South America, te quiero

Final post this side of the world. Am safely in Lima airport, with only about 8 whole hours to while away, so a final round up of last day in Mancora, and, that´s it. For this continent anyway. Think Africa is going to be less amenable internet wise so will have to revert to keeping a proper handwritten diary and write up whenever possible.
Last night in Mancora was pretty successful. Rich, Shane, John, Becky and Will came to join us in the bar at Loki (Conor having fallen prey to a raw burger) and we tucked into the requisite vodka and coke over various games. I triumphed at Scrabble (degree not entirely useless) and John lost fairly spectacularly at giant Jenga, paying up his forfeit of stripping off and jumping into the pool (not as lame as it sounds as is actually banned) admirably. Hung out til closing time, and then Clara and I went for a promenade along the beach and a Cosmopolitan each. They came with maraschino cherries which I´m fairly sure were not in the SATC original, but were pretty tasty. A civilised veil will be drawn over the rest of the evening, what goes on tour, etc, other than to say that I was pleased to see that my wing womaning abilities have not waned through lack of use of late.....
Last day in Mancora began with my only real meltdown of the holiday. My credit card stopped working, and as my replacement debit card is currently languishing in London, it was pretty urgent that HSBC pulled finger out of a** and a. stopped making up reasons as to why it wasn´t working and b. fixed it. Instead, half an hour later and on to my 3rd assistant from the ´Centre of Excellence`, I was for some reason embroiled in an arduous attempt to extend the limit on my card. Threw phone at floor and then burst into tears of rage once had found sympathetic audience (Conor, Eimear and Clara). Financial rescue came in the form of the lovely Conor and was able to book my coach etc, so once again, huge thanks to that young man. Bit of a legend, that one.
Stress over, I spent one last luxuriously hot afternoon by and in the pool at Loki with the team, soaking up the rays and the relaxed sensation of being surrounded by people doing nothing more than enjoy themselves with whatever idle pursuit struck their fancy. Think that´s why I love hostels so much - that sense of freedom in the air.

So, some of the most memorable parts of South America:

Lapa steps at 3am
Samba dancing in Rio
Iguazu Falls with the Laconic Frenchman
Alice getting a round of applause for her legs in BA (which we all basked in collectively)
Iguana Skin and the ubiquitous Long Island Ice Tea cocktails in Milhouse
Sitting on Fordey´s shoulders (on Lee´s shoulders) on the lagoon in the depths of the salt flats, wind driving into my face, uncontrollable grin on my face
Death of barbie
That´s what she said
Afternoons tucked into the jeep, Ylonah snoozing beside me on the back seat as Victor plays his Peruvian pan pipes at full volume
The discovery that post pan pipes there are some relatively decent 80´s tunes on that CD
The boys playing at soaking the small Bolivian boys with rocks by a stream in a small village in Bolivia, much to their excitement and hysteria (both small and big boys)
First night at Wild Rover in La Paz
Power cuts at the Blue House
Flip flop v Thong, Pudding v Dessert, Supper v Dinner (etc)
Cusco nights: Mama Afrikkkka, Jarrad´s stratospherically good form, and the sequence of photos that followed (legs over head)
Hangover juice in the market in Cusco
Christmas day: whole thing, especially bellinis by the pool, steak and jacket potatoes, sparklers, and Marco...POLO

Hasta luego, South America....

The lavatory is only for urinating, REPEAT, the lavatory is only for urinating.

Got to love old Cruz del Sur. Comfy, and they did a special Christmas supper which was touching and depressing in equal measure. Rather than the usual rice plus hunk of chicken plus potato we got a really rather tasty fragrant sweet rice with turkey in some kind of spicy sweet sauce. Bit like a sort of chow mein but pretty darn good, and the christmas tree shaped brownie was darned good. All presented in red and green festive plastic boxes. Luverly.
Despite said relative luxury I was pretty excited to get to Mancora at long last on Christmas Eve morning. Hopped on a tuk tuk in the direction of the house, hand drawn map in Lonely Planet to hand. As I{d later discover, tuk tuks don{t go up the hills to Vista del Mar (unless you{re Clara and then only seemingly in exchange for sexual favours) - but just as we get out the map to figure out where we{re going, Becky and Rich appear like a mirage around the corner, and recognise my bedraggled traveller self as matching the "small blonde girl" description given by Clara. Rich very kindly carries my bag up the hill, and I traipse up behind him in the heat. We round a corner, and I see a positive mirage before my eyes - perched up on the hill looking down over the bay are 3 bungalows, one of which will be our home for the next few days. The view is stunning, the hammocks are hung out around the place, adn there{s even a pool.
I settle in and meet the others, and then we head for the beach. As it{s exceedingly windy (sand everywhere) we abandon this plan and instead I have my first ceviche - deeeelicious fresh fish marinaded in onion, lime, and herbs. So good. Thus revived I move on to Kris Kindle shopping, and then wider Christmas Day supper shopping with Clara. Turns out that despite being a Catholic country, everything is open on Christmas Day, so our keenness is a little unnecessary. See, I said Peru was Daddy{s sort of country - BET you could buy a Christmas tree ON Christmas day here if you wanted..... I endeavour going out that evening, but beyond a quiet drink on the beachfront I{m exhausted so give up and head to bed.

CHRISTMAS DAY dawns bright and very beautiful indeed. The sun is blazing, Clara cooks up an egg and potato tortilllary and fruit salad storm, and then we head to the pool to drink bellinis and exchange presents. Becky gives me an awesome selection of DVDs which will definitely be heading to South Africa with me. Also exchange presents with Clarita and Eimear and have my stocking to open from H so feel most spoiled. Call home and find it extraordinary to imagine the cold, and then head back to splash around in the pool for most of the day. As the night falls we get our cook on. I assume my typical role of vegetable peeler and assist in the creation of some pretty awesome dips, not to mention a killer vodka lemonade and lime for Head Chef Clara. Conor is put in charge of the kilos of meat we{ve bought plus the jacket potatoes, and a pretty damn awesome Christmas supper is assembled. We even have enough to satisfy the boys. Job done. Christmas pudding (all the way from home) lighting goes slightly awry as the booze isn{t warm, but no one minds the extra vodka. We then light sparklers and quaff yet more drinks, before heading down the beach front to dance til the small hours/ climb across from bar to bar 1 floor up (if you{re a crazy boy that is) from the ground. Eventually make it back to the house where a game of Marco Polo ensues in the pool, and then bed.
An amazing and unforgettable Christmas with a fantastic bunch. So glad Clara and Eimear decided to invite me to join them, and a million kazillion brownie points to Conor for finding such a fantastic house.
Boxing Day passed in a blur of hungover pain, and we very sadly checked out this morning from the house. Am now ensconced in Loki No. 3 (free t shirt yessssss) for one final night. Clara and I tucked into a cocktail by the pool - mine the aptly named Afternoon Delight - before joining Conor, Eimear, Dave, Will and Becky for cocktails on the beach and yet more ceviche.
Shower time now, and then one, last, final night on the town in South America.
I could get used to this travelling thang....

"Ok, you can watch a DVD with me, but bring your blanket because I don{t want our legs touching or anything weird like that."...

...."But I LIKE it when our legs touch". - J to D. Married couple.
Last day in Cusco is spent firstly in the San Pedro market, home to the best freshly made juice out there. Find a winning mixture with orange, pineapple and mango. Yummmm. Worth battling the smell of meat and god knows what else that permeates the market and doesn{t go so well with a hangover just to get to the nectar. Wander back to the hostel for requisite snooze, before heading back out to The Crown to have my last fix of thai spring rolls. I eventually bid a very sad farewell indeed to the boys, and head to the bus station, mourning the empty husk that my life will be without their chat.
Get to Arequipa early the following day and immediately strike up conversation with an English girl on the bus, Claire, who is a CELEBRITY on BBC Oxford. I pretend not to be excited by this pretty successfully til later that day when she shows me her showreel. Anyway, we dump our stuff at a pretty shady hostel, take a paddling pool - sorry, shower - and head to Arequipa{s number 1 attraction, the convent. Yes, that{s right, I have now done a museum in South America. Involving nuns and Catholicism and everything! It{s actually stunning and the lunch is pretty good too. We then move back to the main square and sup wine beneath voluminous ponchos in a bar overlooking the cathedral. When finally beaten by the cold we move locations to a creperia and pass a somnolent few hours in the warmth.
Regrettably whistlestop tour to Arequipa over, and its back on a bus for me to Lima, and then on Mancora...............

I beat five Australian boys up a lot of steps. And now I{m boasting about it.

...because I didn{t at the time, despite encouragement to rub in Marlon{s face that I whupped his ass (apparently he was heard to mutter "I can{t be beaten by a girl" the whole way up). Discovered my inner mountain goat for Machu Picchu, with the aid of Selena Gomez and "Naturally".
Anyway, I have been v.negligent with blog, from about MP time in fact so will have to catch up now. It{s my last proper night in South America (tomorrow will be spent in luxury, comparitively anyway, on the Cruz del Sur Bus Of Joy (TM) en route to Lima), so I figured I should update blog in the beautiful environs of Loki Mancora. So, as ever, working backwards....
MACHU PICCHU
My new role as team leader affirmed (such a cuckoo), I was once again put in charge of all tickets, setting of alarms etc. Apparently in Peru the women wear the (striped traveller) trousers... Having gathered large quantities of liquids with which to soothe hangovers, we hopped in mode of transport 1: a small tin can of a mini bus, perfectly suited to vertically challenged types such as yours truly with stumpy legs that fold away neatly, less perfect for anyone over the height of about 6 ft. Which was all five boys. Journey to the train was breakneck to say the least but absolutely stunning - snow capped mountains rising in the distance, great vistas spreading before us before seemingly dropping away to nothing. Spent most of the time craning my head out of the window to gawp. Interesting diversion just before our stop at Ollantambababayayayayay or whatever it{s called in the form of a rock slide on to the road. At home this would equal huge tailback, large quantities of stripy tape, flashing lights, and lots of officious policemen. As all the officious policemen in South America are in fact based in La Paz, there was no such fluster here. Instead all the minivans etc took turns to negotiate around said rock fall. It was only covering the entire road for God{s sake, what{s the big deal? Plenty of room on the verge.
We get to Ollaynatambaaayayay...etc... in time for pit stop supper. Yes boys, SUPPER with PUDDING whilst wearing FLIP FLOPS. Cough. On to the train, and a small but inedible empanada later and we{re in Aguas Calientes. Get collected by the hostel lady and troop through the town and over an impressively rickety Indiana Jones-esque bridge to our hostel. Smells strongly of damp. Unsurprising. The mountains rise all around us in the dark, and given the 4am start we{re all impressively excited about the following day{s activities. Jarrad makes an excellent impression on the hostel by calling out "Hola biiiiitches" to the room as a cleaner arrives, unaware of her presence. She{s later heard giggling to herself and muttering "Hola beetches" to herself as she walks down the stairs. This plus Dim{s run in with an admittedly huge moth bird thing and susbsequent flapping around room cements the Aussie boys{ girlie reputation in AC as in the rest of South America. Nice work.
4am start ends up being a little later than planned the next am. We head up the mountain determined to take on the 1,000 plus steps that cut straight across the wiggly route the bus takes up to the top of MP. I am relieved to see that the boys are as eager as I am to stop whenever possible to gulp down water and shveat copiously on rocks etc (obviously I glow rather than sweat, being a girl). Llama hat and gloves swiftly abandoned as things get pretty warm. I{m feeling pretty defeated about 1/3rd of the way up, and considering taking the road. I then decide to start ahead of the boys next time we stop....and never look back. Bit of open, um, road or rather steps plus my favourite gym tunes from that time back in May when I went all of four times or so to the gym prove my making, as does the realisation that my stumpy legs cope better with bouncing up the steps rather than slogging at them.
I reach the top just ahead of Dim (only because he stops to take pictures admittedly) and take in the view. World{s most expensive sandwiches later and we{re ready to hit MP. We then have a very nice but somewhat thorough guide. No one falls asleep behind their sunglasses. No one. MP IS beautiful - the scenery makes it, but not my fave in S.America. That prize is still claimed by Iguazu Falls and the Salt Flats. My sense of pride in making it up those steps makes the whole thing worth it, however.
We collapse onto a bus back to AC, and then hit on the cunning plan of booking a hostel room for 4 hrs or so in which to snooze. Snooze plus food later, and it{s back to Cusco. Uneventful, bar the child screaming hysterically from inside the luggage compartment below the bus where he{s been stowed away with his mother that hinders progress back to Cusco somewhat.
We get back and celebrate Dim{s birthday again with the aid of a strawberry cheesecake Nick and Marlon have bought, and some stiff vodka and cokes. Sufficiently revived we then hit the wondrous drinking hole that is Mama Africa. I make friends with Luis the barman, and free shots ensue. Bonus.

Fact of the day: Australia is the only nation that eats its own coat of arms.

Forgive me in advance. This blog post is likely to be pretty shady given that we had a huuuuge night here last night.
First thing´s first before I rewind to the end of La Paz - I adore Cusco. Easily my favourite city in South America by far. Unexpectedly beautiful in a European sort of way in the centre, fab food, chilled vibe. MUCH nicer than smelly old gloomy La Paz.
So, with one last big night out, marred by a terrible terrible steak in the Steak House DO NOT GO THERE IT´S RUBBISH, but improved somewhat by venturing out to the closest thing Bolivia has to a club (Mango´s? Mungo´s?) I hopped on the bus with the 5 strapping Aussie boys (whaaaaat....innocent face, wide eyes) - Dim, James, Nick (aka Mick Burquez, fastest gun in the West), Jarrad (aka Harald according to most bemused South Americans who can´t of course pronounce the J correctly) and Marlon to Copacabana. We arrive at the side of Lake Titicaca, and disembark the bus, to watch it float gently across in what looks like a large shoebox to the other side. Back on the bus, and up into the hills. Once again just when I think I´ve seen every bit of landscape Bolivia has to over, she pulls it out of the bag again. Lake T is a stunning Mediterranean shade of blue, the hills rising rocky and scrubby around her. The similarity to the coast on the South of France is heightened by the smell of the trees - no idea what they are but they smell the exact same.
We arrive in Copacabana to be collected by our hotel (niiice). The boys can barely fit into the little tin van that appears - once more the wee one wins, plenty of leg room. Take that, all ye giants. Hotel Utama is hilarious - novel choice of paint combinations, plastic corrugated roof, and once more the eiderdowns excel. Winning element is the hat used as a lampshade in the bedroom. On the upside they do offer free bananas. The boys fall on these, I don´t. This turns out to be an error...
We head down to the beach to catch the boat to Isla del Sol, birthplace of the Inca´s. Initially pleased with our choice of rooftop perch on board, we rapidly become cold, and the alpaca jumpers have to come out to play. Beautifully sunny tho, so I manage to burn my kneecaps. Turns out that the boat takes an hour and half to get to the island. Whilst the scenery around us is beautiful, we all rapidly become obsessed with the thought of food. This is not aided by exchanging tales of the best places to eat in Adelaide/London. I seriously have never heard anyone talk about food as much as these boys. I take note that kangaroo is delicious.
Get to Isla del Sol, and race to get food. Turns out that we only have an hour on the island, so by the time we´ve eaten chips with bits of sausage on them, and pizza that is rated in someone´s bottom three pizzas they´ve ever eaten (cue a run down of ALL pizza eaten on the trip by the boys, including toppings. Dear lord) we only have time to go and stand on the steps leading to the rest of the island before getting back on the boat. Saw lots of donkeys tho´. Didn´t go near them Mummy, don´t worry..... We all snooze downstairs in the boat on the way home, lulled by the waves and the, well, gentle pace of the boat. Hotel, more siestas, and then FOOD. We find an epic place that does tasty Mexican food. The boys order impressive quantities of food, polish most of it off and then package the rest up for breakfast. Brennan & Dr House leap to mind...
Following morning sees us head to Puno, and the border with Peru. Bye bye my beloved Bolivia, hellah Perah. We cross over without incident, and head up into the hills and Cusco.
Cusco is STUNNING. Loki Cusco is also easily the nicest hostel I´ve stayed in. The building itself is really rather beautiful in parts, all high ceilings and exposed beams etc. It´s perched on the side of a comically steep road, which leads down to the markets. First night in Cusco is fairly comprehensively destroyed by karaoke in the bar, the highlight of which is a small cute boy trying his best to sing along to ´I´ve got a feeling´. The next day we head out to explore Cusco, having booked our tickets to Machu Picchu. We find an awesome pub called the Crown serving Thai food, with the best spring rolls I´ve had. Ever. Fact.
Whilst I´m waiting for said spring rolls and Pad Thai to turn up, I nip to the loo. As I´m pulling up my trousers I feel something tickle my leg. I bat at it, thinking it´s my trousers. Then I feel it again, higher up. This time it distinctly moves. I squeak and pull down my trousers AND A MOUSE JUMPS OUT OF THEM. I immediately get hysterical giggles whilst the poor thing desperately runs around by the door, unable to get out. I don´t want to go past it to get out in case it makes a dash for the ol´ travelling trousers again, so end up in comic style standing on the loo seat, until it makes it safely back behind the loo.
Other than the mouse, the food and service was pretty damn good.
After lunch we head to San Pedro market, a huge undercover market stuffed full with meat, fish, fruit, flowers, as well as the requisite llama festooned tourist items. We have the most delicious fresh smoothies, and then wander around buying presents galore. There´s a huge basket stall in the middle - I think of Maman. Back to the hostel, requisite siesta´ing, and then to the bar. Pretty much everyone is planning a huge night, and you can feel the anticipation in the air. I think of Holdsmoore and co. partying the night away at home and miss everyone hugely. It´s Dim´s birthday so we start ordering him the requisite shots. Result: 6ft plus of man dancing on a table whilst yelling ´this is so embarrassing, I´m so embarrassed´. Photo footage of the night is frankly epic. We head out to a safari themed club at oneish and dance the night away. I request Waka Waka in honour of L11 much to the boys´disgust and do my classic wee one dance (hands akimbo, staring at the ceiling smiling to myself).
Today: hungover. Leaving for MP in 20mins. Verrrry excited. & then back here Sunday evening, before racing to Arequipa/Huacachina.
Nearly home time! Love you all.

Christmas is coming....

Wild Rover has put up decorations at long last- there´s a plastic tree with spangly lights in the foyer. Am disproportionately excited about this, and also missing all the festive fun at home.
Have had a very chilled out couple of days in La Paz mostly featuring sleep. Totally getting how people end up getting stuck here for weeks on end - sadly my schedule doesn´t permit this. Am tagging along with some Aussie boys to Lake Titicaca on Weds eve, then up to Cusco and Macchu Pichu, before a bit of sand dune fun (the boys have turned up their nose at this concept. Seemingly sand dunes are pretty common down under).
The night life here is awesome - Wild Rover v.keen on handing out free shots etc. General gist is to prop up the bar til about 1.30 and then head out. Post bar locations have been somewhat hit and miss. Saturday night took us to the Blue House, where there were no less than 3 black outs before we eventually gave it up and went home, despite the efforts of the bar staff to keep us there by bribing us with jelly shots. Last night was pub quiz night - definitely a set up as we didn´t win despite being a frankly powerful team. Got incredibly overexcited when asked during the sporting round ´Which race takes place annually between Putney and Mortlake´- tis a pretty rare occurrence for me to contribute to sports trivia. Carefully wrote down answer with ´filthy tabs´in brackets next to Cambridge. Out after that to Musick (the boys swearing that we were just going to have 1 drink.....) which was diabolical and totally empty. Ended up going to Room 36 instead. Tis a club that has to move around all the time as they set it up in a house and eventually the neighbours get hacked off and complain. All very secretive. Ceiling roofed with egg cartons, and lots of Christmas fairy lights everywhere. Twas awesome.

Two trilbies, a marriage, and Barbie goes down. All taken with a pinch of salt...

Riiiight, I´ve now been on the computer for an hour updating. So someone had better read this.
Tour of the salt flats begins with all of us comprehensively hungover. We meet our tour guide, Victor, and the newest member of Team Llamaf*ckers, Brandon, both of whom turn out to be totally legendary.
Yet more snacks to hand (Pringles esp. popular), we pull out of Uyuni. Stop 1: the train graveyard. We take one look and decide en masse that this is phenomenally dull. We get Victor to drive on immediately. He clearly thinks we´re Philistines. However, Lee then spots a cow, and lets out a moo. Victor promptly gets the giggles, and thus we crack how to please Victor. Whenever he gets miffed with us for taking too long taking pics / being late for breakfast (sign of displeasure = pan pipe music at full volume) we get Lee to make an animal noise. Works like a charm.
First stop; a village at the edge of the flats. We munch on llama steaks, buy random items made of salt, and try to chase down a small piglet. Moving swiftly on; the salt flats. Just extraordinary. Huge hexagons of the stuff at our feet. We change into costume and take some frankly spectacular photos, making the most of the whole perspective thingy. We then drive across them til we hit the hills at the side (12000 km, I think Victor said they were in size - spread as far as the eye can see at one point but for hills shimmering as tho´they are floating islands on the very horizon) and our salt hotel. Hotel is a bit of a stretch. The electricity comes on at 7 and goes off at 10, and tho´there are apparently showers I don´t manage to find one. Loo flushes tho. Bonus. We all watch Hot Rod on Lee´s laptop tucked up beneath teh comically naff bedspreads (big hearts and ´with love forever and always´printed on them) before bed, accompanied by some terrible/hilarious jokes from the boys. Y and I have a separate ´room´ but it´s just partitioned off, which gives us access to said jokes.
My favourites:
´Who is the most popular man in the hospital?´
´The ultra sound man´
`When the ultra sound guy isn´t there, who´s the most popular?´
´The hip replacement man´
BOOM (10 points Curley)
Following morning we´re up at 6.30, supposedly. Late departure = 30 mins of pan pipes until we beg for some i-poddage. Some incredible sights today: 4 lagoons in total, all populated by flamingos, and some stunning rocks. It´s pretty hard to explain how mindblowing it is without the photos, but I think some of them, especially the beloved panoramic ones, do it justice. Everyone is on a high, wowwed by the scenery, and (personally speaking) overwhelmed by the beauty of it all. We get to our hotel (even more basic) at about 4, and head out into the driving wind, blithely ignoring the signs to not walk on the lagoon (it´s all crusty in parts). Bolivian wine to hand we run about taking some of the best pics yet, before heading back to a very raucous pasta supper. Dub step Silent Night anyone? Thought not. Ylonah and I give into vanity and wash our hair, with skull numbing consequences. Ow.
Final wake up call is 5am, plus pancakes and yoghurt. Hot springs take the edge off the hangover, and we take in geysers and the green lagoon, before turning the jeep around and heading back to Uyuni. By the time we´re back we´re dusty and exhausted. I still don´t really want to get out of the car tho´. The whole experience was just immense. The way the landscape changes so comprehensively is quite extraordinary. I love just how wild the place is, bumpy tracks carving at random through the desert, mountains rising and falling around us, huge lagoons appearing before our eyes.
Bolivia - te quiero.

...that´s what she said / I NEED TO GO TO MY QUIET PLACE / Abrgasaabibbobbibidoo?

Can´t believe it´s been nearly a week since I left La Paz first time round, in the company of Ylonah, Lee, Dave and Fordey. The boys were too hammered to remember meeting me first time round, but seemed happy enough with Ylonah´s invitation to join them. Headed to the bus stop ticketless (the others having booked theirs) in hope of finding a spot on one bus or other, the hostel having told us the bus the others were on was now booked out. Tramped around the bus stop, no luck. That is til we got back to the first bus where we managed to negotiate a first refusal on the bus. Or so we thought. Tramp outside, man in yellow jacket seemingly recognises me as the girl wanting the bus ticket. After the others troop on he waves me in, and proudly leads me to the back of the bus, before standing aside to let me see my throne. A small wooden stool with a blanket on it. I giggle nervously, but it turns out not to be a joke. Everyone takes pity on me (having first taken the piss, and lots of pics) and lends me their blankets. I hunker down on the floor with a diazepam. Ironically not the most uncomfortable of journeys. Was even warm as I was sleeping on some form of pipe. God I love being an optimist sometimes. Also strike 1 for midgetty me - I just about fitted, which is why I think I was offered the spot...
We arrived bleary eyed in Potosi at about 5am and headed to the Koala Hostel to book our tour of the mine at 8.30 am, and eat Pringles and watch TV snuggled under blankets up til then. Did not want to leave. First stop on the tour was to get changed. Looked more dwarflike than ever in voluminous overalls. All handed bandanas (much needed later), plus helmets and torches. Our guide Diego (¨like Maradona, you know him?¨) asks us what we want our team name to be. Lee promptly selects various unmentionable words (siblings, think the Judy Muirhead / fringe episode last summer...) - our guide giggles uproariously, obviously getting the drift, and names us ´Team Llamaf*ckers´. Next stop: miners market, where we sample and then buy various gifts for the miners, including coca leaves, cigs, squash and dynamite. Plus the alcohol, a nice 96% proof. We follow Diego´s lead, pouring a bit on the floor and asking Pacha Mama and Tio (the devil inside the mines that they worship) to protect us in the mines before quaffing the rest. Tastes like paint stripper.
Quick empanada from the market (potato, one of the best yet) and we head up to the mines. The land around is bleak - bright red rubble piled high into peaks around us. When we leave that night we see the mountain the mine is beneath picked out in lights along its perimeter. Into the mine we go, and it´s immediately pretty low overhead. Yours truly soon realises that midgetty nature is again a plus and that I don´t have to bend down much. Except that sometimes I do, so I manage to clonk my head a few times by staring at the floor. It quickly becomes dusty and at points we´re on our hands and knees. We scrabble our way down 60m below the earth via some fairly hairaising ladders, holes, piles of rock etc. We stop and chat to miners, and Diego explains in detail how the mine works. The miners are pretty upset at the moment post the Chile incident, and the hats we are wearing have a form of protest on them: a Chilean flag with 33 (deaths) next to it on one side, and a Bolivian one with 10,000 on the other. We get the impression that the Bolivian president trotting over to Chile to offer an effusive welcome to the survivor in the Chilean mines rankled somewhat. Diego tells us some pretty sobering stories about young boys coming into the mines on their school holidays - 3 died last holiday wandering unknowingly into an area filled with noxious gases. No presidential benediction for their souls, then. A cover up instead.
By the time we start to head out of the mine we´re all feeling pretty rough - I´ve lost my voice completely, we´ve all finished our water and we´re filthy from crawling on our hands a knees. Then comes a frankly terrifying climb - the steepest yet, and it´s sandy rather than rocky so there´s very little to hold on. I can´t see because my hat is tipping over my nose and I need to look at what´s directly in front of me. To my left and right are huge cavernous holes. If any of us had fallen that would have been it. I didn´t freak out purely because I knew if I did then I would freeze and panic totally, so I just forced my way up through the dust. Think maybe rock climbing could be for me tho - if I could see what I was doing would have been fun.
A quick look at the Tio shrine (creepy) and we´re practically running to get out of there into the fresh air. Definitely a once only experience- how those men do it is quite literally beyond me.
Out in the air we all regain our sense of humour. The boys have brought with them a Santa to blow up (cheapo nylon material). Diego unwraps two sticks of dynamite, squishes them together, and ties them to Santa. A fuse is lit, and we all take turns holding said Santa (!) before they run off to plant it down the hill along with two other sticks the other groups have brought. First explosion goes off and we think its Santa, until there´s an almighty BANG and a huge cloud of dust. That would be ours then....
A quick look in the refining factory, and we´re all swiped with liquid silver, before heading back to the town for lunch. We go for a set menu which is a bit hit and miss but worth the experience, and then collect vast quantities of snackerage before heading for the TV pre-bus to Uyuni.
Bus that evening is meant to take 6 hours, getting us to Uyuni at 1am. Only it breaks down, of course. Much hammering ensues (all way round bus? Hmmm) and then a bump start down the hill, but we break down again about 1/2 an hour later. Eventually rescued at about 4am, we roll into Uyuni that morning. Saved a night´s accommodation technically but we´re so knackered that we check into a hotel. YES - a room to MYSELF! For 50 bolivianos (5 quid). Happily spread my stuff everrrywhere and then conk out with book.
We find our tour guide of choice and then head at my insistence to Minuteman pizza. Delicious Bolivian wine (who knew?) and llama pizza = happy little one. Ylonah and I head back to put make up on for the raving night spot that is Extreme Fun Pub (yes that really is its name) only to discover it to be empty but for our boys who look at us suspiciously (we look different when clean) and some Bolivian men who tell us we are beautiful. Some soldiers come in later and make us roses out of napkins. Latin lovers, etc. Definitely know how to impress. We then make the mistake of playing a roulette shot drinking name. The night descends into chaos, all captured by yours truly, and will hopefully make its way to a Facebook profile near you soon. When I have faster internet that is.

Imprisoned...

Scratch my last comment, update courtesy of email to the parentals as follows -

I arrived in La Paz last night, absolutely exhausted post long trip up from BA, 30 hours to the border with Bolivia, then another 18 to get to La Paz. Also got altitude sickness at the border (think not eating much in 48 hrs didn´t help, poss dehydrated too) so nearly fainted in the queue for immigration. Luckily there was a group of Aussies who very sweetly gave me a cereal bar and some water whilst I crouched down to stop my head spinning. Made it up to the bus stop with a nice dog following me all the day - he even stopped and lay down outside the bank whilst I got money, then lay in front of my bags (which was good guarding so meant I could rummage around for plasters as also tripped on my knees - looked like doofus before, now have traveller gap yah trousers so look like different sort of doofus). The dog didn´t want to be fed or patted or anything, so I like to think he could sense my nervousness and was a sort of benign spirit to protect me til I felt better. I know, I know, sad. Was definitely my scariest moment so far, had not banked on feeling ill all on my lonesome. Pretty much passed out when I got here and slept loads, so feel miles better today.
Have had a good day here - went to witches market which was a bit of a let down - I had misinterpreted foetuses as being pickled babies in jars. Turns out they´re shrivelled baby llamas instead. Perfect present for the errant youf for Christmas. Have also bought llama festooned hat, gloves and socks for the salt flats as apparently freeeezing there, all for about 1.50 each. Starting to really get into this Gap Yah tragedy role now.
Also....went to San Pedro prison today - RIGHT INSIDE. You pay 400 bolivianos (40 quid) and then they take you in. You write down your passport no and name and then they write a number on your arm (in case you disappear and are never seen again). The prisoners take you round - our guide was a Dutchman, Sebastian, in there for 15 yrs for smuggling, and our guard was a Bolivian murderer, Victor, (v.old tho, was not convinced he´d be v.good at guarding if put to test). We even got to take a few pics but obviously can´t put them up or anything - otherwise they get shut down, also (probably for that reason) we were mostly only allowed to take nondescript pictures of the roof. Did get one of the Dead Man´s Alley where 10 people were killed in 1997. We were shown all round the different blocks, 7 of them, all with internal rules. You have to buy or rent a room, and lots of people have families in there. They have restaurants, a pool room, all sorts of entertainment stuff. It´s basically a mini economy in itself. At one point he took us up on the roof and a friend called across to him - said friend busted smuggling kilos and kilos of cocaine across border. There is a book about the prison called ´Marching Powder´ which am dying to read when I get back. Weirdly felt safe in there - people do stare at you but they´re not allowed to talk to the tourists, as obviously if something went wrong or people said it was dangerous the whole thing would be shut down, and they make quite a bit from it, in terms of fee to get in, plus tip, plus friendship bracelets etc sold on way round. One guy said to us ´hey baby how are you?´and our guide went ballistic, telling him to back off and that he can´t speak to us etc. The whole place is hugely overcrowded too, 1,700 prisoners plus family bringing it up to 2,500 and about 3,000 on wk ends with visitors..
Whole experience = extraordinary. Adrenaline plus general high altitude = I was buzzing by the time I got out!

Have realised that most of editing from email to parents involved removing exclamation marks I´d put in to make everything sound light hearted and tooootally safe. Ha.

Don´t cry for me Argentina (tho´ technically now in La Paz)

So before I forget it all, end of Buenos Aires. I´ll admit it, I did sort of fall in love with BA, despite the rough start. Reassuringly european in style, some beautiful buildings, and that certain vibrancy people try to describe about places that´s difficult to understand unless you´ve been there. I definitely intend to go back before I´m too old to enjoy Milhouse Avenue, and use it as my starting point en route to the penguins in the south.
After about 2 days in BA, we´d got our days down pat. Hit breakfast if possible by 10.30, amble out of the hostel by midday. Pick a district, roam around til our legs hurt, then head back for siesssta time. All walking accompanied by extensive discussion of home celebridee gossip. At last! Someone to discuss Wagner/Cher with! We also try to explain to the Aussie girls the wondrousness that is the iconic Cheryl Cole. The girls remain confused. We tell them to watch *that* documentary. Grab some supper around 9ish, hit the bar around 11. Repeat. Ad nauseam (quite literally, for some...!)
The night post trip to the Boca district was arguably the Wolf Pack´s finest. Purchase of 17 peso illicit contraband vodka fuelled a lengthy preparation session. Hairdryer AND hairstraighteners, music blaring, almost the best part of the night. We head down to the bar and tuck into the extended happy hour drinks. Iguana Skin a firm favourite by now (by the way if I´m repeating myself I´m sorry, can´t remember what I´ve written before), closely followed by the Long Island Ice Tea if one only feels like spending 10 pesos on an entire night´s alcohol consumption. The bar obligingly plays the Flo Rida / club can´t handle us song. I obligingly flail around grinning at the ceiling and thinking of everyone at home. Not moronic looking in the slightest. I swear. We then head to a nearby club and dance until about 4. The heels finally are worth the packing. HA!
The following day the entire hostel is subdued, everyone hungover en masse it appears. We go to the botanical gardens (distressingly banned from lying in the grass. Stone benches just don´t aid hangover recovery the same way lying horizontally does) which are as beyootiful as expected, and then on to the Evita museum. Highlight of the day at this point the sandwich shop we discover just round the corner, selling thin white bread sandwiches (crusts cut off Daddy) with ham and tomato layered between them. Mmmmm.
Museum is an education. I had no idea how much Evita did for Argentina, and finally get why she´s an icon. From what I remember of the movie, her extensive works for the poor aren´t really enlarged upon much. Or maybe I was concentrating too hard on Antonio Banderas. The museum itself is a blissfully cool quiet building, scented with rose petals (deliberately?). There are numerous relics from Evita´s life. Favourites include the childhood pics of her and siblings dressed as clowns and looking unimpressed by the whole thing, her stunning, stunning dresses (we all fall in love with a high necked long sleeved black jersey one that falls into an enormous circular train) and the footage of the children in the orphanages she helped set up. The closing video and accompanying voiceover from her sister is dignified but incredibly moving. She describes the mutilated state of Evita´s body when returned to her family, saying finally that she believes were Evita alive, she´d simply say "Forgive them, for they know not what they do".
On then, to Palermo to hunt round the boutiques. Some frankly hideous outfits (man made fibres are popular round here) in large quantities, by the end of which we´re all flagging. We head back by the Metro to the Avenida de Mayo. We get out in a rainstorm and run all the way home.
Supper that night is steak - sadly we are thwarted in our attempts to reach La Cabrera and steak-nirvana and settle instead for a steak house round the corner. The food once again is delicious, but the ambience somewhat heavy and subdued, the restaurant empty. We try not to notice the buzz around La Cabrera when we walk back past.
So, onto the last day in BA. Mostly spent chilling with girls, looking for Christmas presents for Clara/Eimear, and, um, eating empanadas. But of course. Waving a fond farewell to the girlies I then head up to my room to siesta, before meeting the Laconic Frenchman in the evening for drinks. Dancing at Milhouse Avenue ensues, a fitting end to my stay in BA.

So - La Paz. Well, other than the painful bus journey here I haven´t written much down yet. Will do that now in the diary and then relay. Tonight, on to Potosi and then Uyuni and the salt flats, hopefully a highlight of my trip.

Bife de chorizo = quite a large steak.

So, BA pulled its socks up. Have had an amazing couple of days here thus far. Met 2 v.nice Aussie girls, Ashley and Hannah, who were sharing my room. They've since had to move but out little team has grown to include another Aussie, Alice, and two Irish girls, Clara and Eimear whose dinky little laptop am on at the moment.

Milhouse is living up to its infamous reputation, and everything is considerably cheaper than Brazil thank gawd. First night was Pacha night to celebrate Milhouse's 10th bday. We went round the corner to a bar to pregame (distressed barman took 45 mins to prepare 3 cocktails. Sigh.) and then hopped in a taxi dangerously close to the 1.30am free entry deadline. Got to Pacha and promptly headed straight in much to our joy. Got chatting to three boys, Chris, Garrrry and, er, Tall Boy. Dancing ensued til 4 am and was really rather fun despite lack of sambuca (forced to quaff tequila instead, urrrrgh) and it playing music with no words all night. Apparently this is what happens in places like Pacha apparently.

Yesterday we wandered to the Antique market in San Telmo but spent way more time lingering over the many stalls on the way there - much restraint demonstrated by yours truly, but not entirely. Bought cool little Don Quixote print thing by local artist who tried to explain how he made it (to my joy I was the Spanish translator for the day, Hannah and Ashley speaking no Spanish at all - managed among other things to buy sweet popcorn and strawberries, and tell people we weren't students, or indeed sisters). Long walk back, tired legs. Hit the bar in the evening (beverage of choice: Iguana Skin) with a band jamming until 2am. Idea was other people joined in but we refrained except for one drunk guy who peformed an eye wateringly embarassing dance which his mates filmed. Needless to say he hasn't showed his face thus far today.

Today we went to Boca - my experience of nasty scamming BA'rians balanced by super helpful types showing us where to go. We wandered slightly off beaten track in Boca and a boy shouted out to us to go back, and then another guy pulled up his car just to tell us we should be really careful and go back to the tourist area because we were wandering into a dodgy part. Boca was really pretty, stunning houses etc, plus we took an awesome pic of the 6 of us lined up in height order (Alice is a leggy amazon so we look hilarious together). Got a LOT of attention walking there and back including some rounds of applause. Fairly sure we can attribute these to Alice's legs.

We've smuggled in some contraband vodka- 17 PESOS for a giant bottle = happy me, so will go to rejoin the others now.

Have put some pics up on f'book - siblings if you could show M&D that would be fab.

Little one - 1, bird poo scammers - 0

Geez Buenos Aires is MEAN so far. Arrived at the airport, shared a taxi with two nice girls to their hostel and then on to mine. During the ride they ask me how I've found South America thus far, eg Rio. I say all OK etc, they then tell me that 5 different people have told them about getting all their stuff nicked through the bird poo scam. Essentially someone sprays what looks like bird poo on to you, some nice lady offers to help you wipe it off, a crowd gathers of friendly people, you put down your front backpack containing all of your valuable possessions...and someone nicks it leaving you with just your big back of smelly clothing. Nasty I think to myself... Plan to go on to my own hostel in taxi goes awry after taxi driver tries to fob us off with most fake looking money in the world. Don`t fancy my chances with him so wend way to tube station nearby (enjoyably free ride after man lets me through with my bag) and get out at Avendida de Mayo. Then wander in giant circle (including right past hostel, BIG minus points to Milhouse for having world's tiniest sign) before being forced to sit down on bench opposite McD's and get out my map, my own personal cardinal sin. Suddenly: SPLAT. I look down and seem to be covered in bird poo. But it's bird poo that smells distinctly of ketchup and what I believe was anchovy to make it suitably greyish brown (no Daddy I didn't lick it, I leave that sort of thing to you), and simultaneously a lady sits down next to me on bench. Needless to say I scarper, most relieved that I was alerted beforehand, and wiping brown streaks from my face. Nice.
Anyway, found place, had shower, washed clothes. All better. But not the greatest start to BA.

Argentinian side of the falls was absolutely amazing yesterday - sun was shining and wandered around for hours admiring the falls from every angle. Rainbows everywhere, and some pretty good photos. PLUS I had Oli the laconic Frenchman for company, having met him on a bus over the border into Argentina. This was v.bon all round: he is easy on the eye, has an excellent grasp of English right down to the concept of banter (he very proudly used the word 'chuffed' yesterday among others) courtesy of living for 4 years in Australia, and was much taller than me so managed to take some really quite good pictures of me with all the water in various guises. Sadly I could not return the favour due to stumpiness of height so he has some rather mediocre shots in return. Oops.

Yesterday was also the day of the empanada: 1 for me, 3 for Oli whilst waiting for the bus to the Falls, then 1 for me whilst waiting for coach to BA, then 1 again for me as part of 1st course on coach - the food was amazing, there was wine, and best of all, the steward-guy produced plastic champagne flutes and seemingly endless quantity of booze (smiley face, '¿mas?' repeated on pleasingly frequent basis).

So yes, best part of Argentina so far has been the coach ride. Not a vintage start, BA had better pull its socks up..............


PS. I realise most of that post was about food and a bus ride but it really was of great excitement. Nearly as great excitement as the hairdryer in Hostel Bambu in Foz de Iguaçu.

PS. For the nitpickers (mainly Daddy)

I apologise by the way for bad grammar, poor spelling and missed words. My usual (attempt at) high standards are slipping in name of spending as little time as possible on computer and as much time in sunshine. I´m sure you´ll understand.
Also no opportunity to upload pictures as yet because the last few hostels I´ve been in have removed the USB ports required to do that. MEAN. Have spare memory card thankfully so will switch when necessary.

Places beginning with ´i´, by way of Sao Paulo

Am going to work from Monday forwards, despite fact am now in Foz de Iguaçu...
2 1/2 hr bus + ferry from Angra dos Reis = Ilha Grande, pronounced according to our taxi driver as Ilha Grench. Reminiscent of a Will Ferrell film.
The weather was annoyingly rubbish for my 48 hours on Ilha Grande, with no sign of clearing up which made me happier to be moving on. The island was still beautiful, but my photos of Lopes Mendes (1 of Brazil´s top five most beautiful beaches, apparently) bear no similarity to the stunning shots pinned up around the hostel.
The island was more than a bit of a relief after the pace of Rio. No cars, and most of the roads just sandy tracks. My hostel wasn´t on a road at all, and was instead listed in my Lonely Planet/Wilf instructions as hop off the ferry and walk up the beach for a kilometre. Bumped into some British girls, Tasha and Sarah, and an Aussie, Ali. Ali and were staying in Aquario Pousada, right next to the island´s Che Legarto. Things kicked off to a great start when Ali and I were given a free upgrade to a private room. Piling our stuff all over the floor (having eyed eachother up suspiciously and decided that we trusted eachother) was a ridiculously enjoyable experience. We set out afterwards to explore the island, before returning to the hammocks and wooden decks outside the hostels. Steak for supper (my first, not vintage, bring on Argentinia) and the usual beverage of choice. Settled ourselves with the other two girls to listen to some live samba, contemplating for a while a life of being a barefoot samba singer in hostels on an island, before rejecting said on basis that voice is somewhat negligible. The island being pretty quiet in general, the hostel filled up pretty fast. Among the crowd were some suitably greasy old Argentinians who joined our party having pounced on Tasha at the bar. She arrived back clutching her drink and muttering ´this was not my fault´ as they followed in her wake. Our endeavours to shake them off by moving were not successful, so I chose the only sensible solution a group of young females should take at this point: pick the biggest boys in the bar and ask to sit with them. & thus started a beautiful friendship with Ule, Axel (sadly this is his surname and not his real name), Kamram (Persian origin, clearly offended by two weeks of being confused for a Brazilian and not a Norwegian, arguably an easy mistake to make) and....Daniel. I´ve probably spelled all of those incorrectly except for the last. Ule, Axel and Daniel were all comically Norwegian looking - giant blond blue eyed types. No complaints from the girls. Anyway, they were great fun and managed to deter said greasy Argentinians for rest of night which was much appreciated. They were leaving the next day with the rest of their football school/college thing (confusing) - we spotted them on the way back from Lopes Mendes but hid having been buffeted by wind and rain on way back, and also on realisation that they looked terrifyingly young in the cold light of day.
Following day was spent on Lopes Mendes, determinedly ignoring the lowering clouds. Sand was squeaky, sky was blue-ish, a very relaxing day all round. Plus we negotiated our way to a bargain taxi boat ride having missed the bigger boat round, so all good. Cooked pasta en masse and bought some illegal vodka which we not-so-secretly smuggled into the hostel with us. More of the same re: dancing til the early hours, only this time 2 rasta DJs were in charge, so it was less Waka Waka Shakira song, more longest version EVER of Mr Boombastic. Quite enough of that.
Yesterday (Wednesday) passed in a painless blur of ferry/coach journeys. Grabbed my first ever açai as I hopped on the ferry away from the island. Came topped with granola and bananas so made a satisfying and thirst quenching breakfast (once more shveaty having scurried down beach to have plenty of time, forgetting one of the key rules I have learnt about transport in Brazil: it never leaves on time). Distinct aftertaste of cinnamon. Not sure how I feel about it overall.
A myriad of long journeys and a delicious but embarrassingly pungent calabria baguette later (think I was asked if I was the guilty party stinking out the coach but feigned ignorance. Well, not really feigned, didn´t have a clue what he was saying) and I touched down in Foz de Iguaçu. Dumped my stuff at Hostel Bambu and headed straight for the falls. Which as predicted are a total assault on the senses. Far bigger and more imposing than I expected. Got drenched getting right up close, and continued to master the lone-traveller-self-portrait snap. Managed to get self and falls in quite a few shots, and some weren´t even wonky. Shazam.
Back in the hostel now - Argentinian side of the falls tomorrow and then overnight train to Buenos Aires. Getting increasingly excited at prospect of STEAK in large quantities.

Carioca and samba (aka Lapa revisited)

Despite temperamental phones doing their best to ruin my social life, I managed to arrange to meet Le Plongeur (as Pod and I fondly named him) in the fittingly named Shenanigans, an Irish pub in Ipanema. Managed once more to navigate my way there on my own on the bus. They have an incredibly dangerous system of paying in the more classy joints here - you´re given a ticket with your name on it when you walk in and as you order drinks they tot them up on the paper and you pay at the end of the night. Dangerous, very dangerous. I stuck to the by now uniquitous caipirinhas, of course. Was very excited by the menus all in english - no cheeseburger for ME tonight. Chicken wings instead. Obv. (Fear not Mummy am endeavouring to balance hefty consumption of junk food with nice fresh fruit - bargain of the holiday = tomato costing 0.07 reais in the supermarket). Learnt a new word - carioca, which is basically a way of calling yourself a Rio de Janeirian, but from what I understood is a play on words - you´re saying you´re Rio from the egg, from the yolk in fact.
I made a particularly big impact early on with my appalling pool playing. Once again of the laughably funny first time I wildly mishit the ball, just dull by the fifth, variety. However I was employed in the girls v. boys (they won but only just) match to sabotage the boys´game. I managed this ably by breaking so badly that they had to rebreak. Whoops. Was really awesome to hang out with a bunch of British types that I felt I technically knew via Pod, so felt relaxed enough the bring up the ´Le Plongeur´nickname before long which was greeted with hysteria and swiftly adapted to ´The Plunger´. Sorry James. The school they all teach at is a British one so packed with wealthy Brazilians - much excitement when a beloved Flamengo player called Pej appeared on screen - two of the girls, Kirsty and Neave, teach his daughters in primary school. Fernando the insanely handsome Brazilian was overcome with emotion - apparently Pej lives in his heart.... We started clapping and cheering when he came on screen, and everyone obligingly joined in. Which reminds me of a conversation I had with Le Plongeur about living in Rio and whether he missed the UK etc - he told me that 2 weeks into arriving he was sitting on Ipanema beach, cigarette and beer in hand, as the sun set. As it finally went down an almost eerie silence settled around him, and then everyone began to clap. Clapping the sun - mental picture that summed up Rio for me in a way. Not that I´ve left just yet, but my 1st experience of South America has been a lot gentler and kinder than I expected. I´ve happily hopped on buses by myself and wandered the city/beach (safe bits only obviously) without a problem at all.
Anyway - we quaffed a few more caipirinhas and then piled into two taxis en masse to head to Lapa. Drunken conversations about why Rio de Janeiro is so named ensued. Turned around me as we drove along the beach (AMAZING sand sculptures) to see the Christ lit up atop the mountain. Stunning.
We went to a brilliant samba club, picked out at random once we got to Lapa. Big old house with club on several floors, with balconies from which you could lean over and watch the samba band. The band = fantastic. They played tirelessly without stopping whilst we were there (including elderly lady on trombone). The music was unbelievably catchy (sorry for all the enthusiastic adjectives) but turns out I definitely can´t samba dance, and as there is little room for tradition Weston-Davies moves I think I prefer traditional club can´t handle us light up dancefloor stylee music. However I naturally gave it my best shot and shambled around grinning wildly with the others til we were all exhausted and rather sweaty. Staggered home v.late, everyone asleep in the taxi, to a cup of apple tea (o woe is me, alas, alack, how I miss tea-with-milk) and bed.
Today - hippie market in Ipanema. Unfortunately preceded by getting on a bus going in entirely the wrong direction (cockiness re: mastering the bus system shortlived) and taking a massive loop before ending in Central, a somewhat seedy part of the city. Figured however it was better to stay on the bus til the end of the line rather than getting off on the endless motorway that was Avenue Brazil and it turned out to be a good choice - massive relief as a bus with the welcome word Copacabana emblazoned on the front came into view. Anyway, I tried again and made it to the market - most glad I did. Could have spent my entire budget on pretty dresses and vast quantities of silver jewellery but managed to restrain myself mostly, bar some coconut rings (cheap) and some wooden parrot earrings. These plus the growing number of bracelets on my arm are aiding my transformation into bona fide Gap Yah tragedy.
From there I caught the bus over to Pao de Açucar (apparently the ç = ess, which makes the word much more similar to Sugar when pronounced) for 4.30. Spectacular views, particularly of Copa beach made it worth it, tho personally nothing beats Christo el Redentor for me. Waited as the sun went down, but as it was pretty cloudy was nothing spectacular sadly. Still, a lovely way to end my few days in Rio.
Tomorrow - Ilha Grande with Michelle and Ruaridh, the lovely Irish couple. Excited about a change of scenery and venturing deeper into Brazil.

´Your eyes are blue. My english is very bad.´

Top marks for Bruno the Argentinian´s valiant efforts to flirt despite comprehensive language barrier...
Have pulled through today´s hangover by resolutely sleeping til 11 am this morning and then heading straight for Copacabana beach. Unsurprisingly it´s absolutely rammed today - spectacular display of bikinis on show it must be said. Also love the men who do nothing except stand and pose for hours on end. Must get a bit dull. Pottered down there toute seule, armed with book, water and Bob´s burger (ah the joy of the universally understood word ´cheeseburger´) and settled down to people watch. Waves still massive so paddled around in a pathetic fashion for a while avoiding them before hurrying back to hunker down on ubiquitous Copacabana sarong.
Last night - LAPA.
Post-blog I wandered back to the bar to tuck into a caipirinha, and, as if sent by above, a wingwoman appeared - June the Norwegian who is similarly travelling alone and having the time of her life. Turns out (I was starting to get worried about his) that Che Legarto is unusually quiet this week, and not quite living up to its party hostel name (wasn´t sure if I´d just over estimated what a party hostel entails). Anyway, a few games of sh*thead later with Michael the barman and his MEAN rules, the bar was starting to fill up. A group of about 30 of us headed out to Lapa. The bus driver was completely nuts - it was literally like a rollercoaster. Apparently there is no stopping at red lights at night, ostensibly so that people don´t carjack you. As this was a bus I´m not quite sure how the rule applied. Held on for dear life and got there in one piece.
Lapa was AWESOME - streets all closed off, lots of little stalls flogging large cups of caipi-anything for 7 reais. We wandered around en masse (feel extremely smug today that I got home with wallet casually still in one piece in my pocket) through the packed streets. Music belting out of all the bars, people everywhere, very hyper Friday night vibe. A huge white bridge marks out the area, so we stuck close to that. Finished up at 3am climbing the whole way up the Lapa steps with Verena the German (plus Udo, who it turns out is not her boyfriend but a highly exasperating and almost silent friend of friend that she was NOT happy to have been dumped with) and June, plus two ever hopeful random Brazilians. Wended our way through the kissing couples, up past the weed area, to the top. Reminded me very strongly of the layout of the steps in Aldeburgh. Slightly different view. Steps themselves are stunning: designed quite recently by a local designer, the sides of each step - so you can see them as you walk up - plus the walls are covered in tiles, with a blue, a yellow and a red area. Interspersed among the plain tiles are beautiful individual one, seemingly random collection obviously from different sources. My favourites were a blue cat kicking a ball (reminded me of Sophles´mad crazy aunt cat-kicking-pearl brooch) and a stunning copy of Van Gogh´s self portrait. At the very top is an enormous Brazilian flag set into a red background that curves around the wall. Was kind of Madrid/Gaudi-esque. We sat by that til about 3.30 til wandering down and home. Last memory was seeing a chapel picked out in lights atop a hill looking over the streets.

Christo el Redentor

Sunshine sunshine sunshine. Sun is out, birds are singing, sky is blue... for the moment that is. Today was meant to be Christ Redeemer AND Sugar Loaf day (latter ideally at sunset...) but took way longer than we thought it would to get the former. Navigated our way onto the bus across the city and hopped off at the foot of the hill? mountain? housing the statue. Turned out that the taxi drivers telling us it would take 2 hours to get to the top were right - despite the queue for buying tickets being brief, waiting for the tram to take us up took way longer. We only discovered this having briefly lurked on the platform the tram pulls in at thinking that there were remarkably few people about and settling ourselves joyously in the best seats before being booted off unceremoniously. Two hours later and a nice chat with another couple (there are LOTS of couples in this hostel, all v.nice, tho´ does make me yearn slightly for someone, anyone, to buddy up with properly) we finally got on the tram. (BTW, this couple are doing reverse route to me and highly recommended a tour around San Pedro prison in Bolivia, where their tour guide was in fact a prisoner - the guards only go in there on occasion to count heads....sound like a good idea Mummy? No?)
Ascent was amazing - glimpses of the stunning view through the trees. Slightly irritating group of octogenarian Germans with extremely vocal tour guide who used elbows unashamedly to get on to the tram ahead of us. Irritation alleviated slightly at amusing choice of tshirt of lady to left of me, who had ´breathtaking´ emblazoned across her bosoms....
View from the top of the mountain is hardly done justice by the numerous pictures I took. Statue itself phenomenal - incredibly peaceful face, looking slightly eery as the clouds swept around it and then cleared again. Panoramic views make you realise just how sprawling Rio is. Picked out Copacabana and have requisite shot of self smiling awkwardly in foreground beside it. Unfortunately look windswept and shveaty/sticky (application of suncream currently admirable, not to mention diligent) in all of them. Spent about 40 mins up there taking in the beautiful views and the unique nature of Rio - the combination of city & rainforest is v.bizarre.
Made our way back down in the company of some incredibly overexcited brazilian kids (something else we really noticed: it´s a sight worth brazilians themselves seeing, not just tourists) shrieking we think about football. Slightly hairy moment when suited and booted driver swopped over trams with enthusiastic overalled man who hooted horn to joy of children almost incessantly, and then - just as we were joking about him being a novice - heaved on the clutch causing us to hop forward down the hill... Made it back across the city too late to get up to Sugar Loaf for sunset, so hope to do that, and hangliding, AND meet Pod´s friend James tomorrow. On second thoughts, Sug.Loaf may have to wait til Sunday night - my last night here before I head to Ilha Grande.
Also had my first popcorn from street vendor. With the word for sweet (´doce´, in itself obvious but not in terms of pronunciation) in my artillery negotiated my way past the dreaded toffee popcorn to savoury nirvana.
Tonight - Lapa, under the able guidance of Michael the barman.... Have redbull (or Brazilian equivalent) and copious amounts of water to hand. What could possibly go wrong....?

The mystery of the missing pants...

Not really a mystery per se, but I thought that sounded like a good title. On the back of 3 strongly mixed caipirinha´s that is... But hurrah, my luggage turned up. On closer inspection after initial cuddling of back pack it turns out that it´s full of boring things like a fleece and hiking boots, all of which are totally arbitrary. Have nonetheless celebrated said reunion by changing outfits no less than twice today. Upshot being that I now have lots of washing to do. Ah well.
So -
Spent most of Day 1 still feeling unusually shy (don´t worry, I reverted to usual over enthusiastic self fairly fast). Attempted to book favela tour for yesterday afternoon, failed, wafted around hostel endeavouring to get people to talk to me by sending out mental signals. As this didn´t work I eventually reverted to type and started to speak to a nice Irish girl and her boyfriend. As planned I managed to force them to be my friend and we ended up going out for all you can eat pizza. Generally a success once we realised that the maitre d´was staring at us with ill disguised disgust for eating with our hands.... They had sweet pizza for pudding: I went for melted chocolate with strawberries and picked off the strawbs and just ate them. Sorry Wilf.
Was feeling pretty knackered when we got back to the hotel but stuff was just picking up so I lurked about for a bit and ended up playing cards with a couple of australians and some swedish girls. Bed when it came was surprisingly comfortable.

Day 2 - kicked off with the favela tour. As amazing as people said. Arrived at the bottom of the hillside housing Rio´s largest favela, with around 200,000 occupants (not accounting for fact that people rarely have things like birth certificates in the area). For once was in a position of power - a very chirpy welsh guy on the trip (catchphrase: ´they don´t have this in Pontypridd´) turned out to be terrified of motorbikes so reassured him. My bike man turned up - ´Reeeelax, jus´hold on to me´etc and we headed up to the top of the favela. Turned out he was pretty competitive - they generally dice with death, regularly overtaking trucks etc into oncoming traffic and tucking in behind other cars / beeping ineffectually at the last minute, but he was pretty keen to get to the top first and we overtook most of our group on the way up. Despite thinking at one point ´if I die now, I´ll die happy, and it´s probably a better option than crashing and having hideous scabs for the rest of the holiday´ I ascended with a massive grin on my face, which probably encouraged the guy further.

Break neck trip aside we ducked into the favela itself. The guide was amazing - incredibly articulate and very honest about the way the whole thing works. He managed to avoid making it feel like an ´oh let´s go and look at the poor people, wow they´re so poor´ thing, and more an insight into the infrastructure of the favelas. The place itself wasn´t exactly beautiful, tho´ there´s something striking about the mass of structures creeping determinedly into the forest, but the sense of resourcefulness was extraordinary. Given all the stories/films it was surprisingly peaceful, a sensation no doubt exacerbated by the fact our guide knew everyone we passed. The children were suitably cute - a small boy tried to flog his toy car, demonstrating impressive negotiating skills before pointing to a comically low part of a house leaning over the path and yelling ´watch your head!´ to us. We were shown lots of enterprising parts of the favela - boys playing on tins that play in the parade, a delicious bakery, an artist´s workshop. In the latter we were shown the view from the top of the favela so went inside the house. Comically narrow staircases with no bannisters - the stuff I have nightmares about weirdly. Not helped by the water dripping on the tiles, and having to bend to waist height (yes, me) at points. Apparently there are over 100 routes down through the favela. Near the very bottom we went to a daycare centre that the trip helps fund - loads of very cute kids, though again we were reminded of the commercial element by 2 year olds yelling ´bye bye´to us. Finished up with a relatively serious discussion about the future of the favela - the government is moving in and will do a big sweep out of drug dealers, but basically in the opinion of the guide this will be a short term solution to paint a pretty picture for the 2014 world cup tourists, and the problem will come back 10 fold. Took one last look from the top of the daycare centre around the favela and then headed down. Two boys in our group were sniggering at a bridge below us, that did look somewhat like a bottom as they pointed out (v.childish, v.childish) - cue the guide: ´The bridge below is new, built by famous Brazilian architect. He design to look like lady´s bottom, like dental floss bikini you see on beach´. Powerful. Only in Brazil.
Headed back to the hostel to bore new found Irish friends plus Hugh the South African to death with my like oh my god totally humbling favela experience. Then headed to Copacabana beach, the sunshine having finally arrived, to paddle around avoiding the GIANT waves and try my first coconut water thingy. V.tasty. Sand weirdly sticky. Siesta this pm (getting into the swing of this holiday shiz now) then supper.
Back in hostel now, so should probably stop being so antisocial and go and sup more caipirinhas.

x x x

Inauspicious start...

It´s probably karma that my luggage didn´t make it to Rio with me. Retribution for blindly following ebooker.com´s advice regarding cheapest flights and hopping around Amsterdam and Paris yesterday, ramping up an impressive and unnecessary footprint. Whatever the reason, I´m here, but my luggage is not. However, as I have made it through arguably the most daunting part (arriving in the airport at 5am, hoping to see nice friendly taxi man but dreading thought of him not being there and having to forage for a taxi myself) I´m feeling remarkably unconcerned. This will no longer be the case if my stuff hasn´t turned up by tomorrow evening, obviously. Apart from anything else I only have one spare pair of knickers in my day rucksack.

So, brief first impressions of Rio gleaned from trip to hostel: a city essentially carved out of a rainforest. The fact that it is so muggy and cloudy adds to the effect - the bits of mountain popping out of the city look weirdly prehistoric with the mist lying around them. The shacks on the outer part of the city were eye opening - start of a quality of life that I will become used to seeing over the next few weeks.

Anyway, as I have been here all of five minutes will stop there - once I´ve actually embarked on any activities will hopefully have something of worth to add....! Breakfast is about to start so I need to go and harass unsuspecting travellers and force them to be my friend.

Rapidly impending departure

Um, hello. Feels a bit weird writing to an as yet undetermined audience (currently have the desire to go all 19th century author - 'Reader - I married him!' etc which am having to stifle) but hopefully one or two friends will read this. Or at the least Mummy will. Hi Mummy!

I looked for inspiration on how to get going with this in Mark Brinkley's blog - the hilariously named markstriponline. You see, it says Mark's trip, but if you read it really fast it sounds like Mark strip. Genius. Anyway, other than being depressed by a. the authenticity of his travels and b. the quality of his writing, he gave me the clever old idea of actually laying out where I'm going (roughly) in the intro.

So: Part 1. 6 weeks in South America, split roughly equally between Brazil, Argentina, Bolivia and Peru. This is the unashamedly Gap Yah element of my travels. I intend to find the meaning of life whilst perched on top of Machu Picchu with an alpaca for company, watching the rising sun and marvelling in my own insignificance. Etc. Given that I'm trotting off alone, the added bonus of traipsing around South America on a well trodden path will (hopefully) be that I meet a varied and eclectic mix of people. That's the idea anyway. Eclectic more likely to be Tarquin from Stowe and Araminta from Marlborough.

In a bit more detail, I hope to take in the following:

Brazil - Rio: that big statue innit, the favelas, bit of hangliding, plenty of beach time, Ilha Grande etc. I will then wend my way down to the Iguazu falls cross over from there into Argentina

Argentina - Buenos Aires: as many of the bars and clubs kindly recommended by Jeremy Agnew as I can fit in, Recoleto graveyard, boat trip, and ideally some polo

Bolivia - salt flats in Uyuni, Lake Titicaca, La Paz

Peru - most of my time will be spent in Cusco acclimatising to the altitude, before taking on a 5 day trek up to Machu Picchu. It's less well trodden than the classic Inca trail but includes hot springs and stunning scenery. Please take a look at Jenny Aylwin's photo album entitled '5 days of pain' for further details.... (NB. she was wearing jesus sandals if you look closely. Not just a sartorial crime, also impractical for mountain treks it seems.) I hope to be sitting up at the top admiring the view on Christmas day, before wending my way back down to Cusco and then on to fly out of Lima back home.