James Blunt

It seems I missed an opportunity this evening. The above mentioned was busking in the subway at Wellington Railway Station. Sadly for me, I was made aware of this event after the fact and I am gutted to have missed it.
After all, opportunities to throw rotting vegetable matter at useless, self-indulgent, pathetic whingers, seldom crop up, do they?

Facebooking

I think Facebook is making me paranoid about my levels of sophistication. My Facebook friends all have superior tastes, it seems. I am not, in general, anxious about my ability to discriminate, and certainly wasn’t before the Facebook phenomenon. I am also not the sort of person that sits around in 3-day-old knickers with the index finger of my hand up my nose… BUT I do feel slightly persecuted that I cannot admit to having enjoyed Bravo Two Zero. Which is the sort of thing I would admit to friends in the pub and I might even get a few approving nods (depending on the company) but dare not plaster on my precious profile. Similarly, while other Facebookers enjoy Jim Jarmusch films, my feeling is that Rambo III was a bloody sight more entertaining than anything he has had a hand in.
One of two possible conclusions can be drawn. Either, the paranoia is real and I am a dolt with the intellectual capacity of a retarded slug or these people are pretentious wankers.

Retail 101

I admit that I don’t care a jot for debits and credits. I also bear a great deal of ill will towards prescriptive Accounting Statements and I will own up to being a very mediocre accountant, at best. However, despite these feelings I find it impossible not to analyse business processes especially when they seem to be operating at sub-optimal levels.
(Retail managers will want to grab a pen and paper for this next part.)
The objective is sales. If your business is not making any sales it will go bust. If you have retail space you need to make sure that you have products on the shelves, preferably ones that a lot of people want to own.

To connect the dots: Customers can only buy products that you have to sell, if the shelves are bare you cannot make any sales and no money comes into the business. The consequences are inevitable.

I don’t think the basic theory is too difficult to grasp yet the empirical evidence suggests otherwise. I went into a large department store on the outskirts of Wellington. The store was part of a well-known chain aimed at middle class shoppers, the kind that normally have cosmetics counters near the front, brightly illuminated and with rows of neat little boxes stacked up behind testers. It was definitely the sort of place in which you would expect to be able to buy spot concealer. And in fact they did have the tester for it, but no neat little box I could take to the till.

The store shall remain nameless, since I don’t have enough money to defend a libel action. Also, if they want a trouble-shooting consultant, they can darn well pay me for my advice.

Hell's Gate

If you visit Hell’s Gate near Rotorua, on the North Island, you’ll see terribly thrilling geothermal activity, bubbling, boiling mud pools, geysers and thermal springs. A whiff of the sulphur flavoured air conjures up images of a horned underlord and eternal damnation. It also provides the best opportunity to fart that you’re ever likely to have.

You may also have the chance (for a fee) of wallowing in natural occurring thermal mud. The mud has all sorts of delicious minerals to take years off your skin. I can definitely swear that it is effective. I now have the skin of a teenager, including spots on my chin….

Mooving on...

My first newsworthy activity in New Zealand has been cattle herding. I can say honestly that although I demonstrated a great natural ability to shout at cows and get them moving through a gate, it is not the career change I was looking for.
As an aside, cows deserve to be eaten because of their immense stupidity, as do sheep.

Antarctica -The spell binding desolation of the frozen wilderness...

I confess to have given in to hyperbole– being summer it was really less frozen than you might imagine, certainly if your sole experience is watching March of the Penguins and docudramas that revolve around Shackleton and his calamitous endeavours.

Also, it isn’t really that desolate, not if you count the penguin inhabitants, who are, on the whole very noisy neighbours. In fact, the breeding beaches are more crowded than Oxford Street on a Saturday morning. One of the most amazing things about these flightless birds is that regardless of how many you see, they seem to become more fascinating, not less, with each encounter - to the extent that your average Antarctic photographer might have nearly 90% of photos that include a penguin. The balance would consist largely of icebergs…

There are a great many motivations for joining an expedition and that these are as diverse as the accents you hear on board a ship bound for Antarctica, there was at least one representative nation from every continent.

The Antarctic expeditionist will be driven by a composition of: the experience of exploring the last frontier and a sense of the spirit of the pioneers of the white continent, to see rare wildlife such as humpback whales and the not so rare Adelie and Chinstrap penguins and to be one of a small number of humans to have set foot on the seventh continent, since only 20 000 people visit each year.

And (cue violins) to add a touch of the dramatic to somehow own a piece of the magic of Antarctica… it seems that from the first certainty of the existence of the continent, when von Bellinghausen clapped eyes on its ice-fields in 1820 to the Scott.- Amundsen race, everybody has tried to bagsy bits and pieces of it.

Antarctica’s status is regulated by the 1959 Antartctic Treaty and other related agreements, collectively called the Antarctic Treaty System. The treaty was signed by twelve countries, including theSoviet Union (and later Russia) the UK, Argentina, and the United States. It set aside Antarctica as a scientific preserve, established freedom of scientific investigation, environmental protection, and banned military activity on the continent.

Interestingly, this was the first arms control agreement established during the Cold War.

Infact they are still trying- the UK has a post office, the Chileans have put up a hotel and the Argentineans have babies on their fragment. And pretty soon, at least with the way the oil price is going, there will an international scramble and oil drills will be disfiguring the landscape, sooner than you can say “climate change is a man made problem.”

Getting to Antarctica requires the crossing of the Drake Passage, a body of water that ranks as the most violent in the world. I don’t use the term violent loosely either, as our ship ploughed southwards, and the view from the portals alternated between sea and sky (and tales of folk being thrown from their beds were no exaggeration), I was nearly decapitated by an octogenarian wielding a breakfast plate as he was thrown about the dining room.

I can assure that the Antarctic experience is worth dancing with death, in no uncertain terms.

We got to witness first hand a leopard seal catching a penguin and thrashing it against the water in order to enhance its taste appeal by beating the wretched creature out of its skin. The penguin made a dash for safety by scampering up a little ice flow, only to be seized by the seal that had extraordinary leaping skills. You would think it would make your heart sink to see such a sight, though as indicated earlier, they are penguin heavy and one less will not have a measurable impact, besides what of the seal? Surely it too, must survive?

This episode took place against a back drop of calving glaciers at Neko Harbour…another quiet day in the Antarctic.

That evening was spent sitting in the Captains suite (myself and a select few), off the bridge and sharing his hospitality and vodka. The latter proved to be a useful ingredient to the occasion, given that we spoke no Russian and he spoke very little English. It also allowed me to obtain the dubious honour of having, not only visited all seven continents, but also having been inebriated on all seven of them too.

My remedies for hangovers include lots of painkillers, lots of sleep, or where possible, a revitalizing swim. Seems lady luck was smiling on a poor soul that day as we were invited to take to the waters off Pendulum Cove…where temperatures drop to an agonizing 1.86 degrees below freezing. Volcanic activity below the shoreline of Deception Island means that the first 3 feet of water is heated probably to a temperature not dissimilar of a recently boiled kettle. The result of all of this is that one is forced to jump from blistering hot water to freezing water and vice versa in a process dubbed the Boil ‘n Freeze.

Nothing I say can really capture Antarctica, it is one of life’s experiences that has to be undertaken firsthand to really get a sense of the place with its history of pioneers, the Majesty of the glaciers, the snow covered mountains and the abundance of wild life are reason enough to undertake this adventure. One exuberant New Yorker returned to the boat after our first Zodiac rubber boat tour and stood shaking on the boats deck, "How will I ever explain the beauty and awe inspiring sights, the humbling of me as Man in such a wilderness.”

Although possibly a little over the top, it may go someway to explaining why it has taken me far too long to get this written.

Oh and it's raining again!

Having spent a week in Rio (a week in which we bore witness to several thunderstorms with all their attendant annoyances, being firstly, a large amount of rain and secondly, a fair number of mosquitos) we travelled south, back towards Argentina. I might add that the journey would have possibly been bearable, were it not for the fact that TC and I were squeezed into the back of a bus, sans air con for 18 hours and to add to the misery we had seats conveniently located next to the toilet, which had been used several times by each person during the journey.

For my part I was looking forward to landing in Patagonia, and leaving Rio. It isn't that I hate Rio, it is simply that I did not love it. Rio for me is the Christmas equivalent of a large and decorative gift under a monstrous tree in a shopping mall, outside a commuter town somewhere in Wisconsin or Detroit or somewhere else expansive and unimaginative. The shiny wrapper makes it look enticing, but don't get excited because you know dissapointment, like an invisible jack-in-the-box, lurks inside.

And so it it is with Rio, from the too-tight speedos and barely-there bikinis of the rich 'n beautifuls on Ipanema to the ridiculous notion of favela parties. Worse still, is that seems to take itself seriously.

Connolly once levelled criticism at his fellow Scots for being the only nation that thinks its tourist tat (furry haggis -on-pens and nessie plushies) is culture. He was just being funny, though there is undeniable truth at the core of that statement. I think it is absurd that travellers to Rio shell out cash to attend an organised favela party where the foreigners outnumber the favela dwellers by a ratio of 3 to 1. Surely, the cultural experience has to be spontaneous for it to have any meaning.

But perhaps I am being unfair. After all, someone has to be the dimwit at the dinner party with well put together aesthetic genetic material, and I suppose they, like Rio are entitled to exist. Just don't expect me to like it.

I curse you, Mr.Manilow (with respect, of course)

Whilst strolling the black and white paving that runs the sweep of Copacabana beach I was pondering two things on and off. The first was whether Clinton's sobs would hurt or improve her chances of becoming the first ever female president of the 'most powerful nation in the world'. Or would it make no difference at all. I read an editorial that suggested that 'tears only work in relationships, not on campaign trails' and I am inclined to disagree, on the basis that I have avoided at least two speeding fines with a few forced tears and a few superbly executed sniffs.

But not wanting to debate semantics, and do take the point that unless your audience actually gives more than a tuppence about you, your plight or your feelings, it is unlikely, in the extreme, that you are going to appeal to them. This is a fundamental truth of life and why crying doesn't work on campaign trails and sometimes it doesn't work in relationships either. Simply put, the people who you seduce will forgive you and love you and those who could not care if you fell into a manhole and were carried away by a tide of sewage- won't. Regardless of what you do.

Which brings me to my second, somewhat incongruous thought, which is that having arrived in Copacabana I hadn't stopped playing that song in my head. Thanks Barry.

Of Nazis and Armadillos

Paraguay. A trusted source confirms that it is known for 2 things, armadillos (of the giant variety) and sheltering Nazi war criminals. It should therefore come as no suprise that my time spent there ranks easily as one of the worst experiences of my life. Not that I have anything against armadillos.

I spent most of my time in Ciudad del Este, a town on the border with Brazil. CdE is the economic powerhouse of the country and produces 60% of the GDP of Paraguay, according to the Lonely Planet. The words pisspot, ramshackle and eyesore can easily be applied to a description of it, I fear (but only in passing) for the rest of Paraguay.

The one attraction that CdE does boast, is the Itaipu dam. It is the biggest dam in the world and according to government sponsored propaganda, supplies 80% of Paraguay's electricity and 25% of Brazil's and is therefore a 'good thing'. The dam is hailed as an awesome feat of engineering, mostly by engineers, and contains enough steel to construct 380 Eiffel Towers. Mysteriously, no mention is made of the magnificent (that is, puts Niagra and Iguazu to shame) set of falls that were drowned in the making of the dam nor is there a whisper about the displacement of people from the area that is now covered by a monsterous man-made lake. Another fact that is omitted is that the bill for the dam upon completion in the early 1980's, was an outrageous 250bn USD, and that a sizeable portion of that sum was stuffed into the pockets of corrupt beauracrats.

The tour of the dam is 'free', presumably the G have realised that people are not willing to pay at the point of use for it's spin (and they are probably right).

My advice is that if you find yourself in Paraguay for any reason, leave as soon as you can. That is, assuming you can get the migration officials to actually stamp your passport in the same 24 hour period you arrive at the passport window. I am not saying that they are incompetent, but I left the office dusting cobwebs from clothes.

And I didn't actually see any armadillos or Nazis, more's the pity.

Argentina and Montevideo

I am always relieved when I find out that the bus that is going to be home for the next 13 hours has a toilet aboard. Not all of them do, and the ones that don´t send me into a mild panic.

You see, I seem to have been fitted with a cheap Taiwanese bladder, and the longest period of time that can elapse between pit stops is roughly 2 hours. Buses in some countries in South America (Ecuador, Bolivia, you know who you are) don´t come with WC´s aboard, and you have to talk nicely to the driver to let you out so that you can find a shrub tall enough to duck behind, also preferably one that isn´t near a cactus (I am still picking spines out of my bottom, and I left Bolivia months ago).

To be fair, the buses in Argentina are probably more comfortable than your average first class BA seat and all of them have WC´s aboard. In fact I am, or at least I was very impressed with Argentina (and obviously relieved to be here). The food is great...one can eat steak 3 times a day and then for pudding too, all washed down with vino tinto, and if you get a bit peckish you could have a small lomito to keep the wolves at bay until the next lomo!

The accomodation is generally of a good standard and people speak English as a second language. A very narrow minded consideration for liking a place, but I speak English and it suits me fine if other people do too.

All this was great until we landed in Montevideo. There are 2 major contributors to the wealth of Uruguay, one is cattle farming, the other is middle class Argentinian holiday makers, who regard the coast as their playground in the summer months.

This results in 2 things. One: The steak is fabulous and far surpassed anything the Argentinians had on offer. We truly did eat the side of a cow in 3 days, easy. And two: The Montividians ( I have looked this up.) speak English, are charming and know how to party; most days started with a couple of Nurofen...

Daylight savings etc

Something weird happened to us when we left Bolivia, all those months ago. Our jeep trek through the salt flats from Uyuni in Bolivia to San Pedro de Atacama took us in a westerly direction. The funny thing is, is that when we got on the bus for San Pedro, the driver instructed us to set our watches an hour ahead. Bizarre. Okay, so not as strange as seeing Elvis land a shuttle on Mars maybe, or even as weird as those cats with no fur, but weird enough all the same. TC is not bothered by this as he insists it is all to do with daylight savings, Chile has it and Bolivia does not.

Speaking of daylight savings, all my fretting over New Year´s Eve was in vain. As it usually is. I decided I was changing my life and not going to worry about things like booking tables etc. So we set out to find a table at 9.00pm on NYE, sans table booking. I wasn´t worried. This was my new life and somehow things would work out. But by the time 10.00pm came and went and we were still trudging about Buenos Aires looking for a wretched table, I began to have serious doubts about the sanity of changing life long habits...

It was around this point,when faith was at it´s lowest and the prospects were bleak that TC found a restuarant that had a table free, and was serving steak on a set menu.

We settled in and ordered a second bottle of Malbec (running around looking for a restuarant is thirsty work), and then a most surprising thing happened- at what we thought was 11.00pm. They handed us a glass of bubbly wine and wished us a happy new year. We thought it was a ploy to get us to leave, but everyone else in the place was also celebrating NY and therefore it seemed like too elaborate a ruse....it really was midnight. We had been an hour out of sync with the world for goodness knows how long.

Wine and whining

Currently, I am sitting in Buenos Aires trying to come up with a cunning plan for New Year´s eve. Oh the pressure of it all, she says slapping her hand against her forehead, in dramatic fashion.

Anyway, we left Chile last week, and got the overnight bus to Mendoza. I was quite excited about being in Argentina. I thought I would be drinking Malbec until it came out of my nose. However, our first attempt at doing some wine tasting was an unequivocal disaster and nearly got us killed.

We hired some contraptions that could only loosely be described as bicycles, in Mendoza, with the grand plan of riding out to the wine farms and tasting some wine. The fact that the bikes were coming apart didn´t bother me so much (this is South America, after all) as they bothered TC who kept muttering about ball bearings or head bearings or both, probably. Anyway, we decided to proceed with the bikes, such as they were, onto a 3 lane highway with exit and entrance ramps every 200 metres (or so it seemed).

After nearly being struck down and ground into the tarmac by a petrol tanker, your correspondent had had enough... I think I probably had a hissy fit at this stage too. Well, so would you if your life had nearly been extinguished by a crazed Argentinian truck driver.
So we took some back roads out to Maipu, where the wine is made, avoiding high speed traffic, tankers and other agents of death.

At our first stop, we were told that the tour began at 3pm and could we please return at that time. It dawned on us then that we would not be able to taste any wine without first being tortured with a wine tour. That, it appears is the modus operandi and there is no deviation. Whatsoever.

Given that we had to return the bikes that evening, we would have to leave for Mendoza at 3pm and since every single bodega was closed for siesta... we tasted no wine.

Our second attempt was marginally more rewarding. This time we booked a package tour. 2 wineries and an olive farm. The experience was as tragic as it sounds, and we were subjected to tedious explanations of how to get wine from grapes.

But we did stand a better chance against the highway traffic in a tour bus than we did on those bikes and a tour bus seat is easier on the bottom too.

The New Adventures of Captain Sludge and the Sewage Sidekick

I have to be without doubt the most unlucky traveller that ever tramped the gringo trail. And that´s not some light bragging on my part. Can you believe that I have suffered a second bout of food poisoning in as many weeks... Yah no, neither could I and I can tell you in between feeling sorry for myself and projectile vomiting, I was praying, again, for another swift and merciful death. What is it with this continent and personal hygiene?

TC, who has returned to resume the trip after jacking in his job and London Life has taken to using hand sanitizer and is being religious in his application of it. I can´t say I blame him. For my part I am still brushing my teeth with bottled water, even though TC maintains that the tap water in Argentina, is potable and has not suffered any ill effects from it.

The result of this is that there is a lot of purchasing of bottled water and on top of buying coke and snacks for long bus rides, we are generating a veritable Aconcagua of non biodegrable garbage. This is obviously not doing my green credentials any good.

On top of this damage to my green reputation, I must fess up to being a litter bug. And in the worst possible way too. I dropped an Oreo packet in the Amazon river basin...yes, okay I can hear the oohs and ahhs and sharp intakes of breath from everyone (yeah, all three of you). I did try to retrieve it, but was concerned about falling into alligator infested water...(yeah I am also overly concerned with my own welfare). So you see, far from thinking up ways to save the damn planet I am actively contributing to its ever hastening demise.

I am still wracked with guilt and not sure what my penance should be for that crime...should I wash spilt oil from the plumes of 5 penguins? What if a pink dolphin died from choking on that packet? Surely no amount of penguin scrubbing could make up for it? hhhmmm....

On the other hand, TC did drop his sun glasses into the river too. Well, every super captain needs a side kick.

The thing that disturbs me is that we are the ecologically aware sort of traveller. We don´t fish under sized pirañas and we don´t hunt monkeys for sport and we don´t litter, well mostly anyway. All this does not bode well for the future of the rainforest and indeed the planet.

As I sip from my bottle of water I have to consider that, far from being Captain Planet I am indeed Captain Sludge (TC is the Sewage Sidekick), however if I don´t buy the bottled water I shall be known as Captain Sludge for reasons other than my destruction of the Earth.

Probably the worst beer in the World

Whenever I land somewhere new and different, that is, a place big enough to have a local football team and therefore brewery, I make it my business to sample the local cerveza.
Such was the case in Potosi, a town famous or maybe infamous for it´s silver and tin mines. Anyway, it has a local football league and hence a local beer. I can´t tell you how good the football is but I can tell you that the brew is awful, possibly the worst in the world, ever.

I am not kidding, this stuff is only marginally more drinkable than a glass of sweat squeezed from the socks of a thousand Bolivian silver miners. And if you doubt how bad that could be, I refer you to earlier posts on South American hygiene.

The rest of the Potosi experience was largely unmemorable, with the exception that I bought dynamite for the first (and let´s face it, probably last) time ever. You can literally buy dynamite off a market stall and go and blow something up. Which reminds me of a story another gringa told me about a couple of kids who blew their hostal room apart and got 3 months in police cells and a 1000 quid fine or maybe it was dollars, not sure, but it probably wasn´t true anyway... As it seems, the travelling breed are generally full of BS.

The northward migrating herd on the so-called gringo trail have been entirely useless as a source of information on my southward journey. Mostly I think they give you the version of events that they would have liked to have happen (in their super crazy imaginations), rather than the more boring reality. I met a few northward travellers in Peru, who had just passed through La Paz, and had apparently quite literally bathed in cocaine. If you believe all you hear. The reality is that as someone spending a very brief amount of time in La Paz, it is almost impossible to get hold of cocaine.

For a start you would have to know where to look and who to ask. It isn´t like trying to find a bell for a bicycle, there isn´t a yellow pages for coke dealers...or should that be a white pages. In either case, it isn´t all that easy, how do you know that the guy offering you coke at 10.00am outside the cash point isn´t working with the cops?

On a final note, if you have read Marching Powder (by Rusty Young) you´ll know exactly why you do NOT want to find yourself on the wrong side of a prison gate in Bolivia.

I don´t think I want to be on the wrong side of a prison gate anywhere.

Making friends

Since I have been tramping about Bolivia on my own I have had to become desperate friend maker with everyone I meet, sometimes it works out and you meet real quality, other times the company one keeps makes one want to put ones hand in a blender, with the speed setting on slow, on the basis that it will take your mind off the banal, mindless and irritating things that these people have to say....

And sometimes you get stuck for 3 days with the hand - in - a - blender types, which was pretty much what happened in the pampas last week. Except, I was without a blender, my only relief from the rest of my group were constant mosquito attacks (with the resulting itchy bites) and the occasional worry that an alligator had made its nest under my bed.

The mossie bites were a fairly welcome distraction from the group, even taking account of the fact that I tore my skin open in several places, scratching them. I am convinced Bolivian mosquitos regard deet as some form of accompaniment...even my itchy bites had itchy bites, this despite not washing for 3 days and building up a fairly decent layer of deet and swamp mud.

The upshot was that I made friends with the other group in the camp, a real motley crew of Israelis. I am convinced one of them was gay, for the simple reason he cited Sex and the City as his favourite TV show, with Deperate Housewives a close second. Anyway, he was a bit of a character, when I saw him tucking into a cheeseburger, he said to me: 'It's ok, I'm Jewish Lite!'

They invited me to go sky-diving in Argentina. Which I politely declined, on the basis that Health & Safety issues are generally not a priority in South America, having been electrocuted by the taps in the shower 3 times in the space of 2 days.

Barfing in Bolivia

I was terribly sick in Copacabana. Ok, so when the guidebook says "Do not brush your teeth with tap water", then do not brush your teeth with tap water.

Anyway, I spent a night in agony, the likes of which must surely rival child birth, with the added complication of not knowing which end should be facing the toilet.

I opted for @rse on the loo and head in the bin... fell asleep and woke up 3 hours later with a ring around the top of my legs and dent in my forehead.

Also woke up 3 kgs lighter. Proving that there is a little good in everything bad.

Copacabana, Bolivia

I met up with some gringos for beer and grub. Half of them spoke first grade Spanish and the other half are enlightened enough to undertake Spanish lessons.

I have to say that my Spanish, such as it is, has always gotten me at least edible food and accomodation in places where there are not too many skid marks on the sheets. Honestly, what more could I want... ( a kind word, a warm bed, ultimate power?) Enlightenment is probably over rated anyway. With these arguments I have convinced myself that I have no need to study spanish any further.

When I stated these arguments to my table, I got a tongue lashing off a FT (Fellow Traveller) for being narrow minded, as he insisted it was great to be able to relate to the locals. He even gave me an example of a conversation that he had with a local about how lots of children die on the Isla del Sol, because they run off the edge of the cliff and drown in Lake Titicaca.

I don't understand why they can´t just tie their kids to a chair?

Leaving Peru

I went to the Uros islands . Not much to say about it except box ticked, I suppose. It`s a funny old thing, but I guess a lot like life in that the unexpected is always a million percent better than the foregone conclusions.

For example, Uros, the floaty island things had to be done as they are one of the Lakes "attractions". But actually the bus ride up to Puno from Arequipa was brilliant, with some of the most amazing landscape ever. It changed almost quite dramatically from being semi desert with Vicuñas to quite green with lakes and flamingoes. And that damn bus ride has been the highlight of the week.

I confess that yesterday I was pretty badly behaved. I lost my temper at lunchtime with the waiter...he did kinda ask for it as he asked me if I had smaller notes 3 times. I also got a bit shirty with the guy on the islands . It was 5 soles to go on the little reed boat they had, it was supposedly opional but one felt really bludgeoned and cajoled into it. So with a big sigh I handed over my 5 soles and got in his boat and then he asked me if it was for one person. Took me a lot of strength not to say "Yeah, f··k features, who else do you see standing here" South Americans dont understand a lot of things, sarcasm is one of them. Basic mental arithmetic and electrical wiring are among the others.

I left Peru yesterday and crossed the border by bus. We had to walk about 200m to get between Peru and Bolivian immigration. ...A small part of me did start to worry that after having been stamped out of Peru, the Bolivians wouldn`t let me in. And then I`d have to go back to Peru and then they might not let me in...and then I would be destined to just walk up and down a bit of road between the 2 for the rest of my life, selling Inka Cola and sleeping in the toilets. Crazy Town. But as it was, the guy barely looked at my passport. Think he sees a lot of UK passports. Half the bus was from England, and half the pubs are filled with English too.

So I find myself in Copacabana, Bolivia. One more flag thingy for my travel map.

Nasca - 14 October

Well arrived tired and with a full bladder in Nasca, after a 13 hour bus ride. The tiredness was on account of a full bladder and the full bladder was on account of not wishing to use the toilets on the bus. I had visions of a tidal wave of human waste engulfing me as the bus went round a hairpin bend... anyway, I was met ( for met read accosted) at the bus terminal by a tour guide who took me direct to the hostal I wanted to go to, stroke of luck me thinks.

And he ran tours of the Nasca Lines...not sure if you have heard of them, but basically they are giant creatures carved into the surface of the desert. I wont bore you with the detail here....But suffice to say we went up in a Cesna...which was really awesome, haven´t been in one since I did the sky dive thingy about 10 years ago! And I got to sit in the co-pilots seat! which was good also on account of the fact that my tour buddies in the back began spewing into their puke packets about 20 mins into the flight. Nice.

Anyway they had men doing things to the overhead lines , so there was no elecrticity in the whole town until 7pm. Trust me to land in a town with no leccy on the day that SA play a semi final world cup game! So basically I spent the afternoon comatose in my hostal on and off and listening to the planes go up taking other people to see the Lines... yeah I know what you are thinking, and yes it was dead boring.

Apologies

I feel I should make some sort of apology for being away from here for so long. But I have a really good excuse, I was kidnapped by a rival off shoot of the Shining Path and have only now escaped using nothing more than a pair of tweezers and a stethoscope.... Sadly, none of that is true. Mostly because I would have to get out of these internet cafes and wander over a mountain to find some kidnappers. And I can´t, not because the thought of being held to ransom doesn´t appeal (although like most things, the reality of it wouldn´t live up to the day dream) but....I have a terrible facebook adddiction...

I hope that my loyal readers, all 3 of you, can forgive me. I appear to have the affliction somewhat under control now. I have even gone one whole day without checking my notifications, and that should be a sign of progress at least.

hhhmmm that raises an interesting question, How much would a kidnapper get for me. I wouldn´t like to blow my own trumpet, but I reckon with a whip round I must be worth a quid at a minimum. Then again maybe my long suffering (and anyone who knows me is long suffering, let´s face it) friends and family might just rub their hands and breathe a sigh of relief...