Travel Quarter

Grandma Gwendoline would have loved, some of it.....

richardlee — Wed, 1 Dec 2010 09:58:00 GMT

From leavng the cold and wintry south of Argentina, I was heading north towards the metropolis of Buenos Aires, where I had been promised leafy streets and hot weather. But I had a 24hr stopover in a costal town called Puerto Madryn. I flew in Trelew late at night, and then got a shuttle bus 45mins to my hostel in Puerto Madryn, and straight into bed. The first time I had got a private room, sooo nice!
As instructed I was up at 7am ready to be picked up for the snorkelling with sealions. I dozed after brekkie until 10am when I met a girl from a trek in Bariloche who was doing the same trip. We headed to the dive place, and were quickly kitted out in wetsuits and onto a boat with a few (rather wet!) Israelis. As I´m a diver I didnt have to do the quick snorkelling course, but it was as painful to watch the Israeli girls. Flaky is not the word. But as soon as they were done, we could approach the sealion colony. We were told we might not even get contact, the sealions decided on that. The group the day before had some, but only got to touch them once.
A few cheeky ones initially swam underneath, and occasionally came in for a quick bite on the wetsuit, or a nudge. They grew quickly in confidence, and were soon approaching very close, biting at our gloves and eventually coming out of the water and nudging our faces as we tread water. The photos show what a ball it was, I spent quite alot of the time just laughing so much as they played, with the occasional flipper in your face. Probably one of the most fun and enchanting mornings I´ve had. And if I ever throw it all in, thats the job I want. Dive Instructor with sealions thrown in too!
The afternoon was spent wondering down the beach, watching the whales from show, coming in close and raising their huge tails into the air, just brilliant. Headed to the airport early, but my flight was delayed again. So, with six hours to kill i devided to visit the place I´d heard about in bedtime stories from my farther. A place where a wildly brave welsh colony had setup home in patagonia of all places. I hailed a taxi from the airport, with a driver, who with his obviously failings eyes, was surprised to hear i wasn't argentina. I explained my british routes, English mother, Welsh father.
Seems we had that in common.
This taxi driver who was in his late 50s had both welsh parents. Agnes and David Richards from Cardiff, both welsh speakers.
We exchanged some shared words in welsh, bore dar, nostar, and penguin. My Dad had also kindly sent me a list of welsh phrases, just in case! He was quite keen to tell me that penguin was a welsh word, meaning white head.
The taxi driver asked for a quick lesson in pronouncing camarthen and Merthyr tydfil whilst he explained the founding of the welsh colonies here and the difficulties they faced. He explained that Trelew was from tres, meaning village, and Lew from Lewish Jones who founded it!
On arriving into Gaiman after 45mins of chat, he took me to the best welsh tea shop in town. Pronounced, Gay Men. Which made me smile each time it came up in conversation. I needlessly to say used it probably more frequently than was necessary. We drove down a dirt track laden with signs and welsh hostelries
I walked into this cottage in a gorgeous setting, served by tea ladies who looked like they were in their prime at the time titanic set sail. I was watched over by a framed picture of our very own Lady Diana who visited in 1995.
I was supplied with crustless sandwiches, served with 10 different cakes. After 9 cups of actually amazing tea, and long renditions of classics songs by a welsh baritone choir, I visited the little town of itself. It had streets such as Juan c Evans and hostels called Dyffryn Gwyrdd. Not sure how you prounounce that in Spanish to your taxi driver if you were say, Danish? It was a weird mix of a dusty Argentinian town, peppered with wool shops and welsh sounding ice cream shops. My new found friend came and picked me up, and whizzed me back to the airport after my weirdest welsh experience, ready for a flight to BA.

F**k me its FREEZING!

richardlee — Sun, 28 Nov 2010 08:28:00 GMT

Another flight, this time to the near the end of Argentina to El Calafate. Walking out of the airport and 50m to the minibus in howling wind and spitting rain didn’t endear me to this place at all. Arriving at the hostel, in a small and appearingly deserted windswept God forsaken town, I wondered why on earth I had 3 days here, and how I would possibly survive the boredom. Grindr had now become a new way of assessing a new place on a scale of modernity & liberalism, rather than for any other purpose. In Mendoza, the nearest gay was within 10km. In Bariloche, the nearest within 630km. In El Calafate it only picked up one gay, rather than the 200 it displays. He was 1086km away. Oh my god.

The next day was an early start. Dressed in a vest, a T-shirt, a long sleeved top, another T-shirt, a hoddie, another hoodie, and a borrowed 1980´s puffer jacket I closely resembled the Michelin man on steroids. Today was the Big Ice Trek on the Perito Moreno Glacier. We visited the glacier first from land, from viewing platforms and heard the thunders and long held grumbles as the glacier moved and cracked. Seeing it occasionally collapse at the front, creating huge waves and rocking the ice bergs already set free. We then approached by boat, and then hiked up alongside the glacier, before donning crampons and trekking onto the glacier itself. No matter where else I have been before in the world, I have usually been somewhere similar. But here, the terrain is so alien, you aren’t sure what is solid or liquid, what could take your weight or how to move quickly. You are quickly faced with huge cracks and crevices, small streams forming, and huge streams pooring into thunderous bore holes that reached to the bottom of the glacier and lubricated its movement over the rock beneath. The sun was bright but the wind howling, but we spent a good 4hrs trekking over the ice and most marveling at its beauty. I luckily had my “I heart Manchester” T-shirt on which looks good in the pics (if you ignore the rest of the outfit I have on that is!!). After Machu Picchu, one of my most favourite days. The evening was spent over steak and Malbec with Ciara who I had met in Mendoza on wine tours, and a Canadian from Vancouver called Tom. We tried to sustain until the bars got going, but at 3.30am we called it a day.

By my second day I was much more attuned to El Calafate, and the remoteness of the place with its beauty, and the warm and friendly hostel slowly thawed my urban heart. Six of us from our hostel had signed up to a day horse riding, and we weredriven by our local guide (dressed in a weird beret) to his ranch about 1 hour from El Calafate. We stopped on route to see an eagle devour a jack rabbit in the middle of the dirt track. For the rest of the day were often close to condors, with two pairs swooping over head constantly, trying to outsmart and overtake the rabbits on the ground. The backdrop to them was the snow topped Andes, with a large mint green glacier lake and another azure blue lake in front of that. We had spectacular views of the Perito Moreno Glacier, and truly stunning scenery that really reminded you of where you were. Lunch was of course steak sandwiches (three of courses!) with plenty of malbec, letting the horses direct the way back because we had gone past worrying.

Excuse me, is this Switzerland??

richardlee — Sun, 28 Nov 2010 08:13:00 GMT

Well, I have never been on a saga holiday, until now. My advertised multi-trek to the glaciar on Tronador Mountain was more a Judith Chalmers bus trip with a variety of Spaniards who smelt of sugared almonds. During the 10 hour trip, we meandered for about 45 mins, the rest spent in the bus, getting out at points of interest. However, I was too busy trying to get photos of my fellow travelling companions than the sites of wonderours nature around us. We had one serious contender as a Salmon Rushdie look-a-likey, albeit wrapped in spandex. see here....

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=16157982&id=663605654

And one who closely resembled the Italian God Mother from the Goonies.

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=16158006&id=663605654

Photos attached for your amusement.

Having lunch near the glaciar I was oringinally sat with an elderly Group of argentinians, who were either struggling to swallow mashed potato, or trying to get their tight clad legs over the bench to queue for the toilet alonside throngs of other OAPs. It is I hear you cry, unusual for me to feel young, indeed it is. I had my eye on the defibrillator strapped to the wall for most of the meal. Once there was space the spaniards moved me over, and I preceded to watch them demolish two bottles of Malbec and attempt to get a third befote our guide stepped in. Yes, it looks as if everyone was aware this was a day of serious hiking it seems, except me who was actually clad and prepared to do the Inka Trail again. How wrong was I.

The previous day I had the envious option of either crashing around the hostel, or getting active and out into the patagonian highlands. I took the latter option and decided to hire a bike. So, dressed in shorts, two T-shirts, pumps and a waterproof I waited for the bus. By the time I had arrived at the bike store, it was pissing down with rain. The guy couldn’t quite understand why I thought it was appropriate to cycle 27km dressed in what could easily have been described as beach wear (´”But you have no coat??”….. “No, its fine. I´m from England”). It was 13 degrees outside. When I could see through the spray or had recovered from my asthmatic wheeze during vertical climbs, the scenery was spectacular. Tall peaks disappearing into the ocean, with winding tracks round coves and bays. I was sustained by Argentinian staples such as Alfajores, kind of triple sized wagon wheels but with cake inside, and banging heavenly trance music courtesy of an Above & Beyond podcast. Truly awesome.

Back in the office I met two outdoorsey northern Irish girls and chatted over thermos flask tea and more biscuits. Although first mistaking them for lovely lesbians, I discovered over dinner that they had in fact missed the recruitment drive and hadn’t been signed up, despite having sufficient attributes. We were joined by three friends from their hostel. Swiss Cedric had coined a phrase most appropriate to champagne backpacking, and which I intend to use as much as I can herein. When ever offered anything, such as another glass of wine, or the option of upgrading, he constantly replied “Well, it would be rude not to”. So dinner in a swiss looking restaurant, made entirely from wood and sized for hobbits was an expensive affair, but the half kilo steak alone was worth it.

The final night was catch up and chats with a great swiss medic whom I had met in Menodoza on a wine tour. Small small world.

Vino Vino Vino..............

richardlee — Sun, 21 Nov 2010 00:55:00 GMT

Hello Argentina. Any country that considers 600grams (well over half a kilo) to be the recommended portion size for a steak and serves it alongside a 900ml bottle of beer is ok in my book. For those that have previously queried my preferred portion size of chicken for fajitas should not visit Argentina. We certainly couldn´t sell these 900ml bottles of beer in the UK, the death rate from bottling would go through the roof.
Flying into a sunny, dazzling Buenos Aires felt like coming home, and I hadnt even left the airport. Is the call of the gays that strong?? I transferred quickly onto Mendoza (BA will come later). Mendoza, the heart of the wine producing region of Argentina. Mendoza Inn hostel was a welcoming sleeping spot, right on one of the main tree lined strips in town awash with lazy bars and eateries basking in sun, guarded by snow topped mountains.
A run in the main park preceded the first of two day long wine tours. The first, cheaper version was a combination of visiting three wineries with a chocolateria, travelling between each of them on bike. Hhhhhm, indeed, how safe. Still, we opted to Whittock up the tour by having a bottle before even getting on a bike, buying a bottle between four international companions at the vineyards to supplement the tastings we got, then attempting to cycle on.

This pepped up the cycling between wineries, with passing trucks struggling for space as 25 squiffy travellers swerved all over the place. The chocalateria on arrival appeared to be in the garage of a local woman, who appeared to be the female equivalent of Basil Fawlty; knowing no English, but having a dazzling array of comic actions to accompany her commentary. At the end was offered a free shot. It appears it was less about chocolate, and much more about home brew of spirits. A group of four lads opted for home made Absinthe. Never in my born days have I seen grown men weep over a shot, wrongly opting to taste before downing, claiming it was actually burning their mouths. After 15 minutes, wincing, growning and yelping the spirit maker was wetting herself laughing. I think she used the stuff to brush her teeth. I wouldn't use it to clean tractors.

The second tour was ten times the price, visiting some of the best bodegas, with a gourmet 5 course meal. My fellow companions I'm sure were delighted to be kept waiting outside my povvy hostel whilst I still slept inside still on Bolivian time, 1hr behind. Therefore without shower I joined them in dark glasses, once dowsed in aftershave chewing menthol sweets. Four retired Americans and a hungover richardlee. Oh my God. I couldn't work out who was worse off. But, I should have learned by now not to judge a book by it's cover. We chatted about travels, and I told them where in the states I'd visited. When Maylyn turned to me (I know, love that name!), slowly looked me up and down, and said "Well, you look like a south beach boy to me" and as she peered over her glances with a twinkle in her eye said "Miami beach, for sure". She had my number, down to a tee. The rest of the day was a riot with all four, and I definitely intend to take up the offer to stay with them in Florida! Youth is definitely not to do with age, it's all about attitude.

The final evening festivities were an all you can eat pizza party with free flowing tequila. All you can eat wasnt adjusting for the apetite of one richardlee. And the free flowing tequila had to free flow into vodka once we polished all that off. It was delivered in an 18-30 stylie, lying on the bar and having it poured into your mouth, nose and generally all over your face. I was slightly concerned for the smokers amongst us. We luckily ended up in a mixed gay/straight bar with the most appropriate name; Wish Disco. Brilliant! After 5, yes 5, cabaret acts I was quick to join the dancefloor, and much to my shock, as a boy went in for the kill all I could see out of my left eye was a wall of foam hurtling towards me. A foam party, this truly was an 18-30 night out........

And for those who have continued to read my exploits via the blog, I wanted to give something back. So, here is a little competition. Now that I have dipped my toe in the world of retail fashion, I saw these two childrens clothing stores close to each other. I would love to have been present during the discussions that evetentually decided on the name for each business. See if you can guess which one is the most inappropriate name for a childrens clothing store, in contrast to probably the best name you could come up with. The winner gets an ´............´ branded T-shirt sent to them..... Answers on a postcard please....

Photo 1

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=16046020&id=663605654#!/photo.php?pid=16046020&id=663605654&fbid=10150311306385655

Photo 2

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=16046020&id=663605654#!/photo.php?pid=16046021&id=663605654&fbid=10150311306415655

Bowler Hat Bolivia

richardlee — Fri, 19 Nov 2010 03:39:00 GMT

Alongside a Czech couple I met on the Inka Trail, I decided to fly into the capital of Bolivia, La Paz, and avoid the customs on the land border. This was great in concept, but going through customs I had my hand luggage searched. The extremely overstaffed scanner had picked up something concerning, and the staff were clearly trying to tell me I couldnt carry such an item on board the plane. Yes, it appears my padlock was the offending item, and when I enquired why I couldnt take it on board, they said it was just too big. Definitely not a normal sized one. Oh no. Well, after some broken Spanish discussions, we came to a compromise, I could carry it on, only as long as it was kept at the bottom of my hand luggage. Obviously. Getting into the departure lounge without breakfast was foolish, as quite expectedly, there were no shops after security. Doh.

Landing into La Paz, we were whisked quickly along the mountain side overlooking La Paz, a huge sprawling city in a basin, at around 4000m high, surronded by mountains. A city of shanty towns and half finsihed houses. I stayed a couple of nights at an Irish Party Hostel, which was a weird oasis in this most distinct city. I didnt go too wild for La Paz, and travelled the next day to Copacabana on the shore of Lake Titicaca. It was almost like Bolivias answer to Brighton, but on a much smaller scale, with alot less gays and significantly more Bolivians in bowler hats. And that is just the women. Spent an afternoon on Isla Del Sol, a small sparsely populated island, still clearly terraced from the days of the Inkas. I think I spent at least a day and a half not speaking english to anyone, so although the scenery was stunning, Bolivia was quite an isolated experience, and when it came to flying into Argentina I was only too happy to oblige.

Inka Trail Treck to Macchu Picchu

richardlee — Mon, 15 Nov 2010 08:09:00 GMT

The Trek to Macchu Picchu. It has to be my highlight to date. Tough, challenging but with the best group I could ever have hoped for. I have to admit the Inkas also contributed somewhat to the total amazement I found myself in about 50 times per day. They were tough, clever cookies.

So this is how it works. We arrive at the ´passport control´ to get onto the Inka Trail to head to Macchu Picchu. Only 200 people a day are allowed so its booked up months in advance. You can carry your own gear, or handily, you can hire a porter to carry it for you (I opted for the former you´ll be surprised to hear). Yes, this seems to be an acceptable practice in Peru. I can hardly imagine hiking in France and requesting a Frenchman to carry my stuff for a small fee. I think we know what the response would be.

We set off on day 1, andulating through the lower levels of the andes, climbing slowly, led by our sometimes camp guide, Danielle. Yes, thats supposedly an acceptable boys name?! We quickly learned how this porter setup works. In essence, 18 porters and 2 cooks, dressed conspicuously as an Ikea or KwikFit sponsored football team carry all the food, supplies, tents etc. As you are trying to catch a breath and prevent yourself from vomitting from mountain sickness, climbing up and up, they run, yes, run, past you with what can only be described as sufficient supplies on their back to feed Vannessa Feltz for a couple of days. Then, as you wearily arrive into camp, they have set up all the tents, cooked your lunch, setup wash bowels and clap and woop as you fall into camp. Yes, after all that, they clap you. Soooo the wrong way round.

So I had survived Day 1, but only just. Whilst concentrating so hard on the climb (no Joe McElderly jokes please) I let out a huge squeel and jumped into the air, almost falling off the mountain to my certain death. I swore it was a puma coming at me, other witnesses (mistakenly) suggest it was a chicken.

Day 2 was steep climbs up to 4200m in blazing sun, then a descent in a hailstorm. Mortifyingly I had to resort to using a poncho. Not happy. The ruins we saw on day 1 were dwarfed by those on day 2, royal pallaces that had been deserted during the Spanish Invasion. The Spanish had never found the Royal Inka Trail to Macchu Picchu, and the route, the pallaces, and the sanctuary itself laid undisturbed and abandoned until 1911. Day 2 ended with Rum Teas and collapsing into bed by 8pm, again after the ritual of being offered popcorn, tea, and coca leaves as an afternoon break. Our two Canadians couldnt work out why they werent sleeping, I suggested it might have something to do with the cocaine based tea they were drinking before bed. It seems in the Andes, even 55yr old Canadians partake in cocaine.

Day 3, with a 5am start, and as ever, an enormous amount of food set us up for views I hadnt quite expected, looking across at where Macchu Pichhu was hidden, surronded by four mountains, with terraced pallaces with no other visitors present, that we could explore, and for a short while, claim as our own.

The final day started with my now favourite breakfast, pancakes with Fanny Jam. Yes, Fanny Jam. You will be pleased to hear this brand also markets their own range of tinned tuna. Mmmmmm. Followed by Milo and coffee. Heaven.

Walking through the Sun Gate at dawn, clouded in mist, and then descending in the sanctuary of Macchu Picchu was amazing. Crazy to think they built this on a mountain top, with shear edges, over 500 years ago. Just breathtaking. Spending 4 days with such a worldy diverse and funny group was a riot. Couldnt have asked for more. Certainly will miss Peru. Gold Star.

Waiting for Macchu Picchu....

richardlee — Sun, 14 Nov 2010 01:15:00 GMT

With a couple of days to kill in Cusco before i set off on a 4 day trek to Macchu Picchu, I decided to take it easy, and head round Cusco´s Inka sites on horseback. I was joined by two Belgians, who arrived late, so I was left with a 12 yr old boy on horseback whose job it was to babysit me. His english was as good as my spanish, so hand singles were mostly involved. He failed to understand why i didnt want to race him to the top of the hill and back; translating phrases such as ´safety first¨ and "Christopher Reeve" didnt quite work.

I was appropriately given the horse named after the worlds number one club, Pacha. My belgian colleagues ended up with Ollantambo and Apache. It also appeared that another unsaddled horse followed us for the whole day. Our guide explained that this horse, named coca-cola, probably due to the state of its rotting teeth, was in love with apache and they were inseperable. Ahh, how lovely. This was until Coca Cola was apparently a little more interested in the physical side of the relationship, and with a huge member that would still interest Dr Ed, Coca Cola tried numerous times to mount Apache. Much to the digust of the belgain man still strapped to the back of Apache.

We stopped for lunch, where the belgians wished to try the taste of cuy. Guinea pig to you and me. Yes, this measly bag of bones was served up with tatties, but accompanied by a brilliant view. Again, my reluctance to try and find a bit of the carcus that didnt have black bits attached to it wasnt totally understood. I advise you however peckish you may get after a large night out, dont try it. They are only good for making gloves.

Easy Forward....

richardlee — Wed, 3 Nov 2010 09:00:00 GMT

7am arrival at the rafting place. Luckily, the company I booked with, which i subsequently discovered had an awful reputation, didnt have enough people to run a trip, so they put me into another companies. Relieved, i boarded the bus with the other 23 would-be rafters and sat down. Sergio the guide introduced himself, and then opended with the line "I understand that not everyone is from Israel today, who is from somewhere else?". I raised my hand. Looking forward, i was alone. With an impending sense of fear i turned to see two other hands on the back row. When they said they were from Ireland i actually wiped my brow and sighed. Another great way to endear yourself to 21 Israelis with whom you are going to spend the next 3 days together.

Supposedly, as I later discovered, all Israelis have to do militarily service from the age of 18, 3 years for boys, and 2 years for girls. Then, at 21/22 yrs old, they go travelling. Except they ALL go either to South America, or to South East Asia. And they ALL use the same website and stay in the same hostels and book the same trips. The company we were with had peruvian guides, who now spoke Hebrew, and catered with Kosher food! Incredible.

Luckily the Israelis were all quite keen to chat and talk, partly as they spend all their time meeting other Israelis who have done and are doing exactly the same thing as them. Thinking as they had done milatarily service they all would be hard as nails, we boarded our boats on the first day for practice, to find out that milatarily service didnt necessarily endear one with super human strenght, or an ability to follow simple instructions, such as stop, followed by stop paddling now! Almost flipping the boat on the first day on a class 3 rapid, it didnt bode well for class 4 and 5 the following day. However, with 5 israelis in my boat, one peruvian guide who also spoke hebrew, we still had to speak the queens english for my benefit. Guilty i hear you say? Hell no, i knew they could easily slag me off and i would be none the wiser, so i was content with this swap.

Three days of rafting along 50km of the canon, with amazing food, and sleeping out on the beaches along the Apurimac river was so much fun. My introductly lessons with Hebrew (Katanchi meaning short arse), eating shushlaka for breakfast, and enjoying the amazing scenery was well worth the sun burn, bites and chapped lips i´ve returned with.

The Irish couple i met were however a god send, and John and Naimh were such a laugh when all we could hear around us was Hebrew, as we discussed all the topics we could discuss over the campfire that night. We did get to the Arab Israeli conflict, although we didnt have the balls to pull out a copy of the Koran and ask if any of them had read this amazing new book we had just discovered............

Inca Cities of Gold...

richardlee — Sun, 31 Oct 2010 03:42:00 GMT

Flying into Cusco and making it to the Pariwana Hostel was pretty straight forward. An old nobles house with a central square and all the rooms on the first floor looking in on the internal garden. I had been put in with 5 israeli guys, who were all built like brick shit houses and snored like generals. I decided that trying to turn them in the middle of the night might not have gone down so well - I ´ve seen spooks and the israelis you dont want to mess with. Afterall they are all military trained.

Slowly adjusting to spending so much time alone - very strange to spend a whole day without speaking to anyone sometimes. Althought its making me realise how lucky i am back home, and forcing me to make more of an effort here.

So, have spent my first few days here adjusting to the alitutde sickness which has knocked me out a bit. But heading out into Cusco i was welcomed by the sight of a huge rainbow flag beckoning me in the main square. Ahhh how pleasent, after spending all my time so far as an assumed straight man, it was nice to see a little bit of gay permeating the andes. Until i realised that the rainbow flag is the flag of the incas - either way, i suddently feel a bond now that we share a flag. Spending the last two days in the day wondering the streets in awe of this city in the sky, and the architecture. As well as the local traditionally dressed peruvian selling their wares at the price of a starbucks coffee. I secummed to a charcoal sketch, not sure how i will get that home! Have spent two nights with some brits, aussies, tasmanians and chillians - one night out eating guinea pig. Hhhmmmm. The second in the hostel at a smal scale BBQ before halloween party tonight. Joined today by two brits from Brighton who seem pretty cool, even after an 18hr bus journey where they broke down twice!

And for those who may visit Peru in teh future, you´ll be glad to know that the slang for gay here is Brocoli! I discovered this on receiving a one sided guide to slang in Peru. I would also advise you check out the Lonely Planet Guide phrasebook, which has two pages to dealing with relationships. Starting with "éasy tiger", through to "I´ll finish off myself" to "I dont think this is working out". Tres modern!

Rafting tomorrow for 3 days so will update after that. Adios! xx

Landing in Lima

richardlee — Fri, 29 Oct 2010 05:11:00 GMT

This is the first flight i have ever taken when someone has actually attempted to light up in the toilets half way through a rather mediocre 12 hour flight. This KLM flight landed without going up in smoke, and I walked through customs to man with a sign saying Richardlee. I dont think any other sign could have made me feel instantly more relaxed seeing my name in full as it should be. Although if Chris and Michelle had made it to Peru to welcome me as threatened that might also have calmed the nerves somewhat. Signing along to U2 with my taxi driver continued to ease my nerves as we whizzed through the backstreets of Lima to the first hostel. I spent my checking in hour chatting to the college student who was very keen to practice his english, as i spluttered back in pigeon Spanish.

I spent the first night via the local Vivandi supermarket (selling a lovely brand of Fanny Tuna) for a very local beef stir fry and beers. Crashed out on my first night still fully dressed impressed my new roommate, who i met in the morning. Helen it seems used to live in Manchester, worked at Grinch, and grew up 2mins from me in my dark days in Birmingham. Ridic. After a v kind invitation to join her and two Kiwis (Helen and James) we tried to catch numerous chicken buses into the centro, to no avail. A taxi was hailed, and we spent the day seeing a rather slow side stepping changing of the guard, visiting a fransican monastery with 70,000 people buried below in in catacombes with the bones on display (not freaky at all), and then drinking beers and the local pisco sours. We drank with some english guys who we then decided to crash their night out, and headed to Baranco down the coast, ending up in a char grill restaurant that specialises in beef hearts, oh, and chicken ones too. I duly tried a platter of every kind of meat, delic.

Leaving lima was pretty easy, and flying up to Cusco today in the Andes was a definite good move. Going from Limas constant grey skies and chilly days, to Cuscos high and bright sunny days! Lets see what the andes have to offer!