy to return here again one day.

Not having the money to splash out on a flight over Nazca, I had not been able to witness for myself the impressive Nazca lines, the gigantic outlined images ground into the hillside but only discernable as shapes from high above, so again this was something else to look forward to during another visit.

Leaving Cuzco

Despite having only handed in my rucksack a few hours ago it had somehow managed to get positioned right at the back, so it took me a good few minutes of rummaging and shifting to pull it free from the rest.

Getting down to the bus station was not a problem by taxi, though not having a map meant that I could not go for a walk when I got to the terminal early, but at least I got a chance to take a photo of the monument to the famous Inca King Atahualpa en route.

I could see no other obvious tourists attempting the mammoth nineteen hour long bus journey to Lima today, so I sat alone by my rucksack and hoped that I had understood the ticket seller's instructions and thus was waiting at the correct pick up point.

Much later than scheduled a bus that had been parked just a few meters away started up its engine and then pulled up into the empty bay ahead of me and along with the locals I boarded.

A game I often like to play is 'Spot the Tourist', as often during my travels I find myself the only non local in the area.

I can't fully describe how it feels to know that you have managed to wander far enough off the beaten track enough to be the only foreigner within sight, as it's both exciting and a little disconcerting.

On the plus side, in such places it is far less likely that some devious local will try to run a tourist scam on me, but also it means that there is rarely anyone to talk to for company or should anything go wrong.

A Bus Journey I'll Never Forget

The first thing that I noticed was that as soon as we have chosen our seats the driver came round with a video camera recording everyone's face. It seemed like a very bizarre security measure to me, but then I guess they have their reasons.

The actual fare from Cuzco to Lima was surprisingly cheap, and when I considered that the seats are recliners; they show four movies and they give you both a late supper onboard and then stop off for breakfast at their own restaurant just outside of Lima then it works out to be even better value.

The way to Lima meant threading our way through the mountains and crossing the fairly barren wasteland in between the cities. From the amount of curves and bends we took I have my doubts about if the original road layers bothered to use a compass or not, and the road surface itself was barely adequate for travel but certainly not smooth enough to let me sleep uninterrupted.

As we drove past I couldn't help but notice that along the route was some pretty impressive scenery on the horizon. Sadly the ride was too shaky to attempt any window side photography and after staring at them for hours on end even their appeal seems slightly to diminish.

The toilets on the bus were a hazard in themselves as the door was very stiff to open, the constant shifting and swaying of the bus meant that I knocked my head a few times just trying to sit down and get up again, and I managed to relieve myself more through desperation than anything else.

That said, apart from the obvious discomfort of being stuck on a bus all this time, my only real bugbear was that as it both departed and arrived during the evening it effectively lost me two days of sightseeing, as by the time I got settled it would be too late to visit anywhere except an ATM machine or a restaurant.

All in all, it was an experience that I was glad that I had experienced, but having done so I decided that it was not one that I wanted to repeat many times in succession and so as soon as possible I decided to plan to take a few more flights as I headed up South America.

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in Lima, Capital of Peru

I had chose to visit Lima as it was both the capital city of Peru and also a destination where I already a few people, being my pen friends Erika, Ruby and Jessica, and thanks to my friend Gretna in Alcala de Henares I hoped to meet a few more being Freddy, her mother's cousins, and his family including Carlajimena.

The bus journey ended up taking a little over twenty hours, which wasn't ideal but all things considered it was only a small fraction over, so not worth making a lot of noise about.

That isn't to say that I was not itching to get out by the end, as I was, and I almost danced a tiny jig to celebrate an end of bumpy roads.

It's a weird truth that, despite dancing a jig often making me look a fool to everyone else, deep down inside where only I can tell, it does actually feel good and when things are going well I do one quite frequently.

My First Limean Hostel

I arrived in Lima and caught a taxi to my hostel, as I had no idea where the bus dropped me off at and so attempting to navigate my way on foot without a map would have been sheer folly.

The hostel facilities were fairly basic, nothing fancy but it was clean and tidy and the decorating was acceptable.

As usual when I was planning on meeting up with a friend, I had booked a private room for privacy but I was not overly concerned with too many luxuries. Just being able to spend some time with my friends uninterrupted would be sufficient.

While its facilities were not an issue, its location was, as I had not noticed that it was in probably the worst part of the city possible, being miles away from public transport, the city centre, the beach or Miraflores a place often frequented by tourists.

However I prepared myself to think of it as home for the next few days, and after checking in I was finally able to throw down my rucksack and stretch my legs.

I would have also checked my mail however apparently there was no Wi-Fi access in my private room, so I had to wait until I was sorted before trekking back down to the main reception and trying from there.

Latin Hospitality

Once I had freshened up I did eventually check my mails and I was so very glad that I did as Gretna's cousin, Carlajimena, was available tonight to meet me and was just waiting for a phone call before grabbing a taxi and coming to meet me.

With no time to waste I fired off a quick email to Erika to let her know that I had arrived safely and was free to meet her anytime tomorrow before phoning Carlajimena and arranging to meet her downstairs in reception as soon as she was able.

I still had no idea of what to expect from Carlajimena, but once she spotted me and came over to introduce herself I was more than pleased with her friendliness, her appearance and her ability to understand English.

On the whole I had been unimpressed with Brazilian women, but considering what my friend Gretna looks like, now having met her cousin I was fast beginning to feel that Peruvian women are vastly underrated in terms of both charm and beauty.

I know it may sound strange, but I don't think I actually took any notice of the women while in Cuzco, mainly because my mind was often busy thinking about other things and equally for some reason I spent most of my time interacted with men.

Insane Taxi Drivers

Once we had introduced ourselves, Carlajimena suggested that we took a taxi across to Miraflores as she assured me I would like it very much. Being happy to simply spend some time with her I agreed and soon we were speeding away.

Often anyone who has driven a car abroad can tell you horror stories of what the drivers are like in other countries and here was no exception.

I may not know how to drive, but I am fairly sure that the our Limean taxi drivers idea, which was to filter as if we were a motorcycle and to slowly roll forward at any junction until oncoming traffic had to give way, would not be in the manual.

Each time he did it I tried to figure the odds of if a particular oncoming driver would feel generous enough to let us out of plough right into us, and by the end I was afraid it was reaching fifty-fifty.

Miraflores

The name Miraflores was one that I came across a few times in different cities, and I am beginning to wonder if in Spanish it means something like waterfront or dockside.

We arrived at Miraflores, which was right on the East coast of Lima and clearly a lot of effort was given to maintaining its appealing image.

Casinos, bars and chic little boutiques all with state of the art techno wizardry jostled for position by the beach and almost everyone knew English, a testament to how many western tourists the area attracted.

After strolling around the shops for awhile, we found a delightful coffee shop that was one of her favourites and there we spent an hour chatting and getting to know each other a little more.

Despite the late hour it was still very busy, clearly being a popular choice for students and late night strollers. The owners had done a really first class job of giving it the appearance of a traditional coffee plantation, complete with huge sacks of coffee beans everywhere I looked.

Having finished our tasty coffees, which Carlajimena insisted that she pay for as a welcome gift to her city, she then decided that no twilight trip to Miraflores would be complete without a visit to their beautiful love gardens.

The Love Gardens of Miraflores

Before we reached the love garden we passed a barricaded bridge which Carlajimena told me had a very tragic history.

Apparently Limeans are a very passionate people and take rejection very badly, as so many broken hearted souls had thrown themselves off the bridge to dash themselves onto the rocky waters below that the government had been left little choice but to erect a barrier in the hope of preventing further deaths.

The names of many of the lost souls had been commemorated by the local community by being inscribed in collages in the nearby love seats, a fitting homage to loves eternal power.

Thankfully it was not all doom and gloom, and in the love parks themselves there were plenty of happy things to look at and photograph, not least of all the many amorous statues and bright coloured seating platforms.

There were also plenty of seats for couples young and old to sit and canoodle in semi privacy as well as the occasional wandering young girls carrying buckets of roses, eager to tap into the positive and love fuel emotional mood of passersby.

A Thorny Dilemma

When one finally approached us I was struck by indecision.

On the one hand it had not been my intention to come to the love gardens with Carlajimena, but on the other she was a very attractive young woman and certainly deserving of a rose.

Torn between the uncertainty of knowing if she would find my gesture flattering or offensive, I did nothing. In my mind I tried to wonder what my friend, her cousin, Gretna would think. Would she consider me passionate and hopelessly romantic in romancing Carlajimena or would she feel that I was taking advantage of her friendship?

Then again, how would Erika feel if she found out that I travelled to Lima to meet her and yet the first thing I did was buy another woman flowers. I found myself bound in a moral dilemma with no easy way out.

I must have froze for longer than I thought as eventually Carlajimena made the decision for me by politely smiling while shaking her head, before sending the young girl on her way.

We never spoke of it again, and of course once the moment had passed it was too late to take it back either way, but just from idle fantasy I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had presented Carlajimena with a beautiful red rose. #81

As it turned out, a day later Erika also took me to the love gardens in Miraflores and the same seller was there again. Being better prepared this time, I did not pause but eagerly dived into my wallet only for her to object at the price, and after returning the flower demanding my money back.

The seller was reluctant at first but when Erika recruited a nearby policeman to her cause the young girl gave in and returned my money, which made me feel bad for everyone as it wasn't a lot of money and it meant that I didn't get to present Erika with a rose.

Around ten we both felt that it had got late enough, and I did not want to get her into any trouble on my account, so we hoped into another taxi which dropped me off at my hostel before carrying her on to her house.

I had enjoyed her company more than I had thought but at the same time it was a relief that it ended when it did as I felt as if I was in a medical disaster movie.

Feeling Worse For Wear

I still felt under the weather with the bout of food poisoning that I had picked up back in Cuzco from that dodgy egg breakfast the other morning.

It made me feel dehydrated; caused my lips to crack and my belly and chest throbbed whenever I put pressure on them. As for my rear end, well the less said about that the better.

But more than these ailments, just recently my left arm had started to throb constantly and especially when I attempted to flex it or move my wrist suddenly, and to complete the catalogue of injuries, the skin on my lower legs seemed to have reacted badly with something as a mass of tiny red spots had sprouted on every hair follicle, making them incredible painful to touch and made sitting or lying down a nightmare.

I could only hope that when I woke up tomorrow morning I would feel better than I did right now, as the only thing that I really wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep until I felt better, a lot better.

A New Morning in Lima

As I had arrived in Lima four days earlier than planned, having had to skip Arequipa and miss meeting my friend Ethel, I allowed myself to do some proper holiday relaxing by letting go of the reins of my tight schedule and just go with the flow.

The good part is that I enjoyed every minute of it, and never turned down any opportunity, while the flip side is that I kind of lost track of time and ended up losing a day somewhere.

When I woke up I was still suffering with a bit of a dickey tummy, and so I decided to try a day or two of fasting and lots of water to try and hope to flush through whatever was upsetting my stomach.

This was a shame as from everyone who had ever been, Peruvian cooking is considered almost an art form, preparing everything from fresh ingredients and presenting it in abundance.

As planned, I met up with Erika shortly before Midday and together we decided to return to the Miraflores region, this time to enjoy the sights during the daytime and gave me the chance to take some photos that I couldn't have the previous night due to bad lighting.

A Springate's Spanglish

Having exchanged lots of emails and photos with Erika in the run up to my trip, I thought I knew what to expect but again I was happily impressed with her good looks and personality.

True, Erika's English linguistic skills were limited, but they were still much more than my Spanish, and it was actually fun with us creating our own version of Spanglish.

After awhile and often employing hand signals to help us, we found it easier to think in our own language and then translate for the other, so Erika would say something to me in pigeon English and then I would reply using my best pigeon Spanish.

Despite neither of us actually learning may new words this way, it was surprisingly effective and I found myself continuing the habit all the way through Latin America.

I also feel that my continued effort of trying to use Spanish wherever possible, however woefully inaccurate, was appreciated and helped to impress upon the locals that I was not your typical ignorant tourist.

The Gold of Peru

Here in Miraflores, right in its mini shopping plaza there is a small but interested Museum called the Gold of Peru.

Instead of asking for a human guide Erika and I chose to go round with the digital audio headsets that could be set to a certain language, which would have been good if mind if my English translation had not been corrupted.

Once replaced for a new headset, we continued on our way and I was happy wandering around and learning all about Peru's history from the ancient Inca's and the even earlier civilization known as the Sicans, right up to the recent rediscovery of Machu Picchu by Hiram.

I was amazing to see how the natives had used blowpipes as bellows to help melt the gold, before pouring it into clay moulds and then finally flattening it with a smooth rock until it was almost as thin as paper.

Then, being so incredibly thing, it was easy to shape, sculpt and engrave with, often decorated with very intricate and delicate patterns.

The artisans of the Sicans and Incans were clearly master craftsmen by any standard, having employed the same techniques that are used in today's jewellery industry, just done by hand instead of mass produced by machines.

There was also a short film about a pyramid shaped temple that had been found in northern Peru, where they found a body dressed in fine clothes buried upside down in a sitting position, surrounded by the offerings and female slave sacrifices commonly associated with Royal tombs.

It was only brief, but we found it very intriguing and would have been happy to take a trip to visit the site, had it not been so far away.

Judging a Movie by its Title

After our trip round the museum we popped next door to the cinema and decided upon watching a film called Crimen Oculto, both being huge fans of movies in the action and gangster genre.

However despite the Spanish name being translatable as 'Occult Crime' in English, it ended up being a film called Paranoid Park, and was no doubt some directors weird vision of high art.

It certainly wasn't my idea of art and I can only assume that the writer or director tried to stretch out a relatively simple case of accidental homicide into a bizarre remake of Train Spotting, but using skateboarders instead of drug addicts.

Neither of us was impressed with the film and had I been alone I would have walked out after the first ten minutes or so to go off and do something vastly more exciting, like having a tooth pulled!

Restaurant and Love Park Revisited

To brighten our spirits after the rather dismal and depressing film, we sat and had a meal in a lovely fish restaurant overlooking the water front.

The sun was just beginning to set and had painted the skyline with a glorious hue of red ochre, which made for the perfect backdrop to some photographs.

Bound for a party at Erika's we left Miraflores around dusk, but before we did Erika also took me to the nearby Love Park, where I was able to take plenty of photos but despite my best intentions I was unable to present Erika with a rose.

Peruvian Crime

Erika's apartment was very modern and spotlessly clean, which was in contrast to most of what I had seen in Peru up until now.

It was also in a much nicer part of the city than my hostel, and too far to walk thus another taxi ride was required, but in this I was a little confused as instead of just flagging down a passing taxi she preferred to call one up and have it come collect us.

I asked Erika about it and she said that crime does exist in Peru and travelling in this part of town could make a woman appear like a very lucrative potential victim to desperate criminals.

During my entire trip I only came across this occurrence of a female desiring to only use a favoured taxi driver a few times, and although each time I thought it unusual I could not argue the logic that a person has every right to take certain steps in order to protect themselves, especially a female travelling at night by herself.

Interracial Marriages

Erika lived with her mother and sister, and it turned out that the reason for the evening soirée was that one of her families closest friends was married to an American guy who spoke even less Spanish than I did, and they were just back from the U.S.A. visiting relatives.

After the introductions were made we all sat in the lounge drinking wine and swapping stories.

It was both a mixed blessing that her friend's husband only spoke American as it was a relief to speak to someone who totally understood what I was saying, however I also felt that it was undoing all the good work I had done throughout the day to just give up on the Spanish.

The fact of the matter is that as the day goes on, my ability to think about Spanish gradually diminishes, so first thing in the morning is the best time for me to study as by the evening my poor brain is too tired to care anymore and falls back to is default mode.

In a bizarre way, it is akin to how truth serums are believed to work in that they are meant to induce an almost near sleep state of mind thus the victim is just too tired to come up with a believable lie.

A little after midnight it was time to call it a night, so I bade them all goodnight and caught a taxi to my hostel.

With typical bad luck my taxi driver had a hard time finding it, despite having the directions and so I am even more positive that keeping a map and compass handy is not only a good idea but almost a necessity.

A Second Day in Lima

I woke up still feeling a little rough inside, but more importantly I felt that it would be prudent to tweak my reservations over the next couple of weeks to spread out the time I had inadvertently gained through not visiting Arequipa.

As I deliberated and considered my options, I spent a good long while loafing in my room watching TV and then drafting emails.

This turned out to be a poor use of my time as when I did finally head on down to the reception area where I could pick up the hostels Wi-Fi signal I found that I had several urgent messages that it would have been much better to reply to first thing rather than a fraction before midday. #82

Further Limean Hospitality

The news was all good though, as my friend Gretna had been in further contact with her family in Lima and together they had agreed and arranged for me to stay somewhere else for the remainder of my time here in their city.

This was more than I could have ever hoped for, and was a real blessing for so many reasons, apart from the obvious two being that I would not only save me money but I was also being given the chance to spend some quality time with genuine Peruvians and share in their daily lives.

I quickly responded and after a few hurried emails back and forth I was checking out and heading on over in a taxi to where Carlajimena and her family lived, and there we would have a traditional meal before heading across to where I would be staying for the next few nights.

The area around where Carlajimena lived was quite pretty and filled with public gardens and parks, clear evidence that the local government was trying their best to modernise the district.

They were also working to improve the transport network, with construction men digging up almost all of the surrounding roads, much to the distress of the taxi driver who was not on a meter but a fixed price to my destination.

Speaking in Tongues

Once at the house of Carlajimena and Freddy I was introduced to the rest of the family, including her grandmother who was a true marvel and often chose to speak in the more ancient tongue of Ketchuan language instead of Spanish.

While we had a very tasty meal, that I tried to enjoy despite my slight discomfort, we got to know each other a little better and they tried to explain to me a few of the differences between Castilian and Catalonian Spanish.

After the meal we looked at some family photos and I felt a bit embarrassed and disappointed with myself that I had not saved more of my own family photos onto my laptop, though in my defence I knew that my main computer had not been working for a few months and my laptop was brand new, purchased barely a month before I set off from England.

We also did some shopping in the nearby area, which looked like a tall metal warehouse split into lots of thin and high units, where I was finally able to pick up a new battery charger for my Nokia mobile phone.

Being able to recharge my cell phone for the first time in weeks was a huge relief, for as I had just experienced, trying to organise to meet people by email alone was too hit and miss.

After the shopping we headed on over to where I was staying for a few nights, also in a nice part of Lima, and here we dropped off my stuff and after looked at a few more photos we agreed to take a bus ride into central Lima.

Limean Buses

Both Erika and Carlajimena had strongly recommended that I experience a Limean bus journey and once I was on one I could see why.

For a fare costing little more than peanuts they would take you on a journey right to the edge of the city limits if so required, though the buses themselves were little more than large minivans converted to holding passengers, with one employee doing the driving and another as both ticket seller and advertiser as he would bellow out the destinations and try to drum up business at every lull in traffic.

They don't really have bus stops in Lima, just roads that are frequented by buses and you never have to wait too long for a bus although there doesn't seem to be a proper organised timetable and I could not quite figure out if the buses were all privately owned or rather all a part of a larger firm that sort of subcontracted or franchised out the running of the each bus.

Carlajimena also mentioned that the thing she missed most about Limean buses, while she had been travelling through Spain, was the music, and for the first time I realised that indeed the bus's stereo was playing music.

It must have been a radio station that had very little dialogue, as I heard a compilation of light rock, reggae and cheesy eighties pop all randomly mixed together with recent tunes and Latin dance tracks.

Having been concentrating on my route and talking to Carlajimena I had not noticed it before, but now that it was pointed out it was rather pleasant and helped the time skip along.

I cannot think of many short bus journeys between stops anywhere else where you can listen to Bon Jovi pumped through the speakers. Maybe on a longer intercity journey, but just around and about town I doubt it.

Introducing Friends in Lima

Another part of today's plan had been for meet with both Erika and Carlajimena at the same time, as I considered them now both my friends and also for their own mutual benefit as Erika was a dance teacher while Carlajimena a dance student.

After a quick phone call, for which I simply handed my phone over to Carlajimena and let her do all the talking, we agreed a time and place to meet up, and soon after were heading on over to a district called Barranca.

I was very glad that as soon as my two friends met they got well enough for me to feel the outsider, and I dearly hoped that they continue to keep in contact with each other after I leave. #83

Sad to say that neither Carlajimena nor Erika found time to keep in touch very often with each other as they both have demanding jobs and have extremely busy lives. I made similar attempts to introduce other friends to each another a few times during my journey, with varied results but it never led to anything substantial.

Sparking memories of my childhood, I tried to eat a delicious toffee apple that was on sale in one of the stalls in the central park, however my lip was still pretty cracked and sore from the dehydration and so the effort only served in accelerating the stripping of my lower lip. Regrettably I had to give up halfway, and as neither of my friends wanted the rest I ended up throwing it away.

The Barrancan District

Together we all took a stroll down to an area called Barranca, where Erika eagerly compared it with Andalucía and was slightly disappointed that I did not also spot the similarity right away.

However my memory of the time I visited this region of Southern Spain was now several years old and having since visited many similar cities and districts I could not quite picture it as well as she could.

The Barrancan area was a very nice quaint part of the town, with remaining Spanish colonial buildings and decorations.

As the landscape was quite hilly, some parts overlooked others and it was nice to look down and see it all lit up once it started to get dark.

Flaming Good Art

One thing I did spot, in among all the street performers was an artist who was using spray cans and a lighter to make some very incredibly psychedelic artwork right in front of our eyes, and all at a sensible price.

I spotted one that I felt it would be a perfect gift for my friend Wendy back home.

I do not normally make a habit of buying presents for people, as this can get very expensive and time consuming, plus it leads can often lead to a few people asking why someone else got one and not them, but the second I saw I felt it was like some of her favourite album covers and so I could not resist. #84

As it turned out, upon receiving it Wendy felt it had a very bad vibe and aura and so decided against putting up on her wall. In fact she was both a little surprised and shocked that I had even chosen it, which goes to show that art is a very personal thing.

After wandering around for a couple of Hours Carlajimena and her brother had to go and meet their other friends, which left me and Erika together very near Miraflores centre, so we returned there for another drink and another movie.

More Movies in Lima

This time we shied away from any dodgy films and plumped for a proper action flick this time, Max Payne, and it was good even if it did sort of get all arty and play on a devil and angels theme a bit too much for my liking.

The story was basic and you could tell what was going to happen from the start, but as it was an action flick and also a game to movie conversion this was hardly a surprise and we picked it for the fight sequences and special effects rather than an engaging plot.

After the movie it was time to head home by taxi, while in my mind I tried to start formulating a plan for the next few days.

Another Dawn in Lima

Waking up I looked out my window to see nothing but a light grey sky, the same as all the other days and I was beginning to feel that the Limeans might not actually know what the sun looks like.

Thankfully my time here had been mostly dry, but without proper sunlight and blue skies my photographs of the city are far less flattering than they really ought to be.

My tummy was still feeling a little iffy from the dodgy egg breakfast I had back in Cuzco, but thankfully it was no longer enough to lessen my appetite and so I was looking forward to chow down on a bit hearty meal to fill me up.

Like all good Peruvians Carlajimena was very proud of her home city, and despite it being infamously dirty and polluted, yesterday she had strongly suggested that today we take a trip to the city centre and downtown district to pay it a visit, along with a few other cultural sights of interest.

So, after a light breakfast and a chat with my hosts, I took a taxi over to meet her and then together we caught a bus into the city centre.

Despite it being much later than the early morning rush hour we still ended up stuck in heavy traffic heading into the city, while all roads leading out seemed to be almost empty.

More Limean Crime

Lima seemed a real mix of old and new, rich and poor and on our journey we passed Spanish colonial buildings, burnt out factories, modern casino complexes, luxury apartments and virtually everything in between.

Our first stop took us into the centre of town and here my friend was moved to remind me that this place was full of thieves and pickpockets and that I should not take out my camera in public, or even show it unless I was about to use it and then as quickly as possible.

Almost as soon as she mentioned it, we both spotted a guy lightly pat another man's open flapped satchel as he went past, but the guy with the bag was oblivious, so it was lucky that it seemed there was nothing of interest as the thief continued on his way. #85

Though I haven't always mentioned it, over my travels I did spot several attempted thefts and plenty of minor car accidents, which almost made me wonder if I was a nexus or catalyst for such things.

However the much simpler answer is that these things go on every day all over the world, its only that as I was constantly outside and observing things I just had more opportunities to spot them, when ordinarily I would be at work and unaware.

Central and Downtown Lima

Walking through the streets our next destination was the city cathedral, which was bedecked with deep purple banners and paintwork.

Inside the main hall was a huge congregation who were all singing and praying together, while outside nuns wearing a similar purple were selling little broaches and decorative pins.

Carlajimena said that apparently the story behind it is about a painter that survived a terrible earthquake untouched while most of nearby residents tragically died, but sadly although her English is fairly good there were still a few concepts and ideas that were impossible to translate properly and so I never quite got the full story.

The next place that was on our itinerary for today was the city underground Catacombs, which was adjacent to the Lima's central plaza, and is where the bones of over seventy thousand poor souls rest.

Carlajimena reliably informed me that it was most famous for holding the remains of the Spanish explorers who conquered Peru in the 16th Century, but I was much more interested in the bones of Simón Bolívar who had liberated the country in 1821.

There was also a statue of Simón Bolívar in the main plaza and I felt that he had much more right to have his bones revered than some conquistador.

Getting close to central plaza was easier said than done as police had cordoned off the entire area in preparation of a public display by the Peruvian President, Alan García Pérez, a blanket of protection that included groups of armed soldiers blocking off access from side streets.

Lima's Polluted River

When we finally managed to skirt the area and arrive at the catacombs from another direction we found that it was closed due to restoration works, however very frustratingly it was only closed on this particular day and had we chosen any other day during my time here to pay it a visit we could have got in.

Yet again cursing my lack of planning and research, we were forced to give up and so as we had a little time left before Carlajimena had to return home we made our way down to the riverside where one of the world's dirtiest rivers ran.

Now when I say ran, what I actually mean is that it sort of sat there and didn't really go anywhere as it was so polluted and murky that I doubt it flowed at more than a snail's pace, and you would have more luck wading across it than trying to swim in it.

Miraflores by Day

Once Carlajimena returned home I was left to my own devices so in an effort to exhaust the Miraflores region totally, I took a taxi down there again to see what else I could get up to during the day.

The light grey sky that I had seen earlier began to turn dark and soon I was considering watching yet another movie just to escape the rain.

Taking a closer look, I could see that although there were plenty of restaurants, casinos and places to shop, the prices were so much above the norm that I could tell that this place was tourist central without even having noticed that there were plenty of signs in English as well as Spanish.

Then I considered grabbing something to eat, and trying to follow Erika's advice I sought out a place that was frequented with plenty of common looking locals.

Regrettably the only place that I found which was not empty was a tiny cafe come diner which served foods that I could neither recognise or even pronounce from the chalk board menu displayed high on the wall.

So I wandered around for an hour, spotted a few night clubs and a bowling alley that I almost went into until I looked at its prices and decided that it was expensive by anyone's standard. Thus defeated I gave up and ended up taking a taxi back to my friend's house to catch up on my emails and watch a few more movies on my laptop.

A Different Kind of Homesick

When I arrived back I noticed that my friends had a group of friends over, so it was nice to mingle with them for a little before retiring to my room. It also made me feel what I thought was another bought of homesickness, but after a bit of thought and self analysis it turned out to be loneliness.

It may seem weird to suggest that here, surrounded by a group of smiling happy people all willing and eager to talk to me but say that I am lonely, but I was.

The fact was that despite all my blogs comments and such, I was in an unfamiliar country surrounded by strangers and I felt cut off from everything that I knew and everyone that I loved.

It was not a dark brooding ominous depressive or regret like the last time, as I appeared happy, cheerful and eager to board a bus bound for my next destination, but there was definitely something small nagging at my ease and comfort.

I guess I just want the best of everything, the travel, the adventure, the new friends and the comfort of home and my old friends and family, which of course is impossible, but then humans are just breathing wish making machines and so I guess I have got to get used to it. #86, #87

It was a long time afterwards that I realised that it was not homesickness but loneliness I was suffering. I do not believe that life is meant to be experienced alone, as the joys of so much in life is in sharing it with those you care about.

I was so far away in both time and space, it made me feel alone.

Owning a house so close to my family and friends as I did, I was so used to having constant feedback on my life from all those around me that to suddenly go without any contact for days felt a bit like going cold turkey.

Book In Advance

It had been my intention to take another long bus journey to Piura from Lima, however I had failed to take into consideration that the bus was not only a stopping service, but was also needed to be booked a few days in advance, something else I only found out when I attempted to book it online.

Faced with a three day delay to find available space on a intercity bus was something that would really put a spanner in my itinerary, so not wanting to skip Piura totally I found myself booking yet another flight. #88

With only one day left here I gave myself an early night and slept long and hard. I still could not believe that I was staying with the relatives of friends and yet I was being treated like one of their own family.

The cost of the flight was easily ten times the price of the bus, and was just another example of an unexpected expense eating into my budget, which ended up being woefully optimistic.

Another Day in Lima spent Studying Spanish

I woke early but with no real urgent demand on my time I allowed myself to sleep in until well into mid morning before I roused myself and had breakfast.

Checking my email I found that my sisters had posted me several family photos, which was nice and helped lift the slight funk I was feeling.

Although Carlajimena had suggested that I should return to Lima and visit the Catacombs today, I really didn't feel like doing much and so instead I thought I would try and improve my Spanish vocabulary.

I spend most of the day with a notebook and my laptop trying to imagine a list of as many sentences as I could which I would use frequently and then use a translator program to learn them in Spanish.

It was hard at first, but after awhile I remembered that Spanish differs from English at the basic structural level and so recreating the sentences to make them more translatable.

Happy with my effort I memorised a few of the simple ones and planned on surprising Erika with my improved Spanish, as she was due to arrive later tonight.

Last Evening in Lima

However all my efforts were for nought, as the moment that Erika came over and I tried a few lines on here I could tell by her puzzled expression that I had managed to spend all day writing absolute gibberish.

I felt like a small child handing in a homework assignment only to see my teacher take out a big red pen and begin to scribble all over my effort. It was crushing and deflating, despite Erika's praise for the effort.

Erika also found my saving grave in that my accent wasn't all that bad and despite being sounding foreign it was still clear and understandable.

All I needed was more time studying and practicing and I had every chance of one day becoming fluent in Spanish to at least a conversational level. Not bad for the guy who only chose to learn it after a trip to Andalucía with his Fijian pen friend Amelia.

I also got to meet Carlajimena's other grandmother, who arrived to meet me and with the help of her grandson as a partial translator we were able to talk a little.

I told her all about my travels and she told me more about the horrific earthquake that devastated the region and she believes that it was the power of god that saved her life.

It is actually a rather sad story as she lost most of her children during the earthquake, thought it had not shaken her beliefs and she remained strong of faith and positive.

We spent a little longer chatting and then I had to say goodbye to her and to Erika, as this was the last few moments that we would spend together as she was unable to take any time off to take me to the airport tomorrow.

After she had left I cursed myself for forgetting to ask either her or Erika to sign my little travel book, and with Erika especially it was an unfortunate faux pas as I had spent more time with her than with everyone else while here in Lima.

Final Morning in Lima

My final morning in Lima was a very pleasant, as it started with my friends cooking me a huge breakfast complete with fried eggs and bacon.

Next I had to say goodbye to the friends that had taken me in, before being collected by Carlajimena and her father Freddie, who I also thank for all their help and hospitality.

After a quick shopping trip to get some pocket change, I gave them all a round of final hugs, picked up my heavy rucksack it was time to make my way back to the airport. To facilitate this Freddie called up his favourite friendly taxi driver, who promised me a smooth and affordable ride to the airport.

As I bundled myself into the back of the taxi, Freddie and Carlajimena waves me goodbye and shouted out that I had an open invitation to return and that if ever I was to revisit Lima I must pay them another visit.

It was long after I had said goodbye that the realisation stuck me.

The Spanish phrase "mi casa es tu casa" is one of those ideas which gets terribly mangled in direct translation, as strictly speaking it reads "my house is your house", but in reality it implies home rather than house as the concept extends far beyond mere bricks to include "my family is your family and my friends are your friends."

Leaving Lima

Even as I was zipping along in the taxi I felt a pang of regret that I was leaving Lima behind, but then I knew that I had Piura to look forward to along with the chance of meeting another new friend.

The taxi ride to the airport was a fraction of what I had initially paid when coming from the opposite direction, which again showed how much they like to rip off tourists and business travellers fresh off the plane.

I also noticed that everyone was a lot more religious than I had credited them, as the taxi driver crossed himself as we drove past a church, and thinking back I now realised that I had seen both Carlajimena and Erika do the same on previous journeys just I had not made the connection at the time.

I had not thought about having to pay an airport leaving tax, so I was extra grateful that I had changed up some money in the city centre, and I avoided buying anything at the airport as the prices made even the Miraflores shops seem cheap by comparison.

Since returning home I have managed to keep in sporadic contact with both Erika and Carlajimena, but their lives and work schedules are far too busy to allow them much time for writing lengthy emails.

As far as I understand Erika still works as a part time dance teacher while Carlajimena has switched jobs and now works in a hostel.

Flight to Piura

It was only a short flight from Lima to Piura, but what puzzled me then and now was that for part of it we spent flying over the Eastern edge of the Pacific Ocean.

It was also too short for an in-flight meal, but it did include a small snack of crackers and a cake, which I thought I would save for another time.

As far as the in-flight entertainment system went, the flight was also considered too short for them to stick on a decent movie so I ended up watching an episode of 'just for laughs' and was anything but!

One of the 'gags' had the victim see the grim reaper standing over them on a CCTV screen, which is about as funny as open heart surgery without anaesthetic, and my instant wish was that karma would balance itself out upon whichever warped crackpot thought that one up!

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in Piura, Peru

I had chosen to visit Piura as it was both a close city to the Ecuadorian border and also because it was home to another pen friend of mine called Martha. I had not known Martha for all that long, but it was seemed friendly enough and certainly she was another example of Peruvian beautiful.

Landing was interesting as the airport was tiny, and didn't have an arrivals hall as much as having a large shed where you can actually see the porters load up the mini luggage revolver through a plastic wall.

Outside I could see a wonderful vista of green shrubs on one side and eager taxi drivers literally salivating at the thought of fleecing unsuspecting passengers on the other.

Haggling In Piura

Fully prepared to out my negotiating skills to the test, I argued with the taxi driver over the cost and it was almost amusing that he haggled so fiercely over such a small difference.

Almost funny, except of course it meant that he was still ripping me off and so despite it being mere pennies the principle still niggled me.

The taxi ride was smooth and not too bumpy, but mainly that was because the driver would almost come to a complete halt before every slight bump or crack in the road.

At first this was not a huge problem, but the further from the airport we got the worse the roads became and thus the slow our progress became.

Thankfully it was not too far away and so we made it before I thought about getting out and walking.

First Glimpse of Piura

My first impression of Piura was that the town was poor, with dusty uneven roads and frequented by small family run stores that hadn't seen a fresh lick of paint in over a decade.

It reminded me of the Mexican towns I often saw featured in old western movies, towns which were always on the edge of civilisation but were equally a law unto themselves.

I imagine that it was the kind of town where it would be real easy to disappear and escape the rat race, though of course all the locals would know you were from out of town and the chances of finding a job or modern entertainment were fairly non-existent.

My Hotel in Piura

My hotel in Piura was on a main road into the town centre, and was of fairly small construction with a high metal fence surrounding it.

I guess it was for security and indeed I did feel safe inside, but strangely enough as it was such a quiet town with so few people out on the streets I felt equally safe outside too.

As I stood in the main reception area and waited for the clerk to check me in I was witness to a rather unusual performance which played out in front of me.

A slender young female came knocking on the hotel door, and after being let in to the main gate had a long debate with the owner about whether she should be allowed up into the rooms or not.

The girl said that she was in a particular room with a single guy waiting for her, while the room number she gave was occupied by three women travelling together but no men.

Eventually she realised that she was not getting in so gave up and went away, but I couldn't make up my mind if she was an opportunist thief, an opportunist hooker, or that she had legitimately arranged to meet a friend but just forgotten which room number her friend had given.

During my stay I forgot to quiz the receptionist about it afterwards, but as I never saw her again I doubt that she tried again.

My room's furnishings were fairly Spartan, and with its cold tiled flooring it made the soles of my feet quickly feel hard and dirty, but I bet it was easy to clean and probably required less maintenance than carpeting or wooden floorboards.

The walls of the room were fairly thin, which with the tiled flooring helped echo and transfer the sound from one adjoining room to the other, and though it had a few power sockets it took a Herculean effort on my part to push any of my plugs in deep enough to complete the circuit.

In fact the only thing that actually frustrated me, though it was in perfect keeping with the rest of the place, was that the hotels Wi-Fi signal did not reach up to the room. It was only strong enough to be received in either the main lobby, which had the saving grace of having a rather comfy leather sofa and coffee table, or the adjoining breakfast bar area.

The Bus Depot in Piura

With the lesson about booking in advance still fresh in my mind, after checking with the hotel receptionist, my first port of call was to take a stroll down to the main international bus terminal in order to buy my onward ticket.

Grabbing the hotels only decent map, and promising to take good care of it until I returned it later that day, I made my way the ten blocks down to the bus terminal, passing many three wheeled miniature taxi which were either cruising about at ten miles an hour or parked so close together that they effectively created a barrier that had to be given a wide berth.

In keeping with the rest of the town, the bus terminal was little more than a huge corrugated metal bus shelter and garage combined, and apart from being brightly painted in places had no actual signs directing people to it.

Forearmed with my requirements written down, I approached the cashier who said that he understood a little English before proceeding to talk in hand gestures.

After the second attempt I felt confident that we had reached an understanding, and even repeated it back to him, however he must have felt he was on a roll as he continued to explain several more times, just to make sure.

On my way back to the hostel I noticed a huge pair of red lips painted onto the double doors of a building which turned out to be a night club called Relax, so I made a mental note for later as it was both close to my hotel and almost impossible to get lost from being that it was on the same main road as my hotel.

Just before I reached my hotel I stopped off to buy a drink and some fruit, mainly to break a note, but despite it being the middle of the afternoon the little stall did not even have change from the smallest of notes, which actually endeared Piura to me even more.

Not having wanted to impose further on my friends in Lima, I had not done any laundry washing for the past week, so that was next on my list of jobs to do, closely followed by getting something to eat.

A Chinese Restaurant in Piura

Directly opposite the hotel was a Chinese restaurant, and looking in through the window I could see that it was almost packed with locals, which I took as a good sign.

For just a handful of change I was able to buy a plate of rice, a chicken curry and a bottle of Inca-cola to wash it all down with.

I was a little unsure of what to expect from a Chinese restaurant in Peru, but when it arrived I was totally gobsmacked by how much they had piled on the plate.

For a moment I thought that perhaps I had somehow ordered a family sized portion, until I looked around and saw that the table next to me held a veritable mountain of rice.

Giving it my best I managed to eat through about half, before admitting defeat and asking for the bill.

I had not given any thought to what they would do with the rest but when my change came back it was together with the remnants of my meal which they had kindly packed into a plastic tub for me. Not wanting to seem rude I smile and waved as I said goodbye, but I already knew I had had enough rice to last me a month.

Sleepless in Piura

Back in my room I decided to look over the tour guide brochures until it was bedtime, however it was so hot and humid that I could not sleep and so I thought I would try to watch more television.

It amused me that at midnight both the adult channels were scrambled, however the five religious channels were all perfectly clear, as were the other sixty which covered sport, news, films and mail order shopping catalogues.

Now maybe I am a little weird, but whenever I have found myself awake and alone in the middle of the night I have often had my mind flooded with thoughts and desires, but how much I was in need of spiritual salvation or where to buy the cheapest plastic multi-gym exercise ball have never been among them.

Trying to avoid the gaze of the semi naked women in her lovers arms, from the painting hung on the wall, I went to the window and through the grilled open window I chanced to spot a little lizard crawl all over the outside of my window.

Despite being unable to sleep I felt that I liked Piura. It was a place I understood, where the locals were not forever trying on their favourite scam and where I could afford a good meal without breaking the bank.

A New Dawn in Piura

Waking up today, I knew that I would not be meeting Martha as she was taking some law exams, so not wanting to visit the same places twice I decided to forego my usual random wanderings and spent the entire day watching movies, catching up with my blog, adjusting and cataloguing photographs.

I also decided to wade through my hand luggage and rucksack items again and begin to collate the next batch of stuff that I would be sending home.

I did venture forth from my room occasionally, in order to pick up a Wi-Fi signal down in the main lobby and to buy some more snacks and such, but the majority of time I spend in my room wearing nothing but boxer shorts trying to stay cool.

The best thing about having a private room in a hot country is that I could wear as little as I liked and take as many cold showers as I wanted to in order to keep cool.

In fact, part of the reason why I enjoyed my time in Piura as much as I did was that it was the first time I really just stuck two fingers up at having to go sightseeing and instead just spent took the opportunity to really slob out like you are meant to while being away on holiday.It was the break that I had needed, and it is part of the reason why I still have fond memories of Piura despite not actually doing anything particularly noteworthy.

A Third Day in Piura

I woke up today refreshed, relaxed and with a plan. I was due to meet Martha for lunch, and then after her final exam in the afternoon we would meet up again in the evening for drinks and more conversation.

As Martha was unsure as to how much Spanish I knew, she had arranged to meet me with one of her friends who spoke more English than she did, so as a threesome we took a taxi to a nearby restaurant to try out some traditional food.

As we drove I could not help but feel that the whole of Piura seemed to lack rain, and Martha confirmed that their average rain fall was pitifully small, hence why everything was dry.

An Outdoor Restaurant in Piura

The restaurant was a quaint little place, full of rustic charm and colourful decorations with plenty of seating both in and outdoors.

As it was such a hot day, we chose to have our meal on the upper balcony area outside, which was nice as it gave us a slight view of the surrounding area and was partially enclosed beneath a canopy of hanging vines.

As we sat there waiting for our meal we chatted and Martha was soon relieved to discover that I could in fact speak a very little Spanish, and also understood even more as long as she spoke slowly and kept it simple.

From the menu we ordered the prawn paella, which according to local custom has to be hot enough to blow your socks off, and they served it together with a complimentary free drink called Tiger Milk.

Now I usually like milk, however Tiger Milk was actually a warm fish water beverage which again had enough strength and spiciness to make me sweat, so after a tiny taste test I said I would pass and just stuck with iced lemonade.

I long ago learned that the ingredients in cola do not mix well with spicy foods.

All too soon it was time for Martha to return for her exam, so as the restaurant was close to her home, she asked the taxi driver to drop her off first before returning me to my hotel.

Back in the hotel I took the opportunity to have another cold shower and just chilled out with watching movies until the evening.

A Touch of Luxury in Piura

Once Martha returned, without her friend this time, we took another taxi to another of her friends where the plan was that in true Latin style we would stay up all night chatting and drinking until the early hours.

I have never been much of a drinker, but I determined I would at least try to keep up my side of the conversation and hoped that they didn't mind me slowly nursing my drinks.

Martha's friends place was a lot further out of town than I had expected and so I was very thankful that Martha had yet again used her favourite taxi driver for the journey as otherwise the cost of all these taxi journeys would have started to mount up.

When we arrived and passed through the security gate, the apartment block didn't look anything special from the outside but her friend had transformed the inside into a modern and well designed apartment, complete with fitted kitchen and expensive stereo system.

As expected, once the vodka started to flow we got chatting and laughing, again mostly in Spanglish and thankfully we always seemed to understand each other and get our message across.

That said I was glad that I had studied more Spanish words and phrases while in Lima as even if I had mangled up the correct grammar the words themselves were still coming in handy.

Close Encounters of the Curb Kind

Unable to keep my eyes open any longer, we left and caught another taxi driver home, first to drop off Martha and then me back to my hotel.

It should have been easy, as there was hardly any traffic on the roads at this time of the morning, but midway through the journey the driver thought he spotted something on the road and swerved violently to avoid it.

I have no idea what it was that he thought he saw, however he totally failed to notice that at this part of the road the sides had a very high raised curb, and in his attempt to miss whatever it was he almost mounted the curb.

For the rest of the ride he remained paranoid and kept looking in his rear view mirror and at the side of his car while I just prayed that we made it back it one piece.Forth Day in Piura

This morning I had arranged to meet Martha outside my hotel as we were going to go to an ancient site called Fortaleza de Narihuala.

I am not sure if it could be termed a ruin, seeing as it was a single solid structure of mud, but it is definitely considered interesting and thanks to the incredibly dryness of the region it was remarkably still intact thousands of years after it had been constructed.

Moments before Martha arrived I had just managed to pass solids for the first time in a week, so I was happy and sure that my body was on the mend. However we had not been travelling more than a few moments before today's plan took a steep nose dive.

Satan's Toilet

I am not sure if it was the food, the heat, a double dose on anti-malaria pills, last night's vodka drinking session or a combination of all of the above, but less than five minutes after we had pulled away in the taxi I felt a sudden desire to pull over at the first opportunity.

It turned out that the first opportunity was a secluded gasoline station with adjoining public toilet.

I have never liked throwing up, I have never liked public toilets and I hate using toilets that are neither clean, have no paper, no working flush and no toilet seat, so the combination of all three was like torture as I urgently thrust my head down what could only be described as Satan's toilet bowl, and proceeding to disgorge the entire contents of my stomach in under a second.

Stinking, unable to clean myself and stained with the mess of the unwashed cubicle floor I had lost all interest in anything other than an immediate shower and then returning back to bed to try and sleep off whatever ailed me.

It was a very premature and disappointing end to a full day planned with Martha, but I was in no fit state to continue looking, feeling and smelling the way I did, and even if somehow I managed to struggle through I knew for sure I would not have enjoyed it.

Martha understood immediately, and despite her desire and suggestion that she stayed with me, I insisted that she returned home as I knew that I was going back to bed and would not want to move, talk or do anything for several hours to come.

In order to salvage something of the day, we agreed that she would return to visit me around dusk, when hopefully I would have recovered enough to at least go with her for a meal or a walk.

A Return to Health

Once I had cleaned up and wrapped myself up tight I managed to get back to sleep and remain so for a several hours, waking up refreshed and feeling as right as I possibly could.

Thankfully it had turned out that my recent malaise was not the start of an extended series of vomiting episodes, but a one off complete emptying of my system, after which I quickly returned to health.

Around mid afternoon I felt that I could not sleep anymore, so feeling renewed and totally ravenous my hunger drove me to seek out food. Having no desire to risk anything that might set me off again I walked until I reached what seemed to be the city centre in search for a simple burger and fries.

Unfortunately I do not think that Piura has any typical or international burger joints, so slightly deflated I turned around and began to return to my hotel.

However I felt that I could not go much further without some form of food so I chanced to stop off at a small bakery where I was able to pick up a bag of plain bread rolls and some ham slices.

I felt sure that my body would not object to such a basic and uncomplicated sandwich, and though it was very dry and rough going down it certainly quietened the rumbling from down below.

Back in my hotel I was to receive the third bit of bad news for the day, which was that Martha's mother decided that she did not want to babysit for her daughter tonight after all, which means that Martha was unable to leave her baby and come spend any time with me tonight.

The treble dose of bad news was enough for me to feel that this Halloween was not going to be my best ever, but in an effort to try and salvage something for the wreckage of what was normally my second favourite holiday, I decided that I would venture forth and see how the locals celebrated the night of All Hallows Eve.

The Un-Erotic Witch Project

The first place that I passed seemed to be a lively joint with lots of locals and was advertised with the poster of four attractive women clad only in silver bikinis all dancing and singing together.

Feeling that it was promising I paid the minimal entrance fee and had no problem in ordering a cola before finding an empty table at the rear of the hall.

Looking around the locals all seemed to be enjoying themselves, but the music was not to my liking and as so typical of clubs all over the world they were playing it too loud for casual listening.

Slightly frustratingly there seemed no tourists, foreigners or single women that I thought I could mosey on up to and attempt to strike up a conversation with, so I ignored the crowd and turned my attention to the stage I.

There, as expected were the singing dance girls, all wearing their trademark silver outfits, but to mark the occasion they were also enshrouded with huge black capes and tall pointed hats.

I gave them a couple of numbers to warm and really get going, but half an hour later I came to the sad conclusion that things were not really going to improve and as the overall cacophony was only getting louder I felt that this wasn't the right place for me, so I gave up and left.

Feeling Risqué in Piura

Having failed to find suitable amusement for the night, the second place I visited was Relax, the night club I had seen during my first afternoon here.

The club had bigger bouncers on the door and a slightly higher entrance fee, so as I made over to the bar I took a good look around the place.

It was a bizarre club with as much of it indoor as outdoor and swing doors separating one area from the other.

The inner area was centred round a large podium that sported a number of poles rising up from its base, and was dimly lit from far away mounted spot lights.

Around the edge of the club was a number of bar style benches that surrounded the row of tables that stretched up both sides.

Although the central podium was empty I could see that there were a number of young ladies all around the club, and very few men which led me to deduce that I was right in assuming what kind of bar it was.

Once up at the bar I ordered a coke and then settled back at one of empty tables the waited to see what would happen.

At first nothing at all happened, as no lights came on, there was no music and none of the ladies made any effort to catch my eye or come over and talk, but after about five minutes a tall and smartly dressed guy came over.

I have always disliked pimps in any of their forms, so I had no real desire to talk to this one, however as could tell that if I didn't at least humour him then I may as well leave right now I smiled, nodded a few times and let him do all the talking.

Drinking With Strangers

Safe in the knowledge that most of my money, my passport and all my actual belongings were back at the hotel, I gave in to curiosity and decided to see how the whole thing would play out.

As yet I had broken no law and was free to walk away at any time, so I just sat back and kept smiling and nodding.

It wasn't long before he felt satisfied and briefly left me, only to come back a few minutes later with a tall, well built and pleasant looking brunette of about twenty, complete with painted face and plucked eye brows.

Even allowing for a huge mark-up on the price of her drink I refused the guys first request and managed to haggle him down to what was still an extortionate amount before he accepted, took my cash and left me with my new companion.

Her English was poor at best, but even if it had been better we still would have had a hard time communicating as it was at precisely that moment that the pimp decided was the perfect time to stick on some dodgy pop music, loud enough to wake the dead.

After a few minutes of fruitless half hearted conversation with the girl, during which she had made no effort to touch or get close to me in any way, I got bored so I decided to up the ante and asked if she was allowed to leave here and come back to my hotel.

Clearly expecting such a request she smiled, nodded and then turned back towards the darkness where the pimp had been lurking, as he materialised beside her almost instantly.

Again he was all smiles and big teeth, glad that I liked the companion he had chose for me and suggested that we went to another part of the club where we could talk in private and be away from the loud music.

There is a saying that goes something like, "the bigger the smile, the sharper the knife", and though I had no idea where it originally comes from I am sure that it was meant for guys like this.

An Indecent Proposal

Moving past a partitioned wall of bricks but no door, he led us to a small room that was empty save a single rounded leather sofa, adjoined as it was by a second partitioned room that held a basin, toilet and shower.

The whole place reeked of seediness and I was rapidly losing interest in the whole idea and thinking that I would much prefer to be back in my hotels private room with its comfy double bed, its ceiling and its television.

Despite the club being empty of other male clients, the pimp now felt as if time was money and so without any further pleasantries he tried to talk up a sale and impress upon me the wonderful opportunity that he was offering me.

I am not sure of the going rate for this type of transaction, but I am positive that it was far higher for me as I was a foreigner and yet at the same time it was far too low for what service he would then expect out of the girl.

As much as he tried to get me involved in a deal, I just had to take one look at the girl to know that she had no desire whatsoever to spend another moment in my company. It wasn't that she looked scared or frightened of me or the pimp, as she didn't, it's just that she clearly didn't want to be here or with me, and for me that was all I needed to know.

Aware that there was no polite way of declining the offer without being accused of wasting their time, I instead made a half hearted attempt to haggle before shaking my head and standing up.

I then thanked my temporary hostess for her time before I made my way out of the partitioned room and then out of the club.

By the time I got to within sight of my hostel I remembered that I had still not yet eaten, so I stopped off for another portion or rice from the Chinese restaurant across the road.

As I was going in I passed right by two young and rough looking hookers who were standing by the side of the road.

Although they clearly tried to catch my eye and appeared much more as if they actually wanted my company, when it came down it this just wasn't what I left my hotel for and so I gave them both a miss also, bought my rice and then retired to my room.

News Updates

Back in my room, as I ate my extra large portion of rice, I switched on the television and with the volume turned way down low I channel flicked for the last time in October.

What I saw on the international news scene was surprising and shocking, but also a welcome break from the usual garbage that made up the UK late night television scene.

There were the usual films dubbed in Spanish, a couple of games of football and enough coverage of the U.S.A. presidential elections to bore me to tears, but it was the other news articles that caught my attention.

Despite being in a supposedly peaceful and civilized world there were reports of: bombings in India, naval battled between the Sri Lankan government and the Tamil Tigers; a holding temporal ceasefire in the Republic of Congo; ongoing battles in Iraq; more news of Nigerian pirates plaguing shipping routes as far away as the Indian Ocean and the Indonesian government was preparing for a backlash following the imminent execution of two convicted terrorists of the Bali bombings.

There was also news that a high ranking Japanese official was recently forced to resign after publishing an article stating that he felt that Japan had not been an aggressive participant of WW II, which of course greatly angered its neighbouring governments of China, North and South Korea and a host of Pacific Island nations.

I don't suppose the Australians were that keen on it either, especially those who lost relatives in the attacks upon Darwin in the Northern Territories.

But the article that put a smile on my face was the Guinness book of records new record for the largest pair of jeans made in the world. It was so large that it requiring a construction crane to lift it up from its various belt straps, and used a pair of large inflatable tubes to pad out and display its legs properly.

It was sad to think that there is still so very much aggression and violence in today's society and it's the main reason why I chose not to watch too much news as it always seems to be filled with so much misery that it just depresses me.

Last Day in Piura

I woke up feeling fine and with my ticket for tonight's night bus to Ecuador already bought I was determined to try and make the most of today, sudden bouts of sickness or not.

Check out time was just after breakfast and thankfully the hotel owners were fine with me leaving my rucksack with them for the day while I did a bit of sightseeing with Martha.

Without any time to waste, once Martha arrived we jumped in the same taxi that had brought her and we headed on over to our first destination of the day, which turned out to be a pre-Incan site at Fortaleza de Narihuala.

Fortaleza de Narihuala, Peru

Thankfully Fortaleza de Narihuala was not too far away by taxi, but even over this short distance the roads became once more dirt tracks and the nearby living area looked more like a slum than anything else, with one floor shacks made of wood and corrugated iron being the only protection from the elements.

Despite its age and significance, it was not that well sign posted and were it not for Martha's local knowledge I could have walked right past it and not given the area a second look.

The construction of the archaeological area itself was little more than dried mud, mixed with straw and pebbles, and then left to harden in the baking sun but the overall effect was impressive just for the effort rather than the complexity of it, considering how far back in time it was built.

What was left was not so much a hut or building as a huge mound, was several ramps, seats, low boundary walls and similar solid features build upon it.

In my mind however, I could envisage the whole area with thin wooden walls and a ceiling overhead offering up shelter from the sun to the rulers as they surveyed their surrounding lands.

To help explain what we were looking at the locals had built a small museum near the main entrance, but as interest in the area was so minimal it was staffed by a couple of boys aged no more than seven or eight and a family of thin hairless dogs.

As my prepubescent tour guides unsurprisingly spoke only Spanish, I ended up teaching them almost as much as they taught me, with the aid of my friend Martha doing a great job as our translator.

Wandering around the museum was nice as it had several examples of traditions and craftsman skills from the region that have been recently brought back to life through recreation and are now being passed down through the current generation of Peruvians.

We spend about an hour there before there was nothing else to see and with the sun beating down overhead I suggested that we leave and try to find a place in the shade to have dinner.

Catacaos, Peru

After visiting the museum at Fortaleza de Narihuala we then hoped in another taxi and headed across to the small and scenic town of Catacaos.

The town of Catacaos was almost the perfect tourist town, in that it was remarkably clean and tidy, there were plenty of authentic looking buildings and architecture that looked like it had been constantly renovated and repainted and there were plenty of places to eat or pick up souvenirs.

It had a small Cathedral with some truly beautiful sculptures on its roof and paintings on its ceiling, and for the children it had sturdy looking wooden miniature ponies that they could sit on and have their photo taken.

Yes, the town elders and indeed the government of Peru had clearly spent a lot of time and money in trying to make Catacaos look like a small wonder.

It would never be a Disneyland, and it could not hide the fact that it was a poor town in a developing country, but it did its best to appear warm, friendly and inviting.

Regrettably for me it turned out to be the people of Catacaos who let the place down so badly.

Worst Restaurant in Peru

With Martha leading the way, we found a quaint little restaurant just off of the main plaza, and being a little early for lunchtime the place was almost empty.

It did not stay empty for long, as soon enough the place began to fill up as one by one most of the other tables became occupied by locals.

After noticing that several of the other customers were being served their main course, I mentioned this to Martha, but she seemed unconcerned and was content to sit and chat, sure that ours would be arriving any minute.

This carried on for about another half an hour before finally her meal arrived, albeit without mine and still without our drinks being served.

I patiently waited a few more minutes, before suggesting that Martha start hers or else it would get cold.

She declined at first, but eventually we compromised and started to share her meal, confident that mine would arrive any minute, however as we were finishing hers mine still had not arrived and so I called the waiter over and cancelled my order.

To make matters worse, when we first came in the restaurant owner had moved us to another table that was right under a speaker and as soon as more guests arrived he then started up the classic Latin music, which totally deafened us and drowned out any chatter between me and Martha.

Though it caused a small amount of dispute between Martha and myself, because of the terrible service and treatment I refused point black to give more than the most insignificant tip.

It may seem cheap of me, but had I been on my own I would have already left long ago and then they would have receiving nothing.

Fanatical Souvenir Seller

But the final straw for me was that the restaurant owners encouraged, or at least did nothing to prevent the town's horde or beggars, hawkers and souvenir sellers from disrupting our private conversation.

Throughout the entire time we were sitting there I had little boys and old women come over and accost me with everything from reed fans and frilly sombreros to clay nativity scenes.

I have always been unsettled by aggressive or enthusiastic sellers, so to have a small boy hit me with a fan just to get my attention for the umpteenth time was plenty sufficient to get me to lose my cool.

Rather than considering buying something, the only thing crossing my mind was how much trouble I would be in if I was to throw the kid across the room or remove said article from under my nose and show him exactly where he could shove his fan.

Surprisingly Martha found my alarm quite amusing and said that I get stressed far too easy, which may be true, but then I am used to a certain amount of personal space and she wasn't the one that was being assaulted every few minutes. #89

The real pity for them is that I do actually collect fans and had they simply waited by the entrance and smiled at me it would have been a totally different story.

Sadly too much poverty and too many rich tourists have ruined this once idyllic town and though I fought it as hard as I could, I could not help but tar it with the same brush that I do with places like India or Egypt.

Piura Money Lenders

Having grown tired of the irksome harassment I gave up on any further attempt to explore Catacaos and asked Martha if we could return to Piura town centre as soon as possible.

As Ecuador has the American dollar as its main currency, and as I was due to depart Peru in just a few hours, I thought that now would be a good time to exchange any remaining Pesos.

This should have been a doddle, with Martha willing and eager as always to help, however all the banks were closed today as it was a holiday and so I had to risk my luck by using one of the many on-street money lenders that were in the town centre.

It was not hard to spot one as for some reason they all chose to wear bright yellow jackets, and the one that we approached was a little thrown that I wanted to give pesos instead of receive them.

The whole thing scene reeked of illicit shadiness, however beggars can't be choosers and so I just tried not to think of how terrible an exchange rate I would get and told him how much I had to exchange.

Using a calculator to type out how much I would get he waited until I nodded my acceptance and then unrolling a large roll of notes, he counted out the amount out twice for a safety measure and then handed it over to me.

It wasn't a great deal, but it should have been enough to get a taxi from the other end to my hostel and so I was not too fussed.

Last Moments in Central Piura

With the bus terminal just a short stroll away from my hotel I gave Martha a fond farewell hug while we were still in the town centre and then packed her into a taxi home before returning to collect my rucksack from the hotel.

Back at my hostel I used up the remaining few minutes surfing the net before heading on out. Making my way to the bus station I was honked at a few times by the three wheeled taxi's, but knowing that my destination was close by I simply smiled and trudged on.

I had liked Piura, and I felt that both Catacaos and Fortaleza were both worth visiting, but this was not a place that I would chose to live in unless I was trying to escape or hide from someone.

Sadly, like many of the pen friends that I met, after leaving her city Martha has slowed her correspondence with me to a crawl and now I consider myself fortunate if I receive one mail from her every other month.

Leaving Piura, Peru

From the many reviews that I had read before coming to South America I had already become aware that here half an hour late was considered to be on time, but it was still a little frustrating and unsettling to see our bus standing idle in the depot and yet they did not even start loading any luggage until it was already almost an hour late.

The bus itself was a luxurious double-decker coach and as there were plenty of empty seats this time round everyone chose to grab double seats in order to get a good view of the televisions screens for when the movies came on.

Surprisingly they didn't go round with the video camera again, like I experienced in travelling from Cuzco, but they were still pretty thorough and made us give big blue fingerprints on a chart of where our seat allocation was.

Also, as we would be crossing an international border, just like at an airport they had a ready supply of entrance and exit visa forms which they handed out and would be needed when we reached the customs checkpoint.

Their helpfulness did not last for very long however, as they only left the coaches internal lights on for about thirty second before switching them all off and playing the first movie on DVD.

I shouldn't really complain though, as the movies they selected was a homemade triple bill staring one of my favourite actors Jason Statham, so it was pretty cool.

It would have been even cooler had they not dubbed it all into Spanish and instead chose to use subtitles, but as it turned out I didn't really need much dialogue to enjoy the action movies!

~~ **** ~~

Republic of Ecuador

Guayaquil \- Arrived on 1st November 2008.

Bosque Protector Cerro Blanco \- Visited on 4th November 2008.

Manta \- Arrived on 5th November 2008.

Quito (Capital City) - Arrived on 7th November 2008.

Ciudad Mitad del Mundo \- Visited on 9th November 2008.

~~ **** ~~

Multiple Checkpoints of Ecuadorian Border

A little before midnight we reached the border checkpoint and I figured that this was where we should all get out of the coach and get our passports stamped.

Hoping that I was doing the right thing I joined the others at the rear of the queue, but I began to doubt myself when I spotted that some of the passengers had remained inside and had chose not to join the queue.

Thankfully the customs woman that I got was more interested in watching their version of 'Come Dancing' than on inspecting my passport or asking any difficult questions, which for me would have been anything other than "What is your name?", and in a blink of an eye I was back on the coach and away again.

I thought that it had all gone very smoothly, too smoothly in fact, and I was still wondering why some of the passengers had not chosen to get out when we reached checkpoint 1.2 and this time we all had to file out and visit the police desk stationed there.

While we lined up outside the desk a couple of other armed guards led a dog through the coach, and inspected it for what could only be either drugs or explosives.

Not that I expected or thought that they would find anything, but it was a still a relief to see them climb off the coach and walk away again empty handed.

Back on the coach again we had barely gotten going when we reached checkpoint 1.3, and this time it was a full military border post. Here we were all made to exit the coach again, without exception, and after queuing up were subjected to a full body search by some burly guards.

Thankfully they didn't feel the need to include an invasive cavity search in their quest for locating illegal contraband, and once cleared we were allowed to return to the coach and could finally try and catch some uninterrupted sleep.

Arrival in Guayaquil, Ecuador

In Guayaquil I was lucky enough to have two pen-friends, Bezzabeth and Milena, both single attractive women whom I was looking forward to meeting in person for the first time, though not necessarily both at the same time.

With all the shenanigans that went on in crossing the Ecuadorian border I really didn't get much sleep and so when the coach arrived much early in Guayaquil than I had planned, I was at a loss as to where to go or what to do, as I very much doubted that my hostel reception would be open at such an ungodly time in the morning.

International Bus Depot in Guayaquil

Before I left Piura I had had half a mind to try and buy my onward bus ticket to Manta upon my arrival here in Guayaquil, but due to the hour of my arrival the ticket office, indeed most of the station was closed, so I scrubbed that plan and hoped that the onward bus would be as empty as the one that I arrived on had been.

The terminal was pretty large, spanning over three levels and it must have had about a hundred departure points, yet the locals have not yet quite grasped the subtle etiquette of how to use elevators.

Despite facing a packed elevator full of people, including me, as soon as the door opened there was a great kerfuffle as none of the people outside made way or allowed any of us to get out before trying forcing their way in.

This phenomenon I have now labelled as 'lacking any spatial awareness' or 'being unaware of their immediate surroundings', and have grouped together such people together with people who stop moving to get a good look around at the bottom of elevators or inside doorways.

These unaware people are frequently the cause of pedestrian traffic jams and bottle neck delays and are a menace to society.

This rudeness I could not easily ignore or forgive, especially as in the lift was a handicapped person as well as a large trolley, and so by being forceful all they had achieved was to upset and delay everyone, themselves included.

Once freed from the confined of the elevator I headed towards an automated change machine in an effort to get some pocket money.

It was a simple machine and easy to use however I had not considered the denomination size of my note or the coins and as it started to disgorge my change it sounded like I had hit the jackpot on a fruit machine. #90

My First Guayaquil Hostel

After milling about for as long as I could before getting bored I decided that if I sat down I would probably fall asleep, which would have been unwise, so despite it still being very early I caught a taxi to my hostel.

I was very fortunate that the taxi drivers here seemed to have more morals than most, as I was charged a very reasonable fare in reaching my hostel, and I had high hopes as I made my way towards the doorway.

The hostel appeared to be a cross between a hostel and a hostel, and was situated near the top of a winding road that led up the hill. Protecting the main building from the outside was a tall wall whose only way out was a single gated doorway that led up and into the grounds.

I unloaded my rucksack, approached the gate and it was here that I suffered another 'python' moment.

British Humour Abroad

Imagine if you will, a cold and dark morning, fog hanging heavy round a high gated rampart blocking my way to the Holy Grail. High, un-scalable walls preventing me from climbing over and so I was forced to knock and place my fate in those within.

So I knocked, and a few minutes later a head appeared over the top of the wall and shouted something in a thick and muffled accent before disappearing back down again.

Bemused I waited for another few minutes for the owner of the bobbing head to come down the long flight of stairs and let me in, but to no avail.

So I knocked again, firmer and louder this time and for my efforts I was once again rewarded by the bobbing headed man.

Despite being cold, hungry, tired and in desperate need of both the toilet and a change of clothes I remained calm and asked politely in my best Spanish at what time did the doors open, only for him to mumble back something and then yet again disappear.

Now my Spanish is not perfect, so I cannot guarantee the quality of my translation, but I swear that what he shouted down to me was "Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time!" #91

Far from being annoyed, the simile was too close for me to ignore and instead I burst out in a huge grin before I began to recite punch line after glorious punch line until I had exhausted my memory.

Trying to avoid sitting near any spider, insect or grub that might be venomous, I rested my feet and waited for the inevitable opening of the gate, or for someone to build me a Trojan rabbit, whichever happened first.Or alternatively, as one of my favourite quotes would have it, 'When life gives you a lemon, make lemonade!'

Entering my First Hostel in Guayaquil

As it turned out I only had to wait about an hour before someone inside relented and let me in, after which I check in and then offered a free breakfast while they cleaned and prepared my room.

The layout itself was quite spacious as it had both dormitory and private rooms, a large restaurant dining area, an outdoor swimming pool, garden and a television room.

In addition to the security gate on the front it also looked well maintained and even quite nicely decorated in the main building.

The front receptionist was also very well stocked with leaflets and brochures of various attractions and hostels in other cities all around South America.

All in all, despite the wait, I really felt as if I had landed on my feet choosing this hostel and the best bit was that it had free Wi-Fi which could be received anywhere in the grounds.

An North American in Guayaquil

As I was sitting down to a delicious breakfast I noticed that the place was almost deserted except for a lady of slightly advanced age, and not wishing to appear antisocial I chose the table next to hers for myself.

A chance remark about the condiments got us talking, and it turned out that she was from the USA, and before long we were chatting like old friends and she was regaling me with her entire life story.

She started off by informing me that was staying here on her own and had travelled to Ecuador to study Spanish, and then it progressed to her hatred for Bush and the whole US political and scientific community.

It may sound strange but I have never met a single American who either voted for or liked President Bush, but when I stop and think about it this is hardly surprising.

By the time I had finished eating and my room was ready she was in full flow, going on about how her naive scientist brother had been set up and falsely accused by his colleagues to prevent a further public scandal following the anthrax debacle, and it was almost a shame to have to part company when we did.

Once I was shown my room I felt that I almost had the best of both worlds, as although it was a basic and barely furnished dorm room, none of the seven other bunk beds were occupied, and the receptionist told me that as bookings were slim this time of year I would have the room all to myself for my entire stay.

A Friend in Guayaquil

Just after breakfast my Ecuadorian friend Bezzabeth arrived and within just a few minutes of meeting her face to face I was fast becoming a convert to the idea that Latin women are the prettiest women in the world.

Her dark olive skin and hourglass figure was even better in person that in her photos, but it was her warm smile that made me feel instantly relaxed and at ease.

Having already checked my emails I knew that my other pen-friend Milena was busy for the next few days and so when Bezzabeth said that she did not have any plans for this week we soon agreed to spend pretty much the whole weekend together.

Although my Spanish had been improving daily it was still far from conversational, so again with Bezzabeth's I tried my makeshift version of Spanglish and in our fashion we were soon chatting like old friends.

Bezzabeth informed me that this was the start of a bank holiday weekend here in Ecuador, so although this gave us more time, many of the places that she would ordinarily have chosen to show me would be closed or running a skeleton service at best.

The Nature Park of Guayaquil

After catching up with me from the heady heights of Machu Picchu, my own little thunder cloud started to make its presence felt once more.

For the moment it contented itself with stirring up the clouds against me and ruining the skyline of my landscape photographs.Keen to show off the beauty of Guayaquil Bezzabeth suggested we jump in a taxi and soon were wandering around a nature park just south of my hostel.

Just as she had said it would be, the view overlooking the river was impressive but sadly instead of being backlit by a brilliant clear blue, the sky was overcast and the thick clouds sucked the entire colour from my beautiful horizon.

We passed a few other locals out enjoying a bit of peace and quiet, but Bezzabeth said that as it was a bank holiday weekend any local with money and sense would have already left to spend it either up in the mountains or down by the beach.

Having the park almost to ourselves was nice but with all the little restaurants being closed, together with the clouds up above blocking out the heat from the sun, we felt that an hour or so was enough to spend before moving on to our next destination.

Thankfully we did manage to spot an open snack kiosk where I picked up a red bull for a much needed caffeine buzz.

Travelling Around Guayaquil

Guayaquil was not so big that it would have been impossible to traverse by foot, and had Bezzabeth not been with me I would have attempted to do so, but in order to save time and because it was so cheap and reliable here we stuck to using taxis to get around.

Normally I would have been worried about taking taxis, but with Bezzabeth by my side taking care of everything, she ensured that we always fixed a price before we got into a taxi, and with Bezzabeth being a local I was confident that we were not being stung by the usual price hike of me being a stranger in a strange land.

Bezzabeth did say that the city also has a few cross city bus routes to get from one side to the other, but as they are fairly direct and do not make many stops, unless your start and destination happen to be near where you can get on and off the bus they do not really save much time.

Iguana Park

After a short taxi ride we hopped out at the Guayaquil Cathedral, which was housed inside Iguana Park.

The Cathedral in Guayaquil was another magnificent building in terms of architecture and design, with two circular pointed steeples rising out of two square corner turrets.

As inside they were holding a service we decided not to enter and take a wander round, but even just gazing upon it from the outside I was stuck by its splendour and mass of ornate columns, archways and windows of intricate design.

Iguana Park is so called because the park is home to hundreds of the giants lizards, all freely allowed to roam the grounds, climb the trees or burrow into the ground. Their presence is a great source of pride for the Guayaquileñas, and indeed the historic symbol for the city is none other than a green Iguana.

Here in Iguana Park, it is they and not humans, who rule supreme. Should one decide to relieve itself while lazing on a branch, as they frequently did, then it was up to you to avoid their foul smelling droppings, and should any of the locals see you harm one then you should expect nothing less than a swift and firm retribution. #92

As well as the magnificent reptiles there was a statue of the great Hero and Liberator Simon Bolivar, and slightly more bizarrely some sculptures of wild boards fighting one another

Leaving the great beasts behind us we continued on by foot to the area known as Malecon 2000, passing in the process the cities large Incan museum, which was of course closed.

Even if Bezzabeth had not pointed it out I was unlikely to have missed it as the building was embossed with a huge Incan design that spanned its entire side and front.

City Planning, Ecuadorian Style

Even though the sky above was cloudy and grey it was not actually cold and so we enjoyed the walk through the city, going past some pretty fountains, stunning architecture and enough statues to give Vienna a run for its money.

Malecon 2000 was so named because in the mid 1990's the local government decided that it wanted to change its image and that in order to attract more tourists it needed to give the city a complete facelift.

Although there are still some areas that can only be described as broken down slums, the government has been working hard to rebuild and Malecon 2000 was a shining example of this forward thinking.

In the bad old days so Bezzabeth tells me, the water front and pier was nothing but a dirty area of condemned and abandoned warehouses, too dangerous for even the locals to visit at night. Then, after a lot of hard work and investment, it was totally rebuild from the ground up and it transformed the area into a bustling and vibrant centre of tourism and commerce.

Malecon 2000

Finally arriving at the Malecon 2000 district I was instantly impressed and felt that the local government had really struck upon a great design.

In addition to the many stores and shops, the region had an Imax theatre, a children's play area, a tranquil tree enshrouded lagoon, an amphitheatre, statues, monuments, a thriving nightlife, a pirate encampment and their cherry on top, the Henry Morgan, an actual pirate ship lovingly restored back to active service.

I really had to doff my hat to the landscape architect who designed it, as they seemed to have spared no expense to create the most enjoyable, modern yet enticing beach front resort imaginable.

Everywhere I looked there was something to see and instead of trying to flatten the area, the design even encompassed and utilised the rolling landscape to add height and depth to its layout.

The site even managed to pay homage to its roots with the inclusion of signposted designed that featured both the noble Iguana and glyphs that suggested Incan or Mayan Indians.

Wandering around it I instantly felt both at ease and blessed that I had stumbled upon somewhere that would instantly rate high upon my list of places to recommend and return, either alone or for a family vacation.

A couple of years later I realised that this place was like Disneyland, but without all the flashing lights and rubber costumes, a real crowd pleaser that had something for everyone to enjoy.

Playing Pirates in Guayaquil

After a good deal of rubber-necking as we took a gentle stroll along the waterfront and through the lagoon, I suggested that we take a trip out on the Henry Morgan.

Regrettably, again because of it being a bank holiday, the Henry Morgan was not sailing today but at least we got a chance to find out the times and prices and I got Bezzabeth to promise me that we could come back another time and set sail across the high seas.

What was still open, thankfully, was the pirate encampment, authentically located midway up the steep hill to the highest point of Guayaquil and on the actual site of a historical fortified cannon battery position.

With no funicular or road up to the top, the only way to reach it is to climb the winding steps, three hundred and fifty steps to the museum and four hundred and forty four steps right to the very top; each step being numbered just to help you keep count.

Thankfully the architect did not expect you to climb them all in one go, indeed they positively hoped that you wouldn't, as the whole steeped hillside has been turned into a haven of art and craft shops, souvenir stalls and some of the smallest yet most trendy night spots for miles around.

Our reward for reaching the pirate encampment was that we were gifted a panoramic view of the beach and I also had the chance to pretend to stoke a cannon barrel and lay siege to a harbour.

There was also several wall mounted plaques detailing the naval history of the region from the early 17th Century, and was written in both English and Spanish.

Pressing on, we continued up to the summit of the highest point in Guayaquil that was home to a lighthouse, a tiny church and some more wooden pony's for children.

From here at the top we had an excellent vantage point overlooking all of Guayaquil and here we spent a good while just taking photos and admiring the view.

Surprise Birthday Party

After we repelled borders it was time to leave Malecon 2000 as unbeknown to me it was Bezzabeth's daughter's birthday today, and all her family was waiting for her to return with the birthday cake before the party could get going.

I felt a little embarrassed that Bezzabeth had chosen to spend much of today with me instead of with her daughter's birthday, and though I had no idea what good it would do I offered to pay for the birthday cake to make amen's.

Bezzabeth had other ideas, possibly to show to me that our friendship was not financial based, and so she refused but said that I could go with her and sing happy birthday in English.

Unable to make her take any money from me, I thought that this was the least I could do, and so agreed to do my best to sing.

Bezzabeth lived with her two children and had her own apartment just a few roads away from the rest of her family. Bezzabeth's apartment was right in the middle of the southern slum area of the city, a decision that she accepts with a great deal of pragmatically.

She was fully aware that it was probably not the best part of the city to live; but she also knows that the rent is affordable and it's only a few streets away from the rest of her family and friends.

As guest of honour at her daughter's birthday party I was given the quick house tour and met many family and friend members, before I sang Happy Birthday in my best voice, which thankfully didn't scare her and hopefully is something that she will remember long after I have left her city.

After the cutting of the cake, and somehow her ending up face first in it with fruit and cream with coconut icing all the place, it was time for me to say goodbye and return to the hostel, less I run the risk of getting locked out again.

The Slums of Guayaquil

Yes, the north and central are great places to visit, but sadly I think that the money had pretty much dried up by the time before the developers reached southern Guayaquil, and here is the only place that lets the city down.

A slum is a slum no matter which country it is, and ugly concrete shelters with corrugated iron sheets for roofs are no place to live or attempt to raise children.

Despite their squalid conditions it did not appear to make the locals unfriendly or depressed.

Indeed they seemed a lot happier than I would be, were I to be staying in a street that had more holes than a piece of Swiss cheese or that required a large wooden plank just to bridge the gaping muck filled trench from the road to my front porch.

Safe and sound in my hostel I took time to contemplate it and it soon became my greatest wish that one day soon more of the money brought in from the Malecon district could be channelled into rebuilding the city slum areas and making them nice places to live.

Not wishing to belabour the point, but a couple of years later when I asked for Bezzabeth's postal address so that I could send her a Christmas card she replied that her street had no official address and no postmen ever comes, but if I wanted to I could send it to her via her work address.

A Second Morning in Guayaquil

With a lot of rest to make up for I slept soundly right through breakfast and only awoke when there was a knock at my door, signalling that Bezzabeth had arrived as planned for us to have another day trip together.

After stopping off at a local restaurant to have the breakfast that I had missed in the hostel, Bezzabeth told me about the nearby Nature Reserve, which sounded great and would be a first for both of us as she had not had a chance to visit there either.

In order to reach the Nature Reserve we had to return to the main bus terminal, and I let Bezzabeth do all the talking before we were sitting in a fairly old but still roadworthy coach.

Although we spent most of the time talking, I also had a chance to gaze out the side window and what I saw was something that reminded me of how fortunate I am to have been born in a developed country.

Without any real plan or design, the road was dotted with the oldest looking ramshackle wooden huts I have ever seen.

Most looking like giant chicken coops, being nothing more than a simple sloped roof hut balanced on tall wooden stilts, and all without even the most basic of amenities such as running water or electricity.

The Alternative Travelling Salesmen

This was not my first time on a bus ride through Latin America, so I was not surprised when the bus driver paused and opened the doors upon reaching an intersection to let on new passengers as well as a few market sellers.

What did surprise me was that instead of it being just a couple of just a couple of fruit or drink merchants hoping on to tout their wares, what we experienced was a veritable cornucopia of salesmen trying to offload everything from hats and sunglasses to toilet paper and tooth paste.

At one point there were more salesman than genuine passengers, and when we reached the next main intersection, as one load of sellers got off another took their place. This continued on right throughout our entire journey and probably continued long after we got out at the reservation.

Underhand Nature Wardens

At the reserve we hopped off and just as Bezzabeth was dive bombed by a mosquito she said that in this part of the world they are slightly more frequent that I was used to back home.

We made our way to park warden's hut, which was manned by two rangers wearing quite a lot of clothes, and after signing their visitor's book; we were allowed to roam the park by ourselves for the tiniest of entrance fees.

I should have paid more attention to my sixth sense which was screaming at me that something was very wrong, but instead I paid and then as the guards waved at us from the safety of the cabin we made our way towards the woods.

What my subconscious was trying to get me to pay attention to was the fact that we were the only people who had got off the coach to visit the Nature Reserve and from the guest book we were the only people to visit here for some time. #93

Mosquito Infested Nature Reserve

We had barely gone ten steps into the woods when Bezzabeth's flimsy white shirt appeared grey from a multitude of mosquitoes, and the worst part was that we had not inadvertently encountered a passing swarm but ventured into mosquito territory as the air was thick with them in whichever direction we looked.

Moments afterwards Bezzabeth was bitten for the first time, and it quickly became clear to me that despite my best attempts to shoo them away, without nets, heavy clothes and a never ending supply of insect repellent we were not going to make a hundred yards without getting bites on our bites.

Thus, without wasting any further time or getting bit any more than was necessary, I told Bezzabeth that it was a lost cause, that I felt we had picked a bad time to visit and that we should return to central Guayaquil as soon as possible. Without even a trace of reluctance after making it all the way out here, she agreed and we turned around and made our way back to the bus stop and back to civilization.

Buccaneering in the Pacific

Following our tactical retreat from the army of mosquitoes I felt that we could both do with a bit of an ego boost, so I decided to treat us and so suggested that we head back to Malecon 2000.

First on the agenda was an hour long cruise on the pirate ship the Henry Morgan, so named after the infamous Welsh Buccaneer Admiral Henry Morgan, who was active in the Caribbean during the mid 17th Century.

Although the ship's crew were not dressed up in period costumes, it was still nice to sail on a proper sailing ship and pushing the boat out financially I also ordered us a round of drinks and a meal.

The meal was nice but it came a bit too late, as they served us the drinks immediately and even though the sky was grey it was still fairly humid and I downed my drink in almost a single desperate glug.

It was also Bezzabeth's first time on a ship before and partly because of this, the heat and the mosquito bites, she started to feel a little bit ill and so was glad that the cruise was not longer than an hour.

My First IMAX Experience

Had I not already booked and paid for two tickets to the neighbouring IMAX theatre I would have suggested that we go back to the hostel and rest up awhile, but as we had Bezzabeth refused to let us waste the money and decided to bravely soldier on.

We were both IMAX cinema virgins, and the film we had chose to see what the latest Batman movie, which she had not seen and I certainly didn't mind watching again.

It was a good experience, and the surround screen was a novel idea, but I spend the first half of the movie rubber necking trying to take it all in and the second half fixed on the centre of the screen and missed everything on the periphery.

By the time the movie was over it was getting dark and so I thought it prudent that we get back to the hostel.

Pizza Un-Delivery

Back in the hostel I had wanted to invite Bezzabeth back to my dorm room, but despite it being empty of other guests the hostel owners still strictly enforced their no unregistered guests rule.

I had experienced something similar while in the Dominican Republic, and it is meant to be a security measure to prevent theft and discourage prostitution, but to the average traveller it is nothing more than an inconvenience.

Thus informed, she was allowed to remain only for a few minutes with me before her time was up, and so as it was earlier than I had expected and I was also feeling pecking I asked the hostel owner to order me a pizza and then retired to the television room.

Shamefully the receptionist forgot to order my pizza until I reminded her almost an hour later, and when it finally did arrive she then dropped the bombshell that eating and drinking was forbidden in the television room, which together with the lateness totally defeated the whole purpose of ordering it.

The last straw for the night was that the DVD itself gave up half way through and so I gave up and took myself off to bed.

Spending the day with Bezzabeth had been very enjoyable and relaxing, however I was a tiny bit disappointed as apart from her everything else seemed to be conspiring against me from having a good time.Although I accept that hotels and hostels have their own rules and guidelines for a good reason, during my travels I sometimes felt that they were too rigidly enforced.

Mercifully there were plenty more times when the staff concerned instead chose to use a modicum of common sense and turned a blind eye to my minor infractions of the rules.

Third Day in Guayaquil

The timing of my visit to Guayaquil in terms of meeting my local friends could not have been better as today Bezzabeth had to go to work, while my other friend Milena had just returned home and could spend a day with me.

Slightly less good news was that the internet was down in the hostel, so being unable to email her I had to call her up to arrange a meeting time.

What should have been a simple matter turned into a right fiasco as over the telephone her English sounded terrible and my Spanish probably more so.

Together we barely managed to understand each other and eventually we managed to agree to meet up in the Malecon 2000, as it was both easy to get to and centrally located.

Ecuadorian Hospitality

As Milena also had a dentist appointment this morning, we chose to meet up around midday.

When I found out that last bit of information I had asked her if she wanted to cancel, but thankfully although she must have been in a bit of discomfort she did not want to miss the chance of meeting me and also felt that she owed it to me after being away during the first two days of my visit.

Waiting outside in the midday sun, I felt that I was a bit peckish and so taking the opportunity to try the local McDonalds without appearing a bit of a heathen, I nipped in and got myself one of the best quarter pounder and fries with a coke that I have ever scoffed.

The establishment lost a couple of marks as the staff did not speak English, which I had long ago learned was considered the norm regardless of which country it was in, but the food and drink scored very highly and I doubt that I had ever tasted better.

Ecuadorian Postal System

When Milena arrived I had no idea what to expect, as we had not been internet friends for very long and I had only seen one quite old picture of her, however being the only English guy for miles around she quickly spotted me and it was a relief that when we spoke face to face we had no problems in communicating.

Being lunchtime, although fresh from a dental appointment, Milena was up for having something to eat and so we picked one of the restaurants in the food hall that overlooking the waterfront.

Having stuffed myself silly, we then turned our attention to the rest of today. Apart from visiting a museum or two, I also wanted to send off another parcel of fliers and leaflets that I had amassed, so a trip to the post office was also on the agenda.

After asking directions we finally managed to locate the post hall and I was so glad that I had Milena with me as it would have taken me ten times as long without her assistance.

Apparently the price of sending a parcel depended greatly upon its size and weight, and so to keep the cost down we had to go back into town and find a small box and some sticky tape to wrap it all up with.

It felt a needless waste to buy a whole role of tape just for a couple of strips, but of course you can't buy half a role and so once we had our purchases we returned to the post office and completed the transaction.

The road users of Guayaquil are quite a different breed, as between the manic taxi drivers, the insane wandering salesmen who seem to have no idea of highway safety, the small kids doing acrobatics in front of cars stuck at red lights in the hope of a tip and the beat up Datsun's used as mini buses for small families, I was surprised that there were not accidents all over the place.

Tragically although I did not actually witness any collisions, that night during the news I noticed that there had been a double fatality on the roads that same night.

I also spotted a report on the collapse of a section of seating in a nearby complex, which thankfully had not caused any deaths but did explain what I had seen out of the window of my taxi riding back to my hostel that night.

Two Museums in Guayaquil

With my parcel safely dispatched we were then free to do a little bit of shopping before I suggested that we visit a museum or two.

Milena wasn't really a museums kind of girl, but as it was what I had suggested she went along with it gamely and tried to enjoy the whole experience as best she could. It helped that we managed to get a private guided tour, just the two of us, with a guy that was bilingual and was cracking jokes the whole time.

The Inca museum was very cool as it had props and costumes that we got to wear, but it also had a strict no camera policy and the downside of having such a small personal tour was that there was no chance to even try and snap a sneaky photo when his back was turned.

The artefacts were good, the information easy to digest and not just a jumble of names, dates and figures, and the guide even went as far as carrying a few of the props to the exit, where photographs were allowed, which meant that it wasn't a total loss on the photography stakes.

As far as I can tell there is two reasons why places such as this try to forbid the use of flash photography, the first is that when paint is bombarded by very bright light it can fade and starts to break down, and the second is that it encourages you to buy prints and postcards in their gift shops as you leave.

A Most Unlikely Pool Hall

With the first museum done we stopped off to grab a quick snack before trying to find the second museum but by the time we reached there it had closed early for some reason, thus we had missed our chance.

Not letting it get us down we went for a walk along the entire waterfront of the Malecon 2000 but failing to find anything exciting to do we turned round and headed back in our own footsteps.

Near the base of the long set of stairs up to the pirate encampment we noticed there was an indoor market that bizarrely enough had an old billiard table.

Milena wasn't really a billiards type of girl either, but again being the consummate host, she asked the store keeper for a pair of cues and some chalk.

It was far from the perfect game, as baize does not really react well with moisture or heat, and it was also missing two coloured balls but we played a few games of pool, first one handed and then left handed before the novelty wore off.

As Milena lived right at the other side of town, and was still suffering from her dental treatment, around tea time we called it a day and said our goodbyes.

Guayaquil Rush Hour

The mosquitoes were out in force during the evening, and just waiting for a vacant taxi to pass we both got bit a couple of times, and it reminded me that in England we take so many things for granted and should really be a bit more thankful for our lot.

Catching a taxi to my hostel in rush hour was possibly a mistake as while it had only been a fifteen minute ride down to the Malecon 2000, it was over an hour crawl coming back.

In an effort to save time the taxi driver frequently turned up or down a side road, desperately trying to jump ahead of the rest of the traffic, but his effort was hampered by every other driver thinking the same thing.

The final kick in the pants was that because I had chosen a relatively small hostel the taxi driver had never heard of it and neither had anyone else that he stopped and asked for directions.

In the end, knowing that Milena still had a long way to go, once we got close I said goodbye and jumped out, saving them the hassle of driving round the one way system.

Meeting Friend's Extended Family

Despite puffing my way up the hill for the last few minutes I still arrived back at my hostel a lot later than originally planned and Bezzabeth was already there waiting for me.

Not wanting to get stuck in more rush hour traffic, we sat in the hostel reception for a bit before calling for a taxi to take us to Bezzabeth's parents place.

Meeting her family and parents again was a nice treat, and without the fuss of a party going on we had plenty of chance to talk and get to know each other a little better.

Bezzabeth's parents do not speak any English and so giving it my best shot, I took my time and tried to tell them about myself and my travels in pigeon Spanish.

I am sure that my tenses and grammar were terrible, but they must have understood some of what I was saying as they were nodding and smiling a lot and kept asking more and more questions.

Her brother was less chatty at first, but he perked up a bit when I complemented his acoustic strumming of Nirvana's 'Come as you are.'

We continued to chat for a couple more hours until eventually Bezzabeth said that she had to return home and put her two kids to bed.

Although I didn't understand much of tonight's news report I did manage to figure out that Barack Obama had been successful in his bid to become the first non-white president of the U.S.A.

Sadly Barack was never taken seriously by the opposition and during his first term in office he seemed unable to make any noteworthy reforms.

Leaving Guayaquil

After a slightly mosquito bothered night, it was up early and back to the main terminal in order to catch a semi long bus ride from Guayaquil to Manta.

I was both blessed and cursed that the sucking bleeders chose to attack my arms and feet but left my face alone, though having said that with so many bites I went from a mildly irritated to manic cat scratch fever in the blink of an eye.

I had brought along with me a little clicker gismo that was meant to be an electric cure for all bits. I am not sure if it actually worked as the bites were still driving me insane, but at least I was able to do something and I curiously wondered how much worse they would feel had I not had it with me.

Having already agreed to escort me to the bus terminal and get in to work late, Bezzabeth accompanied me and too out all the stress and hassle out of buying my ticket or finding the correct departure point.

I consider myself to be blessed and fortunate that I knew two such accommodating and friendly people in Guayaquil, as they totally transformed my trip through their city.

Bezzabeth and I still have regular email and online chats and I am touched that her family still hold me in high regard. Milena and I have also kept up correspondence, though she has been understandably preoccupied lately due to organising her upcoming wedding.

Another Intercity Bus Ride

The journey from Guayaquil to Manta was around four hours long and yet the cost was so minimal that I almost felt that I should tip someone just to make it up to a sensible price.

Still being fairly dark outside I did not spent too much time staring out of the window at the world going by but I did manage to spot a fifty food concrete statue of a corn of the cob, which must rank as one of the most bizarre statues I have ever seen.

Apart from that I just tried relaxed and enjoyed the fact that the terrain was much flatter and the roads much smoother than they had been while travelling up Peru.

For entertainment the bus company showed a couple of John Travolta movies on an tiny television set that was almost as old as I was, and kept cutting out every time the bus ran over a large bump.

I wasn't too fussed but the guy in front of me must have been a real movie lover as every time it cut out he would curse loudly and then get up to adjust it.

As I had now come to expect, there was the usual unscheduled stops to allow sellers to hop on and off, touting their wares, though one man in particular stands out in my mind as he just stood at the front reeling off more of a monologue than a sales pitch.

In fact, after over a minute of his speech I wondered if his angle was to just keep talking until someone had had enough and was prepared to pay just to get him to shut the hell up!

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in Manta, Ecuador

Here in Manta I had just the one contact, Johanna, but because I was visiting during the week and she worked during the week I already knew that we would not have a lot of time to spend together.

When I finally arrived at the Manta bus terminal, and following on from my experiences with the taxi's in Guayaquil, I felt happy to jump in a taxi right away and be able to haggle or negotiate if the driver tried to slip me a huge pay hike.

Surprisingly he didn't, and it wasn't many minutes before I was pulling up outside my hotel.

On the map Manta seemed an average sized town for the region and although being on the coast my research showed that it was still not that touristy.

My Hotel in Manta

As per my usual routine, I had chosen to book into a hotel and not a hostel while in Manta in order to treat myself to a little luxury.

The hotel that I arrived at was just outside of town, located at the end of a long side street and from the outside it looked like a well kept mansion house but was not that tall.

Having pressing the intercom I was given plenty of opportunity to study the building and surrounding area as the hotels receptionist must have been on a break as she did not answering right away.

After a very lengthy delay I was finally able to get some response though a combination of ringing the bell, pushing the buzzer, calling out and knocking on the door, which was a relief as I was just about to lose my calm and tranquil mood.

Finally allowed in, I was shown up to my private room, which was spacious enough for a whole family as it had three beds and plenty of wardrobe room.

Being located out of town it's view was hardly spectacular but it was nice to see that the place had a swimming pool, and I am sure that had I have been staying here during their hot summer I would certainly have wanted to avail myself of its facilities.

A Determined English Woman Abroad

Once settled in and unpacked, I still had a few hours to kill before I was meeting up with my friend Johanna and so I used the free time to update my blog and try to see what Manta had to offer.

The afternoon flew by, helped by the messages from all my family and friends, which were sitting in my inbox waiting from a reply.

After I had brought myself up to date, I headed on downstairs to catch a taxi into the city centre and almost literally bumped into the only other guest in the hotel who just so happened to be a young female from England forced to travel solo after an unfortunate mountain-biking accident had sent her partner home early with a broken collar bone.

Now instead she spends her mornings learning Spanish, the afternoons kite surfing, or would have if only the winds would rise above a gentle breeze, and the nights eating and drinking.

Feeling sociable, as I was heading on out the door I said that if I saw her about the next day then we could have a longer chat and even go into town together to see what mischief we could find hereabouts.

Somewhat sadly I never did see her again, though I hope that she was able to get to grips with Spanish and was able to catch a breeze before she returned home.

Having been almost the only resident in several hostels now I was beginning to see the downside of travelling during the off-season, especially to smaller and less touristy towns, as there was hardly anything to do that was open and not even anyone else around in a similar position to talk with. #94

A Meeting in Manta

As the hotel was located on a side street I had a short walk to the main road that led into town before I could flag a passing taxi, but I was happy to notice that again the driver charged a fair price and I reached our rendezvous point with plenty of time.

We had agreed to meet up at a restaurant near her office, as this was both convenient for her and would maximise our free time together.

From the outside it had a very distinctive decor, a mix between red brick, wooden boards and large stone walls painted grey highlighting the door and windows, all set off with hanging ferns and other green plants.

When I saw Johanna for the first time I was immediately taken with her good looks and I would have to admit that due to her still wearing her office suit she came over reservedly sexy in a way only that white collar workers can.

Johanna also spoke more English than I had expected, so it was the first time that I had been able to have a really natural and deep conversation with a local in some time.

Being early we were the first diners to arrive, it was both a blessing and a curse as although we could pick any table we liked the kitchen was not fully open and up to speed so it took slightly longer for our starters and main course to arrive than I would have preferred.

Johanna chose a table at the rear of the restaurant, next to the open door so that she could smoke and lit a citronella candle to discourage any passing mosquitoes.

The traditional Italian style calamari was delicious and not as pricey as I had feared, and as I had not had a decent Italian meal in a long time it made a wonderful treat.

First Night in Manta

After our meal we took another short taxi journey to the nearby shopping complex which was where the nearest cinema was situated.

In keeping with my tradition, despite coming direct from a restaurant, I felt obliged to buy some sweets and a drink, but Johanna said she was full.

With no action or drama movies being shown we settled on what we hoped would be a good romantic comedy, and I was filled with relief upon discovering that that it was being shown with Spanish subtitles instead of being badly dubbing it into Spanish like most of the films that I have watched over the last month.

All too soon the movie was over and it was time to head our separate ways until tomorrow.

Thankfully I had been paying close attention to the taxi driver on the way into town as on the way back the taxi driver had no idea and so with a lot of hand waving I gave him directions until I was close enough to walk.

Mercifully the route was fairly direct and the town itself was incredibly small, so directing him was not a complete headache.

Back in my hotel room I tried to analyse how I was feeling, as there was something nagging at my subconscious but I could not quite put my finger on what.

The restaurant and the meal had been nice, the movie and cinema were great and Johanna looked stunning and spoke enough English not to be a problem.

Giving up on what was bothering me, I wrote the last of my catch-up emails and went to bed.

I think what was bothering me was that despite, or possibly because, or Johanna's appearance I never really felt comfortable around her and so ended up walking on egg shells, thus not really being myself or getting a chance to know the real her.

Breakfast in Manta

The morning started out fine, with a dry sky overhead and me waking up in time to have breakfast at a normal time.

It had always been a source of small amusement to me to see just what hostels and hotels will put out for breakfast, and this one was sugar bread with jam and a variety of cereals plus a banana, all washed down with a fruit juice drink.

Sugar, sweetener and t-bags were all in good supply through South America, but I had noticed a distinct lack of cold milk required for a decent cup of tea, so the powdered stuff that an old family friend took on his own nautical escapades suddenly didn't seem half as silly as when I first heard about it. #95

Central Manta

As the sky remained grey but the temperature I thought I would chance taking a walk down to the beach which by my rough calculations should take me about half an hour.

Setting off with my trusty wrist compass and map that I had picked up from the hotels reception I began my walking tour.

To begin with I was making good time, however I soon got distracted by taking photos of the strange and unusual sights, the most surprising was a Cessna A-47 Dragonfly war plane perched solidly on top of a concrete column which was right next to an outdoor basketball court.

The previous night Manta had seemed fairly well developed, however during the full light of day I could see that it was actually more a complete mishmash of decrepit and restored buildings with none appearing modern or high tech.

In fact all the main buildings in the town centre seemed to have a very vivid and colourful appearance, almost as if they had shunned clever detail and instead chose a simple cartoon design for everything.

Nowhere was this more apparent than in the many main strip bars or nightclubs, with one that had gone for the image of the bow of a ship stuck at the end of a concrete bunker, complete with blackened windows.After walking in almost a circle I found myself near the start of the main strip again, so I put my camera away and made a bee line for the beach.

Rain Stops Playa in Manta
By the time I reached the beach the sky had clouded over and started to lay down a mist of light rain which blanketed everything.

Having missed my chance to catch a suntan I continued walking and soon found myself in the commercial area in the North West part of town, passing a giant statue of a fish, a casino and a few waterlogged nightclubs along the way.

Finding myself back in civilisation I found a temporary escape from the rain by diving into a large pharmacy / minimart that I hoped was bound to have everything that I could possibly want or need.

Hair care products, anti-mosquito lotion, shaving foam, some drink and candy plus a packet of blank DVD so that I could burn my holiday photos onto to send home were all the order of the day. #96

Once encumbered with my hoard of goodies I decided to rest my feet awhile and cheated by taking a taxi back to my hotel.

Back in my hotel I could not find the other English lady that was either learning the basics of Spanish or hoping for more wind in order to go kite surfing, so I again felt like the only guest in the hotel and tried not to feel lonely.

A Second Evening in Manta

Even after I had surfed the web and burned all the photos onto a couple of discs it was still not quite time to meet Johanna yet, however as the rain had ceased for the time being I tried to alleviate the boredom and loneliness with more walking.

After wandering up the main and side streets of the party district I spotted a few places that I could mention later on should the evening's direction turn to dancing.

When Johanna arrived at the restaurant she looked no less stylish than she had the previous night, though her choice of restaurant was slightly more surprising.

Instead of going back to the same Italian today Johanna suggested that we try something a little more traditional and so took a taxi ride that was so short it was almost not worth getting in.

We arrived at a little corner shop cafe where I was easily convinced to try a local dish that was eggs and mashed potato mixed with diced meat, all rolled into a huge yellowish ball.

Learning English Abroad

What was even more surprising than Johanna's choice of restaurant was that immediately afterwards she said that was going to call a temporary halt to the night's entertainment as she had to go to her weekly English lesson.

Thankfully Johanna could not yet read my face, as I had a hard job of hiding my confusion and disappointment. I mean, why would she prefer to go to English lesson with a local, who would undoubtedly have a worse accent than I did, instead of remaining with me and getting a natural and full emersion experience?

However, I was not about to object as I had no right to demand anything from her, and it turned out that she intended on taking me into the lesson with her.

Similar to an evening school approach, we just met up with her teacher and the couple of other class mates and together sat round a meeting table and talked.

The class teacher was a local, who had lived in New York for several years, and being the social guy that he was he had soon picked up quite a strong yank accent, which sort of explained why Johanna had been having a few difficulties in understanding my English.

As much as I could I tried my best to both got involved in the lesson and at the same time trying not to overtake it or have everyone make a big fuss over me, as this was Johanna's class and not mine.

A Casino Experience in Manta

As any of my friends could tell you, I have never been big on clubbing and find them just too loud and either too crowded or too empty, and apart from the penny arcades as a child I can honestly never remember a single occasion when I have gone gambling in a casino.

Once her lesson had ended Johanna then suggested that we visit a casino and then maybe onto a club after. Although we had briefly chatted about this last night, that was before I had knackered myself out walking and before I realised how late she planned on starting clubbing.

After we reached the Casino I was already feeling quite tired, and it was here that the night took a complete nose dive. Johanna did not feel that she was suitably dressed for a night in a casino or a nightclub and so she asked me if I minded staying in the Casino while she just popped back and got quickly changed.

Not wanting to put a downer on things I said ok, but then as a few minutes turned into an hour I had plenty of opportunity to ponder the wisdom of my decision. I also managed to go through five dollars of change on the one cent one arm bandits without a single decent win.

Growing bored I send Johanna a text to ask her where she was, but when she did not reply within the next fifteen minutes I felt that my patience and understanding had worn out and so I sent her another text to say that I had given up waiting and was going to get a taxi back to the hotel. #97

Taxi Paranoia in Manta

Almost as I turned into the road leading to my hotel I finally received a call from a rather upset Johanna to say that she had been unexpectedly delayed at home, that she had had to wait ages for her personal taxi driver to arrive and that she was very disappointed and a little angry that I had not stuck around to wait for her.

Being something of a gentleman I declined from voicing exactly what I felt about her dragging me to her English lesson, being unexpectedly dumped in a casino in the middle of the night or about her decision to refuse to get in any taxi except one that her friend was driving, but nevertheless the conversation did not go well.

As I had a near dawn bus leaving Manta tomorrow morning, I did not feel like staying up until the early hours and so that telephone conversation was also our last conversation.

I have had much time to reflect on my decision and if I should have stuck around longer, but however I look at it I come round to the conclusion that it was probably for the best.

Hardly surprising, I have never attempted to get in contact again, and I can say that the feeling is mutual as neither has she.

Leaving Manta

Early next morning I checked out early, grabbed a taxi and planned to take a five or six hour bus ride from here to Quito, but arriving at their offices I discovered that the company I had been recommended to use had ceased running early morning buses several months ago.

Thus I was faced with either staying another full day and leaving that night or going to the main bus station and taking a less reputable and slower bus to Quito. #98

Not wanting to waste a day in Manta, as the sky was already a dark grey like it was before it rained yesterday, I chose the latter option and so took a second taxi to the general bus terminal and with a wait of only an hour I was able to book passage to Quito for a fairly low price.

The Never Ending Bus Journey

The Ecuadorian landscape is beautiful, however being cooped in a bus with dirty windows from the mud and rain meant that I did not enjoy it as much as I had hoped and also did not get a chance to take any photographs for posterity.

As I had dashed out without having breakfast, I chose to try some of the food stuffs that the local traders came around at the numerous stops, ending up with a slightly bland but still filling banana cake and a bottle of water.

After four hours I was getting excited as I felt that I must be getting close to Quito by now, so I asked a fellow passenger how long she expected the trip to take and was devastated when she dropped the bombshell that we were still at least four hours away.

I have no idea how a six hour trip could suddenly extend to eight hours without anyone letting me know, but I resigned myself to arriving later than planned and tried to not let it bother me.

The roads in Ecuador are not the best, especially not when taking turning onto or off smaller roads, and a number of times the bus seemed to try and take off as it hit a ramp or bump.

Indeed the first time it happened the unfortunate lady and her child next to me got covered with water from the bottle they were holding, while a smaller child sitting on the other side smacked his head against the roof of the bus.

Daytime changed to evening and then night time, the sky outside grew dark and as we rose higher into the mountains I could feel that it was getting also getting a lot colder. Nearing the end of the eighth hour I was confident that we must be nearing the end of the journey, so again I asked and was almost floored by the news that we were still at least two hours away.

Had I had known that it was going to be such a slow bus I would have preferred to have stayed the day in Manta and took the fast overnight bus.

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in Quito, Capital of Ecuador

Despite Quito being the capital of Ecuador I had just the one friend there, a delightful woman by the name of Carmen.

I am not prone to losing my temper, but it is a good thing that my Spanish vocabulary was as limited as it was, for had I known more I would have been almost certainly got myself thrown off for hurling obscene abuse at the driver.

In the end the bus pulled into the main station a full twelve hours after it had left Manta and I with me at my wits end.

During the journey I had been frantically texted my friend Carmen about my progress, or lack of it, but with a battery dying and switching my phone off I had no idea if she had received it or not. #99

It is not that I object overly to long bus rides, nor even bumpy ones, but I do get very agitated by being delayed or kept waiting for any amount of time and so to have lost the entire day was more than enough to make me at a little bit tetchy to say the least.

Name on a Sign Board

Thankfully Carmen was a mind reader, or perhaps just very prepared, as although she could not wait at the station herself any longer she had had the presence of mind to book a taxi for me and write my name on a big piece of paper for the driver to hold up.

Far from being a disappointment, this seemingly trivial feat really tickled me as it was the sort of little detail that I really like and despite my brooding funk it put a little smile on my face.

The ride to Carmen's apartment was smooth and in no time at all the taxi driver was pulling up outside her apartment building.

A Friend in Quito

It turned out that Carmen was also an avid reader of my blog and so she knew me and my idiosyncrasies quite well.

I must have looked a right state as I knocked on her door, but she opened the door with a big smile, told me to drop my rucksack by the sofa and also that she had a hot pizza and a chilled bottle of cola ready and waiting for me.

After all the stress and disappointment of the last few days, to be greeted thus was such a perfect welcome that all my woes just fell to the floor and totally forgetting that we had never met before I swept her up into a big hug.

To my huge and everlasting relief instead of pulling away or taking offence she understood perfectly and returned my embrace.

Disentangling ourselves, I took off my jacket, poured myself a glass of coke and sat down with my pizza to watch a film with her, thinking that we would chat for a little while and then I would retire.

That was the plan but once we got chatting and laughing, we totally lost track of time and didn't even bother with the film in the end.

Being so late we both thought it best that I just crash there overnight, as there was little point in paying for a late night taxi and then another to meet up again first thing in the morning, plus it also bypassed any needless confrontation with hotel staff about having a female visitor in my room.

As we got on so well one night turned into two and this was an unexpected treat as Carmen's apartment was not only much nicer than anything a three star hotel could match but it also came with all the little perks that staying with friends or family usually entailed.

First Morning in Quito

I must have been more tired than I thought as I woke up a lot later than planned, and found Carmen already up and pottering around her apartment. While I freshened up Carmen prepared us both a breakfast and as we ate we firmed up our plans for the two days that I was here.

Looking out of her balcony window I could see that the hills of Quito were thick with grass and of such a lush green colour that I already knew my photos would never do them justice.

After breakfast we went walking and visited two of the highest parts of Quito as Carmen knew that I loved to take panoramic photos, and as we walked she explained that Quito often had a medium temperature and a grey sky.

She also explained that it was situated between two ranges of mountains and so is not so much of a circular shape, more like a long thin strip.

The first high spot gave a decent view overlooking the north of the city, and gave us plenty of chances to take some photos using the city's Cathedral as a backdrop.

With Carmen happy to be both model and camerawoman I was glad that I had thought to include the few cosmetics in my recent shopping spree as it meant that I could appear better than normal.

The World's Highest Funicular

However, not content with the view from here, Carmen suggested that we take a ride on the Telesferico, the world's highest funicular cable car system and one that offered an unparalleled view overlooking the entire valley.

At the base of the mountain there was set up a little funfair, with all sorts of rides and merry go rounds, but with it being such a cold day we did not feel that it was right for us.

Just like what happened at Manchu Picchu, when we arrived at the top the place was shrouded in dense cloud, but unfortunately unlike then the clouds and mist did not lift.

At the very top there was an observation platform where you can look out behind safety glass, and after all of Carmen's gentle persistence that we go up today I could not resist taking a picture of the totally fogged up 'amazing' view while Carmen got us some hot drinks.

Despite using my cheesiest grin as I showed it to Carmen she still did not appreciate my British sarcasm and so to prevent a breakdown in relations I promised to tone it down for the remainder of my stay.

Outside of the observation platform you can walk around the top of the mountain, but the overnight dew and rain had made it a little slippery and so we just climbed the wooden steps to the ridges peak and then came back down again.It was here that I first discovered my own little thunder cloud had a sense of humour, as just as we started descending the rain stops and the clouds started to lift.

Central Quito

On the way up the mountain I had asked Carmen if the funicular was the type that stopped midway and she assured me that in ten years of coming here she had never once experienced it pausing or halting, so I could not hide my grin when on the way back down it did exactly that.

Swaying gently in the breeze I looked down and instantly regretted it as the cable car was at its furthest from the ground.

To pass the time Carmen told me a true story about a couple of hikers who thought that it would be a nice opportunity to go for a trek up the mountain and tragically got struck by lightning and killed mid way.

Thanks to the logic of the Faraday cage I did not worry about our car getting struck by lightning, but the thought of the cable snapping and us plummeting to the grown did cross my mind.

For lunch we grabbed a Mexican in one of Carmen's favourite local restaurants and then as per the plan we went back to her apartment to rest up for a few hours in order to be fully awake for tonight's entertainment.

Back in Carmen's apartment, as I was downloading the mornings photos she asked about why I had not taken more video clips, and not having a clever answer I decided to rectify the situation by making more home movies.

Spotless La Ronda

Around early evening it had started to get quite chilly, so we wrapped ourselves up nice and warm and headed on out to a nearby district of authentic buildings and architecture called La Ronda.

In the dark the buildings were lit up with coloured spot lights and with the many tourist shops and statues I half imagined that I was inside a giant concrete Christmas tree.

The buildings also all looked in immaculate condition, which was all due to a local government law that states that property owners are held personally accountable for their appearance and fined for any visible graffiti or repair works not completed fast enough.

Heading towards the city centre we past plenty of churches, a street that housed a dozen cathedrals and both the presidents and the city mayor's palaces which were both impressive and overlooked the central plaza.

Inside the central plaza there were lots of tourist and souvenir shops in the arcades at ground level, and it was here that Carmen suggested that I try a local delicacy, whisky sweets and chocolate covered fruits on a stick.

I have never been a keen fan of whisky, but sweets, chocolate and fruits are another matter entirely and I devoured the fruits dripping with chocolate in the blink of an eye.

Rooftop Restaurant in Quito

The chocolate and fruit went down well but it also made us hungry, so it was fortuitous that our next destination was at quite a swanky rooftop restaurant to try some traditional Ecuadorian cuisine.

The restaurant was just off the central plaza and was exclusive enough that it hired its own operator to work the lift from the ground to the third floor.

Despite being a cold night, there was still a lot of demand for a table and the owners had the outdoor patio style heaters on to keep us from freezing.

Looking out across the city it boasted one of the best aerial views of the city and with the palaces in the illuminated palaces in the background it made a another perfect backdrop for photographs, spoiled only by my inexpensive camera and my inability to have learned all its functions. #100

While Carmen and I tucked into some very tasty local cuisine, I could not help but notice that others seemed to have come here simply to meet up with friends and enjoy some cocktails.

Feeling in great hands with Carmen, in a spirit of adventure I asked for whatever the locals were having and was served up a warm fruit drink that I think was called Canelazo, but all I know for sure is that it was very potent and I shuddered each time it hit the back of my throat.

Despite my best efforts to stay awake, the cold plus the food and the cocktails worked their unstoppable magic and I was yawning and struggling to keep my eyes open before we left the restaurant.

I hated to wimp out on a night of clubbing with Carmen, especially as she had already picked out the ideal place for us to go, but I could tell that I was losing my fight again sleep and so regrettably we got the one of the waiters to order us a taxi and then headed back to her apartment.

Another reason why I regret having spent so much time travelling and not enough time in-situ is that no matter how much sleep I tried to give myself, my body never quite managed to get over its travel fatigue and so I was rarely able to stay up late and still have the energy to do anything more exciting than talk or watch a movie.

Another Dawn in Quito

Feeling very relieved that I had woke up with a clear head and not a pounding hang over, and being awake earlier than expected, we were able to scoff another scrummy breakfast of pancakes with bananas and syrup and still leave Carmen's apartment early.

The first place we had planned for today was another must see tourist spot, a small town called "Cuidad Mitad Del Mundo" where there is actually a large monument and red painted brick line at ground level on the exact line of the Equator.

Ciudad Midat Del Mundo

The little town was a great place to visit, slightly warmer than Quito and only about an hour bus ride to the north with enough good photos opportunities, restaurants and tourist traps to keep even a jaded traveller busy for a few hours.

Along the road leading up to the entrance of the central reservation the grass banks were bedded with different coloured flowered to spell out the town's name and just inside the main grounds was a stage where a group of four female Colombian dancers were putting on a show.

I have no idea why there were Colombians on stage in Ecuador, but with their high heels, skimpy costumes and dancing routine they drew a quite a crowd and so it seemed that I was the only person who felt this was a bit odd.

What was more to my liking was the ability to having Carmen take my picture taken on the equator line, at first with the whole world in my hands, then biting a sign saying 'Equator, Latitude 0-0-0' and finally standing astride the equator line giving it my best action hero pose.

Finally, before Carmen's friends arrived and we headed off to our next destination I had the chance to add another unique postcard to my collection, as it was a personalised postcard with my image on it, complete in traditional Ecuadorian costume.

More Friends of Friends in Ecuador

Around lunchtime Carmen's friends arrived and it was great to meet them and feel part of a group again.

Not that spending quality time with Carmen alone was not enjoyable, and it most certainly was, it is just that there is a vibe that you get when you're in with a group of friends that really makes you feel like you belong.

Indeed it was only this feeling of belonging that helped me quickly get over the feeling of being a typical ignorant Western tourist, as I found out that all her friends could speak great English and much better than I could speak Spanish, a fact that always makes me feel somehow inadequate.

Dodging the Galapagos Islands

Although I never quite made it to the Galapagos Islands myself, Carmen did go herself a couple of years later and knowing how much I loved it had collected some info and photos for me and sent them to me.

Spotting a tour poster for the Galapagos Islands I very nearby booked and paid for a five day trip then and there, that was until Carmen told me about the unwritten small print in that it was a tour that was for locals only and that the price for foreigners would be at least twice as much.

Crestfallen for only a moment, I soon perked up again when Carmen spoke to her friends and after taking some group photos we all booked a super cheap tour to the nearby region of Pulalahua, home to a volcano that is technically still active despite not having erupted in the last two thousand years and also that has the biggest crater in all of the Americas.

In fact, the crater is so huge that it had its own unique weather pattern and eco-system.

Failure to Observe a Volcanic Eco-system

Jumping into the back of a big minibus we all chatted as we drove and I was shocked at how quickly it got noticeably colder and foggier.

Arriving at the edge of the crater we saw a horse tied to a sign board advertising a hostel that was located at the bottom of the crater, however the fog was so thick and the bottom so far down that it was totally obscured from view.

Our guide chatted to us for about half an hour, hoping that the fog might lift or lighten enough for us to at least catch a glimpse of the base but in the end even he gave up and headed back, though not before we tried on some cold weather hats from a market trader who had set up her stall at the entrance of the crater.

Not having the space in my rucksack to buy one, I passed on the opportunity myself, though that isn't to say that I didn't look quite fetching in a black and white furry striped one that had a tail and was very warm and comfy!

Driving back to Mitad Del Mundo the guide said that he would refund us all half the cost as a gesture of goodwill, which was fair enough as he had given us an interesting lecture and the full cost there and back.

It was no less eerie to see and feel the sun and warmth over the short drive back to town and before we parted ways we visited one of the restaurants for some hot drinks and good food which we all shared.

Saying goodbye to Carmen's friends was a shame, as I felt we had all got on very well, though they all wished me well for the rest of my travels and I said that if I ever came back this way I would undoubtedly look them all up again.

An Alternative Education System

Back in central Quito we had to pick up Carmen's daughter from her parents, who lived in an apartment a couple of floors up and had a better view of the city than from her own balcony.

Meeting Carmen's parents and daughter was great, and I was very interested and surprised to learn that nowadays a lot of the better schools in South America the pupils spend at least half the day learning in English, and not just the language itself but all their subjects.

I was not sure how long this system has been in force, but it made me feel a whole lot better about my lack of linguistic skills as when I was at school the most time I spent each week on foreign languages was a couple of hours, but under this system they spend at least fifteen hours.

Final Night in Quito

While I oversaw her daughter's homework, not that she needed any help but it was nice to feel useful, Carmen finished washing my clothes and insisted on ironing everything so that when I left I had all clean clothes.

For tonight's meal we ordered a Chinese takeaway from a nearby restaurant, totally my choice this time, as although I find Spanish and Ecuadorian food tasty, it is often too spicy for me to really gorge myself on and for a change I really want to stuff myself like a pig.

In contrast Carmen only picked at hers and didn't seem to mind when I helped myself to her leftovers.

With Carmen having to go to work tomorrow we could not go clubbing tonight, and so just stayed up chatting and watching a movie. It was a nice way to end our second day but with that came the realisation that I would be leaving in the morning and despite us both promising not to, we both got a little emotional.

I also remembered hearing on the news earlier in the day that the volcano Reventador volcano had just recently erupted spewing ash into the sky after a weekend of heightened seismic activity.

Ecuador's Instituto Geofísico does not currently regard the activity as dangerous, and when I mentioned it to Carmen she said that it was a fairly common event and that the locals have had to become used to wearing face masks from time to time.

Sombre Morning in Quito

I woke up in a slightly more sombre atmosphere than usual as both Carmen and I tried to keep the mood light and not talk about what was on both our minds.

I was amazing that in just two short days I had got very used to life here in Quito and only some of this was due to them using the easily understandable and convertible U.S. dollar as their main currency.

As she had work Carmen was of course up a lot earlier than me, but as she works seconds away from the airport, it made sense that I relax in the apartment and we meet up to share another lunch before I had to say.my last farewell on Ecuadorian soil.

Carmen left me her spare set of keys and the reminder that her cleaning maid would be coming by in a few hours to dust and clean up.

Final Hours in Quito

With Carmen already at work I spent the last few hours finalising my travel preparations for Colombia, before it was time to catch a taxi to the airport.

The taxi ride to the airport gave me a chance to take a few more photos and I could not help but crack a wry smile as the clouds had all cleared up and the temperature was the hottest it had been for weeks.I think that the only reason why it was sunny here was because my personal little thunder cloud had left early to get a good head start on me in Colombia.

Leaving Quito, Ecuador

I met Carmen in the airport as planned and we had a rather subdued last meal together, before she had to get back to work and I had to check in and go through security.

The airport leaving tax for Quito was unbelievably high, but then as it was clearly printed on the outside of the security desk I could tell that they were not trying to pull a fast one.

After getting my passport stamped I turned away, walking up the escalators and was halfway to my departure gate before I realised that I had left my laptop back at the security desk.

Slipping and sliding all over the place from the overly polished floor tiles, I ran back and have never been so relieved in my life to see it still sitting in its multicoloured case right where I had left it.

Since leaving Ecuador I have keep in regular contact with Carmen and I hope that one day I will be able to return or that she will be able to come over and stay with me. I also forgot to return her door keys and didn't realise until over a year later, by which time she had actually moved to a different apartment.

Stopover In Panama City

After a two hour long change of planes in Panama I was sitting down on a second flight from Panama's Tocumen Airport destined for Cali in South Colombia.

When the in-flight meal came round I was pleasantly delighted for two reasons, firstly the meal was not only edible but very tasty and secondly that they gave us real metal knives and forks to eat with. More to the point they weren't the silly rounded can't-make-it-through-warm-butter type of jobbies but proper steak knives.

What did confuse me, however, was that according to my little wrist compass our entire flight we headed North West, but Cali from Panama City is South East.

Unsure how I could be one hundred and eighty degrees the wrong way, I gave up checking and just hoped that we didn't arrive in Mexico.

~~ **** ~~

Republic of Colombia

Cali \- Arrived on 10th November 2008.

Medellin \- Arrived on 13th November 2008.

Manizales \- Arrived on 15th November 2008.

Bogotá (Capital City) - Arrived on 17th November 2008.

Zipaquira \- Visited on 2nd September 2008.

Santa Marta \- Arrived on 22nd November 2008.

Cartagena \- Arrived on 23rd November 2008.

Rosario Islands \- Visited on 2nd November 2008.

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in Santiago de Cali (Cali), Colombia

I was no stranger to Colombia having been to Medellin and Bogotá before, however this was my first time travelling to Cali.

Having several friends all over the country, it had been my intention to start in the South of the country and cross overland to each of the cities here my friends live in order to meet them face to face.

In Cali the friends I hoped to meet were Yohanna and Juliana, both recent additions to my list of international pen friends as I had only contacted them a few weeks before I planned my Colombia leg of the trip.

We touched down in Cali right on schedule, not in Mexico as my compass would have led me to believe, and so it was a pass through security and then off to the hostel.

Cali Airport Security

In a rather bizarre layout I had to pass through rigorous airport security the moment I landed, but as soon as I had cleared customs and retrieved my luggage I was out into the streets.

The airport did have some facilities, airline desks and information booths but these were all targeting at outgoing passengers, not incoming ones, and so in order to try and find an ATM or a taxi desk I had to make my way round to the side and re-enter the airport.

Not wanting to look either lost or vulnerable I avoided the predatory airport taxi drivers and loitered upstairs in the International departure lounge until I could get my bearings.

As it was already late at night all the shops and restaurants were closed and didn't feel comfortable in getting out my laptop in order to start searching for a cheap way to reach my hostel.

Late Night Taxi Drivers in Cali

I should have got my cell phone out though, as once I got downstairs I found that there were no buses going into the city centre and so I had no choice but to let one of the taxi hawkers lead me around, trying to look as confident and positive as I could.

Not for the first time I regretted arriving at an airport so late at night and despite being an added expense I am beginning to understand why so many hotels and hostels mention an airport pick-up service.

Hoping that I would not rue the decision too much, I did my best to haggle him down but I still ended up paying more for a half hour journey than a single nights' accommodation was about to cost me.

During the taxi ride I could not help but notice a large luminous sign of "Motel Sex and Love" only about five minutes along the interstate from the Airport.

Far from being isolated this was just the first of many, the first one setting a trend and being a bold reminder of what Cali has now become infamous for, after it's Salsa dancing fiesta's and former drugs cartel infamy of course.

However I got a revenge of sorts on the driver by thrusting a wad of Ecuadorian Dollars and Colombian Pesos at him after getting out and as he sat there busty trying to figure out if he had got the better deal or not I quickly retreated to the safety of my hotel. #101

Although I wasn't to know this until much later, but the best way to deal with an overcharging taxi driver is nod and agree about the price and then say you will pay once you get out at the other end, then once out only hand over a fair price and just walk away.

A Luxurious Cali Hotel

Arriving at my hotel I was glad that the entrance was not underwater like many of the other ones we had passed in the taxi.

With it being near midnight and the heavens throwing everything at me except the kitchen sink, I didn't pause for too long to take a good look at the outside, but I could not fail to notice that it did not seem all that luxurious from the outside.

I felt a pang of guilt for the poor night porter who came to offer me shelter under his umbrella while allowing himself to become drenched, so I hoped for his sake that I was the last visitor this night.

Spurred on by the nearby love motels I felt in an unusually mischievous mood and so decided to put the city's reputation to the test. As casually as I could muster I asked the porter in my best Spanish accent if women were allowed in the rooms.

To his credit he at least paused for a second before nodding and saying yes for a price, as he greedily rubbed his fingers together in the universal language of 'give me a tip to look the other way and it's not a problem'.

Of course I had no intention of doing so, I was just curious as to if the rumours about Cali were true. Not bothering to unpack I just collapsed on the bed and fell fast asleep, grateful that my room could receive the hotel's Wi-Fi signal without having to traipse down to the main reception area.

First Morning in Cali

This morning as I ploughed my way through my recent emails I found out that my friends Yohanna and Juliana could not meet me today, but would try to find time to meet me before I left their city.

Considering I had chosen specifically to come to Cali for these friends, as it was neither on the coast nor had a glowing tourist reputation, this was a double blow.

Deciding to make the most of it I went down to the main reception and in my best Spanish I tried to ask for a map of the city, some tourist leaflets and suggestions of where I should go with just a couple of days.

Not for the first time I regretted not doing enough advanced research on my destinations.

What I was not expecting was that the hotel had absolutely no information whatsoever for tourists and even charged me a hefty price for the pathetic city map that they furnished me with.

Downgrading from Hotel to Hostel in Cali

Not feeling happy with the whole situation, and especially as the hotel ended up being nowhere near the centre of town, I felt that I could do a lot better than this, and that as I was going to be alone for most of the time I might as well try to find a hostel to mix with fellow travellers.

There is also the chance that I would be able to find someone who spoke English.

Leaving the first hotel a couple of days earlier than planned was not a problem, though I had a hard time connecting an explanation that I could relate in Spanish and in the end I just said that I had a friend who was closer and preferred a different hotel.

Even thought the taxi from one hostel to the other was by meter it still cost more than I thought, which made me slightly reconsider how expensive last night's airport taxi had been.

Rubber necking I saw plenty of western style places to eat, and also quite a few discotheques and salsa halls which might be good places to visit later with either Yohanna or Juliana.

My Cali Hostel

When the taxi pulled up outside my hostel I made a mental note to remember as much about it as possible, as it was not very clearly signposted and looked like it was just a two level apartment complex that had been hastily converted into a hostel.

The hostel appeared to be in middle class part of the city, as the streets and buildings looked clean and tidy but without any needless luxury or expense.

In short it looked like my kind of place and I felt instantly at ease and relaxed about the whole situation. #102

As it turned out the reason why it looked like that was because that was exactly what has happened.

Booking a Tour in Cali

Booking in I was glad to see the usual glut of fliers and leaflets in the reception area, but I was temporarily phased by the fact the receptionist did not speak any English and when I asked her in Spanish if I could book any of the tours I had seen, she told me to come back later when the main receptionist had returned.

Even understanding his much I was glad that I had taken some Spanish classes before I had left and had also tried to practice it as much as possible, as it was coming in handy a lot more than I had at first thought.

I am not saying that I would not have been able to survive speaking only English, but often conversing in Spanish had helped things go that little bit smoother and quicker.

Chipichapi Shopping Mall

With only two days here I did not want to waste half my time here just because the main receptionist was not on duty so I asked for directions to the nearest shopping centre and was glad to hear that the Chipichapi mall was only a half dozen blocks away and also quite modern.

Walking to the Chipichapi I was glad that the grey sky did not darken, and when I arrived the first sight that greeted my eyes was of a gleaming black steam engine displayed near the entrance.

I also managed to spot a few security guards wandering around, but as they appeared very bored and un-alert I took this to be a sign that they were there more for show than for action.

The plaza had a nice open roofed centre that had plenty of lush green plants as well as some Christmas decorations. It also had lots of statues and modern art, my favourite being a collection of bizarre naked ladies painted in a very unusual style and all facing towards the central fountain.

I found the cinema quite easily, but as I had a few more minutes before any film was due to start I took the opportunity to have a quick look around the rest of the mall.

Surprisingly I could find no tourist information booth, travel agency or tour company in the vicinity, which puzzled me as I thought that here would be the ideal place to situate one.

A Cinema in Cali

Returning to the cinema I had just enough time to grab a drink and some chocolate before the trailers finished, and I sat down to watch the new Bond movie 'Quantum Of Solace', complete with Spanish subtitles.

Thankfully the director had kept the same mood and feel of the earlier bond movie, and the continuity was spotless as they picked up the film timeline moments after the last one had ended.

It was a nice theatre and reasonably priced, but it would have benefitted with a lot more bums on seats to help create more of an atmosphere.

After the film I felt like sampling a banana split from the ice-cream stall that was near the fountain, and was blessed with the tastiest one I had ever enjoyed in years.

Fresh homemade ice-cream in a choice of flavours made a nice touch, and the fact that they were all clearly labelled made it easy for me to mix and match with my favourites and have me rolling my eyes in delight.

Shopping Trip Diversion

On my way back to my hostel I decided to walk the slightly longer route via the main avenue as it was reputed to have many nice restaurants, bars and salsa halls.

However as soon as I reached the main avenue I saw something that was of much greater interest to me at that moment, which was a large supermarket.

Inside I was staggered by its size and variety and I was equally impressed and amazed at how many familiar western favourites were stocked on the shelves.

As another nice touch I spotted that there were plenty of chairs and seats all around the store, including near the counters, which meant that as I was stuck in a long, slow moving queue I could wait my turn in comfort and take the weight off my feet. #103

One final sight that I found to particularly amusing was a professional street beggar who had bought a rather bizarre costume of a groom riding piggyback on his wife, along with stuffed limbs and a pair of maracas to complete the illusion.

It was such a ludicrous image that I almost stopped to give him change, however he already seemed to be making a brisk trade walking down the middle of heavy traffic and so I just smiled and moved on.

Booking Tours in Cali

With hindsight I should have gone to Lake Calima anyway, as there wasn't really anything left open for me to visit in Cali city centre, but at the time I still didn't quite fully appreciate my current situation.

Back at the hostel, I dropped my groceries in my room and then nipped across the hall to the reception area where I hoped to make good on the day staff's promise and speak to the regular receptionist who also doubled up as the nearest tour operator.

Having spotted fliers for activities like rappelling, bungee jumping and paragliding, I was prepared to spend a small fortune in order to have as much fun as possible, but I was totally unprepared for the sad truth which was that it was just the wrong time of year to do any of the events advertised on their notice board.

The other main problem I had was that most of the activities I had spotted took place in the Lake Calima Region, which was at least a two hour bus north of Cali, and thus if I went there I would have no time for doing any Cali city sightseeing.

Yet again, I had fallen foul of not doing enough research and of travelling during the off season, and the bleak reality was that I could either pay an absolute fortune for a private tour with the agency or try to find something to occupy myself with closer to the hostel.

Considering the options, I decided to return to my room and hit the net in search for places that I might enjoy visiting tomorrow, following the final idea that the receptionist came up with which was to just hire a taxi driver for the day, for a fixed price of course.

With not much else to do I munched my way through some of the groceries while I compiled as many places of interest as I could find until it was late enough to try and get some sleep. #104

The truth is that Cali is still not quite set up for Western Tourism yet, and most of the cities visitors are fellow Latin Americans, with the rest of the world still under the belief that you will get kidnapped the second you step outside your hotel by one of other of the local drug cartels.

As it turns out they seem more interested in money laundering than kidnapping!

Second Morning in Cali

I woke up a bit later than planned, and having prepared my list of possible places to visit, I was about to go to the reception and ask for a taxi when there was a knock at my door.

Throwing on some clothes I answered the door to the receptionist who was looking very pleased with herself as she informed me that she had managed to find a trusted friend to act as a private taxi for me, able to escort me to as many places as I wished to visit for as long as it took and for a very reasonable price.

This was possibly the best news that I could have heard, and went a long way in convincing me to forgive them for being unable to organise a breakfast without two days notice.

Unlisted Cali Tour Guide

Although he was not the perfect guide, as he was neither an attractive female nor someone who spoke fluent English, beggars can't be choosers and to be fair he was not only an very competent and safe driver but did his best to guide me in Spanish, not to mention that his rate was indeed very reasonable and certainly less than it would have been had I tried to negotiate the deal myself.

What is more is that he knew the location and directions to reach all the places that I had listed and rather than just dropping me at each venue, took the time to park up and tag along with me, paying his own way whenever we had to pay an entrance fee.

As Colombia generally, and Cali especially, is not yet considered prime holiday destinations for Western tourists it was really nice to wander around it feeling that everything I witnessed was genuine and neither faked nor set up just for the look.

It also meant that the queues to get in places like museums were ridiculously shorter, if they exist at all, but it was not all good news as a large number of places on my list were closed for either renovation or just from lack of visitors.

Central Cali

With my makeshift itinerary in my pocket, the first place we headed to was central Cali as that was where there was a clump of top landmarks and tourist hotspots.

My driver suggested that at the first few were all within walking distance that we park up and because we were on a budget he picked a rather grimy looking parking lot that seemed to have as many valets as cars.

Slightly unfortunate was that the sky overhead remained light grey as the day drew on, but thankfully it was still gloriously warm and was not too overcast to prevent me taking some great photographs.

A lot of the buildings seemed to have the same colonial design as I had seen through much of Latin America, though here there also seemed to be more modern art as well as some incredibly tall pine trees.

I also found myself becoming a tiny bit distracted by the pert rears of the local chica's, enough for me to accidentally take several photos of street scenes that just so happened to have young ladies walking in them.

Trying to get my mind back on what I was meant to be doing, I posed for a photo sat next to the statue of the Militia hero Don Joaquín de Cayzedo y Cuero before continuing on to some other historic buildings, like the Municipal Theatre with its bright yellowish orange paintwork.

Cali Central Plaza

As well as some black pyramid coned fountains, hero statues and very sturdy marble benches, I also spotted a couple of locals who were busy laying out rolls of turf to spell out something that began with 'deste' right over the pavement.

The turf looked pretty dry, and of course being laid over pavement it was never going to root, but as nobody seemed to mind or prevent them I guess that it was some administrator's bright idea, and not a rather bizarre form of graffiti.

A short walk later, and passed even more impressive buildings we visited the oldest church in Cali and then popped next door to the adjoining 'Museo Arqueologico La Merced' museum that housed many fine artefacts and relics that pre-date the current Colombian culture.

It even had some very nice ornate and shining vessels, chalices and grails that were certainly holy but perhaps not specifically the actual Holy Grail itself.

Cristo Rey

The next few places we tried to visit were all closed, so we headed back to the car and skipped the zoo and bullfighting stadium in preference to drive up the nearby hillside and reach a massive statue of Jesus, Cristo Rey, similar to the one in Rio but smaller being a mere eighty five feet high and less well known internationally.

One other difference is that the statue here was tightly ringed with thousands of fairy lights, so much so that I bet it would look really impressive viewed late at night from afar when they were all switched on.

Despite it being smaller than the statue in Rio, the experience was by no means an anticlimax as the view overlooking Cali was breathtaking and with it being less famous I had the hill all to myself, well except the small tourist snack stall that was run by a kindly old lady.

What's more, the sky had almost cleared by the time we reached the top which meant both better photos and more muggy, so much so that I was very glad that I had chosen to wear just a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and left my jacket and jeans behind.

It was also a good opportunity to see the difference between North Cali with its tall sky scrapers and impressive commercial districts, compared with South Cali which was all residential housing and looked very flat and uninteresting by comparison.

The cities large bullring and football stadium were fairly centrally located, but what I could not fail to notice was how much greenery was still incorporated into the overall layout.

Looking out across the open countryside surrounding the city centre I could also see a few of the poorer slum areas including some simple one story brick buildings perched precariously on the edge of cliff edges and steep ravines.

Police Stop Check

Returning from the hilltop we tried to visit a few more places, like the cinema museum, but as they were all closed I opted for just a few more iconic statues to pose next to, like the one of the Spanish Conquistador Sebastian de Belalcazar, before suggesting that we head on back to the hostel.

On our way back my driver and guide said that he knew of one last place that we should try before giving up completely and as it was almost on our way back anyway I saw no harm in it and so agreed.

On the way to our last location stop we stopped at a set of traffic lights and I noticed a nearby impressive looking statue of a Roman chariot pulled by four horses, located at the top of a curved platform that overhung the motorway.

However, while pausing to photograph it I failed to fully appreciate the nearby police car and as I stuck my camera out of the window and flashed the statue we were instantly told to halt and permit them to conduct a random spot check, that included searching the entire car, a soft body search and intense scrutiny of our official documents and papers.

Thankfully I had brought along my passport, tucked away in its secret pouch, otherwise I dread to think of what might have happened. #105

Of course we didn't have anything for them to find, being the innocent tourist and local guide that we were, so eventually they let us go but unsurprisingly the last place with typical bad luck the place was also closed.

Driving back to the hostel in the afternoon heat had almost become uncomfortable when we pulled up next to my hostel, so I heartily thanked my driver, paid and then dived into my room to wallow in the refreshing cool air of the conditioning unit for an hour or two.

Danish Hostel Owner

When I came out of my room a little later on I was surprised to hear people speaking in English, albeit with a slightly accents. Curious to find the originators of the voices I followed the sound to the main reception where I promptly came face to face with a huge Danish Biker wearing a bandana, shorts and a beaming smile.

Waiting for a lull in the conversation to introduce myself I was more than a bit surprised to learn that we was not a fellow guest but in actual fact the hostel owner, together with his young wife that is.

Eager to find out more from a fellow traveller, as well as to enjoy the chance of a good conversation held in English, I loitered in the main reception for quite awhile to talk to Mikkel and it was time well spent.

A few minutes later we were joined by the arrival of two more Western couples, one Canadian and one American, who had chosen this hostel specifically because it was run by Mikkel, a bike enthusiast, and together we all spend the next hour all telling and exchanging stories.

Mikkel's Adventures

Although there was some cross chatting, most of the time we all politely pumped Mikkel for information, both about him life and about the local area, and his story I found fascinating.

Mikkel, a former small music record label owner, was a biker of many years and could proudly boast that he had travelled to over two hundred and ten cities in sixty nine countries, a feat that had somehow gotten him into print in a local newspaper.

Mostly he travelled alone and like most cycle enthusiasts, he just loved to ride on the open road marvelling at the changing scenery as he toured foreign lands.

Although he still loved his bike, he had temporarily been forced to hang up his helmet following the recent marriage to his Columbian wife and the birth of their first baby who arrived only yesterday, hence why he was not around to greet me as I had checked in.

Thus it seems that I was not the only one to appreciate the beautiful curves of the local women!

After visiting the city of Cali a couple of times, but before his marriage, he too felt that the international image of the country was far less than it deserved but did not know what he could do to remedy the situation.

Then, once he married and planned to settle down, he did a little research and found that also the region was lacking a proper tour agency, thus he had decided to step in having found his niche and a way to earn a living away as a foreigner in Colombia.

Money Laundering In Cali

Prompted by the other bikers for cycle related scams to avoid, he also shared a few tales about the various times he had been chased by cops, run-ins with drug dealers and episodes of having his drinks spiked and waking up in dark alleys with no money or wallet.

The general opinion was that often foreign police can be just as corrupt as anyone else and being a motor cyclist often made him appear as a soft target so his only real alternative had been to put his foot down and hope that he could reach the town's border before they catch up to him. #106

Hearing so many travel nightmares I was almost glad that nothing too torturous had had happened to me on my journeys, but the thing that really caught my attention most was his local knowledge and news of the level of drug cartel corruption.

Although the officials like to boast that the Cali cartel has been smashed and the whole country is cleaning up its act, there are still many places where shops and businesses are nothing more than public fronts for the drug barons to launder their money.

He furthermore related that not even large scale operations like McDonald's restaurants or petrol stations were safe from their clutches, as in the greater Cali area both had been discovered and then broken up by the government in the last few months.

As a clincher, as if I needed one, he suggested that I take another walk down to the Chipichapi shopping complex and then consider why there are so many pretty female shop assistants all sitting around doing nothing while hugely overpriced items sit unsold on shelves gathering dust.

The No-Fraternisation Rule

He also explained that because he is a gringo, his hostel had already been raided by police six times in as many weeks following its rather subdued grand opening.

The logic being that they were desperately hoping that he was up to no good which would allow them to shake him down for a bribe, or simply force him to close down, whichever they felt most likely to at the time.

For this reason, and partly due to the large number of love motels and spa's within the city limits, Mikkel had been forced to adopt a stricter than most "no locals friends of guests allowed in the rooms at any time for any reason" policy, as it was the only way he could see to try and protect himself from constant police harassment.

An Unexpected Night in Cali

When I finally returned to my room I flicked on my laptop and was very happy to find two recent messages, one from Yohanna and one from Juliana, both apologised for not being able to spend more time with me before and both saying that they would like to meet up with me today.

As I had plans to fly to Medellin around midday, so my only chance to meet up with either of the ladies was to do so tonight, and thankfully they were both free at different times which made the whole juggling act possible.

I fired off a quick couple of emails, and after receiving confirming text messages; I relaxed for a bit and looked forward to an interesting night.

Belated Meeting with Friends

Although she was almost two hours late arriving at my hostel, it was still great to finally meet up with Yohanna, and she looked every bit as pretty as her photos suggested.

Being late evening, and with both the rainy season and the hostels policy of no-locals-allowed, we were fairly restricted in where we could go, so I suggested that we take a stroll back to the Chipichapi mall and try to find a nice place to eat.

Owing to her slightly unusual family background Yohanna had a good written understanding of English, but without anyone to practice her verbal skills with she was much happier with us speaking Spanish, so yet again I was glad for my earlier lessons and practice.

Beauty Treatments for One and All

While I make no attempt to hide the fact that I find curvy woman appealing, I do find it a little disconcerting that young girls who have not even finished filling out naturally, feel it is necessary to enhance themselves and become objects of male attention just in fit in!

I have to admit that I found Yohanna's figure seemed almost too perfect, so I was only half surprised when she admitting that she had gone under the knife in order to have a more ample bosom.

What was more was that instead of being even a little bit shy or coy she was incredibly forward and open about it, telling me that here in Colombia it was not only very common but it was considered perfectly acceptable for girls as young as fifteen to have their assets enlarged.

On our way we stopped off at a local chemist to pick up some moisturising cream, but she spent so much time fussing over me and telling me how to act so as not to appear like a tourist that it started to freak me out a little.

With apparent justified paranoia I kept close to her and hoped that I would not be mugged or knifed the second she left my side.

Arriving at the mall we found most places closed, and could not agree on a movie to watch, but we were able to find a nice restaurant to while away our short time together.

With fairly steep prices and Mikkel's words in my ear, I was not surprised to find it mostly empty but on the up side the service we received was prompt and the food itself delightful.

We slurped a few mojitos, tore into a large freshly baked loaf and wolfed down the most flavoursome prawn curry I had tasted in years.

Far too soon it was time to come back, and as it was now dark Yohanna suggested that despite the short distance that we take a cab, and not wanting to scoff at logic, I accepted.

Back at the hostel we shared a brief goodnight hug, before she promised to return and meet up with me again in the morning for a quick breakfast before I left for the airport.

Another Example of Latin Time keeping

Having timed my return to perfection in order to give myself barely five minutes to prepare for Juliana's arrival, I had just enough time to check my emails, have a bite to eat, doze off and then spend a further two hours chatting with Mikkel in reception before she finally made her appearance.

Juliana's reason for running a bit late was that firstly she wanted to look her best, and they secondly she also had to wait for her two best friends to also get ready and arrive before they could all catch a taxi across to my hostel.

Considering I had lost almost three hours that I could have spent with Yohanna I was feeling more than a little bit vexed by Juliana's lateness.

Indeed I was just about to voice my displeasure when she opened up her jacket to reveal that she had chosen to wear a flimsy figure hugging outfit that had a split neckline all the way down to her navel. #107

Although I am sure her choice of wardrobe was picked with more innocent intentions, such a sight captured my attention completely and ensured that I kept my disapproval to myself.

I honestly would have thought that she would have preferred to spend those three hours with me instead of getting ready, but then I have long given up trying to figure out women.

After Dark Salsa Bar

As it was already past midnight, we didn't have much time to spend together, so I was very glad that she had already spotted a nearby cocktail and salsa bar that she suggested we should visit, and as it was a dry night and we were now a group of four we didn't bother to wait around for a taxi and just walked the short distance.

Juliana has brought her friends both for safety and in case I couldn't speak any English, but considering we were heading to a bar I reckoned I was able to ordering a round of mojitos and chat a little in Spanish without too much difficulty, so their assistance was not really needed.

Considering its reputation I was surprised that the bar was almost empty, but also very glad as it meant that Juliana and I could enjoy a private dance without being knocked about like a pinball machine from other drunken revellers.

For the next hour or so we chatted, danced and drank, though even with the three girls as protection I couldn't let myself get too wrecked as I was still halfway through a course of antibiotics that Carmen has prescribed me.

The barkeep allowed us to stay a little later than normal but eventually even he had to close and so he politely kicked us out and we walked back to the hostel.

Knowing that already this was our goodbye, I asked Juliana and her friends to pose for a few photographs and then in true Latin style gave them all a farewell hug and double kiss before finally retiring to my room and quickly falling fast asleep. #108

Final Morning in Cali

Thankfully, despite drinking last night, I awoke with a clear head and had just enough time to pack before Yohanna arrived for breakfast.

Being too early for Mikkel to be up and about, I didn't feel up to the task of convincing the morning receptionist into allowing Yohanna onto the premises and so instead we went for a stroll to find a little restaurant in order to get something to eat.

Apparently it was also too early for the majority of cafe owners as well, as we made it all the way back to the Chipichapi shopping mall before we saw any sign of life, and having made it this far I simply gave up and found an eatery inside where we could share a breakfast.

It was nice to share a breakfast here with Yohanna, but by the time we had finished the rain had returned and so we dispensed with any long drawn out goodbye and just promised to keep in touch.

Sadly, since leaving Cali I have virtually lost touch with both Yohanna and Juliana, as over the years their mails have grown shorter and less frequent resulting in it now being a rare treat to receive anything from either of them.

Leaving Cali

Although I thought I had allowed myself plenty of time to check out and grab a ride to the airport, as the rain intensified so the wait for a taxi grew longer, and I soon learned the hard way that in Cali when it rains, few people walk.

By the time my taxi arrived and fought its way through traffic to the airport my flight had already been posted on the board, and so I was very glad that the queues for clearing security and passport control were short this time of year. #109

I had just sat down and cursed the fact that airport had no obvious Wi-Fi stations when as a friendly middle aged German hairdresser started to chat.

I have no idea why he chose me, unless perhaps he saw my pale skin and figured I was a European, but whatever the reason soon we were chatting like old friends and comparing stories about our previous trips to Medellin.

I was slightly puzzled when at one point when he started talking in German, then checked himself and apologised saying that I looked German to him and for a moment had forgot himself.

This was despite us having already compared backgrounds and the fact that no one could say that I even have a trace of a German accent when I speak English.

Flight to Medellin

Soon after this, we were allowed to board and regrettably we had been allocated specific seats and could not easily swap to sit together without causing a commotion.

The flight across from Cali to Medellin was only a couple of hours, on a plane that was of an older propeller driven type and not a modern jet engine, but it was in good condition and got us to our destination safe and sound so I did not mind in the slightest.

Being only a small flight and with Medellin airport being also on the smallish side, it was easy to meet up again at the other end and by the time we had reached customs we had already agreed to split the cost of a taxi into the city centre to save us both a bit, though it was a nice day and we could probably have tried to take a bus for less.

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in Medellin, Colombia

The last time that I visited Medellin it was for a weeklong vacation only last year, chosen because my good friend Paola was born there and had often suggested that I go visit.

Although I had a great time and fell in love with Paola's friends cousin, I was seconds away from being mugged by a couple of his good-for-nothing friends while out drinking, and I only survived thanks to his and the polices intervention.

Very regrettably the same no good scumbags were also connected to some very nasty characters, so much so that Paola's friend feared for his life afterwards and possibly with good reason as after I returned both he and his cousin had changed their address, email address and mobile phone number. #110

As such this time, although I would have loved to have met up with him and his cousin again, I had no way of contacting them and so regrettably did not hold out any hope of meeting them again this trip.

During the cab ride into the centre of town we both chatted about many things including how pretty the locals were and which parts of the city we recognised from our last visit, however as my hostel was in a totally different part of the city from Paola's friend it was all new to me.

By the end of the journey we had contact details and he had even suggested that I forget the hostel and together we get ourselves a nice apartment and get some girls over, but as much as the idea might have appealed to me I felt that there was more to see and do in Medellin than chase the local women all day long.

My Medellin Hostel

I arrived it the Hostel to find that it was a fairly traditional area in the southern half of the city.

The hostel was not very well signposted, and being in the middle of a street of similar sized and shaped buildings I felt that in order to be able to find my way back I had better take a photo of the front of the building just in case.

I did have, however, two other recently added contacts here, one called Pilar and the other called Carmen, and I had high hopes that I would be able to at least one or the other during my stay.

It had a large metal security gate in the front entrance, was a fairly decent size and its main reception doubled up as a library, meeting point, games room and social lounge.

On the one hand I felt that I had lucked out by picking an International hostel as it was filled with youngsters from Europe, Australia and the United States, but at the same time they all seemed to be engrossed in their own little parties and groups and so there was none that I felt like trying to hijack in the nicest possible way for just a day or two.

After checking in and dumping my rucksack in my room I was able to access the hostels free Wi-Fi signal in the reception area, and for the next couple of hours I sat in a comfy and worn out armchair surfing the net and watching the other backpackers mill around as they planned their own excursions for the days to come.

Night time in Medellin

Having not indulged in my part time hobby of night walking in awhile, I decided that I would go for a walk, under the false pretence of trying to find a worthwhile map of the city.

To be fair the hostel did have mini maps freely available on reception, but they were more like large adverts for the hostel as they only extended four streets in every direction from the hostel, which is fine if you want to explain to a taxi driver where the hostel is but no real help in guiding yourself round the city centre.

It was cold but still light by the time I ventured forth, and as I pounded the pavement I noticed a lot of locals travelling the same route.

As there was the chance of having to retrace my steps, I tried my best to memorise any large building or landmark that I passed, which along this route seemed to be a few bars, a school and then a few multi story luxury shopping complexes and casinos.

After walking in a fairly straight line for what seemed like an hour I finally came to a large retail store where I felt the chances of picking up a map were fairly good.

Thus I popped in, and after asking for a little help from a passing assistant I managed to locate the map section and then the check out desk.

On my way out of the store I noticed that all the customers were having their purchases checked off against their till receipt by a couple of burly looking security guards, which gave me mixed feelings.

On the one hand it was nice to know that theft and shoplifting was being tackled firmly, but on the other I am not so sure I want to have my purchases scrutinised just leaving a shop!

Untrustworthy Maps

Still feeling wide awake and full of energy, I decided against my usual habit of retracing my steps as I was keen to see if I could use the map to find a quicker or more scenic route back.

Initially it went well, but after awhile I noticed that I kept passing street names that were not on the map, and when the main road itself split unexpectedly I was forced to take a punt having realised that the map was out of date, mainly due to the extensive amount of new construction having taken place in the last few years. #111

I eventually found myself back at the large casinos, however I did not feel like another u-turn in order to relocate the cinema I passed, so I pressed on and made it back to my street after dark.

The Darker Side of Medellin

Walking along my road I spotted a scene that demanded my attention, as I had never seen anything like it before.

Two slim young girls, barely in their teens if indeed they were teens, wearing overly adult clothes were prostituting themselves by the side of a road.

A large black 4x4 truck, looking new and polished, pulled up alongside them and although I could not see the driver or hear the conversation it was not hard to guess what was transpiring.

Standing in the shadows by the side of the road I felt transfixed as the first young girl leaned in and talked with the driver before getting in. Not content with just one of them, the driver then began talking to the other girl and after an additional minute or two she too got in and then finally the truck pulled away.

Only after the truck was out of sight did I feel like I could move again, and at the same time I knew that it was no use in reporting it as I had not allowed myself to get close enough in the poor light to recognise any of them, or even had the wits to write down the number plate.

Finally back in the hostel I threw my purchases in the metal lockers in the reception area and made my way back to my dorm room, and after a final check for emails from Carmen or Pilar, I gave up on her and on staying in Medellin for a few days

A Morning in Medellin

Trying to forget the events of last night, I decided that today I would check out the city centre while the sun was shining, as the weather forecast predicted heavy rain due soon with their rainy season starting a little early this year.

The hostel was not the kind to offer up a hearty breakfast, so the first order of the day was to take the metro link to the city centre and the second was to find a traditional restaurant or cafe and have something to eat.

Central Medellin

Wandering around Medellin city centre, I wasn't quite what to make of it, as it had a little bit of everything all nestled together.

First things first, I made my way to the central shopping area and then dived up a random side street where I found a quaint little cafe and pretended I was a local by reading a local newspaper and having a typical breakfast. I don't think I fooled anyone, but it was fun trying.

Not having any desire to lug around a rucksack full of souvenirs, I resisted the urge to go bargain shopping and instead chose to admire the cities festive decorations which this year were a mass of coloured glass flowers of various shapes and sizes.

Much like the rest of Latin Americans, Colombians are very grateful for their liberator Bolivar, and here in Medellin they have gone so far as to not only erect a statue in his honour but to name the central plaza after him.

In Plaza de Bolivar there was a well preserved church, an impressive fountain and a lush green park that looked even more green thanks to the coloured decorations.

Sitting down on a bench for a few minutes I thought that I would just chill and relax in the warm morning sun but a passing old lady had other ideas and after sitting next to me tried to engage me in a deep and meaningful discussion about a magazine with a pig on it.

Now I know that I had been practicing my Spanish a lot recently, but I still did not feel that I was sufficiently fluent enough to make insightful remarks on illustrated pamphlets of livestock, so with my most polite nod and a smile I thanked her and walked away.

Medellin Artwork

One of the things that I could not fail to spot was that everywhere there seemed to be some sort of painting, example of modern art or statue.

Whether it was a row of multicoloured pyramids down the middle of a motorway, a huge brass headless and armless woman, or a bright yellow townhouse that had its smooth side wall painted in a 3D design to mimic the entrance, almost everywhere I looked I could see one piece or another.

And it was not only the cities artists that were running amok, oh no, the city architects and planners were at it to. In fact it felt as if they were all in some bizarre competition to see who could create the most visually eye-catching sight within the boundaries of the city.

There were cathedrals with as many towers as widows, ones that looked as if they had been built using alternating coloured Lego bricks and outside the front of the city's central municipal building was an orchard of fifty foot metal poles reaching up to the sky.

Not to be outdone, the rear of the building had a variety of statues including a shoeshine boy and a massive spike curving up to the sky with a horde of miniature people struggling to climb up its underside.

So many of these statues and buildings were new that when my friend Paola, who was born and raised in Medellin, saw them she felt a wave of homesickness as she hardly recognised the city any longer and said that she wanted to make a trip home soon to revisit her roots before they all disappeared.

A Massage in Medellin

After exploring the city on foot for an hour or so I found myself back near the shopping zone, and felt the need to sit down again and take the weight of my feet.

Pausing to rest I spotted a nearby local gun handing out fliers, and giving in to my curiosity I was rewarded to find that it was an advertisement for a local massage sauna and spa.

Gazing up the busy street I spotted a few more, and so deciding that having a number to chose from was never a bad thing, I collected a handful before perusing them, only to find that a few had heavy erotic overtones so those I simply binned when I was around the next corner.

Of the remaining few, I checked their addresses on my map and found one that was very close to where I was right then, so feeling like maybe treating myself I went to check it out.

From the outside it didn't look like much, a bit run down and shabby looking, but when I was offered a choice of masseuses it got better and when they told me the price I almost fell over in shock it was so ridiculously small.

For such a price I could probably have had one every day without thinking twice about it.

Unable to resist this bargain basement offer, I pointed at a masseuse and then was then led to a room towards the rear of the building.

Not being an Asian parlour, there was none of the usual paraphernalia of soft panpipe music and scented candles, but it had enough to be functional and for the price I was hardly expecting miracles.

After an hour of being rubbed, kneaded and quick palm tapped I really needed to take a shower, but as I was wandering around with a full wallet, camera and cell phone I succumbed to paranoia and stuck them all in my semi waterproof hidden pouch which I took into the shower with me.

Exploring Medellin by Air

After the massage I returned to the centre of town and having explored everywhere within a comfortable walking distance, I spotted an overhead rail track and suddenly had an epiphany.

One of the only problems of a walking tour is that if you can't see it from the ground level because of the buildings is that you can go right past something without ever knowing it is there.

However, being able to scan the city from above looking down was a much better idea, not to mention it's obvious benefit to crossing the city.

When available and if they can afford it, people often take brief helicopter tours, but my idea of using an overhead railway to spot things was a simple and affordable alternative. #112

Traversing the city from the air was a great way to view it and here I was also able to go further afield without worrying about getting lost or losing myself on the map.

I must have looked very odd to the locals, as they were all off to work while I was rubber necking out the window and even trying to take pictures from the moving train. However for my pains, I did pass a cathedral, the university and the botanical gardens.

A Quiet Night in Medellin

With the daylight beginning to fade I returned to my hostel and after checking in vain for an email from either of my contacts here, I settled in for a quiet evening.

At a few minutes before midnight I was the first person to go to sleep in my dorm room, and hardly surprising I was also the first to wake the following morning.

Final Morning in Medellin

Having rechecked the weather forecast this morning I was pleased to read that the weather here would remain hot and sunny during the day and only begin to get cold and drizzly in the evening and continue on through the night.

Regrettably the weather forecast for my next destination town of Manizales was not so good and it had already suffered several days of rain.

Reviewing this news I briefly considered remaining here, but with neither of my local contacts making an appearance and with Manizales being on the way to the capital city Bogotá I thought that it was best to continue making progress while I still could instead of trying to wait out the rain.

This turned out to be a wise and fortuitous decision, as not only did I happen to meet quite a few interesting fellow travellers at random moments through my tour of Colombia but also the rain, ably assisted by my own personal thunder cloud, was firmly settled in and over the coming weeks only got more torrential and dangerous.

Final Hours in Medellin

Having already checked with the hostel receptionist about the bus route to Manizales, I knew that as the intercity buses ran every hour during the day and took around four to five hours.

This meant that I could either have a half day here or in Manizales, a decision made simple by the fact that it was still sunny here but pouring down in Manizales.

Having already seen everything that the Plaza de Bolivar had to offer, I spent a couple of hour just window shopping, getting lost and then finding myself far out from the shopping district, so much so that when I hoped on the overhead metro line I passed three metro stations before I was back in Medellin central.

With still a short while to kill I felt like getting my hair cut, as my last cut was back in Lyon and it was beginning to feel a bit long round my ears again.

Thankfully there was a small but clean place inside one of the metro-rails mini shopping districts, and the price was affordable. I had a bit of a wait before they could fit me in, but I didn't mind as there was a little coffee place almost next door where I grabbed a cool refreshing can of cola.

Medellin's Twin Bus Stations

Intending not to leave it until the last minute I left the city centre with time to spare in order to get back to the hostel and collect up my rucksack.

The plan was good however the rainfall here started earlier a lot earlier than forecast, which meant that the roads were busy, my taxi was late and thus I missed my planned bus anyway and still had to sit around for almost an hour for the next one.

Medellin has two main bus stations, and depending on where you are heading you either need the Terminal del Nord or the Terminal del Sur.

With Manizales being south east of Medellin I needed Terminal del Sur, and for this reason alone I was glad that I had the sense to ask the hostel to arrange the taxi for me as knowing my luck I would probably have gone to the Northern one first and then had both a wasted taxi journey plus would have had to take a second taxi to get to the right place.

Leaving Medellin

Having wasted an hour in the station, I was finally able to board the coach and thankfully, like most large intercity bus companies, this company thought enough of their passengers to stick on a few movies to amuse their passengers.

That said the first movie was the latest Indiana Jones movie, a poor rehash of the earlier films in my opinion; and one that I would rarely want to watch again despite loving the first three.

Our second movie was even more unusual as it was a typically weird Art-Nuevo film that was about a poor but strict Indian family. The plot was that the lead, a small boy, loses his sisters shoes and despite making a big effort to get them back he is unable to do so.

Feeling guilty the boy then offers to share his shoes with his sister, a solution that presents almost as many problems as it solves, but then in almost the final scene he use them to run a gruelling long distance race and ruins his pair of shoes and thus they both had no shoes and could no longer attend school.

The Medellin Triangle

Strangely, even before I considered giving up on either Pilar or Carmen I was given up on by them, as neither ever got back in touch with me, not even to offer a half hearted apology for not trying to meet up with me.

On its own this is hardly unheard of, but when I add it to my vanishing act of my first Medellin friend and his cousin, I am now beginning to think that there might be some sort of land based Bermuda Triangle phenomenon going on.

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in Manizales, Colombia

Unlike neighbouring Medellin and Bogotá, I have never been to Manizales, but I had chosen to stop here as I had another contact called Jimena who lived here.

Slightly unusual for me was that that Jimena does not speak any English at all, a fact which would normally mean that I would have had strong reservations about trying to meet up with her, but as Manizales is directly on the way to Bogotá from Medellin I didn't see the harm in at least making a rest stop for a day or two.

The bus ride was a good six hours, mainly because of the weather and traffic, but at least an hour or two longer than I had hoped and as I had also had to wait an hour at the station in Medellin's I was now almost three hours later than planned.

By the time we arrived in Manizales the rain was coming down hard and as it was also now late at night I didn't waste any time trying to find a local bus to take me closer to the hostel but thought 'blow the expense' and grabbed a taxi.

My Manizales Hostel

Pulling up outside the hostel I was able to see that similarly to the hostel in Cali, it was not so much a converted anything, it was just a normal house in the street that was currently being used as a hostel.

However, here the joint owner, a young lady names Cristina, had done a wonderful job of maintaining as much of the original layout and feel to it as possible, so after sitting in the kitchen and sorting out the paperwork I was shown up to my room.

There was no main reception area here, no ugly metal lockers, and with just a key to my own room for security I felt that it was more like visiting a friend than staying in a shared accommodation with complete strangers.

This feeling got more and more reinforced as my stay continued, with a multitude of tiny things like Cristina providing enough tea, sugar, eggs, milk and bread for breakfast but I had to make it myself.

First Morning in Manizales

At this stage in my journey I was starting to approach Central America ahead of the regions annual rainy season, however I had not given myself enough of a lead as when it started early it caught me, and once it had me it never really let me go.

Even with the lateness of my arrival last night, I still woke up at a sensible time in the morning and the first thing that I did was try to find out when Jimena would be free to meet me.

Thankfully there was a short message from Jimena which I was able to translate as saying that she would be free this afternoon, so with the weather still being great and unpleasant outside I didn't feel like doing much, and so instead sat in the kitchen and chatted with the hostels other guests as they came down to breakfast.

This proved to be not only enjoyable but also constructive as one of the other guests was a fellow Brit, a young English lady currently doing volunteer work for an orphanage back in Medellin.

Because she was living and working in Medellin, she was having a brief weeks holiday on her own and her plan for the day was to visit the nearby natural heated spas in the region and then off to the coffee plantation to learn all about how the drink coffee is produced as well, as for a few unique Christmas gifts for family back home.

Although they sounded fascinating, and certainly Cristina highly recommended them, I didn't think that I had time to visit them both, but I asked her if she minded me tagging along to the Spa at Agua Calientes where we could split the taxi fare, to which she happily agreed.

So, borrowing a couple of towels to dry ourselves with after a dip in the spa, we set off in a taxi that Cristina said should only take us a few minutes and be fairly inexpensive.

A Taxi to Nowhere

My personal little rain cloud was certainly enjoying itself at the moment, having whipped up a week long torrential downpour that over the next few days wreaked havoc and destruction upon the country.

Being over two thousand feet above sea level, the rain had caused the temperature to get very nippy, causing both of us to wrap up tightly in our jackets, and as the minutes drew as we filtered through one traffic bottle neck after another, we soon realised that the journey to the thermal spa's was going seriously pear shaped.

Much of the delay was caused by toppled trees and mudslides where sections of the mountain had just slipped and ended up spread out over much of the road, but also as many of the road resurfacing and improvement works seemed to have been scheduled.

Either the conditions in this part of the world had made year round repairs to the roads necessary, or some local government official was not doing his job properly, as there seemed no logic in planning organised road repairs during the rainy season when you would have more than enough on your hands with natural disasters.

After an hour we began to question the wisdom of us attempting to catch a metered taxi as we were already up to double what Cristina had said would be a fair price as we were not even half way.

We soon spotted another reason for the bottle necks as several large tour buses had been diverted to use alternative routes, however their construction and design made it impossible for them to manoeuvre such twisting turns and steep inclines, and they were using several thick planks of wood to shallow the angle at the bottom of each hill.

With a great deal of resignation we eventually had to admit defeat and turn around, as every route to the spa's turned out to be blocked at one point or another.

By the time we got back to the centre of Manizales, we had spent over four times what we had expected and lost several hours. Despite everything that had happened the English lady seemed determined to try and reach the coffee plantation anyway, but I doubted her logic.

Reworking my Route around the World

Arriving back at my hostel I found that things here in the city centre had gone from bad to worse with much of the now without water and many of the more rickety wooden mountain shacks seemed destined to collapse at any moment, the big question being not if but when?

Geographically speaking Manizales was probably the most hilled and uneven city I have ever visited, and as the recent storm front was continuing to damage roads far and wide I began to have my doubts about my overland journey to Bogotá.

Although I had been trying to avoid taking too many flights to both save money and for the experience, I felt that this more than any other flight was justified for the most obvious and unarguable reasons, safety.

However much of a thrill seeker I pretend to be, I'm fairly sure that dying because my bus got caught up in a mudslide and then swept over a cliff would be a line-of-duty No!

As far as the rest of the day was concerned, boring thought it may be, I felt that my best bet would be to invite over my friend Jimena to the hostel and then just stay in and watch movies, play games or talk.

Manizales Movie Marathon

With Jimena due to arrive within an hour or so, I asked Cristina to order me a pizza and cola from the nearest local pizza place and then suggested that we sit down and watch a movie.

Cristina was more than happy to watch a movie as it was something that she rarely got to do these days, but with the rain coming down and all the other guests out for the day it was hardly a waste of time.

The hostels choice of movies was recent but fairly limited, however as soon as I spotted the Lord of the Rings trilogy and found that Cristina had neither saw them nor read the books, it became a no brainer and in no time at all I was forgot all about the horrid weather outside and emerged myself in the shire.

When I had first suggested the first film I had expected for Jimena to arrive midway through it, but even with it being the extended version by the end credits she had still not turned up and so I started to feel a bit concerned for her.

Checking my email I was saddened to read that Jimena suddenly announced that there had been a family emergency at home and so she was not coming to see me, which was a real let down, but then with the weather outside growing darker and more thunderous with every passing moment I could hardly blame her.

Being the keen Tolkien fan that I am, having just watched the first film I suggested that we play the second and then the third film, and although we were occasionally interrupted by guests, Cristina was content to watch them with me, which made it not so bad after all.

Indeed as she found several things puzzling, I began pausing the film to explain things, but by the end they became so frequent that I was just playing it normally and maintaining a running commentary throughout.

As evening turned to night, Cristina and I continued to eat our way through the pizza, until eventually we were snuggled up next to each other on the sofa underneath a thick throw rug and chatting like old friends.

This might not be everyone's idea of a great way to spend a Saturday night while on holiday, but considering the weather and the fact that my friend Jimena had been unexpectedly detained, I was more than happy to spend it watching a good movie with a pizza, a bottle of pop and some great company.

By the time the final end credits began to scroll it was time for bed, so I thanked Cristina for her company and took myself up to my room.

A Second Morning in Manizales

When I woke up I found that I had slept longer than usual and so unless I got myself motivated fast I was going to miss most of the morning.

The sky overhead had mellowed overnight to a lighter shade of grey, but I wasn't about to trust my fate to a shade.

So, despite Cristina's glowing recommendation that I would really enjoy a visit to the nearby coffee plantations, I chose instead to take a visit to the city centre while the dry weather held and then possibly attempt the coffee place another time depending on how much time I had left and what the state of the roads were like.

Checking my messages I heard nothing more from Jimena, so I planned on taking a trip myself but when Cristina heard my plans and knew that there were no other guests due to arrive today she offered to tag along for both company and to act as a guide.

Colombian Travel and Tourism

As we walked we also talked a lot about tourism and travel writing and I was both delighted and amused to hear that she was one of the two main contacts that the Lonely Planet researcher, plagued for advice and information when he wrote his report on Colombia, though never actually setting foot here himself.

Cristina also had high hopes of starting her own combined hostel and tour agency, offering the best advice, most complete service and lowest price possible.

I was very impressed with her knowledge and genuine eagerness to help, going far beyond the call of duty and much more than anything I had experienced thus far from a member of staff at any hotel or hostel.

In fact it was a minor miracle that I didn't get carried away in the moment and suggested myself as a potential financial backer for her project as my gut feeling was that with her drive and experience it couldn't possible fail.

In return I mentioned that I was keeping a fairly in-depth travel blog and that I had high hopes of writing a successful travel research dossier upon my arrival.

Spurred on by our mutual interest, our first port of call was the nearby tourist information office where she convinced them to give me enough maps, leaflets and brochures to compile into a fairly detailed guide of the region right then and there.

During my travelling I did my best to record my every movement, keep every receipt and horde every scrap of literature about every attraction that I came near in order to facilitate this.

Somewhat paradoxically, once I returned home and started writing I found myself more interesting in the people, places and the feel of my trip and less concerned with the tiny details that in all honestly would probably be out of date by the time I'd finished writing up my findings.

Manizales City Centre

Next we took a tour of the city centre walking its entire length and stopping off for photo opportunities.

Manizales has plenty of quirky little sights and statues that caught my eye, including a couple of second world war soldiers suspended on a tiny platform by an overhead rail, a twenty foot silver foil nativity scene and a half man-half bird monument that was weird no matter what angle you viewed it from.

It also has some classic style churches and cathedrals that I just adored but it was the most modern designed building that had me and Cristina on opposite sides for once as I thought it looked ok but she hated it and joyfully told me that it had recently been voted the cities ugliest building by the local council.

Cristina was very keen to show me one particular monument that commemorated the arrival of the very first settlers to the region.

On a massive plinth, large metal sculpted figures were depicted battling the elements as they made a hazardous journey over the mountains, along with an army of mules and buffalos whose figurines gradually shrank in size to suggest that the herd was dwindling into the distance.

As both an example of the local's ingenuity and love for the unusual the local university had taken the last steam locomotion and carriage and converted them into the campus's refectory area.

Before we headed back Cristina took me to her favourite restaurant where we shared a great meal and I got to try a local delicacy, a sort of handmade slush puppy.

As Cristina had recommended the place I wanted to give it a big thumbs-up from me too, however I was cursed with an absent minded waiter who forgot my order and so I could only feel that it was average at best.

The Rain in Manizales

As we neared the end of the city centre I could see the surrounding landscape fall down all around and as we were so high up I was actually able to see rainclouds sideways on.

This was a lot more impressive than it may sound, as for the first time in my life that I could ever recall I was actually seeing the edge of the rain as clear as any line, slowly creep over the countryside.

What was beautiful in its own way when far away, was of course horrid up close and returning from our meal you could see the evidence of the downpour first hand, with roads turned into churning rivers of mud.

Worse still was that as we hopped in a taxi and pulled away from the main high street we could see in the distance the after effects of a huge mudslide. It looked as if someone had taken a giant ice-cream scoop and just dragged it down the hillside, depositing all the debris at the bottom where it melted away.

University Acrobatics Show

With the tour finished Cristina surprised me again by inviting me along to the botanical gardens where the local university students were putting on a rather special performance.

Surrounded by lush green lawns and wild flowers the setting could hardly have been better as the gardens even boasted a permanent marquee.

Cristina had planned to meet up with some of her friends there before it started, but as we pulled up to the main entrance we were informed that the performance had been brought forward by almost an hour to try and ensure that it finished before the rains returned.

This was a bit disappointing, especially as we had to pay a minimal entrance fee to get in, but I did not really begrudge them the fare for half the show and it was well worth the price.

Cristina met her friend and one of them was wearing a hat so striking that I had to borrow it and have my photo taken in it.

The costumes made the cast look like the staff at a swanky cocktail bar and the juggling, clowns and unicycles were fun to watch.

If there was anything that let them down it was that the acting and storyline was a bit ropey, but there was absolutely nothing wrong with the acrobats who performed a variety of stunts with thirty foot high upright poles without nets or safety wires.

As expected, the acrobats kept a little in reserve for their grand finale, which began with two of them free-running up the poles and then after turning themselves upside down held on with only their legs for support.

Finally, with their arms stretched out wide to acknowledge the applaud that was moments away, they relaxed one leg completely and plummeted back down to earth, only to tense their leg and stop themselves half a foot off the ground.

Witnessing this feat, the audience just erupted into tremendous applause and considering they were not paid professionals but university students I too was totally blown away by their visually impressive yet very dangerous routine.

A Torrent of Bad News

Once the show was over we got a taxi back, which was just a few blocks back and as the rain had started up again we just did a super fast tour of the nearby shopping mall, bought ourselves a couple of coffees and then walked the last two blocks back to the hostel.

Switching on the television we searched for the latest news reports and weather forecast and what we saw was far worse than we had feared.

With Cristina translating a few of the key parts we sat and watched as report after report of localised flooding and mountain landslides dominated the news, which had already caused a number of deaths and was only due to get more intense as the regions rainy season really got going.

There was also a national news article which stated that Poblado, the district of Medellin where I had been staying only a few days ago, was suffering even worse than here, with widespread flooding and at least fifteen houses being flattened like matchboxes under the weight of a recent mudslide.

As the cleanup operation began the local authorities contacted the owner of one of Medellin's largest construction works contractor to request that they borrow his equipment.

Of course he instantly agreed to help and asked which area to send them to first, only for his willingness to turn to grief as he was realised that the worst affected area was the road on which his brother lived.

Tragically his brother, along with his brother's wife and two children, was among the dead buried under their collapsed house and several tons of mud and earth.

With Cristina having to start looking after her other returning guests an Jimena still not getting in touch, I decided that for the second night in a row I would not be going out trying to sample the local discos or nightclubs and instead chose to stay in the dry and try to let my friends in Bogotá know that I would be arriving tomorrow and was really looking forward to meeting them.

Final Dawn in Manizales

I had half planned to visit the nearby coffee plantation early in the morning and then get back in time to check out and get to the airport, but by the time that I was properly up and awake I was too late for the three hour round trip and visit.

Instead I went down to the kitchen where I made my first proper home cooked breakfast since I left home, scrambled eggs on toast.

Out of practice as I was, I made a bit of a hash of it and had to borrow a third egg from another guest, but it was wholesome and certainly filled me up in preparation for my day ahead which was most likely going to be processed airline food.

Volunteering for the Red Cross

During the initial planning stage of my trip I had thought very much about doing volunteer work as I went, however when I looked into it a bit deeper quite a few of them wanted my money more than me, and the other big put off was that I was only skipping through each city whereas they were looking for people who could give at least a month at the very least.

A good example of this was a relief effort for the victims of the tsunami which affected Sri Lanka.

At the time I looked around for anyone trying to organise something but the only one I could find was a two week stay with a local family where every day I would have been labouring sunrise to sunset but in addition they wanted me to raise at least £3,000 in sponsored funds!

As I munched my breakfast, I marvelled at the simple genius of having a single large breakfast table in a hostel, as it encouraged all the hostel guests to interact and talk to one another.

One of the guests, an Eastern European girl, was particularly sociable and seemed to be known by everyone around the table.

I never quite got caught her name, but she been travelling and trying to do volunteer work, and as soon as the spotted the first hit on localised flooding she had contacted the local red cross agency and offered to help.

Upon hearing her volunteering for the localised flooding work, a part of me that echoed her feelings jumped at the chance to finally do some real good on this trip, so I said that I would stick around and try to pitch in as well regardless of the fact that I was meant to be flying to Bogotá in a few hours time.

As we waited for the agent to arrive to give us all the details, we all sat round drinking coffee and talking travel.

After an hour of no show from the guy, we finally received a brief phone call to say that they appreciated our help but that they did not need any foreign aid at this time, physical or financial, but if anything did crop up he would contact us again in a day or two.

I have no idea how the other girl felt, but to me this was a bit of an emotional bombshell as on the news we could all plainly see that the situation was getting worse and yet when two young and enthusiastic volunteers appear on their doorstep and offer to help for free they turn us down!

Leaving Manizales

Reeling from the news, I was more than a bit crestfallen but thankfully Cristina and the other guests were able to keep the conversation going until my enthusiasm returned and then after a good cup of tea all was forgiven.

With little else to do we continued to sit around and chat until it was time for me to take a taxi to the airport, and I had asked Cristina to book it earlier than necessary in order to ensure that I arrived on time.

When it was time to go, there was hugs all round and after giving everyone my contact card I got in the taxi and headed on over to the local airport.

On the way to the airport I had a chance to see yet more effects of the rain damage as the taxi wove through the side and back streets of the city.

I had no idea where he was heading, as I doubted that there was a piece of land flat enough for miles around to actually land a plane, but eventually we reached a plateau where the airport was and I guess it was possible for a small plane to touchdown safely.

Manizales Airport

Manizales airport was tiny, only being suitable for domestic flights, and was little more than a small building with a handful of check in desks, one x-ray machine and one mixed arrival and departure gate.

Because it was only for domestic flights it had no need for super tight security or a passport office.

It also did not need any screens to display when various flights were due to arrive or take off, as there were so few all I had to do was wait until the next inbound flight landed as it was bound to be my outbound flight anyway.

Despite arriving early the minutes ticked away without any signs of movement or activity until eventually the estimated departure time of my flight came and went.

Trying to find out what was going on was a waste of time as my Spanish was not up to understanding complex flight complication details, and again being only a domestic airport they saw little point in employing bilingual staff for international holiday makers during their rainy season.

Two hours later my flight finally arrived and with a huge sigh of relief I was able to board and take the short hop over the mountains to reach Bogotá, the countries capital city.

After leaving Manizales, with Jimena having never made a serious effort to meet up, our friendship began to wane and dwindle. It did not help that despite my writing several detailed and lengthy emails then translating them into Spanish, in reply I only received an occasional two line reply saying thanks for writing, hoping I was safe and that she was looking forward to hearing from me again soon.

While I understand that not everyone has the time or the inclination to write a letter several pages long every month, I do view that anything under two paragraphs should be nothing more than a holding message to let me know that they have not forgotten me and not the sum total of all that they feel like writing to me for the next half a year.

I was also a little disappointed that Cristina had not tried to remain in contact, but then perhaps she was just being the consummate good hostel owner and had said and did those things to ensure that I enjoyed my stay to the maximum.

~~ **** ~~

Arriving in Bogotá, Capital of Colombia

Although this was my second visit to Bogotá, I had not made any friends before or during my first visit here and so the only people I was hoping to meet were fairly new contacts, being Nataly, Sandra, Niby and Bibana.

The flight over had been delayed due to the poor weather conditions, and just as understandable was that the flight back was not the smoothest I had ever experienced but in all fairness it was not a bad flight and better than I expected.

I was also very glad that it had not been delayed any further as it had at least still managed to arrive with some daylight left, which is always a good thing.

Today happened to be a bank holiday Monday here in Colombia, something I hadn't realised or cared about back in Manizales, but here in the capital it meant that few things were running to a full schedule and many places were likely to be closed for the day.

Ultra Efficient Airport Taxi Service

Bogotá's international airport was much more traveller friendly than the one at Manizales, and although all the terminal shops and restaurants were closed for the holiday thankfully the Taxi desk remained open.

For reliability and fairness you absolutely cannot beat the Bogotá Airport taxi service, which is modern, equal to all and efficient.

All I had to do was queue up to talk to the bilingual desk clerk and tell her where I wished to go, and in return she quoted me a fixed and reasonable price.

Once I agreed she then printed off my receipt, and on the slip it included a full set of directions for the driver to follow.

No mess, no fuss, no bother, and as they like to say back home, that was 'job done'.

My First Hotel in Bogotá

After hearing what Mikkel had said about the curfew on local guests in hostels, and as I was hoping to meet at least three friends, I had changed my Bogotá hostel booking to a hotel booking in order to have more control over my time and movements over the next few days.

The hotel I had chose was very centrally located and had bilingual staff, as I had learned the hard way that it is worth paying a fraction more for these luxuries.

The Airport was quite a way out of the city centre and after having to negotiate a complex one way system by the time that my taxi pulled up outside it had just started to get dark.

As part of the check in procedure here in Bogotá the hotel staff issued every guest a complete sheet of warning and city hazards to avoid, which did little to reassure me, though in all fairness many of them were generic suggestions rather than specific to Bogotá or Colombia.

The hotels décor and furniture all showed signs of age, but it was still of a fairly acceptable quality and again for the nightly room rate I could hardly expect anything five star.

However what I could and did expect was a working Wi-Fi signal in my room which my first room did not have, so although the only other available room was a fraction small and closer to the hotels renovation works, I felt I had no choice but to switch rooms.

I have found that whenever a hotel is offering a much lower nightly rate at a specific time of the year or from those of similar hotels there is always a reason why it is lower, with the most frequent occurrence being unadvertised ongoing renovation works.

Window Shopping In Bogotá

After relaxing in my room for a couple of hours it was time to meet up with the first of my friends here in Bogotá, being a young university student called Nataly.

When the reception called down to say that she had arrived, I was not sure what to expect, and I had only been in contact with her for a few months, but when I saw her I was more than happy.

Nataly was about average size and shape for her age, being more a decade my junior, but her emails had revealed that she had a sensible head on her shoulders and was eager to know about what was beyond the boundaries of Colombia.

For some reason she seemed a little tense, more so than just because she was meeting me for the first time and instead of asking to see my room she suggested that we take a taxi right away.

In the taxi she explained that my hotel was in a very dangerous part of the city, being the central downtown area which was well known for being the hangout of every drugs addict, prostitute and thief in the city.

Of course, I could not have known this before I booked it, as the hotel was unlikely advertise the fact, but it did go some way to explaining the rate of the rooms.

As if she needed to stress this fact she told me that she had had her cell phone stolen there only last week, and that a week before that her mother had had her purse stolen also.

Together with the sheet of warnings from my hotel reception, I was beginning to feel decidedly edgy as waited in the hotels reception for a taxi to take us out of the danger zone and into the more safe side of town.

Hoping out at much nicer district, Nataly took me around a few streets that were filled with upmarket bars and restaurants, seemingly happy to show off the best of the city, and after awhile it all seemed so relaxed, modern and Westernised that I almost forgot that I was several thousand miles from home.

Shopping Plaza Atlantis

Together we went around a large and plush shopping mall called the Atlantis Plaza, and despite most of its shops being closed we could still get very close to the Christmas decorations hanging up all over the place.

Unlike Medellin which was still very summery and green, the decorations here were more traditionally autumnal with purple and blue snowflakes being the underlying theme to most of them.

Having said that, I don't seem to remember too many giant racoons or unicorns being part of the typical western nativity scene, so the designers were clearly allowed a certain amount of Latino flavouring and artistic licence with their displays.

One shop that Nataly pointed out was Tommy Hilfiger, somewhere that she thought was important to show me as she then told me that the lead designer himself hated Colombia and was very angry that a franchise had been opened up here using his name.

The other place that Nataly was keen to show me was the cities Hard Rock Café, though the prices were beyond our reach and so instead we continued up the road until we reached a huge burger and steak house that we had practically to ourselves, today being a bank holiday.

Alternative Hotels in Bogotá

As Nataly returned to the subject of my hotel being in a very dodgy part of the city I decided to bow to her local judgement, and so after our meal we asked a taxi driver to take us to any cheap alternative hotels nearby.

With a city this huge and having hotels aplenty I thought that this would have been a simple request, however after trying two or three others I was fast coming to the realisation that my idea and their idea of a cheap alternative were totally poles apart.

In the end the cheapest alternative in an area considered safe by Nataly was still more than the combined cost of everything I was travelling with, including my laptop and clothes, and so despite it making me look cheap there was just no way I was springing for such a needless luxury unless I had absolutely no choice.

Being a full time student and part time worker, Nataly had to be up early the following day for a lecture and so before it got too late we said goodbye for now and promised to meet up again before I left at that weekend.

First Morning in Bogotá

I woke up the next morning and spent the morning letting my friends here all know that I had arrived safely, the name and telephone number of my hotel and that I was booking nothing in order to be free to meet then whenever they could spare me the time.

I already knew that Nataly would be busy during the days, but thankfully Sandra said that she had booked a half day to spend with me today and that she could probably meet up with me again during another evening.

Sadly Niby sent me a message to say that she was out of town for the week, and from Bibana there was no message at all.

When Sandra arrived I knew exactly what to expect, as we had been online friends for some time and exchanged many photos, but sometimes photos do not do a person justice, and this one of those occasions.

Sandra was only a couple of years younger than I was, several inches shorter and if she ever decided to become a model of any description then I am sure that someone in the industry would snap her up in a heartbeat.

In fact she had such a perfect figure that I had a hard time concentrating on anything else and I had to keep reminding myself that we were just friends.

Postal Service of Colombia

In my guise of travel writer come researcher, I had been collecting all sorts of stuff and by now I had a bag of stuck that must have weighed at least two kilos that I was desperate to send home to both keep lighten the load and give me space for more stuff in the future.

With this in mind I asked Sandra if she could help me find the local post office, which she said would be easy as it was right next to the Gold Museum which was somewhere she wanted us to visit anyway.

As promised, it was just a short walk to the post office but I was unprepared for the queues to be so long and slow moving and after half an hour later we had barely improved our position in line.

When things finally did speed up I was told that I would have to buy a box and that it would have to be sent via FedEx which was at another counter.

One box and another long wait later we finally reached the FedEx desk, and as things in Bogotá had been a lot more than I first though I had been doing my best to mentally prepare myself for a stiff price.

When I put the box on the scales and said that I wanted it to go to Europe the price I was quoted was not just stiff, it could have knocked over a rhino, and no matter how much of an inconvenience carrying it around with me was, there was no way I was going to pay the even half of were asking.

Shaking my head in disgust I said to Sandra that we may as well skip this for now, and so still carrying it with me we headed on over to the gold museum.

On the way I asked Sandra why on earth the prices were so expensive for international postage, to which she simply replied that it was probably because nobody ever did.

The World's Largest Gold Museum

Entering the gold museum I was asked to temporarily hand over my box which they would hold in storage until I returned, a request that I was more than happy to comply with as I wasn't particularly looking forward to carrying it around with me anyway.

Sandra had never been here before, so it was a treat for both of us, and with her being new to this as well I thought that it would be a nice idea to get us both audio guides, in order to get the most out of what was described as the world's largest gold museum.

What should have been a good idea, however, turned out to be a bit of a damp squib as despite there being literally thousands of gold items on display, the actual audio guide was next to useless and I only found two occasions when it was able to tell me anything.

Ignoring the audio guide Sandra and I spent a good two hours walking around and marvelling at the many works, some so intricate and delicate that I found it hard to believe it was still gold.

Because it was the world's largest museum of gold the collective value was almost beyond imagining, which explained why the place had vault style doors, cameras everywhere and enough security guards to occupy Paris.

The museum itself was well laid out, had exhibits from every age from pre-Colombian to late Spanish and most were displayed within decent glass cabinets.

For some reason the curators had decided that the best way to show off the pieces was to light them up and then have the rest of the museum in darkness, which was a bit worrying and after a few hours I was looking forward to leaving to get back in the proper sunlight.

Before we left Sandra was keen to show me the museums most prized possession, one of the earliest pieces of gold craftsmanship and despite its diminutive size it showed a full set of people on a raft.

Another Plaza de Bolivar

Outside the museum we took a brief tour of the Plaza de Bolivar, which seemed slightly less impressive than other central plaza's I had been to as the buildings while large and important were a little bit dull and drab by comparison.
While we were standing in the plaza taking photos I actually caught a suited guy with a briefcase walk right up and try to pickpocket Sandra.

It was all over in a flash as he realised that I had spotted him and calmly walked away, and I was filled with a mixture of anger, disappointment and helplessness knowing that calling the police would be unlikely to prosecute a person who almost pick pocketed something.

A small part of my mind would like to know what Bolivar would think if he knew that one of the plaza's named after him for delivering freedom from Spanish oppression had been turned into a regular haunt for thieves, bullies and scumbags.

With our collective confidence knocked, I insisted that we got the heck out of there pronto and so we jumped into the first taxi that we saw and headed out to somewhere safer and more relaxing.

Sandra instructed the driver to take us South, and when we got out I had to admit that the houses and private universities looked very different from the downtown area. Indeed I would almost have thought that we had left Bogotá completely.

A Taxi Fiasco in Bogotá

Walking around we spotted a swanky crepe and pancake parlour, so feeling in the need of a morale booster I dragged Sandra in and we had a coffee while I scoffed the tastiest fruit and ice-cream crepe that I have tasted in my life.

With no immediate rush to leave the ice-cream factory, we stuck around for awhile and then when evening threatened to arrive I had the idea of watching a movie and so we left and tried to catch a taxi.

I say we tried, because that is how I would describe the scene of Sandra and myself standing at the edge of the road with our hands held up as rush hour traffic taxis drove past us.

Sandra did not have a number for a taxi firm, and was fairly insistent that we would catch one at any moment, while I was of the opinion that we should either just wait out the rush hour traffic in a bar or just walk it.

In the end we were both right as eventually a taxi did finally stop for us, though it took over two hours and by this point tempers had become strained between Sandra and I, with neither of us wanting to say anything pleasant to the other.

Of course by the time we did finally arrive back at in the centre of Bogotá it was far too late to catch the evening cinema showing, so we just went back to my hotel where we spent an hour talking and trying to forget the events of the day and then it was time for her to catch a taxi home.

Second Morning in Bogotá

Waking up earlier than normal I had plenty of time to use the hotels breakfast dining area while I contemplated my movements for the day.

Despite enjoying the company of Nataly and Sandra during the last couple of days, I could not say that I had really enjoyed my time in Bogotá thus far and it seemed a far more hostile and unsettling city that it had been the last time I was here.

With the news that all my Bogotána friends and contacts were busy today, I felt that perhaps I just need a positive walk round the city to rejuvenate my batteries.

Having checked the weather forecast I knew that today was meant to stay dry the entire day, so happy that I was not about to become a drowned rat I then did a quick bit of research on where to visit before heading out.

Bogotá City Highlights

Using my map I planned a fairly circular route that would take me past most of the key sites in the city with the first few being the university, municipal theatre and a church.

Along the route I spotted man in an orange tabby cow mascot outfit, advertising something or other, and making a general ass of himself by chasing women down the street.

It seemed like just a little harmless fun at first, but by the end he had targeting this poor lady and was being such a nuisance that I thought it must be for one of those horrid candid camera style television shows.

Sadly, as far as I saw from watching the whole scene with growing annoyance it wasn't and he was just a colossal ass.

A little while further down the road I spotted a rare sight, a still functioning adult cinema and only the second I had seen on my travels.

Remembering my first encounter, I didn't feel like entering and seeing what was on, but it did peek my curiosity enough that I decided that when I got back to the hotel I would research it a little more.

Locating the university and church I was suitably unimpressed, though the theatre did at least have some quality artwork engraved into its front facade, so I pressed on and reached the national museum, planetarium and bullfighting ring.

For some reason I didn't feel like being in the mood for actually entering either the museum or the planetarium and as the bullfighting ring was closed I bypassed this to and went to the final item on my list, Cerro de Monserrate.

The Road to Cerro De Monserrate

The Chapel of Cerro de Monserrate is located on one of the two highest hilltop of Bogotá, and so steep are its sides that the only way you can visit it these days is to take the nearby funicular cable car that repeatedly climbs the mountain during the day.

Slightly inconveniently for me, the funicular station was right at the other end of the city, partially hidden by the university though of course the ascending support wires were a dead giveaway.

By the time I got close to the station I was feeling in the need of a rest and a snack, and fearing that there would be a huge tourist price hike at the top, I instead chose a cafe on ground level to satisfy my cravings.

Feeling lazy I ordered a burger and cola, and for my laziness I was rewarded with a burger and raspberry smoothie, though how the waitress could confuse coca cola for whatever is Spanish for fresh raspberry fruit smoothie is anyone's guess.

The walk past the university was more pleasant than I expected, as the climb up the hill had been subdivided into large flat steps with a central slow flowing pool that was prevented from moving faster by a series of bricked dams at the edge of each step.

Waiting at the base station for the cable car to descend to the bottom I got chatting with a couple of lads who coincidentally were from West London and on their own even briefer whistle stop tour of Central and South America.

Although in reverse, so close was their route to mine that they were even due to stay in the same hostel that I had stayed in while in Manizales.

The Chapel on Cerro De Monserrate

Cerro de Monserrate is one of two most famous hills east of Bogotá city and is 3,152 meters above sea level. Cerro de Guadelupe is the other hill and is slightly higher being 3,317 meters above sea level.

As we slowly ascended up the grassy cliff face I spotted a near vertical set of railway lines that also rose to the top, which was no doubt how they got to the top before electricity, and showed the bravery and determination of the local people as all the money in the world would not have made me take that train to work every day.

Reaching the top I was surprised at how much they have developed and built up on top to the mountain, as in addition to the chapel there was a whole little community with a restaurant, tourist shop, bar, bridge and even what looked like a small mansion or exclusive hotel.

From stepping out of the funicular there was still close to two hundred steps before you actually got to the gates of the chapel, and very bizarrely littered on the steps was hundreds of giant moth carcasses, the biggest I had ever seen.

In addition to the chapel there were various little temples and shrines in the surrounded area which had been turned into a lush and colourful garden, and in amongst the flowers were miniature fountains and waterfalls, statues and crosses as well as multitude of illuminating decorations of angels, crosses and Christmas trees.

Looking out over the city of Bogotá I could not help but be impressed by how large the city was, and despite it being a complete clique it really did sprawl out as far the eye could see.

For all its impressive height however, the chapel of Cerro De Monserrate was not on the highest hill of the surrounding hillside, as that honour belonged to the chapel on the Cerro de Guadelupe peak, itself barely visible in the distance to the south.

Fellow Brits in Bogotá

Supping a few chilled beers, or in my case ciders, in the nearby restaurant I chatted with my fellow Brits about the highs and lows of travelling through Latin America.

It was really nice to speak to someone who totally understood where I was coming from, and not only could appreciate my minor grumbles without thinking I was being downbeat but who could match me travel disaster story for disaster story.

Having loved their time spent relaxing on the beaches of Belize the two had ran out of time to enjoy proper stopovers and in the last three days had crossed five countries, meaning that they had spent the last seventy two hours stuck on trains, in taxis or at airports.

In fact, as we made tentative plans to meet up the next morning to visit the famous salt cathedral at Zipaquira, I finally and completely got why travellers often like to buddy up with other travellers, as no amount of research and second hand stories can bring home to you the emotional roller coaster that proper bare bones travelling is.

Similarly I feel that it must be the same with any intensely spiritually or emotionally charged episode, and is probably why many military veterans, serious crime victims and bereaving family members do not want to talk about their situation with anyone who has not already gone through a similar experiences.

Once we finished a couple of beers we made our way back down to ground level, and as we made our own ways back to our respective hotels and hostels I was glad that the rain kept off until I was almost back in my room.

Before I went to sleep I popped down to reception to collect my clean laundry and was stunned by the hotels practice of stapling paper tags with my room number onto each and every item of clothing.

Knowing how dangerous Nataly and Sandra had said the area around my hotel was, without any local friend to accompany me I had no desire in sampling the nightlife of the immediately surrounding area, so instead I just used what remains of the day to catch up on emails and news and then caught an early night.

Third Morning in Bogotá

After an early night, I woke up early and had plenty of time to check my messages before heading on down to the hotel's restaurant for breakfast.

Sadly again none of my friends were available to meet up with me today, though thankfully Sandra did let me know that she had no plans for tonight and so had suggested that we meet up and once more try to catch a film in the local cinema.

Having pre-researched the salt cathedral at Zipaquira I was aware that it involved catch a bus, but now knowing the correct station to start at I cleverly asked the hotel receptionist to write out the directions and bus numbers that I would need.

Thankfully it seemed pretty straight forward and the station that I needed was right outside the gold museum, which was good as I already knew how to get there, though when I got to the museum I couldn't quite find the entrance to the station and needed a couple of passing armed soldiers to point me in the right direction.

Bus Ride to Zipaquira

There was not a direct bus that took me to Zipaquira as the end of the line was a little place called Porta Norte, but here it wasn't difficult to find a bus going to Zipaquira and although I kept a look out for the two British lads I didn't spot them.

I did briefly consider hanging around at Porta Norte to see if they were coming later, but as they could just have easily got an earlier bus and be ahead of me, I rejected the idea.

While I might not have spotted my two fellow compatriots, I did somehow manage to sit next to two North American mature couples touring together, one being Canadians while the other were from the United States of America.

With them able to speak some Spanish as well as English and French we thought that we would have a better chance of getting in and out if we grouped up, and also might even have been able to swing a group discount or English speaking tour guide.

With my breakfast fast being burned up on the journey, I suggested that we try to grab a bite to eat before we got to the Cathedral, which they all thought was a splendid idea.

Arrival at Zipaquira

Zipaquira itself ended up being a small town about forty miles away from the centre of Bogotá and we were reliably informed that the entrance to the Cathedral was through the town square and then up the hill.

Despite its tiny stature, Zipaquira seemed to have at least one of everything, which included what appeared to be a statue of Don Quixote made entirely out of scrap metal, a casino and even a marching band.

I also could not help but be impressed at the general condition of the town as apart from buildings or items that were kept deliberately old looking everything else seemed as if it had only been restored a few months ago.

Finding the main entrance to the site was as much blind luck as following any northerly direction, and as we entered the main grounds we passed an archaeological museum.

The Ground of the Zipaquira Salt Mine

Once in the grounds we were still nowhere near the Cathedral and had to follow a painted white line on the floor up several hundred steps which led through a tree covered hillside and past a play area for children before we even got within sight of the ticket booth.

Going past statues of miners and relics from the original salt mines on display, we reached the ticket booth and were just a tiny bit peeved that the attraction labelled as 'The first marvel of Colombia' didn't have either a bilingual ticket clerk or tour guide.

With a bit of effort we managed to secure ourselves some tickets that gave us access to a museum a cathedral and the museum that we had passed on the way here, and then guided ourselves to the entrance to the cathedral which was a large rectangular shaft heading directly into the mountain side.

At the entrance we waited, and we waited and after almost half an hour we were joined by another load of English speaking tourists, and the two wives in our party were getting extremely irritated at the continued delay and the fact that we had paid extra for an English speaking guide and had not yet received anything.

Eventually an English speaking guide did turn up a short while later, and I am so glad that he did as our two ladies were already spitting teeth and trying to get us to all march back to the ticket hut and demand a refund, and as I had organised the purchase I can bet that they would have volunteered me for arguing our case in Spanish.

Catedral de Sal (Salt Cathedral)

The original salt mines of Zipaquira have been in use over a hundred years as the use of salt or its derivatives are used in just about every kind of solution you can mention from soap to food preservatives.

As mining continued the locals decided to create a cathedral carved from the very salt rock bed within the mine around about the 1960's, however regrettably at the time not enough thought was given to the supporting walls and roof and so by 1990 it had been closed off due to safety concerns.

Being considered a modern marvel it was quickly decided to design and carve out a new Cathedral and after a short competition to decide its leading architect work began on the new cathedral in earnest and was completed in 1995.

I had not really known what to expect from an underground cathedral, but what had been created was everything carved right out from the salt rock itself, sometimes polished smooth as marble, but always beautiful.

For ventilation the mine had to have vertical shafts cut up to the surface at regular intervals and of course because it was underground it was also quite cold and thus we all kept our jackets firmly zipped up.

Throughout the cathedral there were statues of angels and classic frescos but what made an impact was various chambers, each with their own cross, for each day that Jesus was nailed up, complete with a giant final room where the cross was actually hollowed out to depict his ascension into the heavens.

Deep within the bowels of the cathedral there were smaller shrines all on the way to the grand auditorium where mass is held every Sunday, though bizarrely even though it is a religious service tourists still have to pay while locals get in free.

What really made the experience unusual is that they had gone to a lot of trouble to get the atmosphere just right, which included a variety of red, green and blue backlighting for various effects.

Because I was underground, when I tried taking a photo underground of them the flash totally drowned out the coloured backlighting so I had to switch my camera to firework mode and set it on a tripod to get a half decent picture. None of the other tourists bothered to do this and so they all went away with rather pointless images. #113

Archaeological Museum of Zipaquira

After an hour and a half of wandering around the chilly confines of the underground cathedral we all felt that it was time to go and so we headed on back to the surface and then headed on back down the sloping hillside to the archaeological museum.

As we had already bought our entrance tickets we were allowed in, and I was rather surprised and slightly disappointed at first to see that the only staff on hand to tell us about the exhibits were two ladies barely out of their teens who again spoke no English.

Without a proper guide we just wandered around the gallery taking photos of all the various pots, jars, broaches, figures and bowls.

Considering many of the Pre-Colombian artefacts were over three thousand years old, I was more than bit puzzled as to why there were no guards here, and indeed why some of the larger vases were not even kept in glass cabinets.

I would have liked to have picked up a guide book to the museum but I couldn't see one so I just snapped away as best I could and then once we were all done we left and headed back into town.

Feeling pecking once more, we stopped at a Chicken Rotary place where we stuffed ourselves for next to nothing and then it was time to find out way back to the bus stop.

As it had started raining by the time our bus arrived the driver decided that he wasn't going to wait for us to get settled into our seats and almost knocked us all over as he pulled away while we were still making our way towards the rear of the bus.

Cinema Experience in Bogotá

Back in Bogotá central it was pouring down, so knowing how difficult it was to catch a taxi at this time of day in the rain I decided that I would arrive quicker if I simply ran from the bus stop to the cinema to meet Sandra, which I did and so was only semi-drenched when I got there.

I had timed the bus back and the run to the cinema correctly; however for some reason Sandra had caught me out anyway by arriving at our rendezvous half an hour early, so before we went into the cinema I bought us both a hot coffee to warm us up.

With my Spanish getting better all the time, I would almost have preferred a Spanish movie to an English film, however the choice on offer of national ones were not my cup of tea so we ended up watching Quantum of Solace with Spanish subtitles.

I had seen it before, but Bond films are famous for their repeat view-ability and so this was not a problem.

More Taxi Problems in Bogotá

With the rain still chucking it down, and with Sandra dressed very smartly in her best office skirt and high heels, I could not expect her to run back to the hotel with me, so we ended up catching a taxi back.

In the taxi Sandra and I got talking, but were brought out of our own world when we noticed that the taxi driver was driving the wrong direction.

With my mind suddenly flooded with horror stories I got frantic almost immediately, but Sandra quickly resolved the situation and it turned out to be nothing more heinous than there were apparently two hotels with the same name within the city.

I very much doubted this as my hotel was not part of a chain, and I still feel that it was part of a scam to get me to pay a higher taxi fare which luckily I spotted early and was able to prevent.

Apparently there are more than one hotel in the city centre with the same name, and once we left the cinema at first the taxi driver set off in the wrong direction, although I am half thinking that this was a scam as we were being charged by the meter and at a night time rate. #114

With Sandra having to work again tomorrow she thought it best to stay in the same taxi and just meet up again tomorrow night, it being my last night in Bogotá.

With this not being my visit to Bogotá, I had originally chosen to stay here longer than a couple of days only so that I would have ample opportunity to meet more than one of my Bogotána friends and pen pals.

Final Day in Bogotá

I woke up early but with no good reason to do much I dozed and slept in far longer than usual.

With my hotel being in a dodgy part of town, all of my local contacts busy during the day and having already been everywhere I wanted to, it was almost a mixed blessing with I realised that last night's rain had not technically stopped and thus I had a justified excuse to stay in for most of the day.

Much of the morning I spent just reviewing my next couple of destinations and reworking the days and hotels in each place, but no matter how hard I tried I could not squeeze in a couple of days to Belize without cutting down one of the other cities to a single day.

By around lunchtime I started to get a little cabin fever, so as the rain had temporarily stopped I decided to try and take a bus to the north of the city and see what it was like during the day when it was open.

On the way to the bus stop I passed a protest rally that had something to do with the indigenous people of Bogotá, but my Spanish was not up to political activist level, and so I just passed it by and waited for my bus.

Seeing this reminded me that Sandra had earlier mentioned to me that the locals were always demonstrating for one reason or another every couple of weeks.

A Scarcity of Orientals

I had never really given it much thought until then, but as there were very few Asians in South America, it naturally followed that there would be less Asian orientated shops, stalls and restaurants.

One good example of this is that I had not seen nor been able to find an Indian restaurant for weeks, and another was that proper massage spa's or sauna's were as rare as rocking horse crab-apples.

Having done a little research earlier in the week I had managed to get the addresses of a few possible places, but on turning up they were nowhere to be seen and so I almost gave up on the idea.

Then, as the rain started to come down I saw a guy handing out fliers right next to the bus stop, and so with nothing to lose I took one and saw that it seemed ideal, being just a bit further down the road.

A Massage in Bogotá

Walking down the road I failed to spot the place until I was almost on top of it as the tiny entrance was right next to a mechanics garage.

As I stood there staring at this pokey little entrance I could not make up my mind if it seemed seedy or not, but as the rain was getting heavier and I had nothing to go back to my hotel for, I figured that I had little to lose and so wandered over and knocked on the door.

Entering the place I was directed to go to the rear of the shop and upon doing so I emerged into a mini bar area that had a couple of scantily girls and a couple of brawny looking guys who I felt sure were either the owners or the bouncers as they didn't seem to be paying any attention to any of the girls.

With a sinking feeling I realised that perhaps this place was not the kind of parlour I wanted to be in, but being already committed I asked for a coke and then after picking one of the girls at random I asked for the a half hour massage and hoped that this was not going to cost me too much.

Behind the closed door to our room my random masseuse made it perfectly clear that she offered a whole range of other services, however I made it equally clear that all I wanted was an innocent massage, to which her only reply was to shrug and say that either way it was still the same price for the first half hour.

During the first few minutes of the massage my masseuse tried her little tricks to get me to change her mind, but clearly having to tempt and tease was something she had little practice doing and so mercifully she was not very skilled in those arts.

She was also not the most accomplished of masseuses, but then I had already worked out that she was not here for her kneading skills, so after a half hour of nothing more than having oil rubbed into my back and legs the experience was over and it was time for me to leave.

Public Merry-Go-Round in Bogotá

The rain was still chucking it down with a vengeance as I returned to the street, so I gave up any idea of further exploring and so nipped back to the bus stop and got on the first one heading back to the south and centre of town.

Such a simple idea but I had not really paid any attention to what bus I was getting on, an nor had I taken the time to study the route maps in advance, and so was working on the assumption that as Bogotá was generally long and thin thus it would not matter which bus I got on as they all followed the same route.

Right idea, but terrible assumption! I had managed to board one of the few buses that not only didn't have a LED displaying where it was going, but also seemed to be a non stopping service.

Glaring in frustration there was nothing I could do except sit and watch as we approached my stop, passed it and then kept on going for such a long distance that it had even started going round a corner before it finally gave me a chance to get off.

Trying to rectify my error, I hopped out and crossed over to the other side of the central road platform where I followed the logic that I would then get on one that took me back the other way.

Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me, as I did exactly what I had done to get there, hopped on another non stopping bus and ended up right back to where I started.

Twice bitten three times shy, I had finally learned my lesson and so after asking for a map, which unfortunately they couldn't provide, I spent a good five minutes studying all the routes on the bus stop walls before finally getting on the correct one that would stop exactly where I needed it.

When the next one came along I got on and it was perfect, well apart from it for being packed tighter than a tin or sardines that is.

Bogotá Closed For Lunch

I got back around mid afternoon, and here I feel foul of the same old curse of the afternoon siesta closing the entire town, though I had no idea why as during the rainy season certainly there was no need to break off from working to escape the scorching midday sun.

Try as I might I was unable to find a sensible restaurant open, with not even the hotel's own being open at this time of the day, so as my hunger grew I returned to the main high street, hung a right and determined to keep on walking until I found a place that served food I recognised or until I ran out of city.

To my great relief it was the former, being another chicken broaster fast food joint and so I grabbed a burger and coke to eat in.

On the way back I spotted a fight break out between two guys, and was both surprised and alarmed that all the locals not only stood and watched, but cheered and whistled to attract others.

Soon there was a huge mob was around the two guys, and as they continued to slog it out the crowd got larger and the whistling got louder.

Eventually it was broken up only by a couple of policemen and I was glad it did as otherwise the crowd was liable to get so large as to become a problem in itself.

Final Night in Bogotá

Back in the safety of my hotel room I whiled away my final moments alone by checking one final time for if either Nataly, Niby or Bibana had any desire to meet me, before Sandra arrived as planned and thus their opportunity was past.

Slightly disappointingly none of them had left me any message to say that they wanted to meet me, but on the positive side it did allow me yet another full night with Sandra which more than made up for it.

When Sandra arrived she looked stunning, as she had dressed to impress as she had hoped that we could go dancing in the local club, however with the rain starting up again and me not really being much of a dancer I convinced her to forgo the pleasure of seeing me make an ass of myself and just stay in and talk.

I did offer to play some music in my room if she was desperate to show me her dance moves, but unsurprisingly she declined.

Wanting to try and return the favour of her time and company I offered her the chance to try an Indian meal, as she had never tried one before and I had spotted a couple in the local telephone directory, but this idea fizzled out when you needed to place your order at least two days in advance in order as apparently they did not stock the ingredients ahead of time.

As a consolation meal, I bought us both a delicious Chinese meal and with it being my last night in the city we stayed up late into the night talking and saying our goodbyes.

Final Morning in Bogotá

As it had been a very long night last night with Sandra not leaving until the early hours of this morning, I was still fairly tired when I woke up and still had all the hassle of repacking my rucksack and checking out before heading on out to the airport.

Checking the weather forecast it was meant to be dry this morning as well as at my destination of Santa Marta, and with it being so early in the morning I felt sure that I would not need to allow myself too much extra time in reaching the airport.

As I was checking out I was gobsmacked by the extortionate fare that he hotel had charged me for having my laundry done, being almost more than a single night's sleep in the same place, and as this was a hotel and not a hostel that was not cheap.

I never thought of doing it at the time, but what I guess I could have done is bought some cheap washing powder and then after giving the clothes a quick dunk in the bath just hang it up in the room to dry

Airport Terminal Chaos in Bogotá

I didn't realise that Bogotá's international airport had a completely separate terminal for domestic flights, and this was something that I wish I had known before I booked a flight leaving at dawn.

Not wanting to mess around at this time of the morning I got the hotel to book me a taxi and soon I was on my way.

As we drove to the airport I noticed that there were a number of large and newly build hotels towards the outskirts of the city, all extra plush and expensive looking which I guess would be ideal for business men but not so good for tourist holiday makers.

Hopping out of my taxi I rushed to the departures board and was confounded by the fact that there was not a single flight heading out to Santa Marta at any time of the day.

To make matters worse this flight was one of the ones that I had only recently booked online and so I did not already have a print out, thus I had little choice but to get my laptop out in order to find out the details in order to seek assistance. #116

Once I knew and had digital proof of my purchase I made my way to the airline check in desk, only to be told that that particular airline flew all their domestic flights from a smaller terminal that was a ten minute walk or taxi ride away.

Bogotá Domestic Airport

No liking the possibility of getting lost with a rucksack and missing my flight I headed outside to grab a taxi only to be further mystified by the fact that the first one I tried had no idea of another terminal nearby.

After a brief return to the airline help desk I got someone to write down the full directions of the other terminal for me to show the taxi driver.

What's more, although they still said that I would have to go to the other terminal to board they did allow me to check in my rucksack at this terminal.

This confused me even more and I began to have serious doubts as to if both my luggage and I would arrive at the destination together or not.

With my luggage already sent ahead, and with a full written set of directions, I managed to get a taxi driver to understand where I needed to go, and he took me to the other terminal that was around the corner.

Due to inadequate road connections I had to travel half way back to Bogotá before we made it to a round about where we could turn round and head back toward the domestic terminal, as its entrance was on a side turn off just before reaching the main terminal. #117

Leaving Bogotá

Finally at the domestic terminal I was able to check myself in and having spent ages going round in circles my flight was already boarding, so I wasted no time in clearing security and rushing to my departure gate.

For the second time this epic voyage I was asked to switch seats to one next to an emergency exit, so either it is random luck hitting me twice or the fact that maybe I have a trusting and safe face.

The flight was almost over before it had begun as I was still tired from the early wake up and so I slept most of it and didn't even need to get out my ear plugs or face mask I was that close to sleep.

Since leaving Bogotá I have kept in regular contact with Sandra, and wish her all the luck in the world with her new life and husband in Germany. Likewise, although I never actually met up with Niby, I have remained in contact with her and wish her well with her American fiancé in the United States of America.

However Bibana never resurfaced ever again, and possibly without thinking things through clearly I hot headedly decided to cut off contact with Nataly following her refusal to meet up with me a second time.

I am still not sure if it was the right thing to do or not, but once done she was suitably insulted enough not to accept or reply to my email olive branch a few months later.

~~ **** ~~

Arriving in Santa Marta, Colombia

In Santa Marta I had just the one contact, a lady called Gina and with the town being so small and finally catching a break with some dry weather I was supremely confident that we would be able to meet up.

Arriving in Santa Marta I was struck by almost a physical wave of heat and humidity the second the cabin doors were opened and I was already dripping with perspiration before I had cleared passport control to collect my rucksack.

Looking out of the airport window I could see a thin line of trees strung out across my horizon, and beyond those trees stretched out the light blue waters of the Caribbean ocean.

After several days of being enclosed within dull grey cities, it was nice to once again see a coastline and a beach.

Despite it being a small town, Santa Marta's prime location of being on the coast meant that it attracts many thousands of visitors during its high season and to cope with the massive influx of tourists there were a large number of large hotels that lined the waterfront all the way from the airport to the town centre.

The taxi driver didn't know my hostel, but as its main entrance was on a small backstreet I was hardly surprised.

My Hostel in Santa Marta

With my jacket wrapped round my waist and the sweat still cascading down me from every pour, I was keen to in the shade, but waiting on the doorstep for the doors to open I got my first glimpse of my hostel here in Santa Marta.

Stepping inside the image only reinforced itself and I realised that I had managed to book a room in a stereotypical cheap South American hostel, with its flaking paint, nineteen-fifties wooden and wicker furniture, flies lazily buzzing around and cold air fans the size of trash can lids everywhere trying to chill the breeze.

I could not make up my mind whether the place had a lot of character or was just a dive, and that fact that the way to my room was up a rickety helix staircase that creaked and groaned under my weight was not a good sign.

Nor was the fact that when I was shown my room it had four bunk beds but looked as small as a postage stamp and to add salt into the wound I even had to help the porter make my bed in order for me to check in properly.

Communication Gap in Santa Marta

Unpacking my laptop I was quick to try and contact Gina live online, and although successful because she has not had chance to study or learn and English I was unsure exactly if she was saying that she would be free later and able to come and visit or not.

Working on the assumption that she might, I decided that I would take a brief stroll around the town centre and then wait in my room, as much to escape the glaring midday sun as much as anything else.

Slapping on a layer of sun cream and slipping into my sandals and shorts, I headed on down to the hostels reception area to ask for a map, and was suitably unimpressed when the receptionist gave me a gap toothed smile and pointed towards an old and heavily creased poster stuck on the wall.

Unable to glean more than the fact that I was on the coast and in a town called Santa Marta, I gave up on any idea of having a good idea where I would visit and just thought that I should go for a brief wander to see what was going on in the local neighbourhood.

Sun Baked Santa Marta

I had half a mind to try again to send home a parcel home, this time much reduced through dumping most of the useless techno gadgets, so I added a post office to itinerary in my head and ventured forth.

Choosing to hang a left instead of a right, I ended up walking away from the beach and towards the town centre which took me past a nearby tiny Cathedral and a car park but not a lot else.

The heat was so hot that even with shorts and sandals I could not keep myself cool, and as I walked I could not fail to notice that all the locals remained in the shade, so it really was once again a case of 'Mad dogs and Englishmen'.

Failing to find a post office or any store that did not make my own hostel look modern and well looked after by comparison I gave up on exploring much more during the day and returned to my room to wait for the arrival of Gina.

Even the short stroll back to my hostel was enough to give me a blinding headache and melt the sun cream right off my pale skin, and after a cold shower and an even colder drink I gave in the heat and just collapsed on my bed with the fan pulsing waves of semi cool air over my naked body.

Evening in Santa Marta

I eventually awoke to find that I had slept for a lot longer than I planned, which was upsetting as not only had the sun given way to an evening tropical rain shower but this also meant that Gina had not arrived as she had promised.

With my skin still stinging from earlier, I slapped on a load of after sun and then considered my options.

The hostel seemed to have no other guests, had no restaurant and so now with Gina also seeming to be a letdown I was fast going off the whole town.

The weather forecast in Cartagena was meant to be dry and sunny but more bearable, so as both of my friends in Cartagena were eager to see me I began to consider skipping out of Santa Marta a day early and spending more time with them.

Do you want Rice with your Salt?

As I deliberated over whether to stay or go I nipped out to find a restaurant, and having gone left before this time I turned right and found an empty restaurant within walking distance.

The fact that it was almost empty was going against my own advice, I was eating here as much to avoid the rain as for the meal, but just to be on the safe side I stuck to something that was almost impossible to ruin, being plain chicken and rice.

For a few tiny notes I got a plate so big that it dwarfed that of the meal in Piura, but regrettably they had managed the impossible as the chicken had a very weird aftertaste and the grains of rice must have been at least half made of salt.

With a bottle of cola to wash it down it was not too bad at first, but when the drink ran out so did its edibility and so having hardly made a dent in it I left it. Being just a street away I had to run back to my hostel as the rain shower had turned into a full blown storm.

Night time in Santa Marta

With not much else to do I gave watching the television a try but the thunder and lightning was playing havoc with the signal and it wasn't too long before I was spending longer staring at static than I did watching a program.

These latest woes did nothing to improve my low opinion of Santa Marta, and so I made up my mind to cut short my time here, with maybe a quick trip to the beach tomorrow morning if I woke up early enough, and to catch an early bus across to Cartagena.

With little else to do I sat down and wrote a long email to my family and friends all over the world, the first proper email I had wrote to many of them since before I left, and then had another lie down under the fan.

I would have fell asleep on top of the sheets but I was a bit afraid of mosquitoes biting me, so it was under a thin sheet that I succumbed to a muggy sleep for a second time in one day.

Checking out of Sun City

I woke up early enough to check my emails but not quite early enough to try and find the beach, so I went to check out and asked for a taxi to the bus terminal.

This should have been simple, but because I was moving out a day early the reception on duty was not expecting this, and not speaking English either it took a while to process and sort out.

I felt a bit bad leaving early as I was clearly the only guest in the hostel, and I did not mean to half their weekly income, but without Gina being my guide there seemed little to keep me here.

Once the receipt was processed I had only a short wait in their reception area before the taxi arrived and took me to the bus station.

As we drove through the town I noticed that the previous day's rain had taken away a lot of the heat and as it was now only mildly hot, instead of insanely hot, I felt that perhaps I had been a little hasty in my judgement.

A Shocking Revelation

During my stay in the hotel I never met up with Gina and at first I blamed her, however it was only in an email that I received from her a couple of days later that I learned the upsetting truth.

Gina had in fact turned up at my hotel as planned and had asked to see me, but the hostel staff had unilaterally decided that it did not want any fraternising going on between the locals and foreigners and so had told her than I was out, and then to make matters they did not even bothered to let me know that she had tried to reach me.

Now, although I can understand and appreciate their concerns up to a point, the fact that they blatantly lied to her and then totally kept me in the dark about her visit was completely unjustified and in my view they are the second worst hostel staff I have ever encountered.

To add insult to injury, when I contacted the hostel staff about their disrespectful behaviour the owner was not in the slightest bit interested in apologising or making amends, simply stating that if I didn't like it then I should not stay with them in the future.

Such disservice and disrespect was totally unwarranted and although Gina did nothing wrong and seemed a nice and genuine person, the whole experience was such a put off that I would never consider going back to Santa Marta.

I have kept in sporadic contact with Gina, but it has never been quite the same since.

Leaving Santa Marta

Waiting at the bus station I had a bit of a wait so I had plenty of time to grab some snacks and also look around the station, which was surprisingly large for the size of the town and almost up to date, especially as it left over half an hour late.

As we all got on the bus, myself and the only two other non-Colombians somehow gravitated together, and as the journey was at least five hours long, by the time we had reached Cartagena we had become good chums, swapping jokes and travel stories.

The scenery from the window as we drove East along the coast was mainly mile upon mile of single level straw and cane huts flooded by the recent rains, but occasionally we would pass a district that seemed out of place as it would be modern and brand.

The first of my two new buddies was a middle aged Polish guy called Andre who had the blond hair and the large rugged frame that I instantly associate with deep sea fisherman, while the other was an Israeli military pilot called Alon and was younger, taller and thinner than either me or Andre.

With my two buddies the time flew by, which was a good thing seeing as, although the auto bus company had decided to provide the driver with a couple of horror movies for the journey, they were unaware that the speakers were blown, and a modern horror is nothing without its atmospheric music and soul chilling sound effects.

~~ **** ~~

Arriving in Cartagena, Colombia

As we pulled into the bus terminal at Cartagena Alon and Andre were as keen to meet up again as I was, and so were curious as to which hostel I had booked myself into.

For some reason, I could not find my details, and being more traditional backpackers neither of the two guys had anything booked and seemed to be guided by what they came across and what the travel guides recommend.

Not wishing to hold them up, I agreed with the others to all jump in a taxi together to split the cost.

By the time we had reached the first cheap hotel recommended to us I had found my hotel booking form, but now that we had arrived I thought I may as well see what the rooms and the price were like, and if I wasn't happy I could always go on from there to my original booking.

My Hotel in Cartagena

Like most of the houses the beach area of Cartagena, our street and hotel were four levels high with encroaching balconies, and with only a narrow road dividing the street, the area had the optical illusion that the two rows of houses were almost joined at the top.

The first pleasant surprise was that the insides were more spacious than they looked for the outside, and both the reception area and the room looked a lot more comfortable and well maintained than I had at first imagined.

The room even had both an air conditioning system as well as a fan, not to mention the brand new television set that was still in its box which they had to come and install for me.

The second pleasant surprise was that although it was better than the hostel I had just left in Santa Marta on just about every discernable scale and in what I had already seen was a more beautiful city, but it was also cheaper.

For me personally it was a triumph of the logic of being a 'yes man', and one of the reasons why if I have a free choice I often tend towards optimism and going with the flow.

It also had the advantage over my original booking of not only being a fraction cheaper, but also it was in the old part of the city, which was where all the most beautiful architecture and historic fortified waterfront could be found.

Cartagena Water Front

As well as myself liking the digs more than the alternatives, the lads both liked it as much and so we took three rooms and agreed to meet back in the reception after dropping our bags off and freshening up a little.

Knowing that Cartagena was famous for its coastline and historic roots we headed straight to water front and was rewarded for our efforts.

So much of the city seems to have resisted the passing of time, with buildings still remaining on the original stone block foundations and many still proud to have large wooden stable doors and masses of thick green vines and flowers cascading over ornate wooden second story balconies.

Reaching the water front we were able to walk along some of the original city coastal defence wall, which in some placed had been removed or eroded back to ground level, while other parts were fifteen or twenty foot high and almost as wide.

Cannon Battery Mojito Joint

On one of the larger cannon station plateaus there was now a fancy restaurant, hostessed by at least a dozen waitresses, any of which could no doubt moonlight as models as they were all young, slim and looked very fetching in their skin tight blue tops and white trouser shorts.

Ignoring the obviousness of the place being a high priced tourist trap, Alan and Andre were determined to enjoy a refreshing beverage served by one of the ladies, and so in the spirit of camaraderie I joined them at a table which overlooked the crashing sea and tried to ignore how much my mojito was going to cost.

It felt unusual and yet somehow perfectly normal to sit at a small round table sandwiched in between two cannon barrels as I sipped my mojito, and it was only the rapid setting sun that plunged the land into darkness than prevented us staying and admiring the view even longer.

After the long journey and the brief walk round the coast, we were all feeling quite peckish and so with Andre taking the lead we made our way to a nice looking restaurant.

Worst Restaurant in Cartagena

Having just paid over the odds for a round of drinks, I was expecting the guys to just waltz straight in, but instead they took a lot of time studying the menu outside the restaurant and deciding if they like any of the daily specials before entering.

The meal was tasty, though not quite spectacular, however when the final bill came round it almost double what we had all calculated it would be.

Unsure what Alon's or Andre's reaction would be I started to grumble as I reached for my wallet, however the other two were having none of it and called the waiter over to dispute the bill.

At first I was a bit embarrassed for making a scene, however this soon turned to outrage as the waiter blatantly tried to lie to us, claiming that we had ordered from the main menu and not any of the specials, this despite us making clear several times what we wanted and even pointing to the offers just to be on the safe side.

We tried to be fair, we tried to reach a middle ground, but the waiter was most insistent which he probably thought was a good idea but eventually became his downfall.

Giving up on the waiter, the three of us came to a mutual agreement to only pay what we calculated it should be without a tip, and then before the waiter could count it or argue we just stood up and left.

It was a shame that our first real experience in the city was such a letdown, but then I am reminded that Cartagena is a popular holiday resort for both rich nationals as well as foreigners and so a little overcharging was almost inevitable.

The Nightlife of Cartagena

Alon was a strange sort of chap, in that he was recently married and thus did not intend on being unfaithful to his new wife, but at the same time he was very eager to spend his time with sexy, young, local women in a bar or club.

As far as I could tell Andre was single and so didn't mind if anything happened and of course I had been single for longer than I cared to admit.

With an even shorter stay planned here than I was, Alon was eager to rinse every moment out of his time here and so although it was a Sunday he suggested that we all go out and try the local nightlife.

Not feeling comfortable enough to ask our hotel staff where a good place to go was, Alon then had the idea of just getting in a taxi and asking the driver to be take to the happening part of the city, an idea that seemed fine to both Andre and I.

Driving through the city streets it looked almost as beautiful at night as it had during the day, as almost everywhere was lit up with yellow spot lights, making the whole place seem very inviting and friendly.

As we navigated ourselves by luck and a vague sense of direction, we happened to pass in the street a group of five local girls all dressed in skimpy yellow tasselled costumes as they practiced some form of dance. It was too dark to see much but I guess one of the advantages of living in a warm climate is that you can stay out late at night.

Wrong Sort of Erotic Invitation

It was a pity though, that the bar we ended up at was almost empty except a group of sexy girls who were all attached to much more mature gentlemen and a couple of local young guys getting drunk and messing about.

Suffering a cool beer, as typically the bar had no cider or alcopops, I tried to enjoy myself but my heart wasn't in it; and it was even less in it when one of the guys next to me got up on the bar and started to gyrate and thrust his hips in my specific direction.

I have no idea if we had somehow wandered into the wrong bar, or I was just unlucky, but then the guys friend came over to me and tried to translate that his friend really liked me and that if I get the next round then I could have one, the other or both of them, for a private tryst in my hotel room.

I was not sure if I should have felt flattered or insulted, but I tried to deflect their advances as much as possible but by half midnight I had had enough and so announced to the other that I had had enough and was going to make my way back to the hotel.

Taxi and Ladies Clubs

Alon and Andre agreed that this place was not the lively joint that they were expecting, but were still not quite ready to call it quits on the night and as I had the taxi drop me off at the hotel first I heard them asking him for a nice place to go that had sexy girls and was 'happening'.

As I would be settling here for a few days I started to properly unpack my rucksack and I was still awake when almost an hour later they both turned up again, as I recognise their accents in the hallway outside as I was just about to fall asleep. #118

In the morning I got the news that the taxi driver took them first to a straight out whore house where the girls came and sat on their laps before they could order a drink. No surprise Aon and Andre left in about three minutes flat.

The second place was only a little better as there all the locals girls played a little shy and coy, waiting for you to go up to them and ask them for a dance, but one on the dance floor it was pretty much the same with the girls offering themselves for the night for a price.

By the sounds of it, I was glad that I stayed behind although, being with a couple of reliable and likeminded buddies, the experience could have memorable, and it might have been fun watching Alon's face when he realised who he was dancing with, almost as much of a picture as I made when those two guys hit on me earlier in the night, I bet!

An Early Start in Cartagena

I woke up early this morning with a clear head and, having planned to go for an island cruise with the guys; I quickly freshened up and made it down to the dining area to wait for Alon and Andre.

A few minute later they came down, one after the other, but then as we discussed what the cruise involved there was a lot of keystone cops running back to our rooms as we kept realising we had left things behind like a towel, swimming trunks and a camera.

When we finally got our heads together it was only a little later than hoped for, and we still had plenty of time to take a leisurely stroll down to the pier, where the ship that would take us to the promised Rosario Islands would depart from.

On our way we passed a few places that had me snapping away with my camera, including a couple of authentic looking tall ships, either renovated originals or just good looking copies, with the very macho names of 'The Phantom' and the 'Galeon Bucanero'.

Together with the sea defence wall and every building looking much like it had done for hundreds of years I could not decide if I had actually slipped back in time or had just woken up in a very convincing movie set.

No matter how many times I had saw it, I never got bored of admiring the architecture of old buildings, and with the columned arch arcades, rounded tile roofs and traditional style wooden second floor balconies, it just felt so real and inviting that it quite made me forget and forgive the mini disasters of yesterday.

Arriving a few ahead of time, we nipped across the road to a store to pick up some stuff for breakfast, after which we paid for the port fee and cruise ticket and then boarded our ship, a more modern style of craft without all the rigging and sails, which was a bit of a shame.

A Daytime Cruise in Cartagena

As we began to depart Cartagena we cruised past a few relics from WWII that I was not totally convinced was not still in active service, as well as some much more authentic Spanish coastal defence outposts further out of the bay.

Being an important city port Cartagena had always been a vital strategic objective for the Spanish in the Caribbean, and even today this is still evident in the many fortified positions that they build all along the coastline.

What was less evident, to me at least, was the logic on which locals built houses far out to sea.

As we gently passed them I could see that some were on tiny islands no bigger than half a football pitch, while others had to have been raised on some sort of floating buoyancy system, as their cabin would end right at the water's edge and only a few feet above sea level.

Also with us on the cruise were what appeared to be a large school outing, and to keep them entertained the staff were playing lots of party games on the upper deck, while pumping out music throughout the ships tannoy system.

Games like 'how many hats?' and sing-along karaoke were continually being played all day, which at first I found mildly irritating at first but as the journey continued I felt better and put down my earlier grumpiness to not getting quite enough sleep the night before.

The ship was well equipped with a bar and plenty of room to sit or crash out on the lower decks, though the windows had clearly seen better days, and I was willing to bet that the life jackets were older than I am

The water was fairly calm here, but as we were motoring along quite fast there was some pitching and rolling which didn't seem to make Andre too happy.

Andre feeling seasick kind of made a mockery of my earlier thoughts of him being a fisherman, but I never did quite learn what his real job was.

The Cartagena Aquarium

As part of the day's itinerary there was a short stop off for about an hour or more to the nearby Aquarium which was itself situation on a small island midway between the city and Rosario Islands.

The place looked a bit run down but functional, with a lot of hand painted signs and dodgy looking shark models, which the majority of the displays of live fish were little more than netted underwater pens.

Less than a few feet into the place and everyone was removing their shoes and socks as the island seemed to be moments away from sinking and large areas were completed submerged up to about knee level.

Being a scheduled stop with the alternative being remaining onboard the ship, very soon we had enough of our fill of getting an occasional shoals of tiny sharks, dolphins or sea-turtle, and so we continued on to the rear of the island where the locals had turned a moored fishing trawler into a makeshift diving platform.

Spurred on by the locals, Alon and Andre decided that they too would go for a bit of a swim, but as I didn't quite feel like swimming here I volunteered to be the designated guardian of the bags.

The other local tourists were having a ball of a time jumping and diving off the boat, each time getting bolder until by the end they were doing synchronised back flips.

As we were returning to our ship the local fisherman were out in force trying to sell their latest catch, but considering that most of shellfish is actual inedible shell, I saw it as the tourist scam it was, though many of the main group gave in to temptation despite there being a full meal for us waiting at our destination.

The White Beached of the Rosario Islands

When we finally arrived at the Rosario Islands it was breathtakingly beautiful and I instantly felt the lure of the white sandy beaches, the tall palm trees gently swaying and the crystal blue warm waters.

Due to the nature of the beaches, our craft could not actually pull up and dock, so instead there was a small flat bottomed skiff which zipped out to meet us and ferried us across in two loads.

As we were waiting for our turn to be transported over we met the only other western tourist on the cruise today, a fellow Brit called Eleanor.

Once introductions had been made we stuck close together and, with such a huge beach, there were plenty of sun loungers to go around and for us to remain together.

All along the beach I could see wandering merchants selling all sorts of nautical knickknacks from sea shell necklaces to bits of driftwood carved into shapes, but all for a price no cheaper than the same thing would cost back home.

I could not get over the price, but then again I wasn't on the lookout for anything in particular so perhaps if I had been then a completely authentic souvenir might not have been such a waste of money.

After we all grabbed ourselves a plate of hot food at the large straw roofed cooking hut, we chugged a few drinks and then settled in to sunbathe and enjoy the glorious surroundings.

Now that there were four of us, we all took turns guarding our belongings while the others went for a swim, while the locals played a game of swimming out and letting the tide wash them back inland.

Beach Massage on Rosario Islands

Being the huge tourist destination that it was, the Islands had become quite touristy, though thankfully because of their remoteness they had still been able to retain much of their undeveloped charm.

Another sign of their attraction to tourists was the female wandering masseuses, who would patrol the area and seek to find custom any way possible.

Now a nice relaxing massage on a beach seemed like a good idea at first, but the first time I was approached I was about to take a dip and so I told her maybe later and headed off into the water.

Then, as I was emerging from the water she followed me and almost the second I got back to the others she offered her services again and so again I told her later.

As she walked away another took her place and I suddenly realised that I would have to be quite firm in next rebuttal or else I would be plagued by them the entire time I was here.

This continued for about half an hour before I got bored or telling them 'maybe later' and so I gave in and relented in the hope that they would then leave me us all in peace. #119

Having given up I soon felt that I had made a big mistake as not only were these women not qualified, but they also used a horrid homemade oil that could just as easily been salt water and were more interested in smearing it all over me than in anything therapeutic for my joints or muscles.

My other big mistake, which I should have guessed already, is that just like trying to have sex on a beach the sand got everywhere and before I knew it I was having my skin scraped raw thanks to their efforts.

What is more is that they are quite pushy in their sales technique and several times while I was dozing I was brought back to full awareness by one of them who had crept up on me and actually started to massage me, presumably in the hope that I would just relent and let them work and pay them at the end.

Return Cruise to Cartagena

As it approached dusk it was time to leave and head back for Cartagena harbour, and we all made our way back to the ferry ship and then our ship began its return journey.

Having been blessed with glorious sunshine for most of the day, the good weather finally gave way to a light drizzly rain, but as Alon and Andre felt seasick the moment they sat inside, I felt that it would be better to stay outside and get a little wet than inside perfectly dry but on my own for the whole voyage.

Eleanor turned out to be a really great conversationalist, with so many stories of her own to tell, as well as a passion for languages and had had the opportunity to live abroad in countries as far flung from home as Venezuela.

After their swim it appeared that Alon and Andre were still on the sleepy side, so while they dozed I just continued chatting with Eleanor.

Cartagena Match-Making

Midway through the voyage I nipped back inside to grab a drink, and by the time I came back Eleanor was engrossed in a cross conversation with a whole group of locals, all happy that she was fluent in Spanish.

Not meaning to dominate her time I chipped in a bit, but when we started exchanging comments in English the locals were suddenly very attentive, eager to learn English from us, and formed a friendly crowd around the two of us.

I have never really had an audience for a simple conversation before, but Eleanor didn't seem to mind and it pleased the locals so I just mentally shrugged and carried on our earlier conversations.

However, the locals were not quite content with just learning English from us, they also figured out that we were both singletons and thought that it made perfect sense to match make up together.

If I had found having an audience for a conversation slightly out of my comfort zone, then to be encouraged by a mob to flirt and hook up with a female was definitely out there, but not wanted to let our audience down we did our best to accept it all in good humour and kept them happy with some compliments and polite chatter.

This was ok at first, but then somehow the conversation got to dancing, and while I am known for avoid a dance floor like the plague, my line of reasoning was that I was always being jostled and bumped into by drunken louts.

Well, here there were no drunks and all of the locals cleared a huge space to give us room, so without an easy escape I decided to throw myself into it whole heartedly, and although I didn't wow anyone with my moves, I did enough to avoid falling or treading on Eleanor's feet.

With the harbour pulling into sight, we accepted a small applause for our efforts and then before we got lost in the crowd again, I agreed to meet up with Eleanor a bit later to have a meal and continue our chat without two dozen locals hanging on our every word.

Twilight Stroll Through Cartagena

A few days earlier my watch strap had broke, and instead of putting them all somewhere safe, I had continued to walk around with my wrist compass loose in my pockets.

Looking back it was only a matter of time before it fell out of my pocket, but as chance would have it today was the day that it did, henceforth destined to become little more than another piece of clutter collected by a beach comber.

Back in the hotel the boys had now woken up a bit and were thinking about going out to get something to eat, but as I had already made plans with Eleanor I let them go without me but said that perhaps we could meet up again later and go clubbing, depending on the time and the weather.

By early evening the worst of the weather had cleared to leave a warm dry night, thought the sky was still cloudy in the moonlight, and on the ground I could see huge pools and puddles of rainwater wherever I looked.

Taking great pains to avoid the sunken areas of roads where the water had flooded whole sections, I made my way on foot to the nearby clock tower and being punctual herself Eleanor arrived on time.

Fast Food in Cartagena

Once Eleanor had arrived we walked for awhile looking for a place to eat, talking about all sorts of things and at some stages it felt like a blind date, each unsure of what to say and how much to commit before the other offered up their opinion first.

After a couple of hours we settled on a nearby fast food joint where we finished off the night, before I walked her back to her hostel as she had an early start in the morning, making her own way across to Santa Marta.

When it came to the bill I was offered to pay only for her to insist that we went Dutch, which I allowed with the usual grace when a lady insists on splitting the bill. As Eleanor speaks fluent Spanish this should have been a doddle, but sadly the burger clerk took us for ignorant tourists and pulled a switcheroo on us which totally spoilt our mood.

This was more annoying that anything as we were both positive that Eleanor had not mistakenly ordered and with this being her last night here in Cartagena I didn't want her to leave with a bitter taste left in her mouth.

Considering the unusualness of it all I think that I got on quite well with Eleanor, and indeed the funniest thing I have seen in ages is when she suddenly switched from calm to angry and swore at a passing taxi driver in Spanish with, "If I wanted a f*****g taxi I would have asked for one".

Unlike night time in Bogotá when a vacant taxi was as precious as gold dust, here in Cartagena the ratio of taxi to tourist was much more in the tourists favour, which is nice on one hand but after awhile it does get quite annoying to be repeatedly pestered when you had barely told the last one to leave you alone.

Having spent a nice day with Eleanor I had given her my travel business card, and almost a year later I got a pleasant email from her.

I had hoped that this would be the start of a lasting friendship, however in the months that followed my couple of replies were was not followed up by a second email and so I guess that her message was her way of being polite and keeping her promise.

More Nightclubbing in Cartagena

My timing could not have been better, as just as I returned to the hotel I literally bumped into Alon and Andre in reception as they were just about to head on out again.

Unperturbed by the previous nights dismal offerings, they were off to have another stab at enjoying the local discotheques, having heard a passing rumour that things would not be as dead as they had been last night.

On the way to a couple of places that Alon had heard great things about we were approached by a local guy, who asked us what were had in mind at this time of night.

When we said what we were heading, he said that both the clubs we planned on visiting had been shut down months ago, but that he would be happy to guide us to a great new happening club where the locals chica's were very cute and friendly.

Judging from the looks and nods that both Alon and Andre gave me, we all smelled a scam, but equally the night was young and so we reasoned that we had little to lose so we went along anyway. #120

Even before we reached the place we caught a glimpse of some big burly bouncers and a couple of girls wearing nothing but red lingerie, so when they refused to let even one of us in to see what the inside was like without paying the door charge we knew that this was nothing but another thinly disguised knocking shop.

Without even the need to discuss it, we shook our heads and walked away and ignoring the pimps obvious lies, we headed back towards where we were going originally destined.

A few minutes later we found the first bar that Alon had been recommended, which didn't look too inviting from the outside as there were far too many shady characters lurking near the entrance, so we moved on to the second place which was very close by.

This second place was much more our type of place, a crowded club crammed with both locals and tourists alike that wasn't too expensive and that had the bonus of being within walking distance of our hotel.

As my friend Milibeth had agreed to visit me at the hotel tomorrow morning I did not stay all night long, but I did at least throw myself about the dance floor for an hour or so before I had to leave.

Money Washing Colombian Style

In the early hours of the morning I made my way back to the hotel when I came across a sight that I had never seen before, which totally stopped me in my tracks.

On the ground, spread half in and half out of a large sized puddle were dozens of what appeared to be 50 mil pesos notes in the local currency.

They were not rolled up into a wad or stacked neatly together, just loose and looked like they had been dumped or dropped by someone in a great hurry.

Looking around I could see in the distance a policeman standing by a road barrier and a few vagrants doing nothing at all about it, so I was in two minds about what to do.

After a few moments hesitation I was sure that there was something wrong with all of this, and being unsure of the penalty of possessing or trying to pass on forged money I decided to leave them where they were and walk on.

Looking back I guess I could have picked them up, dried them in my room and then in the morning asked the receptionist to check one to see if it was genuine or not, but considering the amount of notes that were lying on the ground I just could not believe for a second that anyone had accidentally dropped so many of them and not stopped to pick them up again.

A Third Day in Cartagena

I woke this morning early but did not have breakfast straight away as I had arranged to spend the day with Milibeth which started with having breakfast at a place she wanted to show me.

With her time keeping better than most, she arrived on time and having seen photos of her I knew what to expect, but she was even more attractive in person and had the biggest and warmest smile I have ever seen.

Milibeth had chose to wear a skirt and vest top as they would help her stay cool, but also brought with her a light jacket as with the sky grey and cloudy overhead it was sure to rain at some stage before nightfall.

Best Breakfast in Cartagena

The restaurant cafe that she wanted to show me was right only a few blocks away and when we got inside I could instantly see the appeal.

From the outside it had seemed rather unassuming, but with large padded leather chairs, modern art paintings hung on all the walls and stylish lighting inside, the place would not have seemed out of place inside an art gallery or museum.

Trusting Milibeth to order for me, I just concentrated on trying to get used to her accent, as she could speak some English but with an accent unlike I was expecting.

When breakfast arrived I was glad that I had left everything to Milibeth, as we were served eggs and bacon, fresh warm bread, a hot chocolate and an orange juice that were so good I was surprised we had not had to queue up to get in.

As we left and went to take a taxi to the old Spanish coastal fort I mused that the cafe was the kind of joint that was so good that once discovered you didn't actually want to tell anyone about in case it gets too popular and crowded, which would ruin the whole ambience of the place.

Cartagena's Spanish Castle

As we made our way to the fort the rain started to come down, lightly at first so I thought it might be a passing shower, however it soon became apparent that it was not going to ease up any time soon.

Arriving at the fort I was amused that outside was a long line of modern taxicabs, all canary yellow as is the style here, but right on the end was an old battered chicken truck, which when viewed side by side pretty much summed up all of Cartagena to me.

The Spanish had built the cast on the very edge of the coast as protection for the city port, and in order to give the defenders as much advanced warning of approaching ships as possible, the architect had built it almost as high as it was wide.

Being built in an age of cannons, the entire complex was more solid than a mere network of walls, with platforms wide enough for a line of cannon crew and each level stacked above the other higher and further back as the fortifications receded from the outer wall to the inner courtyard.

The other noticeable feature was that many of the walls were slanted at almost forty five degrees to help deflect away glancing cannon volleys.

Because of its solid construction the castle was remarkably well preserved and even with the cannons looking rusted it had a timeless romance and wonder to it.

It was easy for me to imagine the fort in its heyday, filled with Spanish soldiers, gunpowder and indigenous slaves and traders milling around.

Although we had not paid or requested a guide, some way along the way we were picked up by a local guide leading a small group of tourists and though I was at first unsure if he would try and squeeze us for a tip at the end he seemed friendly enough and quite knowledgeable on the subject.

In addition to its solid construction it overlooked both the ocean and the river estuary leading into the city and according to our guide it had a network of tunnels that ran deep underground and beneath the very river itself.

I was half curious to see whereabouts the tunnels would open out on the opposite side; however it was plenty spooky enough in the tunnels from the base to the top and with the rain now pouring down hard the last place I wanted to visit was in a tunnel that led under a river.

At the top I spotted a map of the region including the castle dated back to the early 19th Century, but for the life of me I could not understand why at the time it had been written in both French and German, but neither Spanish nor English.

A Rainy Evening in Cartagena

With the heavy rain showing no signs of easing up, Milibeth and I decided to skip our afternoon planned tour around Cartagena city centre, and fled back to my hotel where we planned to wait out the rain or failing that spend the time chatting and watching movies.

As our taxi made its way back to our hotel we could see that the city was having problems with the sheer amount of rain as certain roads had become impassable and even some road curbs had become flooded beneath a few inches of water.

Milibeth's bilingual skills were about average for the area, with her able to understand and express most concepts and so although we practiced a little Spanglish, we mostly kept to English with me avoiding complex or lengthy sentences.

Illogical Pizza Delivery Policy

Around tea time we figured on getting something to eat but with the wet weather raging on outside we didn't want to get drenched and so decided to be lazy and order our meal to be delivered.

Being unable to find any local Chinese, Italian or Indian restaurants that delivered we ended up ordering a pizza from a place just at the end of our road.

One hour later our pizza had still not arrived, and being so close we could not understand the delay and so I got Milibeth to call them again and was flabbergasted by the reply.

Apparently, despite the fact that the rain had been constant since just after breakfast and showed no signs of easing up, the pizza company had cooked our pizza quickly enough but had then decided to wait for the rain to stop before attempting to deliver it.

Such logic defies the mind as that was exactly the reason why we had ordered a take away in the first place, in order to escape getting wet, so after saying that they had exactly five minutes to get it to us before we cancelled the order, there was a knock on our door shortly after.

With the noise of the rain now so loud that it was almost deafening from outside, I felt a bit sorry for the pizza delivery lady who was soaked right through despite having a raincoat. That is I was feeling sorry until the second I saw the size of the bill being more than double what I had envisaged, at which point all feeling of pity soon vanished.

Third Night In Cartagena

With very few films on at the nearby cinema and the rain continuing to pour down I gave up any thoughts of venturing out tonight and just settled in for a quiet evening with Milibeth before she had to return home.

Once Milibeth left I gave a quick knock on the boys to see what they were up to, but neither Alon nor Andre had thoughts of doing much twilight exploring tonight, and with them both heading on out and making their way home in the morning it was rather a subdued farewell that we shared as darkness crept over the city.

As I laid in bed listening to the falling rain on the roof I reflected on the fact that all things considered it had been a good day, and I just hoped that the rain would hold off long enough for me to make my way back to the same restaurant cafe that Milibeth and I went to today.

Andre had already said that he was not a person that often wrote emails and so as we said farewell we wished each other good luck in the future.

Alon had said that he would write, and at first we did exchange a few emails but after a few he ceased replying, and as he told me that he was a military pilot I am hoping that he just got bored or became too busy and that it was nothing more serious.

A Forth Day in Cartagena

I woke up to a dry sky and thought that this was a good sign, and I took it as a sign that I was meant to go and find the same restaurant that I had been to yesterday.

Checking my emails for any news or change of plans, I saw that Milibeth was still planning on coming to visit me in the hotel around early afternoon, and that my other friend Carmen was also really looking forward to meeting me however she would be unable to do so until the weekend as she could not take any time off work.

Setting off from my hotel I knew that the restaurant was within walking distance, however I could not remember the exact direction or street name so with high hopes I set off on an spiral search pattern to locate it.

Walking Tour of Cartagena

Although I found many interesting sights and some rather unusual examples of architecture, I failed to find my restaurant and as the spiral grew wider, my feet and legs started to get tired and my patience wore thin.

On about the third circuit I gave in and decided that I would stop at the first place that served breakfast.

It ended up being at a place that was a poor imitation of my favourite eatery, as it also had art on the walls and was quite funky with wind chimes and bead curtains between the tables but it just didn't quite have the same appeal.

My impression of the place dimmed slightly when I spotted a tacky vending machine inside the main eating area, and when I was served a dry piece of meat and fried plantain with my hot chocolate things took a complete nose dive.

By the time I had scoffed my fake banana the sun was high in the sky and it caught me out as for the first time the clouds thinned and sent the temperature soaring.

With such fine weather and with still at least an hour before Milibeth was due to arrive I took advantage of the situation to continue with a decreasing spiral pattern back to my hotel in a final gasp effort to find my hidden restaurant.

More Colombian Postal Madness

Regrettably I got back to my hotel without finding my restaurant, so I chalked it down to experience and sat in my room watching television waiting for Milibeth to arrive.

Almost two hours later than planned she arrived, by which point I was pulling my hair out as she had not sent any message to let me know that she was running late and I had begun having flashbacks of being left stranded in a casino run through my mind.

Thankfully Milibeth was very apologetic for her tardiness, which did wonders to cool my mood, and I was almost skipping when she offered to take me to the local post office to send my much reduced package of leaflets home.

With her as my guide we were able to join the correct queue and after a lengthy delay it was my turn to process my package and I was pleased with my effort of maintaining my cool as we were quoted a extortionate price for the most basic of international services.

I had assumed that once I had agreed to paid that it would be a simple process, however nothing could be more the case, as to ensure that I attempting to smuggling anything the clerk, who resembled a hideously bloated and wart covered hag, then proceeded to open my package and have a rummage around in it.

Maybe I should have handled it better and maybe the lack of a good breakfast and the sudden rise in temperature outside had put me off balance, but once she started pulling out the leaflets and inspecting them I had a hard time keeping my cool.

With my rage building at an exponential rate, I managed to hold myself together for almost thirty seconds before she then turned her attention to my more private and personal items, at which point I just snatched the whole thing back and stormed out the office. #121

Somewhat understandably, Milibeth looked a little embarrassed by my reaction, but while I have nothing against anyone doing a cursory check of my stuff to see that I was not attempting to smuggle anything; I do draw the line at allowing them to read sensitive and personal documents.

A Cartagena Cinema

Having failed to send my package home for the second time while in Colombia, Milibeth and I picked up a few snacks and then headed off back to my hotel.

To add to my slight discomfort, the city wide flooding had caused a pipe to burst which meant that the water in the hotel was temporarily disconnected.

After spending a few hours spent chatting we felt that it was time to try and do something different and so I suggested that we visit the nearby cinema for a movie.

I had thought that the idea was a good one, however for some reason the taxi drivers had other ideas as the first few empty taxi's that passed us failed to stop and the next couple refused to take us, mumbling something to Milibeth in Spanish that I didn't quite understand.

By the time that we were lucky enough to find a driver to take us we were delayed just enough to miss the start of the movie, a delay compounded by the fact that the ticket clerk had gone for a quick break once they played the coming-soon trailers.

The film we saw most of was the intrigue thriller 'Body of Lies' with Russell Crowe and Leonardo di Caprio, and while it the photography was fine it seemed to be one of those films that without a structured plot or ending, certainly not what I would expect of a thriller.

As the final credits rolled up I knew that Milibeth was in a hurry to get back home, so we took separate taxi's home with the agreement that she would pop over again to see me tomorrow and visit more of the city.

Switching on my laptop, the last thing to go wrong was that my Wi-Fi adapter decided to play up again, so not wanting to watch any more television for one day; I rewarded myself with an early night and was soon fast asleep.

Fifth day In Cartagena

As the morning sun woke me, I rechecked my Wi-Fi router and was relieved that it had started to work again, before getting dressed and having another go at finding my illusive restaurant cafe.

As I meandered around the neighbourhood I delighted in the fact that the sky above was a glorious blue, and with barely a cloud in the sky I had high hopes for the imminent sightseeing tour of the city with Milibeth.

Sadly my quarry continued to be an enigma as I failed to accurately retrace our steps for the second time, and so before I tired myself out I abandoned my quest and headed back to my hotel where I peacefully dozed until Milibeth's arrival.

Revisiting Cartagena City Centre

Once Milibeth arrived we spent a few minutes just planning out a brief itinerary before we left and started our tour.

It was Milibeth's idea that we skip a visit to the new sector of the city as it was nothing more than a modern centre for commerce and crammed full of sky scrapers, luxury hotels and residential villas for the rich and famous.

Instead we focused on the old town, which she assured me would be infinitely more interesting to a lover of historical architecture and relics as well as being within easy walking distance.

Having already visited the impressive Gold museum back in Bogotá I didn't feel that I could benefit from visiting the small local one here, and I was worried that a trip to the Emerald museum might turn out to be nothing more than a glorified shopping trip, but I could not pass up the opportunity to visit the Spanish Inquisition Palace.

With the Museum being at the other end of the old town we took a leisurely stroll through the town, stopped to get some ice-cream and also admire the many wonderful and bizarre looking bronze statues that could be found scattered throughout the city.

I had no idea why Cervantes was such a big hit over here as well as in Alcala de Henares, but there were statues of him and several of his famous characters on display, as well as bronzed ice-cream cycle which I mistakenly encouraged Milibeth to pose riding and earning both of us the mild wrath of a nearby security guard.

Palacio De La Inquisicion

Reaching the museum of the Spanish inquisition, which was a large converted townhouse, we were approached by a local who must have thought that I was a very green gringo as he tried to ask us to pay more for his service as a guide than the entrance fee was.

Dismissing him completely, we entered and after getting our tickets we began our own tour of the palace.

As well as the execution devices, such as the guillotine and a burly axe man, there were the usual mix of easily identifiable torture devices such as such as the rack, the neck braces, a tongue guard and a vice, as well as some that I could only describe as metal, sharp and no doubt extremely painful to their wearer.

Forming part of the main display I almost chuckled out loud as I saw a display labelled 'typical material and accompanying utensils of a witch', which consisted of nothing more sinister than two candles, some sea shells, a dried frog and a small stuffed bird.

Considering that Cartagena is a coastal town, none of these items seems particularly incriminating to me, and after ignoring the obvious stereotypical reference, was a revelation to me that only lent more strength to the argument that the Inquisitor's persecution of alleged witches was often founded more on personal than esoteric motives.

While the Inquisition palace dominated the entire ground floor and garden grounds, the first floor was home to the Cartagena Historical museum.

The museum was almost as interesting with its displays and record of the city, as it covered the rise and decline of the aboriginal Indians from 3500 B.C. through the arrival of the Spanish and up to the early 18th Century.

I already knew that Oro was Spanish for Gold, but I was amused to learn that the name Esmerelda actually meant Emerald and that the original Indian name for Cartagena was Kalamary due to being considered an excellent area to catch fish.

Sunset Dancing in Cartagena

As we left the museum the time had crept nearer to dusk and so with the weather staying dry Milibeth suggested that it might be a nice opportunity to watch the sun go down.

Making our way back to the fortified coastline we passed yet more bizarre statues and sat gazing out across the ocean as the sun hung low on the horizon.

Sadly before it fell the clouds returned and so although it remained dry, we lost our magnificent ruby skyline as the sun dipped below the ocean waves.

Crossing the Plaza de Bolivar, which I am fast beginning to think is probably the most frequently used name in all of the Americas; we spotted a group of locals practicing a strange dance that I had never seen before.

Milibeth claimed that the dance was unique to Cartagena and was a fusion of African and Caribbean styles.

That may be, but to an ignorant onlooker like myself who had studies neither source in any detail, it just looked as if the locals were going crazy or were having a contest to see how fast they could flex their limbs all set to a frantic drum beat.

I did try and catch a brief recording, but of course the sun had already set and so in the poor visibility it didn't come out very well.

Final Evening in Cartagena

When my thoughts turned to dinner Milibeth informed me that she had already made plans for us to meet her friend Silena, and as I had mentioned trying to get a Chinese meal they had arranged to pick a local Chinese restaurant just along from my hotel.

Before we made our way to the restaurant we had to pick up Silena, who was just finishing an important business meeting in a nearby hotel, and thankfully for me she was just as fluent in English as Milibeth and so we had no problem in exchanging pleasantries over our meal.

The food was not the best Chinese I had tried, but it was far from the worst, and as I was in the company of two attractive young ladies I could hardly have been happier.

In fact the only tiny point that cast a slight shadow over the evening was that this was my last night here, as I was due to fly out to Panama the following morning, and so it was also my last few hours with Milibeth.

However we chose not to dwell on this and after a warm round of Latin hugs and a promise to keep in touch they walked me back to my hotel and then caught a taxi to take them home.

Final Morning in Cartagena

I woke up this morning feeling refreshed and with several hours before my flight was due to leave I was hoping to finally meet Carmen, my other friend from Cartagena, who had contacted me a few days ago to let me know that she was free this morning.

In preparation for my flight to Panama I began to pack my rucksack and dig out my tour guide and itinerary when there was a knock at my door, and to my surprise there stood Milibeth who had changed her plans and headed over to my hotel early to help me pack and escort me to the airport.

Although of course I was happy to see Milibeth once again, I was unsure as to how the next few minutes would unfurl as I had not planned on introducing Milibeth to Carmen or vice versa.

Having already packed I just sat in the main reception area with Milibeth until Carmen arrived, and when she did I was again slightly thrown by the fact that she was not alone but was with her cousin, who I soon learned was called Jean.

I had never met Carmen before, and indeed we were relatively new pen pals as well, and although she was a fraction smaller than I had imagined, she was just as smiling as her photos had suggested and an even better figure.

Colombian Sociability

For a few moments I didn't quite know what to say, but determining not to let the moment build into an awkward atmosphere I introduced them to each other and thankfully they were all smiles towards each other.

As the four of us returned to the hostels lounge area near the reception the girls started to chat among themselves for a bit, and as far as coincidences went even I was shocked to learn that not only were they practically neighbours but that both their mothers were teachers working at the same campus.

Lounging on the hotels comfy red leather sofa's we chatted for a few minutes before I asked that Carmen and Jean allow me to take a quick picture with them for posterity.

Considering I had only just met them face to face I was unsure of how they would react to my suggestion, however together with Milibeth they all were very willing to pose standing and sitting by and with me, and I could not believe how sociable and friendly they all were being towards me and each other.

I have heard studies that the English are considered to be quite reserved when it comes to being tactile with their friends, and while I am not sure about this, through my experiences down the years as typified here, I would be willing to bet any amount that the Colombians are among the most tactile and sociable of people.

Last Breakfast in Cartagena

Once our little photo session was over I suggested that we all head on out and go out and have breakfast at the same restaurant I had struggled all week to find, to which they unanimously agreed.

However somewhat disappointingly, having spent so much time trying to relocate it I had hyped it up in my mind to such as extend that I should have realised that a return visit could never match up to my idealised memory, and sure enough it didn't.

Not that it was bad by any means as it still had a great vibe and service, it was just not the holy grail of restaurant cafes that I had made it out to be.

Sipping hot chocolate we made chatted and made plans to get me to the airport, and unlike in most cities where I had to rely on just my wits, here in Cartagena both Milibeth and Carmen insisted that they join me and see me safely through to my departure gate.

Checking Out Of Cartagena

Before we went to the airport we had to return to pick up my stuff and to check out and it was here that I got a treble shock when it came to settling the bill.

The first disappointment was that the hotel did not accept credit or debit cards, and so we had to nip back out to find an ATM machine.

The second disappointment was that not only had they not given me any deduction for the lack of water supply while they were fixing the pipes but they had actually charged me a standard rate higher than we discussed upon check in.

Of course, regrettably this hotel had been a last minute booking and so I had no print out confirmation to back up my claims.

Those two I could have easily overlooked, but I will never forgive nor forget the fact that they also charged me an extra premium for having Milibeth in my room, even though it was nothing to do with them and she never stayed in my room overnight.

Indeed the main reason why we spent any time in my room at all was to avoid the torrential rain. #122

Leaving Cartagena

Had I known it I might have been more than just mildly resigned to the fact that I was taking the weather with me, as when I arrived in Panama my own little thunder cloud was there to meet me and he had brought along a whole load of his friends.

As we made our way to the airport I could not help but crack a wry smile at the fact that for almost the first time since I landed, the sky was totally clear of clouds and the sun was burning warm and bright.

When we reached the airport I saw that the airport controllers had spruced up the arrivals hall with lots of inflatable festive decorations, including one of Rudolph helping to free a stuck Santa from a chimney.

Quite unplanned Milibeth bumped into some old friends who now worked in the airport, and so I had a few minutes with Carmen and Jean alone before it was time for them all to return to the city, sharing another taxi as they went.

It was both a treat and a pleasure to have met so many nice and friendly people in Cartagena, and although neither Carmen nor Milibeth are prolific writers, we have all managed to keep in touch and I am positive that if I ever have the chance to return that there would be at least four people who would welcome me back with open arms and beaming smiles.

Cartagena International Airport

Having amassed pockets full of change I decided that rather than spending it on pointless clutter I would convert all my remaining Colombian pesos into U.S. dollars and so went to a currency converter in the airport.

Unsurprisingly I didn't get a great rate of exchange, but it was still well over fifty bucks, and that was a lot better than a kick in the teeth as the saying goes.

As I stood in the queue to check in I knew exactly where I was meant to go, as this flight had been booked months in advance, and yet despite my forward planning the airport security took so long investigating the inner contents of my rucksack that I was unable to catch my flight.

Thankfully as this was entirely their fault from start to finish, as I had been there several hours before check in even opened, they were forced to check me on a slightly later, the only upside being that at least this later flight flew direct.

The final insult to round off a catalogue of airport mishaps was that upon exiting Cartagena I had to pay an airport tax which worked out to be exactly the same amount as what I had got from the foreign currency desk.

It was only the lack of a poorly disguised figure coming up to me and telling me to wave at a camera that dissuaded me from being positive that this was all some intricate prank.

Then and now I still I could not help but find the whole system's flight pattern confusing, as first to fly from Cali to Bogotá I had to fly via Panama city, but yet to fly from Cartagena to Panama City I was meant to change planes at Bogotá.

A Meeting of Minds

Following the change of flights and having the Spanish inquisition pick over my rucksack with a fine tooth comb, I was finally allowed to reach my departure gate and it was here that I spotted the friendly North American couple that I had been chatting to as we had all been waiting at the check in desk.

Having already experienced the initial ice-breaker I found it very easy and natural to approach them and within minutes we were chatting like old friends and swapping stories.

It turned out that Rick and Sheryl were from Colorado, but being the keen travellers that they were this was only one of the two or three holidays they liked to take each year.

Being members of the Travelling Centenary Club, they had both already visited more than one hundred countries, which is impressive no matter how you look at it, however as they were just a fraction older than I was they preferred to do it with a little more luxury and safety.

However this did not mean that they were completely safe from tourist scams or traps, and as evidence of this they told me that they had only just the other day managed to fend off a couple of would-be muggers who hid their activities under the disguise of the infamous bird poo scam.

Indeed apparently the would-be muggers had their shirts halfway up their chests before Rick and Sheryl managed to beat them off and continue on their way, dirtied but still in possession of all their valuables.

The way this particular scam works is that one of the double-act would hide in wait at a secret elevated position and then as a tourist or rich person walked by they would pour onto them a small amount of bird poo using a squeezy bottle.

Then their accomplice, who would have been waiting in the wings for the cue, would arrive moments later to help clean off the bird poo, using the distraction to frisk them and relieve them of their wallet and anything else they could get their hands on. #123

~~ **** ~~

Republic of Panama

Panama City (Capital City) - Arrived on 28th November 2008.

David City \- Arrived on 29th November 2008.

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in Panama City, Panama

Although when I had first come up with my route I had not included much time spent in Central America, during my meeting with a travel operator to see about the cost of round the world flights I happened to end up chatting to a guy whose most memorable and enjoyable backpacking tour had been as he travelled overland from Panama up through to Mexico.

Unfortunately the route restrictions and cost of the ticket put me off, but the clerk himself had made such a strong case for not missing out Central America that I immediately extended my route and sought out potential pen friends in the region.

This search brought me in touch with Ponty and Giovanni in Panama City as well as others in similar cities.

It was a bit of a shame that the airline had allocated specific seating as I would have liked to have sat with Rick and Sheryl for the flight, but at least because it was now a direct flight it only lasted a couple of hours and we were touching down almost before I knew it.

As our plane taxied we could see that the sky outside was almost pitch black which would have been bad enough without the pouring rain, but together they impressed upon me a very forbidding image.

Heading towards customs I met up again with Rick and Sheryl and I must have made a very good impression upon them as by the time we were stamped and processed they had graciously offered to let me ride with them in their chauffeured car, a decision possibly aided by the heavy downpour.

Although I would have liked to have found a room in the same hotel as them, I already knew by their choice of airport pickup that I was unlikely to be able to afford it without taking a huge bite out of my budget, though with them only staying a single night here in Panama City perhaps this was not such a bad thing.

Having been to Panama before, Rick and Sheryl were able to point out several places that I should really visit if I found the time, and once they had been safely dropped off at their hotel they even got their driver to take me the rest of the way to my hostel before clocking off for the night.

One of the most surprising random encounters that occurred to me on my travels was this chance meeting between Rick, Sheryl and I.

Although I barely knew them, we instantly established a rapport that has grown steadily stronger over time.

Within a few years we had all become firm friends, having exchanged scores of emails and Sheryl eventually became my most regular and frequent overseas correspondent.

My First Panamanian Hostel

I am not sure what the chauffeur thought about my hostel, but I was not overly impressed and despite it being in a fairly centrally located in the old town centre, it was not the most clean or well-lit of areas.

Although I had originally booked the flight during my initial preparations, during my schedule reshuffle a few weeks ago I changed the day to enable me to leave a day earlier and thus spend more time in Panama.

However, despite my sending the hostel a couple of emails to confirm and reconfirm my change of dates in the run up to leaving Cartagena, they had either not received or not read them as when I tried to check in at reception I found out that no provision was made for my early arrival and as they were fully booked I was unable to stay.

Face to face with the night receptionist, a middle aged local who was slightly balding, I pleaded that all I needed was a dry corner to crash until the morning but to no avail.

With the rain coming down hard and heavy outside, I loitered in the reception area until the night receptionist got the hint that I was in no hurry to head back out into the rain without either a plan or a destination.

Using his little book of contacts he rung around to check if there were any free beds in any other hostels in the area, and once he found one he then organised for a taxi to collect me and take me to the other hostel. #124

My Second Panamanian Hostel

The second hostel was in district slightly closer to central downtown, but from the outside and in the dark it looked to be in an even more drab and dingy neighbourhood than where I had just left.

The place was cheap and it was a definite relief to have a dry roof over my head, but those were the main selling points to a hostel that I would not normally have otherwise looked at twice when researching for a place to stay.

Having checked in and paid for a night upfront, I was led up a merry route as the layout was quite bizarre and I ended up being on the upper level of a simple open planned house.

I guess I should have felt lucky to have found a space at all, as even here the rest of the beds were taken, but four fold up camp beds in a row, separated from the television room by a set of French doors that did not lock, just did not inspire comfort or security in me.

First Night in Panama City

With no lockers to store my rucksack I was forced to dump it either under the bed or sit it beside me on it, and not feeling very sure of myself I chose to split it and kept my valuables on me while my clothes and paperwork went underneath.

Feeling a bit antisocial for a change, I chose to largely ignore the other guests and instead I just watched a movie on my laptop as I sat waiting to hear from either Ponty or Giovanni, sadly neither of them were online or had sent me a message.

Once my film finished I closed up my laptop just in time to hear the other guests discuss their views on aliens and conspiracies, with theories so outlandish that I didn't feel I could possible comment on without sounding like a complete cynic.

One theory that they all seemed to be very enthusiastic about was that in December 2012 when the solar system is in perfect alignment then the entire world will shift into an alternate dimension, one where we will all find and embrace a higher state of consciousness.

In an effort to drown out both their fantasies and the rattle of raindrops of roof tiles, I put in my ear plugs and clutching my valuables as tightly as possible I laid down to sleep fully clothed, hoping that I would wake up the following morning still in possession of all my belongings.

New Morning in Panama City

With hindsight I needn't have bothered to have dried my clothes as less than an hour later I was again totally drenched from head to foot, as were all my other clothes and indeed everything else that I had not taken the time to wrap up or cover with plastic bags.

Waking up later than planned, I was eternally grateful that when I checked all my stuff it was right where I had left them, including my still damp socks which I had slung over the foot of my bed the previous night in an effort to partially dry them.

Slightly less fortunate for me was that the rain was still pouring down thick and fast, just as it had been all night long.

Feeling slightly more sociable I chatted to my other roommates and the resultant conversations gave me a lot of food for thought concerning my chosen route and 'modis operandi' when it came to travelling.

Taking the Weather with Me

Although much of the reason why I had been rained on was that I had chosen a bad time of year and was circumnavigating in the opposite direction to conventional thinking, it appears that it is not entirely my fault.

Bad luck also plays a factor as time and again I had reached a city and been told either, "yes this is unseasonally heavy rain" or "you will never believe this but until today we had have nothing but blue sky and sun for days."

For this reason more any other, at this point I really did begin to think that I was taking the weather with me.

I also began to see some of the appeal with all inclusive and organised package tours, as although they are more expensive, you are guaranteed that you will have a guide who knows all the best places to visit, how to get there and where to avoid. Well, at least in theory anyway.

Expensive Bank Problems

Checking my emails there were still no messages from my local friends, so as I was due to check out and return to the first hostel in a few minutes I used up my remaining time there phoning home to try and sort out why I was having difficulties using my main debit and credit cards.

Having to phone home from a mobile to a premium telephone number overseas was no cheap decision, but I could not understand why my cards had recently been declined and I was certainly wasn't carrying an entire years worth of cash with me.

After a few minutes I finally got through to a guy from my bank I explained my current situation.

In reply I was told that the reason I could not use my debit card was that I had used up my initial savings and overdraft, and as I had not called them ahead of time the use of a credit card in a new country set in motion an automatic security setting which froze my account to prevent fraudulent card activity.

This was not good news as I had expected the first tranche of my savings to have lasted me until at least Christmas, so I then realised that I had somehow overspent in the first three months.

Slightly more frustrating was that the guy confirmed that as far as my credit card was concerned, the automatic security could not be switched off and so as I was travelling from country to country it could be triggered almost every time I attempt to use my card.

I then got him to confirm that the transfer of my remaining savings to my current account was to take place soon, which he did, and then somehow he got me discussing global travel which would have been fine had I not been paying for the privilege.

Panamanian Taxi Peril

With my bank worries now resolved, I checked out and asked the hostel owner to arrange a taxi for me to go back to the other hotel.

The hostel owner did not speak any English, but I knew enough Spanish to ask for a private taxi, which normally would be enough however the car that arrived looked nothing like a taxi and was driven by two very dodgy looking locals.

Regrettably my Spanish was not good enough to explain that I was never going to get into the back of a bashed up car driven by two grim gangster looking thugs, so I just shook my head, forged out into the torrential rain and became soaked to the bone before I reached the end of the road.

Being in a rough part of town meant that there was no frequently passing taxis and so I made a zigzag towards what I hoped was a main road, and as I meandered I finally caught a break of sorts.

A Kind Hearted Security Guard

Along one of the off roads to the main highway into the city centre I was spotted by a security guard from his hut, who must have seen me looking like a drowned rat and decided to take pity upon me.

He waved me over and although he didn't speak any English, I knew enough broken Spanish to explain that I needed a taxi, and with this a strange look came across his face and he suddenly got all excited.

The first thing he did was invite me into his little roadside shack, which was a relief to get out of the rain, and although there were no comfy chairs there was a small wooden bench affixed to the rear of his shack and a worn out radio playing from the corner of his desk.

The second thing he did was do up his jacket and then went out into the road to try and flag down a passing taxi for me, which considering the rain had not eased up a fraction was a remarkably kind deed.

At first his effort was fruitless, though he kept popping back to keep me informed, and I almost thought that he had the idea that if he spoke Spanish fast enough and often enough that I might pick up the language right then and there.

Then, after about an hour his persistence and determination won through and he was able to get me a taxi.

The fact that he had stood out there for an hour in the horrible weather all for me was enough for me to consider trying to tip him, but this he refused and just broke a huge smile as if I was his good deed for the day.

Leaving Panama City

By this the security guard managed to flag me down a taxi I had had ample time to review my options.

In light of the fact that neither Giovanni nor Ponty had attempted to contact me, coupled with the fact that the sky looked as if it could continue raining down like this for weeks, I decided to forego relocating to the other hostel and instead head on across to my next destination David City and hoped that by travelling West that I would escape the drab weather.

My Taxi driver, a chirpy rotund local, did not speak and English but that did not prevent him from trying to engage me in conversation, and either by luck or divine intervention he grasped the gist that perhaps I wanted to go to David City and not the other hostel.

Once the taxi driver realised my change in destination he mentioned something about the terrible flooding on the roads, but offered to take me on a long route that avoided the worst areas and drop me off at a bus station where I could get a direct bus to David City.

Thinking that perhaps my luck was in, I agreed in principle to his plan and asked how much the fare would be to this other drop off point, but when he told me how much I was so shaken that I broke out into laughter.

I did not mean to be facetious, but it was so way over the top that I could not help myself and a chortle sort of slipped out.

Rather than be offended however, he went silent for a moment and then experiencing his own eureka moment, he clicked his fingers and said that if I didn't mind a slow stopping service that there was a place right around the corner that he could drop me off for a much more reasonable price.

I didn't mind at all and so he dropped me off at the bus stop, and with a happy wave he drove away.

Considering how little Spanish I actually I knew, it was remarkable how much I could communicate with people who really made an effort to try to understand me, which once again stresses the point that trying to learn a bit of the local lingo is a very good idea.

Multiple Bus Stops to David City

At the bus stop I had to ask for directions from the locals who were queued up for the bus and as I stepped onboard I crossed my fingers and hoped that it was the right one.

Being a small local bus the company devised an ingenious method of working out the fare, which was to give out a different coloured poker chip depending on where you were heading, which you returned as you alighted and paid a fixed price according to the colour of the chip.

Not only was it incredibly simple and litter free, but it also meant that I got to play around with a poker chip while I was travelling.

The lady who I had asked directions off was sitting in front of me and mercifully she was getting out at a later stop than me, so as we pulled up to the stop I needed she nudged me and urged that I get off immediately.

Following a similar routine I boarded a second bus that took me even closer to my objection and so it wasn't until I was on my third bus of the morning that I could breathe a sigh of relief as I sat down on a intercity bus bound for David City.

Being a mainline intercity bus, things were a more routine and modern onboard and I had plenty of time to relax in the comfy reclining seats while enjoying the air conditioning and onboard movies.

That isn't to say that the journey past quickly, as it was a seven hour journey complete with half hour pit stop midway en route, but the ride was smooth enough and I got a chance to change into some dry socks before we arrived.

I was very glad that I chose to skip through Panama City as not only did it give me a few more days to play with, but Giovanni never again got in touch with me and as far as Ponty was concerned it was over a week before she sent me a semi-apologetic message and wanted to know if I was still around to meet up with her.

With the amount of advanced notice I had given her I felt that she was neither sorry enough nor reliable enough to maintain a friendship with and so shortly afterwards I allowed us to drift apart.

~~ **** ~~

Arriving in David City, Panama

In had chosen to visit David City as it was the closest large city on this side of the border of Costa Rica, and was also home to two recent additions to my International friends list, namely Yoselina and Soli.

Passing through the countryside I noticed that along the route there seemed to be plenty of decent sized residential homes yet what caught my attention was that they were almost all what I could consider bungalows.

As I had hoped, upon leaving Panama City I had also managed to leave the days rain behind me, but witnessing the amount of ground water and flood damage from past days rain all around me, I could tell that this was only a temporary reprieve.

Unlike many hostels, the hostel here in David City's website and confirmation email was very helpful and informative, giving clear and simple instructions on how to reach the hostel from both the nearby bus station and airport.

Although there was directions for how to reach the hostel by bus and on foot, I decided that I had had enough of bus travel for one day and so hopped in a taxi that took me to the hostel.

A Very Purple Hostel in David City

The hostel here was purple in both name and colour, and I don't mean in any little way.

As I had already guessed, the walls of the hostel were purple but in addition to this the owner Andrea, a friendly lady from New York, had begun to collect general household items in purple and over the years this had almost turned into an obsession as everything from the table, chairs, bed sheets, plates and cutlery to even her clothes were all in one shade of purple or another.

In fact the first thing that I noticed that wasn't purple was the rather ironic white sigh that read "Anything purple is mine, and anything that isn't can be dyed or painted".

I could tell that the owner was a lover of travel herself as instead of just the usual fliers from neighbouring hostels in the surrounding cities, she had compiled entire folders for all the countries in the entire Caribbean and Central America's, complete with places to stay, where to visit, things to do and general tips and advice for foreign tourists.

Looking back, as it was too wet to do much actual sightseeing in David City this hostel would have been the perfect place to spend a day filling in the holes on my very spotty research of my journey through Central America.

However, at the time I completely failed to properly take in that I had stuck the mother lode in terms of travel information and instead wasted my time chilling out.

An Evening in David City

Spotting that the hostel was right around the corner from a McDonalds, after I checked in and dumped my rucksack, I nipped out and grabbed myself a meal, happy that I was once again able to indulge in one of my little travel rituals.

I was quite impressed with the variety of meals on offer and in the end I bagged myself a delicious McNifica chef special burger and fries, with apple crumble and ice-cream for afters, and then headed back to the hostel.

Back at the hostel the place was full of travellers from all over the place and with the weather being grey and miserable outside everyone was inside and swapping stories.

It probably started off with one of Andrea's stories, as she seemed to be an effervescent font of travel knowledge and before becoming a hostel owner had also been an active member of the Peace Corps as well as having visited over twenty countries across the globe.

Then there was the Suisse contingent who had recently been stuck and then rescued halfway up a mountain, a pair of surfers from California who were in the process of selling their car which they had drove all the way here from the states, to finally the solo Dutch lady who had just come back from the Galapagos Islands and was regaling them all with what it was like to see sea-lions and sea-turtles come right up to you on the beach.

While we chatted there was also a movie playing in the background but nobody seemed to be interesting in watching it and it was on more for background noise than anything else.

As evening gave way to night time the talk turned to how best to amuse ourselves, with the vote split down the middle with staying in and watching more movies, or taking a stroll down to where the locals were hosting a charity music concert to raise funds for the victims of the recent flood damage, both here and throughout the region.

Samy and Sandra Relief Concert

Headlining the concert were the local Panamanian pop sensations, 'Samy and Sandra' who Andrea informed us were considered one of the top three greatest local groups and well worth going to see as much for the experience as for the music.

I would have been happy with either, but if for no other reason than not letting the girls go off at night unaccompanied I chose to go and so hoping that the sky would stay dry long enough to get there and back we struck out.

The route to the concert venue involved a lot of walking over muddy roads, so I was glad that the type of woman that is prepared to stay in a mixed hostel is also not the type to be overly fussed with a little dirt.

When we arrived we found that the place was already very full up and although there was a decent priced entrance fee, we knew all the proceeds were going to charity and that once in all the drinks were very cheap so it wasn't a problem.

What was a problem however, was that although there appeared to be plenty of empty tables towards the rear of the venue, every time we approached one and tried to sit down a local would leave the throng of revellers by the stage and turf, only to then return to the dancing crowd after they had moved us on.

It was very frustrating and irksome to see that although they weren't using them they didn't want us to use them either, so we were forced to stand by ourselves near the bar. This was the last place I wanted to be, as close to the bar meant lots of jostling and also lots of drunken men, and considering that we were all pale skin we more than stood out from the crowd.

Two guys in particular would not leave us alone, one a middle aged guy who had a scruffy moustache and tried to be hip by wearing his faded blue baseball cap backwards, and the other a massive guy wearing a Hawaiian shirt and trying to convince us that he was a famous chef and owned his own luxury yacht.

Not knowing if the girls were enjoying the attention of not I at gave them the benefit of the doubt, but once it became clear that the girls were not interested and indeed were becoming increasingly bothered by it I stepped in and told the pair of them to try their luck elsewhere.

By the midsession interval I had had enough and was ready to go, as were the others, so when a local security guard came up to us to check that we were ok and warned against the dangers of a group of mainly girls surrounded by drunk local men, I took it to be the ideal opportunity to escort them back to the hostel.

The walk back to the hostel was refreshing, from the humidity of the day, and as it was a clear night we all had hopes that the morning would be dry so that we could all do some decent sightseeing in the morning.

There was even talk of some of us going white water rafting if they were still operating at this time of year.

Sadly and disappointingly, according to the email that she sent me two days later my friend Soli had also been at the concert and had even spotted me as I was the only tall Caucasian guy in the place, yet because I was with a group of girls she chose not to approach me.

I never quite understood this logic but in the fullness of time it resulted in her squandered her only chance to meet me, as with neither her nor Yoselina getting in touch at the time, I felt there was nothing worthy staying for and so left early and crossed the border into Costa Rica. #125

First Morning In David City

I awoke to a sound that I had been desperately hoping I would not hear for several days, the repetitive patter of raindrops against the window panes and roof tiles.

It was a sound that meant it was unlike I was going to be able to do much sightseeing today and it definitely killed off any chance of white water rafting.

It was also a sound that after awhile would undoubtedly give me a blinding headache. Much like myself, most of the other guests who were here yesterday were stuck in two minds as to call the day a dead loss and chill with each other in the television room, or make plans as to leave for pastures newer and hopefully drier.

It didn't help anyone's cause that today was a Sunday or that tomorrow was a national holiday, which meant that a lot of the places that we might have taken a trip to while away an hour or two would be closed.

Daredevil Cyclists in David City

Throughout the day the rain never seemed to relent, though it did in patches seem to lighten up considerably, and it was during one of these lighter patches that I felt like making a dash to the local chemist to get some aspirin.

Already realising that whatever I wore would soon end up saturated, in order to save another set of dry clothes I slipped back into my still damp clothes before venturing out into the rain.

As I reached the main road I could see that many of the roads were so severely flooded that the army had been called in to help coordinate emergency repair works as well as preventing traffic bottlenecking through the worse affected areas.

Considering the conditions I was not surprised that the roads and pavements were relatively empty, as I doubted that anyone who didn't have an absolute need to travel would be tucked up at home safe and dry.

So the last thing I expected to see as I made the slow slog back to the hostel was for two dozen racing cyclists to come whizzing past me at breakneck speeds, and they call us British crazy!

Last Evening in David City

With no contact from either Yoselina or Soli I decided that whatever the conditions were in Costa Rica they couldn't be any worse than here, and as I would have to make the journey anyway I may as well spend tomorrows national holiday taking it.

It also meant that I would not be travelling alone as one of the ladies from the concert, Marje who was from the Netherlands, also had plans to cross into Costa Rica, as did the hostels new arrival Kristina who was still getting over the shock of having her suitcase stolen by a taxi driver. #126

Once our plans were made we spent a few hours chatting and watching movies, but as Andrea had been forced into keeping a window open due to the humidity, my headache had returned and I felt that the only way I could complete get rid of it was to have an early night.

Final Morning in David City

Planning to catch the morning coach to San Jose with Kristina and Marje, I woke early and was glad that I had semi packed the previous night.

As it was a national holiday Andrea the hostel owner treated herself to a lie in, and so having not already done so yesterday, I had missed my chance to pick up a postcard or a map of the city for my tour guide assortment I was steadily amassing.

The girls had woken even earlier than I had and were waiting for me in the hostel lounge, and so making a final quick check that we hadn't left anything behind we called a taxi to take us to the airport.

With Kristina's taxi horror story still fresh in all our minds, we were just a little paranoid of getting into another one and as the driver was distracted with them I took a photo of the vehicles number plate.

Leaving David City, Panama

We arrived at the bus terminal and as we were looking for where we could buy a ticket a local wearing an official looking shirt came over to deal with us.

First he took our bags and threw them in the bus's luggage rack and then after charging us a price he just walked off, having given us nothing for our bags or boarding tickets.

I am not sure if this was normal, but considering how paranoid we all were at that moment, his verbal assurance that 'we would get them at the border' was not nearly good enough for us and we caught up with him and hung around until he got the hint and fished out some tickets for us.

Somewhat pacified by this we boarded the bus, with Kristina and Marje sitting together and I close by on the other side of the bus.

Having been allocated an aisle seat I tried to move to give myself a window seat, but a stern looking old lady boarded soon after and informed me that I was in her place and chucked me out.

Feeling a little like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar I returned to my original seat which was next to a very attractive young lady.

~~ **** ~~

Republic of Costa Rica

San Jose (Capital City) - Arrived on 1st December 2008.

La Fortuna \- Arrived on 3rd December 2008.

~~ **** ~~

Border Crossing Into Costa Rica

David City is only a few miles East of Costa Rica and so barely an hour into our journey we had reached the border checkpoint and all had to pile out to be processed by the customs officers.

The customs process at the border was unlike anything I had quite expected as the whole area was like a miniature town instead of a small checkpoint and both customs offices were located at either ends of what appeared to be a huge car park for trucks.

Once we had arrived at the checkpoint, the coach driver simply pulled over to one side and opened the doors to let us out without a word of direction or instruction as to what to do next, so it was luckily that the locals all seemed to know where to go as it was only by following the crowd that we even found where the customs office was located.

In a small hut we got our passports stamped before going through to a slightly bigger open sided waiting area where we waited to have our bags inspected.

I bet the guard who opening my rucksack soon regretted it, for as I was not expecting the Spanish Inquisition I had not attempted to packed my rucksack too neatly and as it was full to bursting point anyway the moment he pulled on its drawstring my damp sweaty trainers immediately launched themselves at him.

Once processed we then followed the crowd to the other end and went through it all again, getting another stamp in my passport and being left to another manual luggage inspection point.

However, news of my pungent trainers must have spread fast as while most travellers with suitcases were subjected to a fairly intense scrutiny, my rucksack and I were waved through almost instantly with barely a light prodding from the inspectors.

As Kristina rushed off ahead to quickly change some currency, Marje and I collected up our stuff and headed on over to where we were due to rejoin the bus.

A Journey Shared Through Costa Rica

Back on the bus we still had almost seven hours to go and so despite the lady next to me having a book to read I felt that perhaps she might enjoy a conversation.

Lady luck was shining on my brightly for a chance, as the young lady spoke excellent English and after introducing herself as Vivian seemed happy to put her book down and talk to me for awhile.

It transpired that Vivian was a native Panamanian however she had friends and family also in San Jose and so she would regularly make the mammoth trek from one country to the other in order to see everyone.

After about three hours into the journey our coach pulled into a very well organised and modern dining hall where we could all get out to stretch our legs and have a bite to eat.

Considering the coach was travelling at quite a speed I had been unable to take any decent photos of the landscape, so after grabbing a quick plate of curry I dashed off to take some photos of the dense green jungle that surrounded us on both sides.

Arrival in San Jose, Costa Rica

Rejoining the bus I noticed that the road was climbing steadily higher into the hills, and as we climbed the temperature fell away rapidly so that by the time I could San Jose I had already climbed into my jumper and jacket.

Continuing my chat with Vivian I found her to be a pure delight and so could not resist asking her to sign my travel book and request that we keep in contact, which again she seemed most happy to agree to.

As we approached the outskirts of San Jose a light fog descended upon us, further chilling the air and also obscuring the rolling green mountains that were all around us.

Taxi Polava in San Jose

Arriving in San Jose we all jumped out and collected our luggage before we all went our separate ways.

Vivian took a local bus, Kristina took a taxi to meet up with a friend who was also in the area; while I hung back with Marje and planned on taking the next taxi to come along to my scheduled hostel.

With Kristina's taxi experience still playing on my mind I was still a little more paranoid than normal and so having caught a bad vibe from the driver of the next taxi to pull up I decided to subtly take a snap of his licence plate.

Sadly, although he didn't spot my camera he was alerted to something going on by the automatic flash and turning nasty for no real reason he threw our bags back out of his car and drove away.

Thankfully Marje had also felt that there was something odd about the driver before I had taken the photo so she seemed only a tiny bit upset that I had managed to lose our taxi. #127

Having learned my lesson the hard way, I merely memorised the vehicle registration number of the next taxi that arrived as we sped towards the hostel I had booked online many months earlier.

Since saying goodbye to Vivian at the bus stop we have kept in touch and I have promised that if I ever got a chance to go back to Panama during the summer, that I would meet up with her so that she could show me around a little and see the many wonderful sights that I missed out on because of the torrential rain.

My San Jose Hostel

As Marje's boyfriend would be joining her in a few days, she and I were after slightly different facilities in a hostel, but we both agreed that this place would do for now.

The place was one of the largest hostels I have ever stayed in, with a huge main building plus a couple of additional blocks beyond its almost jungle design garden and swimming pool area.

With a separate computer lounge, television lounge, tour desk and laundry room it seemed to have everything that a traveller would need, though what it really needed was a map of the complex showing where all the rooms were.

Not having exchanged any money as yet, Marje and I caused a bit of fuss by wanting to pay in a mix of different currencies, as well as the fact that Marje did not have a reservation, however the receptionist handled it well and put us both into the same mixed four bed dorm room.

Thirteen, Unlucky For Some

Ominously we were booked into room number thirteen, at least according to the number of our key rings, however after an exhaustive search of the complex we failed to find any room numbered thirteen.

As Marje headed off back to reception to try and find someone to ask, I began randomly attempting to open doors in the teen's lock and though trial and error found that our key actually fitted door number fourteen, which was half occupied.

Finally able to unpack our stuff, Marje and I sat down to evaluate the hostel and decide what she wanted to do in the morning, and just as we had made up our minds to stay there was a knock at the door from the receptionist who told us that we would have to move to another room, one that would be free for our entire stay.

This was pretty much the last straw as far as Marje was concerned and as we unpacked for the second time she told me that she did not plan on staying here with her boyfriend and that in the morning was going to take a walk to find an alternative hostel for when her boyfriend arrived.

First Night in San Jose

After a visit to the computer room, we both felt that it was time to get something to eat and so we left the hostel and went to get something to eat.

Of course, as it was a national holiday, all the restaurants within walking distance seemed to be closed and so without wanting to do too much walking we gave up and returned to see what the hostel's own restaurant was like.

The restaurant was located in one of the hotels satellite buildings, and seemed to be a combined dining hall, cafe and movie theatre, complete with a large projection unit on the far wall.

On the menu were a fairly common variety of both local and international dished so I chose a reasonably priced plate of spaghetti and a drink while I sat and watched the end of the movie that was playing.

Marje was less interested in the film and so after her meal she headed back to the room to read her book and make plans for tomorrow morning.

I followed soon after as the film was more than half over when we had arrived, and with little else to do I too did a little reading before I turned in for the night.

First Dawn in San Jose

I woke up to a sound now all too familiar to me, and as I did so I mildly wondered what had taken my personal little rain cloud so long to find me.

In the morning Marje was up early and was in no mood to hang around just because of the rain. The previous night she had researched a few alternative hostels and as her route was through the city I felt that I would tag along and see the city as well as keep her company.

Thankfully it was only light rain that was descending on us, so although we were wet through by the time that we arrived at Marje's it was a tolerably dampness.

Marje's alternative hostel was a fraction cheaper and seemed to be more lively and vibrant in appearance.

However it was also booked out solidly for the next few days which was precisely why I preferred to book my hostels in advance as the walk was up and down hills and a fair distance away from the centre of town.

Had I been attempting that with a loaded rucksack I do not think I would have managed to visit more than a couple of alternatives before I would have wanted to give up and check into the first hotel that I came across, much like I did in Prague.

Breakfast in San Jose

What was good news for Marje and her boyfriend is that they were not booked up in a couple of week's time, which was when her boyfriend was arriving to meet her.

So she provisionally booked it up and then after saying that our present hostel isn't so bad after all suggested we go get breakfast somewhere nearby, a sentence that was music to my ears.

For breakfast we just stopped off at a little place around the corner that served a tasty plate of omelette and rice for a reasonable price as we made our plans for the rest of the day.

Marje's next plan was to continue hotel hunting, just in case she found an even better place to stay for her and her partner, but having seen the alternatives I was happy to say where I was so suggested that we split up and maybe meet back up at the hotel later on.

So as Marje went to try and get some cash, I made my weary way back to my hostel in order to collect my camera which I had foolishly left behind in our room.

Downtown San Jose

As I passed through the city centre I stopped off at an internet cafe briefly to send a quick email to Kristina letting her know which hostel Marje and I were staying in, in case she wanted to meet up at any stage over the next few days.

Once equipped with my camera I set out again, happy that the rain had ceased at least for the time being, and went in search for things to photograph.

Surrounded by a distant range of green hills and mountains, San Jose seemed to be quite a mix of old and new with sky scrapers sharing the horizon with old colonial buildings, a style of metropolis that I now felt could equally describe most large cities in the Americas.

What I also found fascinating is that it had plenty of statues and picturesque monuments just seemingly scattered throughout the city, as well as a deep scarlet building which called itself an Irish bar that apart from the faded pint of Guinness painted on the side looked anything but.

Near the city centre there was a peace garden that had many statues and plaques commemorating the founding of the firm ties between Costa Rica and its neighbour Panama in the early nineteen-forties.

The actual city centre was even more striking, boasting even more bizarre statues and also many buildings and structures that were painted bright colours as if they were a part of an animated film cell.

Just around the corner from the hostel was the National Museum, a huge fortress like building painted a eye catching yellow mustard colour. With time to spare I tried to get close, but I was foiled by the fact that it was currently closed due to the large amount of step and parking bay restoration work that it was undergoing.

What was open thankfully, was a lovely sheltered avenue of market stalls located at the foot of the museum, selling everything sort of bric-a-brac imaginable.

Second Night in San Jose

Having taken dozens and dozens of photos I felt that San Jose had a surprising amount of things to look at, though I do have to say that its actually activities seemed a little limited.

Just before it got dark Marje found me in my room pre-packing for another early morning start, and as neither of us had eaten since this morning she suggested that we take another stroll to find a restaurant that was open.

What had seemed like a good idea at the time slowly unravelled at it transpired that Marje was quite particular on where and what she would eat, and after trying a handful of places we still had yet to actually enter an establishment she found acceptable.

In the end the darkness settled the matter, as Marje began to get a little nervous about travelling the city late at night, and so we headed back and had another evening meal at our hostels in-house restaurant.

Following my previous nights surprisingly good spaghetti, this time I chose a nice bowl of Asian Green Soup, which was definitely green but just nothing like a Thai Green Curry which is what I had ordered.

After our meal Marje returned to her room to continue reading, while I stuck around to watch the late movie before I too left and headed back to our room, but as I left the diner I spotted another familiar face and was happy to realise that Kristina had received my message and had come over to join us.

As I made my way to talk to Kristina, I found that she had been quick to make friends with her new dorm mates and at that moment was deeply engrossed in a political debate with a few guys who were drinking in the covered barbeque table section of the garden.

I was able to edging into the conversation for awhile, but it was clear that one of the guys, a politically motive U.S. citizen who was trying to trace his roots back to his Italian Grandfather in order to legally move back to Italy and become a chef, was very keen on her and clearly didn't appreciate the arrival of anyone he viewed as competition for her attention.

In the end I thanked her, wished her well and having already swapped details I made my way back to my dorm for another early night's sleep.

A Second Moment of Doubt

As I lay in my room trying to sleep, I could still hear the rumble of thunder clouds outside and I began to doubt myself, and was seriously considering skipping the rest of the America's and flying direct from Mexico to Australia.

It was not the afraid and confused sort of doubt that I suffered back in Brazil; it was more a doubt born of angry and frustration.

Knowing that I had spend years researching and coordinating friends, hotels, hostels, flights and an overall route around the world I could not believe that all my hard work was being quickly unravelled by something as simple as rain.

When my friends and family first learned that I was seriously going to attempt to travel around the world they all took pains to point out the hazards of language barriers, corrupt officials, drug cartels, identity theft, strange diseases, loneliness and homesickness, but the one thing that nobody thought would be a issue was a weather pattern as synonymously British as fish and chips.

As it turns out this is not an unprecedented phenomenon in my family, as after eight years living in the Lake District my eldest sister chose to give up her dream house for exactly the same reason.

Thus it would seem that when living under a depressing cloud of their own making, there is only so much a person will take before they snap and are prepared to do anything to escape their misery.

Having already visited the U.S., New Zealand and travelled round several Asian countries I no longer was afraid that I had bitten off more than I could chew, but as recently all I was able to do was sit indoors and escape the rain I began to wonder if it was worth the all the sacrifices I had made in order to do so.

In a way my feelings were a distorted echo of what the late great comedian Bill Hicks said about cannabis, being "They say that rain prevents global travel. Lie. When it's raining you can still visit everywhere that you normally can, you just realise that it's not worth the sodden effort."

Pre Dawn Departure from San Jose

From the recent time spent in the purple hostel in David City, I had learned that Costa Rica was home to one of the world's largest active volcanoes called Arenal, at a place called La Fortuna, which was half way between here and the border with Nicaragua.

Having already seen as plenty of San Jose I felt that it would benefit more by experiencing this amazing geographical phenomenon than I would by staying here for another few days.

Being much less impressed with the architecture and statues of San Jose than I had been, Marje had also had enough of the city and had decided to also head out early and spend a week on a beach to the south in the hope of avoiding the rain.

As her bus for the south departed even earlier than mine did, Marje was up and already packing before my alarm woke me, so we were able to have a final quick chat and say our goodbyes before she cleared out and left the hostel.

Having already said my goodbyes to Kristina, I too packed the last few bits of my stuff and went to check out.

At the reception I asked them to call me a taxi, which they did, adding that it would really help them out if I would allow a fellow passenger travel with me and get dropped off halfway to the bus terminal.

The other passenger was a local who worked at the hostel opposite the one I was staying in, but as it was being arranged by my hostel I felt it reasonably safe to allow him to ride along with me.

Leaving San Jose

It was only a short taxi ride to bus terminal, though not being the main terminal in the city it seemed little more than a tall petrol station from where I was standing.

Having made good time I was at the ticket booth before it opened, as were a number of other travellers, so I just joined the queue and ended up chatting to a family from the United States of America.

With the sun creeping out from behind the clouds and a chance to speak some real English for a few hours; I began to think that today was going to be a very good day. Rather unfortunately this was not to be the case.

Bus Journey to La Fortuna

By the time the ticket clerk arrived and we were finally on the move the clouds had once again hid the sun and with the clouds came the rain once more.

The intensity of the rain was such that our driver was forced to slow down lest he start to aquaplane the bus, and as we turned a corner we found that this was a precaution that not all drivers shared, much to their misfortune as a car had slipped and slid into a mudslide that had spilled out onto the road.

With the arrival of the police, ambulance and insurance agents necessary before they would clear the road enough for us to pass, our bus was delayed by at least a couple of hours.

Despite being in the safety of the bus this caused me a great discomfort as not only am I hardly the best person for taking lengthy delays well but I was also in desperate need of visiting a rest room.

Opportunist Thief in Costa Rica

Indeed the delay was so long that the bus driver decided that he did no longer had enough time to take us all the way to La Fortuna, so refunding us half our money he pulled over at the next bus terminal we came to and dumped all us passengers.

He then changed his sign board and sped off into the gloom, leaving us on the platform unaware of exactly what was going on, or how long we would have to wait for the next bus to La Fortuna.

As we all waited at the bus terminal, I chose to make a quick dash to the public rest room and then pick up a few more supplies for the onward journey.

Returning to queue I found that a fairly rowdy crowd of travellers were passing by and mindful of my belongings I hugged my rucksack close, especially when they started jostling past us.

As soon as they had gone I managed to find the American family and was upset and alarmed to learn that within the last few minutes a pickpocket had lifted her purse from her open bag that was by her feet.

She had not thought to close it as there was nothing of any real monetary value inside, just her student ID and a maxed out credit card, however of course a thief would not know that until after they had removed it, and they would be unlikely to return it just because it was almost empty!

Together with the delay, this latest misfortune was a real blow to them and as we spent the next few minutes looking on the ground they said that they would never be coming back to Honduras again.

If only they had known and routinely carried out as many safety procedures as I did, this might not have happened!

Once a replacement bus arrived we all climbed onboard, however this bus was more a local stopping service so not only did I have to sit with the rucksack on my lap but every time we stopped to let someone on or off, which we did frequently, I had to get out and stand by the doors to make way.

Arriving at La Fortuna, Costa Rica

As our bus inched towards the small tourist town of La Fortuna, its progress was matched by the clouds overhead and by the time we finally reached our destination there was already a thick veil of fog that had enshrouded the entire town, completely obscuring Arenal volcano.

Looking at the town from the bus window it seemed to be completely orientated around tourist, with every other building being a hostel or hotel and a multitude of tourist offices promoting every conceivable activity from horse riding to white water rafting, yet as far as residential homes went I could not see a single one.

The entire town also seemed to run parallel along the main road leading up to the volcano, and I was fairly sure that if I was to walk directly away from the road that within a hundred yards I would be in surrounded by thick rain forest.

Knowing that I had made this journey specifically to try and see some actual lava flow, I took one look at the sky above and decided that I had best stay for two nights as the chances of seeing anything exciting today were slim to none.

A Hostel in La Fortuna

The hostel complex was laid out in a large single layer design, with lots of bamboo and natural wood being used in its construction.

It was a shame that it was so rainy, as I am sure that in the summer the place would look stunning and not out of place on a beach; but that was hardly surprising considering during the summer the temperature here would be sweltering.

It also had lots of shaded hammocks, a superb pool and an outdoor bar and lounge complete with comfy sofa's which again would have been great if the weather had been hot and sunny, but as it was they were of course all empty.

In fact the only thing that I could say they could improve was to provide better facilities for tourists during the off-season, as it had no television room, no book exchange and the computers were all archaic and not compatible with either my USB memory stick or my camera's memory card.

Having checked in I went to see my room and found that I could walk right into the room through the open window, as the cleaners routinely opened the windows to ventilate and help dry out the rooms.

Witnessing the hostels rather bizarre take on security, I did not care that the entire complex was fenced off and had a camera intercom to get onto the premises, I had already decided that I was going to keep my valuables on me at all times.

An Evening in La Fortuna

Having dumped my rucksack in my room's lockers, I decided to go into town and have a look around, and it was with a mixture of amusement, relief and disappointment that I notice that the number one selling item that seemed to be on offer everywhere was a throwaway plastic waterproof poncho.

As I was still awaiting the transfer of funds from my term deposit account to my main current account, I was unable to book myself any excursion from the many on offer all around me; however I did feel that I could spare a litter change for a nice relaxing massage.

I had not planned on having a massage today, but as the town was so touristy there were several parlours along the main strip and having never tried it before, the chance to try a hot stone massage was too good to pass up.

The massage did wonders for my waterlogged spirits and although I am not sure if I felt any karmic healing going on, I certainly felt warm, dry and relax afterwards.

On my way back to my hostel I thought I would stop off for a bite to eat at the local supermarket, but the moment I found that the pre-packed bread and scones had not been sealed properly and had hundreds of tiny black insects crawling all over them I lost my appetite and walked out empty handed.

As the rain had started up again, I felt that now was the perfect time to try out my new wet weather protection and was rather disappointed to learn that at the end of the walk my jacket had still managed to become more than damp and my trousers felt like they had been through a dirty carwash.

Dorm Mates in La Fortuna

Returning to my dorm room I finally met up with the other guests who I was bunking with and was introduced to a rather excitable group of lads also from the United.States of America.

They lads were not solely interested in glimpsing the volcano from afar as they had booked up a full week of extreme activities such as volcano trekking, white water rafting, zip lining and horse riding, so for their sake as much as my own I hoped that the dense fog begin to lift soon.

Having pretty much already given up the day I was about to settle in for a quiet night in front of my laptop when the only girl in our dorm came in and mentioned in passing that she was about to go out on a night excursion up to see the volcano flow.

Although I was unsure if it was going to be visible or not, I decided that there was no harm in trying and so I asked her if she minded if I tagged along and happily she didn't mind at all.

Meeting up by the hostels bar we had to wait only a few minutes while the organisers tried to rustle up a few warm bodies before we all piled into a rickety old minivan, and of the new arrivals one was a wiry haired ginger guy from Holland called Wietse.

Night time Trip up Arenal Volcano

Having been formant for over four hundred years Cerro Arenal was considered an extinct volcano and safe for farmers and cattle to graze until July 1968 when it erupted; killing eighty seven and burying over fifteen square kilometres.

Since then, it has remained active and has become a major tourist attraction.As we putted along the road that led to the viewing platform I was glad that the rain had eased off, though not wanting to take any chances I was still wearing my yellow waterproof poncho as well as my flimsy black track suit leggings which were about the only things I had left that were even remotely dry.

The minibus ride took about fifteen minutes to climb up the volcano to where the viewing platform was located, and all along the way we were chatting and praying that the cloud cover would be lighter as we ascended further, though we weren't holding out any real hope.

Just as I had suspected, before we reached the top the rains returned and it was falling very heavily by the time we pulled up into a clearing used as a car park.

Climbing out of the minibus, we rubber necked in all directions looking for a bright red glowing river; but the fog was still as thick as pea soup. In fact it was so thick that most of the time we couldn't even tell where the volcano was let alone see the tiny stream of lava flowed down in a thin stream.

To mark the occasion, and to try and lift our collective spirit I asked all of my fellow travellers to stand with what we imagined was the volcano in the background and to give me a big salute, and was amused that they were willing to do so and gave the experience a unanimous thumbs down accompanied by their most sarcastic of grins.

After only about ten minutes we all got bored of peering into black nothingness and so we agreed to call it a night and all climbed back into the bus.

I had hoped that the tour guide would at least offer us some form of compensation like half our money back, like the operators did back in La Mitad Del Mundo, but apparently the Ecuadorian spirit of generosity and fair play are not traits favoured by their Honduran counterparts.

Back in the hostel I ordered a taco and regretted it soon after as I was presented with a tiny cigar shaped blob with some soggy fries. Leaving more than half of it I retired to my room and thought about what I would do tomorrow as I fell asleep.

Morning in La Fortuna

When I woke I found that I was the second in the dorm to be awake, the first being the young lady who first mentioned the late night trip to see the volcano.

Her still being here was a little confusing for me, as I was sure that she had told me that she was leaving before dawn today and yet here she is, however when I broached the subject she seemed very guarded and I dropped it and left her to read her book in peace.

Checking both my emails and the weather forecasts my fears about travelling to Nicaragua only to be rained on again were confirmed, and so in an effort to dodge the wet weather I instead decided to spend an extra day in Honduras and then skip right on through to arrive in El Salvador a day or two earlier than planned.

This meant booking another flight, which was an added expense, but it meant a slight saving on having to spend time in Nicaragua and as I was still having problems with my bank I knew that if I had to fly back home it would be cheaper doing so from Mexico than from Central America.

Overly-Pushy Tour Operators

Having narrowly missed the thermal pools at Aguas Calientes near Manizales, when I spotted that an advert for a similar heated Spa at place called Baldi just around the corner I was prepared to spend a fraction more on my credit card and so made a beeline for the hotels tour desk.

The guy was there again, but although I had been and failed to see the volcano last night, and although the weather was still so grey and foggy that even the outline of Arenal was impossible to see, the tour rep only seemed interested in selling me a full day tour that included another return trip to the viewing platform.

So I explained that I had already tried and was no longer interested, but instead of conceding the point he just again stressed that it was an opportunity not to be missed and added that " _I cannot guarantee you seeing any actual lava, but this rain cannot last forever and I am very confident that it will brighten up by the afternoon_."

All I can say is, 'Very confident', my arse!

Being in no mood to waste any more time with this joker, I declined his offer a second time and so when he tried to sell it for a third time I lost all patience with him and walked off, missing the Baldi Spa but saving myself from being pitched into submission. #128

Downtown La Fortuna

Having given up on the Spa idea for the time being, I instead decided to try and go for a walk and facing Arenal I just started walking.

Along the road were a number of other hotels and hostels, some small and pokey while others were like huge golfing resorts, luxurious and scarily expensive.

Being so early in the morning there were few other people out and about, so in the misty rain I pretty much had the place to myself and so chose to walk down the centre of the road as the pathways looked flooded and muddy.

From reading the road signs I could see that the viewing platform was at least another seven kilometres further up the road, which put pay to my idea of simply walking it, but it also made me aware of exactly how much of a rip off the tour price had been for such a short journey.

As I walked back to my hostel I spotted a brightly decorated souvenir shop that seemed to sell giant wooden carvings.

It was closed like almost everywhere else, but I had to stop and stare at the bizarre faces that had been made out of old wooden tree trunks and painted almost like a Brazilian flag.

A slightly closer inspection told me that they had cheated, by using several pieces of wood and also some modelling clay, so they was not pure carvings but merely just eye catching advertisements.

Thieves in La Fortuna Hostel

Arriving back at my hostel I was buzzed in and then walked back to my dorm room to find the windows wide open to vent it for the second day running, and I was so glad that I have got into a routine of locking stuff up tight.

Sad to say, it was not just paranoia on my part as a few minutes later a girl from another dorm room came round needing to use the computer room to report the recent theft of her wallet which had been removed from her room while she was having breakfast.

I felt quite bad for her, especially as the cleaners had chosen the worst possible time imaginable to go into all the dorm rooms and open the windows, during breakfast when most people were not in their rooms but before they had left for the day. #129

The hostel manager appeared on the scene and seemed fairly helpful and supportive at first, asking lots of questions but barely a few minutes later he announced that he had spoken to all the staff and cleaners on duty and as none of them had it, it must have been one of the other guests.

His complete whitewash of the investigation was so thin it was laughable, except of course that no one was laughing, and though neither the victimised girl nor any of the other guests who she told believed a word of it, with no witness or clue to follow there was nothing anyone could do except advise her to cancel her credit cards and arrange replacements.

In all hotels and hostels I have stayed in, that has been the only place where the cleaners routinely went around leaving doors and windows wide open, and even if the actual thief was not one of them I still feel that they would be partly to blame for gifting the true thief such a golden opportunity.

Also, thinking back to my time in Brazil when I almost had my laptop stolen, it is now incredibly easy to see how I could have suffered a similar fate and how often the locals are perfectly happy to accept a travellers money one minute but turn their back on them the next.

An Evening In La Fortuna

Once the commotion had died down there was little else that anyone could do except mutter darkly about the shocking staff and then make sure that their own possessions were safe.

I had bigger problems, as I had my own financial problems to try and deal with, but despite phoning up my bank they were not really helping and it just meant that I was wasting more money phoning them up.

After a rest I nipped to reception to ask if I could switch my rooms as there was no electricity plugs at all , which they did and I ended up in the same room as Wietse, the guy from the previous nights trip.

Finally able to plug my stuff in, I sat down and spent a few hours web browsing and recharging my batteries before Wietse came back in piped up that he was about to go and get something to eat, and did I want to join him.

Not having eaten yet I decided that it was a good opportunity to mingle, so I said yes and together with one of the Canadian girls who was also staying in our dorm room we all went out to find a local restaurant. I think she said her name was Fiona.

Walking together we decided to go off the beaten track a bit, and ended up at a place that was a bit like a greasy spoon cafe from back home, which had a few loud and tough looking local guys frequent it, but they were all slightly cowed by the insane waiter who spoke very fast and kept making strange animal grunts when he thought nobody was looking.

Just for a moment I thought that perhaps it was going to end up like a scene from a bad spaghetti western, but instead he just served us up a meal that was nothing special but filling.

On the way back to our hostel we passed what was the local bus stop, which was a help as both Wietse and I had plans to leave here tomorrow and head back through San Jose.

The Persistent Tour Guide in La Fortuna

As we were buzzing ourselves back in, I made a joke that the clouds had probably cleared up enough to finally see Arenal, only when we looked up the joke was on me as they had.

Shaking our heads in disbelief, as we walked past the bar area the hostels tour agent again jumped at another chance to grab our money, yet having been so mercifully ripped off yesterday none of us were that keen to fork out a second time in case the fog returned before we arrived and ruined our view yet again.

In an effort to reach a compromise I countered with asking for a discount as we had already paid one and there was no guarantee of the fog lifting completely, but he would not budge so we just walked on.

Realising that he either offer a discount of lose our money totally it was only a few minutes before he came knocking on our dorm room door and offered us a slight discount, not what we had asked for but enough to tempt us into relenting.

We still had around an hour before the minibus left, which we spent preparing.

Having bought a pack of DVD's to store all my travel photos a few weeks back, I had several spare and one I gave to Wietse as his super-duper camera stood the best chance of taking a good night photo of the lava flow but he had not brought a spare memory card and had filled up his original one.

Volcano Party Bus

When it was time to go we headed on out to meet up with another three travellers from our hostel, plus a group of four from another hostel in the city who had refused to pay the exorbitant price that their own hotel attempted to charge them and in an effort to save money had booked the twilight tour with our hostel rep.

Regrettably, although they saved a bit on the tour they had made the mistake of letting their original hotel tour agent find out, who in an act of sheer spite had the hotel manager evict them from the entire hotel.

Such unbelievably atrocious behaviour I would not have thought possible over such a trivial matter, however having experienced firsthand how the Brazilian hostel owner had overreacted I knew only too well how believable it was.

It was only slightly easier for them as they were in a group and there were plenty of alternative hotels and hostels within walking distance. #130

There was a real party atmosphere on the bus, partly due to there being more of us and partly because some of the girls had emptied their water bottles and refilled them with wine.

One guy, Sean, was certainly doing his utmost to get the party started by telling jokes and travel stories, but for me it was the young part Irish lady, Tegan, who was the real party animal, as she had an instant likability and so much charisma that could probably get a Mexican wave started in a library.

At Arenal Viewing Platform

Having discussed this with other travellers since, I am slightly less disappointed upon learning that almost everyone who visits LA Fortuna for less than a month solid has suffered the same experience, with the fog in that part of the world becoming legendary.

With the rain remaining absent and the fog thinning in patches, the view from the platform was not a disappointment, at least not with the naked eye.

The problem was that there was always a slight lag between my eye seeing a gap in the clouds was the camera actually capturing a photo, so even with a tripod and a lot of patience I was unable to see anything more than a dark grey mist.

In the spirit of one good turn deserving another, and Wietse managed to snap a superb shot with his camera and instantly agreed to send a copy to everyone on the bus, which was a relief as then I had more than a vague memory to show for my visit to Arenal.

We stayed for about an hour watching the bats and the fire flies dance in the sky as the volcano slowly and steadily spewed red hot lava out of its peak and have it slowly trickle down its scorched side in a continuous river of heat.

The fierce glow from the lava flow illuminated the smoke and made it look like there was a red speech bubble overhanging the volcano.

Eventually a dense bank of fog descended once more, totally enveloping the volcano and its red glowing river, which pretty much ended the experience and had us all diving to get back in the van and escape the biting mosquito.

Arriving back at the hotel a few of us were not yet ready to call it a night and so sat in the outdoor bar lounge and ordered a couple of rounds of Panama Punch and Banana Daquari cocktails in celebration before we swapped email details, said farewell and then headed on back to our dorms.

Final Morning in La Fortuna

Having had a relatively early night last night I was woken up extremely early by Wietse's alarm from right across the room, and as he was also due to catch a bus from here to San Jose via San Carlos I thought I may as well leave earlier than planned and go with him.

Throwing my stuff in my rucksack I was all done before Wietse attempted to take a shower, having totally forgotten that the hostel did not turn the hot water on until an hour before breakfast.

I am not sure if he meant to scream like a little girl the moment that the freezing waters hit him, but he did, and when he resurfaced I tried to hide the huge grin that was threatening to break out right across my face. #131

Leaving La Fortuna, Costa Rica

Slightly more fresher than he had anticipated, Wietse and I checked out and made out way over to the bus stop that we had found the previous day, and as luck would have it we managed to find our way onto an earlier bus than planned which we were informed would be a more direct route than the one we had been aiming to catch.

Although the clouds were still in La Fortuna, the morning rain lasted all of about five minutes before it started to clear and by the time that we reached San Carlos we were in sunshine.

Pulling into San Carlos we managed to navigate our way onto another direct bus heading to San Jose and, not having been paying much attention to the price last time, was bemused at how the bus companies here could afford modern buses and still turn a profit with such low fares.

Personally I would love to have them write a full dossier for me to present to the UK transport secretary as I demand that they reduce the fares.

Staring out the window as we motored along I was pleasantly surprised that our bus was not only on a more direct route to San Jose but was also going to drive right past the international airport.

Saying a hasty goodbye to Wietse I collected up all my stuff and stumbled towards the front just in time, as the driver had been just about to drive right past it without stopping.

San Jose Airport

As luck turned out, because of the fine weather and meeting only a little traffic en route to San Jose, we arrived with plenty of time to spare before my flight to Honduras.

In fact, I was so early that I thought that there was a good chance of my catching an earlier flight and so I made my way to the ticket office of my flight carrier and asked what the procedure how I could do so.

The female ticket clerk spoke English very well and understood my request perfectly, however it turned out that despite both origin and destinations being capital cities in nearby countries, they only had one flight per day on that route, thus the first outgoing flight was also the only outgoing flight.

This was certainly not the news I had been hoping to hear, but it was not all bad news as she said that if I wanted to I could check in now and then have the entire day free from having to lug around my rucksack.

Making the best of the situation I planned to do exactly that, so I paid another extortionately high priced departure tax, checked myself in, dropped off my luggage and went to catch a bus back into the town centre.

A Mystery Bus Ride into the Unknown

After a little legwork I found a bus stop marked San Jose and when a bus came around I asked for a ticket to central San Jose, paid and was waved on through to the back.

The journey took only a few minutes, yet everything seemed a little different to what I remembered it and not just because it was now sunny.

A few stops later the driver kicked everyone out in the centre of town, and as I had no choice but to get out with them I stepped off the bus and looking around I found myself in a place completely unknown to me.

I walked around a bit, hoping that some building or street name might spark off a moment of recollection, but after half an hour I had to admit to myself that I had no idea where it was.

Downtown Alajueno

The more I looked the more it seemed to be more a small town or suburb rather than the city centre, as the building were more uniformity old and there were almost no brand new buildings or tall office blocks to be seen.

Deciding that I had better find someone to help me find my bearings, I entered an internet cafe and after buying an hour's use I asked the guy next to me in Spanish if this was San Jose, only for him to shake his head and reply 'Alajeuno'.

Now sure that the bus driver was an ass, as no matter how poor my accent might have been 'San Jose Cuidade Central' could not possibly be mistaken for 'Alejueno', I was momentarily at a loss as to what to do, before I shrugged and decided that it might be fun to discover what this mystery place had to offer.

Aware that I had not yet eaten, the first thing I did was look for a restaurant, and unable to find a McDonalds I decided to try a more traditional eatery.

Having picked a place with a nice simple meal and fries I went up and ordered, or at least tried to, however no matter how I phrased it or what language I used the young girl behind the counter was baffled as to what it was that I was trying asking for.

This potato farce went on far too long, and I was moments away from giving up before a friendly local who spoke some English came up and asked me if I needed any help, to which I replied a resounding yet.

Ten seconds later I was aware that in this part of the world they call fries 'Papa Pequenos', paid and thanked both my Good Samaritan and the waitress.

When it came round, my order was a little bit more greasy and crunchy than I was used to, but together with the chicken it was still tasty.

Snippety Snip in Alajueno

Going against my own advice about not getting it cut by anyone you can't speak to normally, I thought that I would attempt to get a haircut and so found a nearby salon.

I thought that I gave a passable explanation of what I wanted in Spanish, so when the hairdresser got out the clippers and asked what number I wanted I said a number three as this was what I normally had around the edges.

In less than five seconds I regretted entering, as instead of getting out a comb and going to attack my sides or sides, her first swipe was right through the centre of my scalp, leaving me with an instant reverse Mohican.

Of course, one she had done this there seemed little point in stopping her and so I continued until she had shaved me almost completely bald, leaving only a tiny fringe at the front which was possibly some popular latin style and left me looking like a white version of the Brazilian footballer Ronaldo.

Newly shorn I stepped back out into the town and wondered if I could survive the next few hours without anything else going pear shaped.

Leaving Costa Rica

With the sun now beating down upon my almost naked brow, I continued to walk around the town taking a few pictures, but apart from a small church and a few Mayan inspired murals I found nothing to interest me further, so I asked for directions to the bus stop.

The bus station ended up being almost in a sheltered through garage, and with the hard part over with, I climbed back onboard and soon was headed back to the airport.

The San Jose international airport main concourse was fairly empty of shops and restaurants, so I made my way through security and eventually found a corner with a power socket and Wi-Fi signal.

Having finished my last travelling book awhile ago I headed towards a book stall and was gobsmacked to find that in a poor developing country the locals were being charging almost twice as much for a book as anyone in mainland U.S.A.

Now, I accept that they might want a profit, and I accept that an airport is not the cheapest of places, but at these prices I doubted it managed to sell more than ten copies in a year. #132

Rather sadly Wietse neither kept in touch not ever emailed me a copy of his night time photo of Arenal volcano.

Tegan and Sean have managed slightly better by managing to intermittently keep in contact, both doing well by all accounts and also both doing a lot more travelling after leaving

~~ **** ~~

Republic of Honduras

San Pedro Sula (Capital City) - Arrived on 5th December 2008.

Copan Ruinas \- Arrived on 7th December 2008.

~~ **** ~~

Arrival in San Pedro Sula, Capital of Honduras

As part of my pre-travel planning I had only been able to make contact with one pen pal in Honduras, a lady called Ivonne, yet right even from the start she was neither reliable nor regular in her replies, and not having had any recent mail from her since before I left the UK I held out little hope of actually meeting her as I was passing through her city.

The flight over was short and pleasant enough, yet the sky had grown dark well before I was touching down in San Pedro Sula and trying to navigate my way to the immigration desk here in San Pedro Sula.

Having completed the immigration forms on the plane I had expected to be processed fairly swiftly as it was a small plane; however my hopes were dashed when they gave extreme favouritism to the nationals and also scrutinised and dawdled over every document or scrap of paper that each foreign travellers produced.

Being already near the rear of my queue it seemed an eternity before I was finally waved through, by which time all the bags on our luggage carousel had already been circling round for the best part of an hour.

As I watched the near empty carousel circulate I could not see my rucksack anywhere, and having spotted another piece of luggage pass me by for the third time I knew that something had happened to my luggage.

Thankfully all was not as I feared, as it had not been lost or stolen but simply some over efficient airport luggage handler had decided to collect up all the remaining pieces of luggage from our flight and then dump them in a pile off to one side.

Recovering my rucksack I dug out my travel documents, had to pass my rucksack through yet another security screen just to exit the luggage area and then tried to find the taxi rank.

This was the only time during my travels where I have ever had to pass my rucksack through a security scanner upon arrival at an international airport, though I guess it does make a certain amount of sense.

Learning To Haggle In San Pedro Sula

There was no actual taxi desk in or immediately outside the airport, however there was enough waiting taxi's to accommodate an entire flight of passengers, which was just as well as it was quite dark by now and the last bus shuttle service had long since departed for the day.

Expecting to be ripped off I asked the nearest driver how much it was to ride into town, but considering the average wage here in Honduras I was still unprepared for how much I was quoted.

I am not sure what reaction he expected me to give when he quoted me his over the top estimate, but I am sure that when I laughed, shook my head and just walked away he got the idea that he was not going to get my business this way.

Making my way back into the main airport, I found a security guard still on duty and asked him how much a taxi ride into the centre of town should be, and was only marginally happy when in a fair stab at English he told me a figure that was half of what the driver outside had tried to charge me.

Now informed of a fair price I once more left the airport lounge and headed back to where the taxi drivers were waiting.

Having been delayed and dallied for quite some time after the bulk of the travellers had dispersed there were only a single taxi driver left and as fate would have it, it was the same taxi driver than had tried to charge me double.

Sighing with frustration, I tried to put on my most confident face and built myself up for a brief haggling contest, yet before I even reached his open window he spotted me and being almost as desperate as I was called out to me and offered the same price that the security guard inside had advised me.

Basking in the inner glow of a minor victory I smiled at the driver, agreed and was soon on my way to my hostel. #133

My First Honduran Hostel

It was not until a few years after the event, that I finally unravelled the confusion over the San Pedro Sula hostels.

While my original booking was in a hostel called Dos Molinos BandB, when I had re shuffled my timetable and given myself an extra day at the beginning of my stay in San Pedro Sula I had mistakenly booked a night in a hostel called Los Molinos BandB.

As it turned out, it was a very fortuitous mistake as it led to both my meeting of Mauricio and through him I learned about and decided to visit the magnificent Mayan ruins near the town of Copan.

Behind a pair of large sheet metal swing doors attached the wall; my pale blue hostel awaited me, though the owner took a little time to come to answer the door as he was not expecting visitors this late at night.

With the haggling already done, the taxi driver brought me to my hostel however here things got a little confusing as despite my making several bookings with the hostel owner, he only had one booking for a single night and even that he was unable to honour as his other guests had stayed on longer and thus there were no rooms free to give me.

Like most of the hostels in the country, this was a little family run business and the owner was really apologetic about the mix up, but said that he just didn't have the heart to refuse any of his other guests request to stay on for an extra day when they asked for it.

Honduran Hospitality

As I stood in the hallway, discussing my situation with the owner, a fellow hotel guests overheard us talking and when he realised that the hostel owner was about to drive me around the city to find an alternative hostel he decided to step in.

The other guests introduced himself as Mauricio, a friendly middle aged guy born and raised in the U.S. but with a Honduran background, and he said that as his room had a spare mattress that I could take his room for the night, with him sleeping downstairs.

At the same time and graciously accepting the offer of not having to be turfed out back into the night, I did my best to say that if anyone was to crash on the spare mattress it would be me, but he would have none of it and was most insistent.

With my matter of my accommodation now finally resolved, I thought that it would be rude of me to grab Mauricio's room and not even have the courtesy to sit and chat for a few minutes, however once we got chatting I found him to have a wealth of local knowledge as well as being a great conversationalist and before I knew it a few minutes had stretched into several hours.

Stories of Honduran Gangsters

Although we covered many different subjects, it was both his knowledge of the Mayan ruins at Copan and his insight into the workings of the Honduran organised crime network which interested me most.

Apparently Honduras has recently begun experiencing a sudden and turbulent outburst of organised crime from local born but U.S. educated gangsters, all of whom had been recently expelled from the states and upon returning to the country of their birth found it to be a country ripe for the picking.

With the gangsters experience and list of underworld contacts they had had no problem obtaining drugs, guns and prostitutes, and striking hard and fast they had quickly established themselves and caught the national police force totally unprepared.

Although the local police officers had then begun to receive additional training to cope with this new level of violent, the head start that the criminals had was a lot, and according to Mauricio apparently the law was finding it hard to just keep pace with them.

The other thing he told me was not to mess about with the local women, as Honduras also had one of the highest percentages of recorded Aids cases per thousand of the populace in the whole of the America's.

First Morning in San Pedro Sula

As I still had not heard anything recently from my Honduran friend Ivonne, I figured that she was probably going to be another no-show, however with the sun high in the sky and my good fortune of last night I was in too good a mood to let that slow me down.

Over breakfast down in the hostels kitchen area, I met up with Mauricio and spent another hour or so chatting, but this morning the conversation was solely around me and what my plans were for the next few days.

For a history and anthropology lover like myself, no trip would have been complete without a visit to the local 'Museo de Antropologia e Historia', but he also suggested that I try to visit either the Bay Islands or the Mayan ruins at Copan.

Sadly my limited time here prevented me from doing both, and so as beautiful as the Bay Islands sounded like, it was Copan Ruinas which was where I would be briefly heading next.

Timing my departure perfectly, the hostel owner said that he had a few errands to run in the city centre himself, so if I didn't mind riding shotgun with him I could tag along, an idea which sounded just ideal to me.

Historical Museum in San Pedro Sula

Although Mauricio had highly recommended it, the museum did not look either that well maintained or large from the front, with its faded orange paintwork and two small canons sitting beside its signboard, however upon entering I had need to rethink my opinion as it was very well laid out and displayed.

The museum had a minimal entrance fee, which I certainly didn't mind paying, and I also spotted a sign that said if you visit on the first Sunday of any month then the entrance fee is waved and you can look around it for free.

With display cards in both English and Spanish, I had no problem in understanding any of the displays which chronicled the timeline of the Honduran history from the first native Indian ancestors of the Mayans who lived around 1500 B.C., right up to pirate buccaneers of the middle of the 19th Century.

I was fascinated to learn that after falling into disuse, the key to unlocking the Mayan language had been revealed first by a Russian historian and then later cracked complete by one from North America, both using techniques considered unpractical by their peers right up until they announced their findings.

The museum recreated a number of traditional huts in full size along with numerous genuine artefacts like flint heads and pots, but for me the most impressive piece was a life size stone statue of a Mayan leader in full regalia sitting on a thrown. Sadly it was missing one arm, but apart from that it was in remarkably good condition.

From the upper story window I could see a rear courtyard that held a number of larger statue finds, and so before I left I made sure that I took a wander around the gardens.

Surrounded by tall green ferns and palm, the statues looked as though they belonged there, and just for a moment I was able to transport myself in time to when the artisans first carved them.

The largest of the finds looked like an upright sarcophagus, but was actually just an ornate carved column which featured another Mayan ruler, and the thing that struck me was that his headpiece seemed to resemble the complete upper torso skeletal remains of another human, a sight which must surely have stuck fear in to the hearts of his enemies.

Downtown San Pedro Sula

Having studied and photographed almost the entire museum, I next headed off into the heart of the city to see what downtown San Pedro Sula looked like.

Central San Pedro Sula was a typical mix of old and new, with a mix of semi-modern casinos, hotels and shopping malls almost adjacent to ageing and frail buildings which have all seen better days.

A lot of the newer buildings seemed to have had a recent make-over, as their paint work was simple but flake free. In the very city centre was a plaza with a lovely ornate waterfall, as well as the usual statues of the city elders and liberators.

However it only took a few side streets to find a place where the road was unfinished and sported a huge ragged crack down its entire length, and buildings that had clearly seen better days, some being little more than wire mess and broken concrete supports.

An Afternoon in San Pedro Sula

Trying to find an affordable nice place to eat I lucked out by finding an indoor shopping arcade with a food hall in the better part of the city. As far as I am aware, I have never been next to a V.I.P. in a restaurant before, however as I queued up I was joined by a man clearly of some important as he was shadowed by two uniformed security guards openly brandishing their assault rifles.

I have no idea if the guy was just afraid of being kidnapped, was trying to make a statement or just loved his burgers, but he ordered his meal to go and then left once he had collected it.

Once I had finished my meal I wandered out and find and continued my foot tour of the city centre, passing through many different regions and going past outdoor markets, indoor shoe bazaars and almost everything in between.

An Evening in San Pedro Sula

It could well have been nothing more than wishful thinking, but as I walked about the city I would have sworn that I had the eye of a lot of the local women as everywhere I looked they seemed to be looking at me.

Thinking about it a little more, it could equally have been curiosity as Mauricio had informed me that few Europeans bother to stop and tour the city, instead using it as nothing more than a convenient and safe transport hub between North and Central America.

With the afternoon drawing on, I felt that I had seen all that it had to offer without having a proper guide to point specific places of interest out to me, so as I kept one eye out for a passing taxi I began to make my way back to the hostel.

Looking for a fixed point of reference with which to guide myself home I spotted high on the forested hillside a large white Coca Cola sign, like a dwarfed version of the Hollywood sign.

Realising that I had somehow managed to have walked half the distance back to my hostel anyway, I just straightened up my route and walked back along the top road, passing by the same barbed wire closed Natural Health Spa that I had on the way from the hostel.

Although I had only been there a few hours, there was something very relaxed and comforting about San Pedro Sula, possibly the pace of life and the dry weather helped the impression, but as I walked the mile back to my hostel I felt totally chilled and at ease.

High Class Shopping In San Pedro Sula

Arriving back at the hotel around dusk, the hostel owner's wife advised me that if I had any time left I should definitely check out the Mega Mall just a few blocks up the road in the opposite direction, and with nothing better to do I followed her advice.

The shopping mall was as close as she had mentioned, and was very modern and plush, filled with high class boutique shops and a large festive decoration display in the central escalator section.

Up until I entered that place I had completely forgot that it was only a few weeks to Christmas as unlike in Western Europe where you can barely escape the hype and advertising, here it was quite subdued at least on a commercial level.

With no desire to buy any expensive souvenir , I did little more than window shop until I rounded a corner and came face to rubber mask with a guy dressed in a Luigi costume, flanked by two young and attractive looking girls dressed up as power mushrooms.

I have no idea what they were selling, but I suddenly wanted to go over there and try to show them what a fun guy I could be.

Cinema Experience in San Pedro Sula

Nearing the top I found that it had a cinema complex showing a film I had not yet seen and for a very reasonable price, so I eagerly bought a ticket for the next showing and as I had at least an hour to kill I nipped back to the hostel to get changed and freshen up.

Returning to the cinema I was very impressed with the theatre and the staff who spoke some English, but sadly these feelings were not echoed in the film as it turned out to be the most humdrum boring police drama I have ever suffered to sit through.

In fact, despite having little else to do, I felt that I would rather do nothing back in my hostel than sit here for the full two hours so I was the first to leave and took a final stroll around the shopping mall before it closed for the night.

Stepping out of the theatre I could hear a feint thumping of music which I followed and was led to the roof of the Mall where they were just warming up a live open air trance music concert.

Standing there listening to the music pulse through the air I doubted that it would have a well known headliner, as it was playing the kind of mainstream trance music that I love but DJ's hate, but as I had left my wallet back in the hostel I didn't even have enough change left on me to get myself a couple of drinks.

Second Night in San Pedro Sula

Wandering back I felt happy and carefree, a lovely feeling to have, yet upon returning to my hostel room my mood slightly soured upon finding out that my bank still had not transferred any funds over, forcing me to use my credit cards more and more.

By this time Mauricio had finished with his other business, which I think was meeting his brother or cousin, and though I had decided on following his advice and taking an extremely early bus to Copan, I still had a few minutes to chat with him further and exchange details before getting an early night.

Since leaving San Pedro Sula I tried to keep in touch with Mauricio, and did indeed exchange at least a half dozen emails over as many months, and he did even refer to us as 'kindred spirits' and 'the best of friends', however it eventually petered-out after he ceased writing a few months after that.

Considering everything that we chatted about both at the time and afterwards through emails, I can only think of a few reasons why this might have been.

Either his partner disliked his close friendship with a younger man, for he was homosexual, or he somehow lost his email account, or worst of all is that perhaps a serious illness befell him. Whatever the truth was, I am hoping that it was not that last possibility.

Leaving San Pedro Sula

Barely half awake I managed to drag myself down stairs and explaining to the hostel owner that I wanted to visit Copan Ruinas, could he please call me a taxi to take me to the bus station.

Still dark outside, the owner suggested that I wait inside until the taxi arrived, and having already settled my bill at the hostel as it pulled up outside I thanked him for his hospitality and said that I would be back in a day or two, depending on connections.

~~ **** ~~

Arriving in Copan Ruinas, Honduras

In almost a reverse logic, the name of the actual site of the Mayan ruined city is simple called Copan, while the name to the present day town built only a mile along the road is named Copan Ruinas.

Heading back towards the bus station in San Pedro Sula I almost nodded off again as I sat in the back, and apart from buying my ticket I do not recall seeing or doing much apart from climbing on board, finding my seat and snuggling up in my jacket to snooze a little more.

Having slept most of the journey in the tiny bus, I managed to rouse myself a few minutes before we reached Copan Ruinas and the view from the window was that it was a dry and sunny day, and that the town that was nestled midway up a bush covered hillside.

Being British I had spent most of my life surrounded by a fairly flat landscape, but the one word that best sums up the South and Central America countryside would have to be rugged.

Having only booked the hostel online recently I did not have a hardcopy of the booking, and so as I was dropped off in the small central plaza I ferreted through my digital camera images for the name of the hostel.

My Hotel in Copan Ruinas

Armed with just the name, I asked around for directions and was directed to walk up the hill at the rear of the plaza.

Unaware of how incredibly small the town actually was, I worried for a moment that I had taken a wrong turn as I passed a couple of hostels on the steep climb up the hill, but thankfully I had not been mis-advised and I spotted the orange and stonework if my hotel.

Setting eyes on my hostel funky blue Iguana signpost I could not help but feel as I was on a lucky streak as the place seemed truly idyllic with its verdant green palm trees and ferns that decorated the courtyard in neat little stone borders and the buildings themselves were of simple but beautiful stone, wood design.

Even the roof was made of genuine red corrugated tiles and in an unusual twist of structure and nature combined they had actually fitted it around a large tree trunk instead of felling the tree and just clearing the space.

With real wood and wicker chairs laid out on the veranda, and enough pieces of antiquated design that would not look out of place in a museum, I felt that I was not in a budget hostel but more like a friends private villa.

Checking in for just the one night was a shame, as I had already fallen in love with the layout and design of the place, and if there was anything that prevented the experience from being completely perfect it was that none of the staff spoke even a word of English.

However, that was a small price to pay for paradise and I was smiled as I opened the door to my private but affordable private room and dropped off my rucksack.

As my entire visit was entirely based around viewing the ruins at Copan the first thing I did was to ask at reception when it was open, only to be told the news that it was closed today but would be open first thing tomorrow morning.

Mayan Museum in Copan Ruinas

After a quick hot shower that finally woke me up for good, I went for a stroll and as the hostel was almost at the top of the hill I felt like seeing what was beyond the crest before wandering back down to the city centre.

As I neared the top I reached what seemed to be a small white castle keep, and upon a closer investigation I found it to be an educational Mayan museum called Casa K'inich, which had lots to entertain small children as well as tourists like myself.

In the main grounds before you even approached the central building, there were some false Mayan stelas where you could stick your head through and have your photo taken if you so wished.

Spotting a passing museum guide, I asked her to take a quick photo of me pretending to the Mayan ruler Smoke Jaguar, who ruled for over sixty years from 628 A.D.

Stepping into the interior, I was a little surprised at how small it was, however it managed to cram in lots of interactive displays that taught you the Mayan calendar, alphabet and numbers.

Copan Ruinas Town Centre

Having exhausted the museums interactive games I left and spotting nothing of further interest beyond it, I retraced my steps and began to descent the hill towards the city centre.

I could not help but notice that the place seemed almost empty until I reached the central plaza, with the only vehicle on the roads that I could see was a small three wheel tuk-tuk style taxicab.

Being so close to the ruins at Copan, Copan Ruinas was very much a quaint little town that was both touristy but still surprisingly authentic and genuine in its own right, with evidence of its dual identity all around.

In the centre of the town they had erected a few authentic looking fountains, walls and miniature amphitheatre using bricks and gargoyles that the must have taken from the nearby ruins of Copan many decades ago.

While many of the plaza buildings were museums, restaurants and hotels, there were still a few plenty of normal houses slightly outside of the town centre.

Studying the locals I found it slightly amusing that almost all the men were wearing huge and well cherished sombreros, and at any moment I thought that someone was going to start singing 'The Three Amigos'.

As an accountant and firm believer in recycling I can understand the financial and logistical arguments in using recovered bricks, stones and statues to help build a new structure, but regardless of that every time I learn that a historic site had been looted to help build something like a tourist hotel or casino then the archaeologist within me screams long and loud at the sacrilege.

Quiet Night in Copan Ruinas

Around lunchtime I found a lovely garden restaurant which served international food, so I ordered myself the tastiest steak and avocado salad on the menu.

Even with it being out of season I did not have the place entirely to myself, as there were a group of elderly Germans sitting on the table next to me, though having nothing important to talk about I decided not want to interrupt their meal so I left them to their debate on the qualities of Local vs. European beer and headed back out into the town.

Wandering around the town looking for places to visit I completely missed the sun begin to slip behind the distant hills, and with evening came my return to the hostel to rest for a few hours.

As night time came I decided to once again venture out and possibly find a local bar or nightclub to sample, however I was again denied due as everywhere I passed seemed to be either empty or closed.

In the end, I found a small cafe restaurant near my hostel and had a simple plate of chicken and rice with a glass of red wine before heading back and enjoying an early night.

First Morning in Copan Ruinas

With an early nights sleep last night previously I was up at the crack of dawn and already washed, semi packed and all ready to rock and roll before breakfast time.

Before I set out I checked my online bank account and found that my bank was still delaying the transfer of my funds, which was not the best news I had had all week, but I was determined not to let it get me down.

Having already bought a map of the area and the ruins I knew that the best time to visit the site was first thing in the morning, before all the other tourists had arrived and so as it opened the doors first thing in the morning I made sure that I was out the door a good half an hour early, even though it was only one kilometre away.

The route to the site entrance was a pleasant stroll through the countryside, as on either side of the road I could see green fields with an occasional ornate stela stuck in the ground, surrounded by a string of barbed wire.

The Mayan Ruins at Copan

The present ruins at Copan were built by the Mayan Empire around 450 A.D., with King Smoke Jaguar being its longest ruler, though sited on incredibly fertile land there is much evidence to suggest that the area itself was home to even earlier civilisations stretching back almost two thousand years before the emergence of the Mayan culture.

I arrived at the main gate a few minutes after it opened and hoping that I would not need a tour guide to get the most from the visit, I chose to ignore the half dozen locals who were half heartedly tried to grab my attention as I walked in and headed directly to the official ticket booth.

Although I had found the town of Copan Ruinas to be extremely cheap, the site itself was split up into three sections requiring a separate entrance fee for each.

With my bank problems still at the front of my mind, I bought myself a ticket for the grounds and for the museum, but decided to forgo the two underground tunnels, both of which are meant to be at least one hundred feet in length.

Signing in their guestbook I was pleased to find that I was today's first visitor, which meant that I would have the place to myself for at least a short time.

There was a neat little restaurant just inside the entrance and a little further up the clearing I could spot a few wooden picnic tables and signs for a nature walk, but right at this moment I was only interested in one thing, the main site.

Time Travel in Copan

With the morning sun casting down its glorious light, as I made my way through the cleared avenue of trees the sites native Macaw's and grasshoppers orchestrated a wonderful soundtrack on an otherwise silent morning.

With every step further along the serene forest track my worries slipped further away from my mind and begun transporting myself back in time, with the journey almost complete the moment I caught my first glimpse of the temple step pyramid at the far end of the clearing.

Upon my discovering the pyramid one part of me wanted to run up and embrace the very stones, while another part argued that such a moment deserved a moment of still contemplation.

With so many things having turned out to be disappointing anticlimax's recently, I was somewhat glad that I had only learned of this place a couple of days ago, as in my mind I had not hyped it up into anything special and thus the reality was so much more than I was expecting that I felt completely blown away.

While the Inca city of Machu Picchu was incredibly impressive, the experience had been slightly marred by the gusty rain and the fact that both around me and all over the grounds the place was full of loud tourists, but here the weather was perfect and I could not see a single other soul around.

The other key difference was that back in Peru as soon as the fog cleared you had a clear vantage point over all of Machu Picchu, while here in Honduras the first small step pyramid I saw only the tip of the proverbial iceberg and as I made my way round the grounds it continued to expand with each new discovery impressing me anew.

Exploring Mayan Copan

As I stood there admiring the view, the only signs of modern life were in the distance, being the sites ground staff busy raking the last of the leaves and cut grass into small piles.

Walking across the dew covered grass, which was so well maintained it was virtually a lawn, I approached the pyramid and laying my left hand upon the stone I closed my eyes and imagined.

The clearing had no fenced off boundary, it simply extended up until it reached the trees which had not been subsequently removed, and as I scanned the horizon I could see a few wall fragments and stone stelas to my left.

On my right, instead of the clearing ending it stretched out and then expanded beyond a gap through the trees and I finally realised that the pyramid I was standing next to was not the main structure at all, but merely the one closest to the main gate.

Ensuring that I was photographing the site from every angle, I explored deeper into the site, at all times remaining respectfully silent both to not disturb the local wildlife but also to enable me to drink in every possible sound and sensation.

With so much of the delicate stonework either worn away or now residing safely in museums the site was naked of its intricate beauty and vivid colours that I am sure it would have had, but this mattered little to me as I could still imagine it full of life.

Located on the edge of a forested hill, the grounds weaved up and round as I approached the second step pyramid, which itself was still only a part of a much larger complex.

The Mayan Court at Copan

Once past the first few pyramids I climbed up a series of well worn stepping stones which led me to a higher plateau and it is here that the architecture really came into its own, with a vast complex of walls and steps pyramids that framed a huge courtyard, itself overlooking the valley and falling hillside on its farthest side.

The variety of trees around the site were stunning, with some very picturesque climbers sending long tendrils down that almost reached the floor. High up on the top of highest pyramid, I was able to sit precisely where the Smoke Jaguar and his Mayan ruler would have sat, overlooking his city and subjects, and it felt reassuring and safe.

Without a doubt the Mayan ruins at Copan were for me the very epitome of what I envisage when I think about trekking through exotic jungles to rediscover lost civilisations, and finally having found them in such a splendid and serene manner I knew that the raison d'être for having organised my global odyssey had now been fully justified in my way of thinking.

Typical Yank 'Deep' Thinker

Returning back to the ground plateau I paused and sat sheltering beneath a tree, regretting for the first time that it had not been practical to include an easel and sketch pad along in my backpack.

As I was about to regress back again into my imagined reverie I was brought back to reality by the bellowed inane chorus of an elderly yank, accompanied by his two middle aged sons.

Even before I could make out their features I could clearly hear their constant complaining, and as they finally passed me I noticed that the aging father was not even paying the slightest attention to anything except what his two sons were saying, walking as he did with his head tilted down to the ground the whole time.

Trust a typical ignorant yank to have nothing more spiritual on their mind than cat litter while surrounded in history and culture so profound that it had silenced me utterly for more than an hour.

Sadly with the spell now broken I looked up and could see that even more tourists were beginning to filter into the clearing and thus the peace and quiet of the morning was officially over.

Being back in the here and now I suddenly realised that I had not yet eaten, so as I had not yet looked around the museum I headed back to the main entrance to the restaurant where I stopped off for breakfast.

Copan's Mayan Museum

I did not waste too long on breakfast, as I still had a long bus journey ahead of me and I did not want to be rushed when looking around the museum.

Like everything else, the entrance to the museum was partly hidden behind the trees but what made it really stand out from the norm was that the doorway way frames in the image of a giant stone mouth of a serpent, and once I stepped beyond the teeth I found myself on a sloping tunnel that sloped gentle down into the bowels of the hillside.

On the wall of a tunnel there was a faded sign in English that read according to ancient Mayan Mythology, the entrance to the underworld, home to fearsome demons and beasts and gods of death, were to be found within natural caves and underground tunnels.

Furthermore the reproduced serpentine mouth entrance was a classic example of this symbolism.With nothing but tiny side lamps to guide my way, I descended down the tunnel and was completely stunned to emerge facing another step pyramid painted in bold and vivid colours of red, green, blue and white.

Although technically it was a replica, the sign on the wall stated that the original step pyramid was only a few hundred feet away, buried directly beneath the walls of the massive central acropolis, and was accessible by means of a tiny tunnel dug by archaeologists a few years ago.

Thus all its fascias, gargoyles and statues were genuine and honest reproductions with no artistic licence taken. Neither too was any exaggeration used with the striking colour scheme it was adorned with, as being underground the original paint work had not been eroded by the weather.

City Beneath the City

Reading another sign I learned that the present day Mayan ruined city had actually been built directly over an earlier version of itself, often encompassing, enlarging or occasionally building right over the top of the existing structures already there.

Wandering around the museum I marvelled at the surviving stonework, not so ornate or miniature, but distinctive, original and flamboyant in its designs.

Along the walls both of the ground and first floor were stelas, sections of walls and masonry that had been carefully transferred to this bunker before being reconstructed like a jigsaw, so that once again the images of monkey gods, death gods, serpents and birds were visible for all to see.

Being open to the elements, the museum was now also home to an impressive number of crickets, tiny lizards and birds, a fact which pleased me no end and felt so much more alive and real than the sterilised museums where everything was carefully behind thick pains of glass.

It was definitely a shame when I had to leave, but having gorged myself on culture and history it was time to come back to the present and deal with the issues of the day, mainly being my bank and my bus journey onward.

Heading back to San Pedro Sula

Finding a little internet coffee shop back in the town centre, I was slightly dismayed that the bank was still not cooperating, however having spent a fortune on telephone calls and a flood of emails I had managed to speak to my family and get them to understand my situation and predicament.

So, while my bank had still not transferred the funds from my savings into my current account, my sisters had very generously offered to lend me enough money to continue for a short time while together we put additional pressure onto my bank to finally resolve the matter. #134

Back at my hostel I did my best to check with the staff about a bus going directly to El Salvador, however I was informed that Copan was too small to have its own bus terminal, so the only choice was to sit on another mini bus out of town, with their suggestion that I return to San Pedro Sula if I wanted to travel directly.

I am not sure if the fault was due to my inadequate attempt at speaking Spanish, or just their innocent yet misguided ignorance, but this was very poor advice as when I finally bothered to look on a map Copan was already most of the distance from San Pedro Sula to El Salvador, and instead of a four hour return bus North I should have taken a short hour trip sideways until I reached a town on the main route South bound.

Leaving Copan Ruinas

Taking their advice meant also waiting around until supper time before catching the only bus leaving Copan Ruinas today.So I planned to use this time taking a leisurely touring the town centre and catching up with some blogging and emails.

After an hour or the hostels power transformer unexpectedly gave out which put an end to my surfing the web, though thankfully it was still daytime thus it was only a slight inconvenience.

Diving back into my mini backpack I rooted around to find my travel novel which I had brought along for just such an occasion, so I spent the last couple of hours sitting outside reading in the shade of a palm tree.

With an hour to go, I walked down to the town central plaza and asked directions to where the mini bus would be picking up passengers for the journey.

I was pointed towards the main road out of town, and almost at the very edge of the town I saw a group of locals all gathered around with bags and suitcases.

As departure time loomed nearer a small mini bus arrived and while the people began to climb onboard the driver and his mate started piling up all the bags and stacking them on the roof rack.

Not really sure of what kind of a ticket I needed, I tried to find someone that spoke some English, however when that idea fell through I did my best to book a ticket and I think that they were saying that this was not a direct bus back to San Pedro Sula but that I would have to change at San Carlos.

Trusting more to luck and hope than any confidence in my ability to have fully understood their directions, I too gave up my rucksack, found a seat and sat down.

Return to San Pedro Sula, Honduras

The bus ride to San Carlos was over fairly quickly, but as the sun seemed to have dipped below the horizon the moment we got going, by the time I had reached my drop off point it was already dark.

As the drivers mate unstrapped and pulled off my rucksack from the roof I began to have my doubts about finding and making my connection, so it was a relief that the driver told me to look over the road, and directly opposite was another bus stop where a bigger and more modern coach was waiting to pick up passengers.

Crossing over the road, I hoped that this was not all some clever rouse, but it turned out to be on the up and up and soon we pulled away and headed back North to San Pedro Sula.

Taxi Rides In San Pedro Sula

When we pulled up back at the bus terminal, there was only a couple of taxi drivers waiting to pick up passengers at this time of night, and they were in no mood to waste time for slow witted English travellers to get their act together.

Being bundles into a taxi along with another local was neither idea nor my first choice, but then as I had failed to get organised on the several hour bus journey it was either that or take my chances on foot, which with my full rucksack was not a really tempting alternative.

With nothing but the name of the hostel I had stayed in, we drove off, with me desperately trying to find the print out of the hostels address in my travel pack.

After quite a length run around I managed to find it and giving the address to the driver I finally reached my destination only to be totally confused.

Bed and Breakfast Bedlam in San Pedro Sula

Although it was dark, I could still see that the outside of the hostel was painted a bold khaki green colour, with brightly coloured awnings over the balcony and palm trees planted out front of the main building.

For some reason the bottom four foot of the tree trunks were painted white, which is something I have seen a few times and never really understood why.

Had I been a driver, the reason would have been obvious, however being a pedestrian it took me years to realise that their trunks were painted bright white so that they could be seen at night by drivers attempting to park or navigate the driveway.

Anyway, the reason for my confusion is that although it was the correct name and address of the booking I had printed out, it was not the hostel I had stayed at only a few nights ago and where I had met my friend Mauricio.

What was even more curious is that once I knocked on the door the owner I found that the owner had already charged me for a single night's no-show penalty as he had it booked up that I should have been there days ago!

Luckily, despite the owner cancelling my original booking, he had not had any other bookings for my room and so it was still available for me if I wanted it, which although I was confused I certainly did.

Another Night in San Pedro Sula

After I dumped my rucksack I came down to chat with the owner and use the hostels Wi-Fi and as I did I got chatting to a very friendly local who had lived in the states for many years and had picked up quite a yank accent.

Having not eaten for several hours, I was beginning to feel pretty hungry and so when he offered to give me a lift into the centre of town as he was going that way anyway, I jumped at the chance.

He dropped me off at the corner of a main intersection which was only a short walk straight back up the road to my hostel, and not seeing anything else I stopped off at a modern Western style burger joint that also happened to be having a kids party with lots of balloons and screaming children.

Thankfully it was already late enough that most of the children were picked up even as I was placing my order, and by the time I was half way through my burger the place was almost empty.

Walking back to the hostel I felt that I would give myself a good night sleep after all the travelling I had done, and so planned on asking the hostel about how to catch a bus to El Salvador first thing in the morning.

This turned out to be another one of those times when I regretted not checking out my route more thoroughly as apparently there is only one bus that travels directly from here to San Salvador and it departs the terminal around dawn.

New Morning in San Pedro Sula

After the previous nights bus ride and late arrival I had decided to give myself a lie in and did not bother setting my alarm to wake me in the morning.

When I noticed that another blue sky was heralding a dry day ahead I thought that my spell of bad luck and timing was officially over.

Adding to my jovial mood I checked my emails and learned the amazing good news that by hook or by crook my sisters had managed to pull off the impossible and got the banks to finally acknowledge my existence and right to have access to my own money and had agreed to move it across without further delay.

This latest turn of events really put a spring back in my step and so I went out for an early morning stroll during which I came across a Western style ice-cream emporium.

Feeling like treating myself, I bought what I thought was a local branded choc-ice, but upon taking a mouthful I instantly regretted it as they clearly used totally different ingredients for both the central ice-cream and the chocolate coating.

Hoping that a small nibble might make it taste better I bit into it a second time, but it was no better and so I ended up giving a treat to the local ant community who resided at the base of the nearest refuse bin.

Returning from my walk I asked the hostel staff what times were the buses that ran from here to El Salvador and was brought back down to earth upon hearing the news that there is only one bus per day and it left at dawn.

I could hardly believe that there was only one bus per day on an intercity route between to neighbouring countries capital cities, however my disbelief did not change the fact that I had managed to slip another day on my route which would leave me with almost no time in El Salvador at all.

An Unexpected Day in San Pedro Sula

Feeling slightly crestfallen I decided to make the most of my time here in the sun, and so went for another walk to try with a few vague ideas of places I wanted to visit.

Knowing that I was only a short walk away from my original hostel, my first destination I hoped to visit was there and to perhaps meet up with Mauricio again, however having not bothered to take a map with me my sense of direction let me down and I must have virtually walked right past it without noticing.

The next place I hoped to find was a local branch of my bank, seeing as on an internet forum someone had posted their address, but this turned out to be a red herring as I walked the entire road without seeing anything that resembled an office block or financial institution.

Finding myself near the city centre I realised that I was hungry by now and so I nipped across to the mini mall and ventured upstairs to the food hall.

Feeling a little dehydrated I ordered a pint of fizzy lemonade with my Chinese and like an idiot I glugged half of it before I started eating.

Rather predictably I felt full up before I had eaten half my meal and I had to sit and wait for the effects of the carbonated gas to wear off I was able to eat any more.

With half a day still to kill I thought about going to the cinema in the mall, but there was nothing being shown that I had not already seen at least twice so I gave up and returned to my hostel.

Last Night in San Pedro Sula

Walking back to my hostel I took a long detour to dry and uncover as much of the city as I could, and in the process I managed to pass what might have been the local red light district, but as it was still daytime and the off season all the gentlemen clubs were closed.

Combined with the baking hot sun and incredibly quiet pace of life, all the walking and the meal had worked their usual magic and it was barely dusk before I was yawning.

Determined not to waste another day I asked for the hostel to both give me an early alarm call and to arrange for a taxi to take me to the bus terminal in the morning and then after packing everything but the clothes I would be wearing I laid down and fell instantly asleep.

Early Morning Ticket Hall Shambles in San Pedro Sula

With my early wake up call rising me when it was still dark, I was glad that I had also booked a taxi in advance as I would have hated to try and find a taxi at that time of the morning on my own.

The taxi ride over was short and was only a fraction more expensive that I had expected, but I put that down to the early hour as much as anything, and as I was in a hurry I didn't bother to argue.

The ticket hall of the bus terminal was inside a mini mall, and as the taxi had not broken any speed records in crossing town I had ended up cutting things a lot finer than I would have preferred.

By the time I reached the ticket office I spotted a sign that read that the bus company did not accept debit or credit cards, and the sign next to it showed the price which was almost as much as the price of a domestic flight ticket.

Having little more than pocket change on me, I had to run back through the empty hallway, slipping and sliding on the polished floor like a high school kid in need of a restroom, to find an ATM machine and I could tell my poor luck had returned as the first one I came to was out of order.

When I finally did find a machine that worked I was further frustrated as my first few credit cards were not accepted, and knowing that I had left my rucksack unattended in the ticket hall I almost totally lost it and was seconds away from attacking the blasted machine with the nearest heavy solid object.

Mercifully my reserve credit card was accepted and having grabbed a handful of cash I skidded and slid all the way back to the ticket office, where I then dragged up every word of Spanish I could think of to explain my situation and get a ticket.

For possibly the first time ever I was so very glad of the Latin idea of Timekeeping, as although I had missed the printed departure by a few minutes I still had enough time to find my way to the bus parking bay and board before it pulled away and I could start to relax.

Leaving San Pedro Sula, Honduras

As my pulse and breathing returned to normal I was too awake to fall at first, but before long I was dozing for a few hours.

Rousing myself after a few hours I looked through the coach window at the countryside as we sped past.

The view was uncomplicated yet beautiful in its own way, filled with thick flourishing fields of bright green, light blue skies speckled with tiny white clouds and plenty of small rickety wooden huts dotted the landscape for most of the journey, with occasional towns and cities interspersed along the way as we made our way South towards the border.

It was a few days before I realised that when I was in Copan Ruinas I was actually over half way to San Salvador and that had I spoken better Spanish I could have taken a local bus down the border which was only an hour away and then catch another bus from the other side and cut my journey time by almost two days. #135

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Republic of El Salvador

San Salvador (Capital City) - Arrived on 10th December 2008.

La Liberdad \- Visited on 12th December 2008.

~~ **** ~~

Arriving in San Salvador, Capital of El Salvador

My reasons for travelling to San Salvador was another friend called Maria, a lovely lady that I had known for about a year and one that was as eager to meet me and I was to meet her.

At the border checkpoint I was at first thrown by the security procedure, as I had not realised that there was an immigration agreement between Nicaragua, Honduras and El Salvador and that an entry visa for one was an entry visa for all three.

The upshot of it all was that as we pulled into the check point I began to gather my stuff and got off the bus just for one the guards to take just a cursory look at my passport before shaking his head and telling me to get back on the bus.

Sitting back on the coach I noticed that I was not the only ones to be fooled by the procedure, as there were a couple of European looking lads who had also got off for no reason.

As they climbed back onboard I decided to strike up a conversation with them and although I forgot their names almost instantly, as I often do, I did learn that they were from Western Germany and were backpacking thought the Americas in search of decent beaches and awesome waves to surf.

When the coach started up again the driver stuck on a couple of movies for us to watch, but not only were they national movies that were speaking in Spanish, but the recording quality was not even that spectacular and so I went back to my window gazing and snoozing. #136

A few more hours later we arrived in the City of San Salvador to a reception of glorious sun, and after getting advice from one of the security guards at the terminal, I took in a taxi to my roadside hotel for a fair price.

A Salvadorian Roadside Hotel

Pulling into a single parking space right off of a main road, I arrived safely at hotel and upon first glances I was not quite sure if I was impressed or not. The hostel seemed well maintained and constructed but had no overall design or style that was anything other than a simple semi-modern functionality.

Being a relatively cheap and my hotel room had no storage locker, but more disappointingly as it also had no Wi-Fi or cupboard space bigger than a small bedside cabinet, I began to doubt the wisdom of my having booked here.

Inside the motel there was a middle aged male receptionist who spent most of the time in a nearby room watching black and white movies, who checked me in and after giving me a few minutes to settle in dialled through to my room's telephone to ensure that everything was acceptable and if he could offer any assistance?

With such an attentive clerk I decided to put his offer to good use and asked for a map of the city as well some information on the city for a city tour.

Rather sadly, the hotel had only one map which the receptionist refused to let out of his sight and furthermore had absolutely no leaflets or fliers for any city tours, excursions or businesses whatsoever.

It was only after reflecting upon what the hostel did not have to offer that I came to suspect that the real purpose of his phone call was most likely to see if I wanted to be hooked up with a lady of relaxed morals and virtues, especially considering the proximity of the hotel to a number of nearby sleazy nightclubs and discos nearby.

With no information or entertainment beyond a small television set I did not feel like spending much time in my room, so as soon as I had freshened up and unburdened myself of anything I didn't need I headed out into the city.

Shopping Mall in San Salvador's City Limits

As it was still the early afternoon and the roasting sun was still high in the sky I felt safe enough to take a wander even without a map and I soon came across a shopping mall and internet cafe.

The shopping mall was not so much a compact and tall single building, it was more like a fried egg in design as while the central unit was two levels the majority was spread out over a large area and all only one story high, and occasionally had long stretches of walkway between sections.

At other times where a walkway was unfeasible it just opened out into a car park or the open air and started up again a short distance away, and all things considered it would really benefit by having large map displays throughout to aid navigation.

Popping into the internet cafe for a short time I learned that my friend Maria was no longer able to meet me today due to last minute important arrangements, but she did have firm hopes to meet up with me the following evening after work.

With the less than perfect news that I would be here today on my own, I tried to do a spot of online research to find out what there was to do around here before giving up and returning to the shopping mall.

My first stop took me to a small electronics store where I purchased another Wi-Fi adapter, my last one having developed an irritating intermittent fault a few days ago and the second was to a combined Chinese massage parlour and hair salon.

Sadly, the place was busy and booked up for the next few hours so I made a tentative booking to come back in a few hours before wandering off in the hope of finding a cinema within the complex.

A Salvadorian Cinema Experience

After much exploration I did come across a small cinema within the mall and fortuitously there was a showing of the new comedy action movie Tropic Thunder.

Like Adam Sandler, Ben Stiller is another yank comedy actor that I find very hit and miss, but being a fan of both Jack Black and Robert Downey Junior I felt that it had enough going for it to give it a watch.

I would not say that it was a rollicking laugh a minute, but there were enough good bits to keep me amused throughout and there were also plenty of in-jokes and pokes at other movies for the movie geek in me to spot and take pleasure in.

Indeed, having stopped off to get a very affordable pizza and drink combo to take into the screening with me, it took almost three fake ads for me to realise that the pre movie trailers were actually a part of the movie itself.

It was almost a struggle finding my way back to the same entrance I had came in through, but there was no way I was going to attempt to walk back to the hotel from a different exit as there would have been no telling which direction I would be heading in or what barriers might obscure my route.

Disco Pool in San Salvador

Heading back to the hotel I passed a number of night clubs and strip joints that I had not noticed earlier due to their small fascias and general lack of advertising other than neon sings, which of course are neither open nor lit during the day.

One place that did peak my curiosity was a slightly less seedy looking disco venue that was open and advertised itself as the having great pool parties with its own outdoor swimming pool adjoining the main building.

With my hotel being rather bland and lacking in facilities and not having enjoyed a swim since being in Cartagena with Alon and Andre, I decided that as I had nothing better to do I would swing by for a dip.

Being a hot day I had imagined that the place would have at least a half dozen revellers soaking themselves, however having stepped through the darkened doorway I entered into a disco room that had just a lone barmaid on duty plus a rather bored looking girl sitting in a corner doing her makeup.

After ordering a beer I sat at a vacant table and began to ponder whether I should stay awhile to see if things pick up when the girl in the corner emerged and came over to introduce herself.

As this never happens to me normally, my paranoia kicked into overdrive and I begin to suspect what kind of disco I had walked into.

My new companion was fairly small, and pretty in a plain sort of way, but already having guessed her mind I continued to be polite without being committal and wondering how quickly I could leave without causing offence.

Failure to Launch in San Salvador

As we sat trying to hear ourselves over the din of the pumping music she gave me her best flirtatious laughter and sipped some of my drink.

With us being the only two people here, I asked for the music to be turned down a bit for the time being, and then once I could hear myself think I decided that as she was not making actually making any immoral advances on me that perhaps she was just being very friendly or liked to cosy up to male tourists for her drinks for the night.

So, although she spoke no English I again dazzled with my finest attempt at Spanish and asked if we could go out to the pool where we could have a swim and chill out for awhile.

Hardly surprising, at first she did not understand what I was saying, but eventually she caught my drift at which point things got the barmaid to explain to me that I could have a swim if I liked, however with it being the off season they had not thought to clean out the pool for almost a month.

This was not the answer I was expecting, though to their credit the barmaid called over one of the bored looking bouncers who then proceeded to head out to the pool area and start inspecting the filters.

It was a valiant effort, but the filters were clogged and although he began skimming the surface with a huge net to collect up the leaves he may as well have been plucking at them with a pair of chopsticks for all the good it did.

Watching him work while sat on a curved stone bench I continued to make pleasantries with my new friend, but as my drink ran dry and he had hardly made a dent in it I felt that it was a lost cause.

Resigned to not having a swim, I bade my companion a drink after buying her a beer of her own to say thank you for the company and left, back into the warm sunshine and continued on my way back to my hotel.

First Evening in San Salvador

Upon re-entering my hotel, the male receptionist temporarily looked up from his old movie to inform me that my friend Maria had phoned me while I was out and had rearranged her evening so that she could come and meet me tonight after all.

While this was great and unexpected news, having spent the day and evening out I barely had time to have a shower and scrub up before she was due to arrive.

Maria arrived on time and looked immaculate with her hair pulled tightly into a back knot, smiling a set of perfect white teeth and wearing a thin black top and skirt that was definitely stylish smart casual.

I am not quite sure what she had had to rearrange in order to meet me, as she didn't seem to want to discuss it, but I was just happy that I was not spending my first night alone here with a local friend so near yet so far away.

San Salvador's Main Mall

As Maria owns and drives a nice car she suggested that visit a happening part of town near her work, which just so happened to be another Mall, but this one much more grand and classy than the one I had visited on foot earlier in the day.

Following her lead, we chatted as she drove to a large and modern multi-storey shopping mall that was right next to a lively entertainment district, complete with a miniature train, a crazy golf course, several bars and restaurants and even a elastic bungee chair where you could pay to have yourself repeatedly shot up into the air for a few minutes.

The Mall itself was very stylish and full of water features, illuminated festive decorations and home to many of the finest retail lines and outlet stores in the world.

Although I felt up for anything, Maria being far more reserved and civilised than me was not so keen to go golfing or bungee chair riding and instead suggested that we try a pancake from a delightful little designer cafe.

Although I am a big lover of pancakes, being a bit of a luxury food I do not normally have them as part of my regular diet.

That said, quite unintentionally I will stress but while I was travelling I constantly seemed to be trying out pancake parlours and probably went in almost as many as I did McDonalds's.

Trying out their strawberry filled crepe topped with fresh ice-cream, dusted with icing and a drizzled with syrup was completely scrumdiddlyumptious but it was really only a treat and not filling enough to satisfy either of our appetites.

Creed In Concert In El Salvador

After the snack and a chat Maria suggested that we head off to yet another Mall, one equally as elegant and impressive as this one, as this mall was her favourite and also happened to be home to a couple of the most hip and trendy bars in town.

Being honest, I felt a little underdressed as I was still wearing my travelling pants and a t-shirt; however she assured me that I looked fine and would have no problems getting into either of the places she had in mind.

The first venue she picked out was an open air bar that just so happened to have the rock ground Creed playing a low key gig, but as Maria and I still had plenty of things to talk about we felt that this perhaps wasn't for us.

The second venue, called My Way, was a large indoor ballroom style restaurant complete with a central raised section for a live band and was very classically decorated with images of the original Hollywood Rat Pack.

Perhaps because of the creed gig going on next door we had the place all to ourselves, so although neither of us had planned it this way it almost ended up as a intimate dinner for two.

After a long and pleasant night Maria dropped me back at my hotel and arranged to meet up with me again tomorrow for breakfast and then again after her shift finished for a second evening together.

At many times during my trip as I sat alone in an empty hotel room I wondered what a person does while abroad if they are not overly keen on just getting drunk, and after reflecting over tonight I guess that one possible alternative is to cruise the local high profile shopping malls in search of swanky bars and intimate low key rock concerts.

New Morning in San Salvador

As it was a normal working weekday for Maria we had agreed to meet up for an early breakfast, and for this she had decided to take us to try some local cuisine.

The eatery that she had chosen was not your usual restaurant as it seemed to be inside an art gallery for traditional art work of the region.

From the outside I could have guessed that it was quite arty, as one side of the main entrance had a row of spiky looking Aloe Vera plants while the other side seemed to be designed to look like the cresting of a wave, but I would never have guessed it was also a restaurant.

Stepping inside we made our way through a couple of exhibition rooms through to a large food hall where a variety of local dishes had been prepared in huge dished and you just went up and helped yourself before paying for it at the counter in the corner.

Although there were plenty of free tables inside Maria suggested that we took our meals out to the back where we could sit outside.

Sounding a good idea I followed her out and we ended up eating almost to ourselves in the shade of a collection of vine trees that were clumped together and had large glitter balls hung in the branches for decoration.

Stretching Time in San Salvador

Over breakfast Maria told me that she had things to do tonight, some of which she had put off from yesterday in order to meet me, and thus as we would be unable to meet up later that perhaps I might want to visit the shopping mall where she worked and meet up for lunch together.

This sounded like a good idea, as I had not spotted anything else interesting to do and so she drove us over to the mall.

With still a few minutes before her shift began we took a detour through the mall as she pointed out some places that I might like to visit while I waited, and then pausing by the malls festive Santa grotto we took turns posing as elves while the other took photos.

With Maria finally having to leave me to go to work the first place I headed for was an internet cafe, finally finding a small one inside a coffee store that was already quite full by now.

After an hour surfing and blogging I then left the cafe and decided to explore the mall, and I can say that while that might seem like wonderful treat for most women I can assure you that for a guy like me it was an exercise in managing boredom.

The mall had plenty of high class stores, an interesting layout and plenty of little statues and water features to look at; but as I had already eaten and had no money for souvenirs it was too long a time to window shop or hold my interest for long.

Thankfully the mall had plenty of comfy leather sofas throughout to sit on, but after fifteen or twenty minutes sat in one spot I felt that I had to move on to another before I fell asleep and got evicted by a security guard.

About an hour before lunchtime I thought that perhaps I was missing a trick as towards the rear of the mall there was an empty patio parking section that had huge square bollards large enough to lie on, so not seeing the harm I laid down and tried to catch a tan on my face.

Sadly, although I could not see the harm, a patrolling security guard clearly did, as he came and moved me before I had even started to go brown.

Second Night in San Salvador

At lunchtime I met Maria for lunch, and was briefly introduced to her two work colleagues, before we nipped across and found a cafe close by to have something to eat.

Talking over lunch Maria informed me that she had tomorrow off work as she had already arranged to pick up her cousin from the airport and so although we could not meet up again tonight she suggested we meet up again tomorrow for breakfast and then she could drive me to the airport and save me the inconvenience.

It was a welcome proposal as it certainly made my onward journey easier as well as meaning that I could spend a bit more time with her before flying on to Mexico City.

Saying goodbye for now to Maria I decided that if I stayed in the mall another minute I would go crazy and so I took a taxi back to my hotel and spent the rest of the evening and night watching the movies I had brought over and doing a bit of last minute research on Mexico City.

The heat of the day remained long into the evening, where it lingered on until a passing light shower just sprinkled down for a few minutes.

This brief and sudden spell of rain was so unexpected and uncharacteristic that I am sure it was just my own personal little rain cloud making sure that I knew he was still around and had not left me, as the previous couple of days had been without a spot of rain.

Final Morning in San Salvador

With no urgent rush to meet up early, Maria arrived for me at a sensible hour and as after I checked out we still had plenty of time before having to be at the airport she suggested that we go for a breakfast at a little place she loved to visit called La Liberdad.

La Liberdad turned out to be a little beach area that was just a few miles out from the city centre, but looked very much more rustic and authentic than the sterile modern malls of the city centre.

The drive through the city to La Liberdad was nice and relaxing as the traffic was light and it afforded me the perfect opportunity to see more examples of the rich millionaire chateaux's located right around the corner form the rundown poor hovels in the slum district.

As we neared the beach I vaguely remembered that this area was where the two German guys from the coach coming over said they were going to hang out and try to catch some waves.

Beachfront Breakfast

I had no idea that a lot of the private beach resorts doubled up as restaurants and swimming pools where anyone with the money could just turn up and use, but it made a lot of sense especially during the off season and with locals who wanted a view of the beach without having to pay for a room just for the privilege.

The hotel that Maria had brought me too was empty of guests and so its staff were more than happy for us to book a table and enjoy a huge breakfast with the Pacific Ocean waves cresting onto the shore as a backdrop.

Looking out over the beach I was surprised by the incredibly dark sand and large stones that made up the beach area and despite the time and season I could not understand why the beach was did not have more early morning strollers or pets and their owners running about the place.

With its palm trees swaying gently in the sea breeze, I felt that this beach was as picturesque and beautiful as any beach I had ever seen.

Considering this hotels room rate was less than double what my horrid little off road hotel had charging me, I thought that for that little bit extra I could have had so much more luxury and natural beauty that I quietly cursed myself for not knowing about this place before.

That said, it was over a half hour drive away from the city centre and so it didn't really offer me anywhere special to sightsee.

Leaving San Salvador

Sharing a breakfast with Maria by the ocean was the perfect way to end my trip here in San Salvador, however as La Liberdad was so far away from the city and the airport by the time we arrived at the International Airport in El Salvador I barely had enough time to thank my friend Maria and share a strawberry milkshake before I had to check in and clear customs.

Thankfully the airport was not only very modern and had plenty of multilingual staff but it was also fairly small and so finding my way to my departure lounge was not a struggle.

Having booked the cheapest flight from El Salvador to Mexico, despite it being a fairly short direct journey and distance, my first flight was less than an hour as I flew to Guatemala City.

After a two and a half hour stopover I had a slightly longer flight from there back to San Jose in Costa Rica in order to catch my final flight of the day from San Jose to Mexico City.

The flight from San Jose to Mexico City was at least three hours long and so when combined with the other two flights I had ended up spending almost the entire day travelling and stuck in airport lounges.

As much as I found the two seemingly wastefully unnecessary flights a bit of drag it was the terrible in-flight entertainment systems showing nothing except old repeats and more adverts than I could shake a stick at, which really got my goat.

Thankfully the actual changeovers went off remarkably smoothly and I must admit that I arrived a lot more calm and relaxed than I might have.After leaving I lost touch with Maria for awhile, but we eventually renewed our friendship many months after I returned home.

Almost a year later she moved to live and work with her sister in Mexico for a spell before she decided that she wanted a total change of scenery, and asked if it was possible for her to come over and stay with me a short while.I agreed, and as life is oft to do, feelings changed; things got complicated and we even briefly started to date.

Regrettably it was to prove an ill fated relationship that I guess was just not meant to last, though we remained friends and she returned to Mexico.

~~ **** ~~

Epilogue

Upon arriving in Mexico I was met by a rather mysterious woman called Karen, who I must admit I had made contact with just recently but despite that I became increasingly intrigued by everything about her.

I would not go so far as to call what I felt love, as that suggests or implies a shared intimacy and romance which was certainly not the case, but I did find her incredibly fascinating; so much so that after less than a week of knowing her I had cancelled my flight to Orlando in Florida and scratched my entire trip to the Dominican Republic.

When I finally did leave Mexico early in the new year I was a slightly changed person, and so was my travelling and thus my travel writing.

From Mexico I travelled up into the US mainland, then via Hawaii and Fiji down to Australia before reaching Singapore in South East Asia. From there I took a return to Java before pretty much following the train line through Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam till I finally crossed into Southern China.

It had been my original intention to visit both the Philippines and Japan but along the route I ended up cancelling those destinations to save time and money, which looking back I do now regret.

I had also originally planned on taking the Trans-Siberian Express across to Russia, but it was next to impossible to organise a Russian visa while travel hopping as frequently as I was doing; so instead I booked a few flights instead and city hopped back to home via India, the U.A.E, the Kingdom of Bahrain, Egypt, Greece and finally Rome.

During this time I got to visit another four newly classified Wonders of the World, met even more wonderful people, re-forged a lost connection to my Chinese ex-girlfriend and struggled through even more severe weather fronts than I had while I was in Latin America.

All that and more can be found in the second concluding book entitled, 'A Man of Mystery's Global Adventure – Homeward Bound'

~~ **** ~~

Top Travel Tips

#1 Travel light and practice packing in a hurry.

#2 Set an alarm if you need to be up early.

#3 Find out how flexible the rules are for your check-in time.

#4 Recharge your batteries as often as possible and carry a spare.

#5 Friendship brings its own rewards.

#6 Always take along a spare small padlock.

#7 Find out what is included and be mindful of hidden extras.

#8 Research your destination fully to minimise culture shock.

#9 Consider your wardrobe carefully and never trust your laundry with anyone.

#10 Dawn and dusk make great settings for landscape photographs but always use a flash if you intend to include a person or object close up.

#11 Buy a good city map and don't be afraid to ask for directions.

#12 Keep plenty of small notes and coins to hand for beggars, tips and machines.

#13 Practice safe sex.

#14 Avoid travelling to a foreign country during its rainy season.

#15 Try to keep your feet dry and change socks frequently if constantly on the move.

#16 Keep your itinerary flexible and don't book too much in advance.

#17 Keep a pair of thin plastic bags with you at all times.

#18 Keep a thin paperback novel in your hand luggage.

#19 Avoid travelling alone at night in a foreign city. However, if you do decide to go out, leave an email or note saying where you intend to visit, avoid wearing a valuable watch or jewellery, and leave any camera, excess spending money and passport behind (unless local laws prohibit this).

#20 Avoid booking early morning or late night intercity journeys when possible.

#21 Keep an eye out for any freebee extras offered at your hostel or hotel.

#22 Never eat at a restaurant where there are no locals and especially if you are the place appears empty.

#23 First Aid comes first. Always travel with a first aid kit, always have medical travel insurance, never overlook your travel inoculations, and learn how to perform the Heimlich Manoeuvre on yourself and to others.

#24 Do not be judgemental of cultures or beliefs based on your own ignorance.

#25 Don't get a hair cut from anyone you can't easily communicate with.

#26 Try to keep your hands free and don't pack up your camera away if you like taking action shots.

#27 When posing for artistic shots, take a tripod with you and do not rely on strangers to help as your cameraman.

#28 Try to find a tourist information office as soon as possible, but still take time to consider if their prices seem reasonable or not, as often they can be nothing more than a front for an underhand travel agency.

#29 Buy either a pay-as-you-go simcard or an international calls card while you are abroad in each country you visit and avoid racking up a huge mobile phone bill.

#30 Ignorance is not bliss, so check out both the potential accommodation facilities and its immediate surrounding features for an educated view on whether or not to make a reservation.

#31 Visit a McDonald restaurant for free WiFi access.

#32 For a cheeky albeit small free buffet snack; why not try visiting an open air fresh meat market. Be careful though, taking more than a tiny slice of anything and you will be expected to pay.

#33 If possible check your attractions opening and closing times before you set off.

#34 If price is king, expand your flight searches to include indirect routes and stop-overs.

#35 Somewhere other than your wallet / purse, carry an un-maxed out credit card for emergency uses.

#36 Be extra wary of con-artists in areas where there are large crowds, especially airports, stations, hotels, shopping centres and queues.

#37 If you are on a budget ignore strip clubs and erotic nightclubs.

#38 Unless you are heading directly out of the city after checking out, ask at reception to see if there is a safe place where you can leave your luggage for a few hours.

#39 Although local run hostels will probably have more detailed local knowledge, nothing beats a big international hostel for researching current and future trips.

#40 Be sure to carefully read and understand any map you intend to use to navigate around with before setting out. Also, if you don't mind creasing it, fold up the map into as small and useful a section as possible and refer to it often to refresh in your mind your current location and heading.

#41 Take along a small waterproof bag to hold and protect your valuables while you go swimming and travel light in order to make the most of spontaneous opportunities.

#42 Avoid entering strip clubs when you are already drunk, and if you suspect that the club you are in is actually a front for a knocking shop then you are probably right and you should leave immediately.

#43 If you don't already have a map of your destination to hand, use the internet to view a map of the area and then take a photo of it on a digital camera. This means that you can view a map and use it to navigate your way even if you are not in an area of good reception.

#44 If possible, check your email and messages before your check in to your accommodation in case of any unexpected change of plans.

#45 As part of your destinations pre-travel research, find out what annual events are held there and when, so that you can time your visit to coincide or avoid them as desired.

#46 Check out the different ways in which you can tour a city, as a guided tour can sometimes be the best way to view its key sights, especially in big city or one where it is hard to solo navigate.

#47 When booking multiple journeys, consider how a major change in times could affect your onward journey and prepare contingency plan.

#48 Do not rely on friends or family to organise your accommodation or entertainment needs. Always do your own research, have a backup plan and be prepared to find out information quickly at your destination should plans change.

#49 As well as searching for tourist information sites and forums, look on travel websites for activity ideas and then once you know what's available ask at your hotel or hostel reception for local assistance booking things. It will often be much cheaper than booking through the third party website.

#50 Unless you speak the native language always keep a phrase book handy, and as many people in third world / developing countries also cannot read if you can get an electronic one that actually speaks out the words then so much the better.

#51 Never feel too proud or embarrassed to ask questions, especially if you are lost and the sooner the better.

#52 Tourist buses are a great way to zip round a city and spot all the must see attractions in your destination. It is also a good way to judge how best to get from and to them if you intend to return for a longer or repeat visit and gauge a round trip journey time.

#53 When you take a tour try to be as memorable to the driver and guide as possible, as this greatly decreases the chance that they will overlook you or leave you stranded behind. Also, if you are going to split up arrange a time and swap phone numbers if possible, so that any delay can be relayed in time to get assistance.

#54 Always take along some foreign currency enough to cover an emergency and find out in advance if your debit/credit cards are accepted at your destination. Also keep an eye on the exchange rate and avoid machines that offer poor rates of exchange.

#55 Unless you have a cast-iron stomach, when you feel like being adventurous and fancy a change from your usual food choice it helps if you ask the waiter / waitress for a general description, instead of blindly ordering and taking pot luck.

#56 Unless you already speak the language, when travelling to a foreign country you should at least learn to say and understand a handful of words in the destination language. Such words should include:- water, help, doctor and police.

#57 Always pick up a business card / flier from your hotel or hostels reception desk as it the ideal thing to show taxi drivers, or local pedestrians in order to make you way back safely.

#58 Have no more than a single glass of alcohol during the day to enable you to keep a clear head and avoid offending the locals.

#59 Remain calm, polite, softly spoken and resolute when dealing with overseas officials. Do not give them reason to dismiss you as offensive or ignorant but also do not give any impression that you will leave before they have given you assistance. Do not accept any responsibility and carefully consider your options before offering to pay extra to find a solution.

#60 Airport taxi's are often a huge tourist trap as drivers often charge ten or even twenty times the normal going rate. Whenever possible try to use local public transport or arrange an airport pickup from your hostel / hotel. If no other choice presents itself ask in the airport how much a taxi should be to town and then be prepared to haggle with the driver.

#61 Even if you have adequate travel insurance and booked an all inclusive holiday I still recommend calculating an extra 'unexpected allowance' into your budget.

#62 When arranging to meet someone in a foreign city for the first time ensure that you select a place that is both easy to find and easy to reach. Also ensure you have been truthful in your description and ensure that you will be able to communicate with each other upon arrival.

#63 Always take precautions with your skin and your health. If you intend to visit a beach or spend any length of time under the sun ensure that you keep suitable suntan lotion and aftersun close to hand and not packed at the bottom of your luggage or rucksack.

#64 Trust your instincts and common sense. Do not go anywhere with a smooth talking stranger and do not pay for any service you have not directly negotiated yourself.

#65 When booking a venue always try to find reviews from past guests on websites not directly affiliated / hosted by the venue itself for an impartial, and not just believe the sales pitch on their own websites homepage.

#66 Avoid making unfounded word associations between English and foreign words based solely on how a word sounds or is spelled.

#67 If you find yourself in desperate need of air conditioning then head to the nearest multi-story shopping complex where you can idle away a few hours doing nothing more than window shopping.

#68 When considering taking a photo, it is not only considered polite to ask the subjects permission but sometimes it is mandatory.

#69 When leaving feedback or offering up advice, be it sought our or not, always consider your surroundings and current circumstances before giving anything less than a glowing report. Alternatively consider waiting until after you have vacated the premises before delivering a verdict or review that is of a negative slant.

#70 Always keep your wallet, travel documents and passport in a safe but accessible place on your actual person whenever taking any long distance journey.

#71 Avoid booking with a third party travel agency based in a country that is of a different time zone to both you home country and your destination country.

#72 Trust your instincts and if something does not seem right with you then take steps to protect yourself and your belongings.

#73 Travel clockwise if attempting a lengthy circumnavigation of the world.

#74 When travelling at night, or in areas that are of dubious reputation, avoid wearing anything that might attract the wrong attention. Do not wear flashy clothes, expensive jewellery and only take valuables like a mobile phone if you think you will actually need it.

#75 Before flying back from holiday, or onward in a multi stop trip, always find out early if you have to pay any departure tax as most airports insist it be paid in local currency and there are not always ATM machines close by.

#76 Learn to haggle and before buying any item or service find out its local value.

#77 Keep an amount of small change and low denomination notes of local currency separate from your main wallet.

#78 Suncream is for hot climates / weather, not just for hot beaches.

#79 When preparing for a hike ensure you have sensible footwear, a water bottle, a light snack, suncream and a lightweight waterproof smock or poncho. Also do not overload yourself with anything bulky or heavy unless absolutely necessary.

#80 When booking a tour always consider what is covered in the price, and what extras will be required, such as admission tickets, guide books, tipping, meals and drinks.

#81 When a beautiful single woman takes you to a romantic location and you have the chance to buy her a flower, do not hesitate.

#82 When waiting on arrangements with friends or family always check your messages last thing at night and first thing in the morning.

#83 Do not attempt to introduce one friend or group of people to another, as it often complicated things and hardly ever creates new friendships.

#84 Never buy art as a travel souvenir for a friend.

#85 It may seem fiddly and unnecessary but always use the little straps that come with most small electronic devices, such as cellphones and cameras, as it is an extra obstacle that pickpockets or opportunist thieves would need to overcome.

#86 On a long extended vacation away from home try to break up the travelling by having the occasional place where you can give your mind a break from actually travelling and sightseeing and feel like you are at home.

#87 Avoid extended travelling alone if you are a social person and used to spending all your free time with friends or family.

#88 Find out how much advanced notice you need to give with intercity connections by public transport, especially when travelling outside Europe.

#89 Try not to let beggars or street hawkers spoil your mood or colour your opinion of a destination.

#90 When trying to be non-descript and avoid the attention of pick-pockets and con-men do not use machines, or do anything, that will draw a large amount of attention onto yourself.

#91 When all else fails, try to keep your sense of humour. It probably won't help resolve your difficulty, but at least you will feel a little better.

#92 Try to find out if your holiday destination has any mascots, as it not only helps explain a few things but it might even save you from getting lynched.

#93 When planning any rural activities or excursions always check what, if any, the locals consider to be required precautions / preparations / equipment.

#94 When going native while travelling abroad be prepared to forego, or find alternatives for, most of the items on your normal grocery shopping list.

#95 Although prices are lower, avoid travelling alone to destinations during their off season if your intention is purely to sight see and mingle with other tourists.

#96 If you are planning on taking lots of digital photos or videos that you would hate to lose, buy and copy them to a spare memory card or dvd as a backup.

#97 Try to avoid situations where you are forced to wait in places that are outside of your comfort zone. Likewise avoid asking the same of others.

#98 Try to ensure that you have the latest information regarding your travel arrangements, and if you book a long time in advance check for recent developments before you leave.

#99 If you are overly bothered by unexpected delays then always double then treble check the distance and journey time when making a long distance or international voyage.

#100 Always read the manual / learn how to get the best from your equipment before you leave home as on the spot, trial and error learning often leads to disappointment.

#101 When faced with an obvious overcharging taxi driver, refuse to pay until you get out and then only pay a fair price instead of what they first attempt to charge you.

#102 When arriving at a new hotel or hostel, always keep a digital image of the front of the building and save for reference later, as even familiar things can look strange at night and hard to navigate by at night.

#103 Unless you are on an all inclusive package holiday, it will be far cheaper to buy your groceries from a grocers or super market and prepare a meal yourself than to constantly frequent restaurants.

#104 When all else fails in terms of guided tours, try to find a taxi driver that wants to earn some easy money but always fix a price and ensure someone else knows where you are going and who you are with.

#105 Never let a policeman or security guard see you taking a photograph that even has a remote possibility of including them, unless you want to be routinely frisked of course.

#106 When you find yourself targeted by corrupt officials for whatever reason, often your only choice is to either pay whatever phoney fine they think that they can get away with or high tail it out of there.

#107 When socialising with people of other cultures, be mindful that they might have very different ideas about what is acceptable in terms of time keeping.

#108 Always ask and observe other cultures greeting customs before initiating physical contact, as while some cultures can be considered tactile, others appear quite formal and reserved.

#109 When planning on taking a taxi to an airport or bus station always allow yourself a lot of extra time if the weather is bad, as taxi drivers often prefer to make several short trips instead of a single long journey with no guaranteed fare on the return.

#110 Avoid getting drunk outside of your hotel / hostel while alone or with people you have only barely been introduced to.

#111 When buying a map that you intend to be your only guide and source of reference, both check it is up date as well as trying to identity several main points of reference.

#112 Take an overhead railway from one end of a city to the other for a partial but affordable aerial view of the city.

#113 In order to photograph something illuminated with coloured lighting you must always switch off your flash and set your camera to either night or firework mode.

#114 Always pay attention on which direction a taxi driver takes in order to avoid tine wasting and costly false starts.

#115 If you don't mind getting your hands wet, and if the clothes are only lightly dirty and not in need of a deep clean, then you can hand wash clothes in a sink or bath quickly and cheaply.

#116 Always keep a hard or digital copy of any prepaid tickets close to hand in case you need to show someone when asking for assistance or directions

#117 Take a few minutes to plan your routes from or to your destinations departure points, such as an airport or train station, using public transport when permitted. Ensure that you know which terminal, platform or pick-up point you will need if at all possible.

#118 Taxi drivers can be fonts of local knowledge, but do not rely on their impartiality as they frequently receive a bonus commission for how many passengers they deliver at a few select locations.

#119 If you are approached by someone you would rather not be, be firm and totally negative in your refusal almost to the point of rudeness, as anything else will just invite them to try again later.

#120 Always be wary of locals who approach you without being asked and try to convince you that the place you want to visit is closed but yet they know a similar place that is open if you would only follow them.

#121 Do not attempt to send any parcel or package from an overseas postal service without being prepared to have it opened and ever item inside scrutinised in front of you.

#122 When staying in a hotel or hostel, try to find out what their policy is with regarding guests in your room at any time and if there is an additional charge.

#123 Remain vigilant at all times and never let any stranger get too close or be able to lay their hands upon you without good reason.

#124 Unless you like taking chances, always research the addresses of at least a couple of alternative hotels/hostels in your destination city for use in an emergency.

#125 When you have arranged for an overseas friend to visit you in your home town, if you see them a day or two earlier than planned do not leave it several days before you contact them to find out why.

#126 Always ensure you never pay and exit a taxi until you have already collected any luggage from the boot of the vehicle, and try to avoid placing any luggage into a taxi if the driver is still sat at the wheel.

#127 Never let a twitchy, shifty eyed taxi driver spot you taking a detailed picture of him or his vehicle unless you don't actually want to use their service.

#128 When dealing with tour operators be firm and determined to only book a tour that you actually want, as most are unscrupulous and will attempt to talk you into as many as offers as they can, regardless of your budget, timetable or personal likes.

#129 Always keep your valuables either locked up or on your person at all times, even when you feel safe and secure inside your hostel or hotel.

#130 Never let your existing hotel or hostel staff know that you are booking your excursions with another tour operator.

#131 Always read the information booklet that your hostel or hotel provides as there is often likely to be at least one detail that you would benefit from being aware of beforehand.

#132 Avoid buying anything except emergency essentials from airport shops if at all possible as the price will often have been unrealistically inflated.

#133 For those unfamiliar or inexperienced with haggling, never appear desperate, never accept the first price and if you know you are being overcharged do not be afraid to simple walk away and either try again later or somewhere else.

#134 If you are planning an extended stay abroad ensure that you have left authorised instructions, like a power of attorney or similar, with someone you trust back home to make legal and financial decisions in your absence.

#135 Unless you speak the native lingo, always try to book your reservation with a resort that has bilingual staff if you intend to use it for anything other than to sleep.

#136 If while you are abroad you intend on spending a lot of time sitting down with nothing to do, then to maximise your free time try to sleep while travelling. In order to do this you might find it beneficial to purchase yourself some ear plugs and a dark eye-mask.

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Acknowledgements

A few words of thanks from the author

Dickon Springate : There is a large number of people that I would like to thank as without their help, support and guidance the idea for this trip and book might never have grown to fruition.

First of all I would like to say a big thanks to my amazing family who have helped in so many ways that I cannot even begin to list them all.

Secondly I would like to thank all the friendly and sociable people I met along the way, without whom my travels and this book would have been very different and most likely much less interesting. Many of them have lives too full and hectic to spend writing emails all the time, but they are never far from my thoughts.

Lastly, but by no means least, there are a few individuals who I feel deserve a special mention whether they realise why or not.

In no particular order they are:, Robert Williams, Amelia Ward, Sharon Gearing, Mira Gadd, Susan Brown, Robert King, Paola Vasquez, David Southwell and Susan Tocher.

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Credits

Dickon Springate : Although I personally took around 15,000 photographs while I was travelling, I did from time to time ask others to take the occasional shot of me, and though I rarely thought to stop and ask for their name I would like to thank them for their assistance.

Likewise, frequently when I was travelling I picked up tourist guides, leaflets, holiday brochures and city maps wherever I could, in addition to taking the occasional organised tour, and once again although I did not always get the guides name I have always tried to include an honest account of what they told me and would like to thank them for their contribution.

As such, while most of the enclosed book is my own personal thoughts, words and deeds, I have very occasionally included some factual information which I can only hope is technically correct.

Therefore I apologise now for any inaccuracies or errors that have crept in as facts in this book, and furthermore I would like to confirm that it was not my intention to deceive, defame or discredit anyone with anything that I have included in this volume.

If you liked this ebook and wish to read more about me and the things I have done then why not head on over to my own personal blogsite.

www.DickonSpringate.Blogspot.com

Many thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it.

Dickon Springate
