Buenos Dias South America

So, after a year travelling through mainly the western part of Latin America I can´t say I regret one minute of it. I have met so many great people, and made some friends for life. I won´t miss the day-long bus trips though, that´s for sure. Or anything about buses in South America really.

I thought I would write a list of the best and worst things I have done and seen in South America. Having spent a year here, I have enjoyed my time immensely and have seen and done far more than I expected when I set out.

There is a great vibrancy to many parts of life, as I have seen it, in much of South America. Everyday life in Europe is often conducted indoors, away from others. People here live on the streets. The cities are hives of organised chaos; people bargain, shout, buy, cry, sing, sell, and dance on the streets. Everyday life is conducted in open view through the noise, smells, sights and sounds. A sense pervades that life is less planned and ordered than it is at home.

Time keeping moves on a different system too. ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes’ can often mean anything but that. To a fault, almost all South Americans (if I may use such a broad brush) I have met are friendly, outgoing, and welcoming. I wonder would my many lost questionings have received an equally friendly response in my native Ireland. Yes, possibly.

However, not all was peaches and rosy, there is a darker side to some of the places I have been. Life is tough for many people, but in many places it is improving. It is foolish to think as a tourist you get to see the ‘real’ aspects of life’s struggles for many. Much of South America is still developing and sometimes the region can display the harder side of life, both for locals and tourists. The region´s addiction to some pretty insane music is also something I won´t miss, especially on those infamous buses.

I like to travel pretty slowly and have still only managed to scrape the tip of the iceberg as such. There is just so much to do and see there, it is amazing. The diversity of landscapes and activities is incredible. The place is a historical goldmine. I never even made it to Uruguay, Paraguay, southern Chile and Argentina, Venzuela, the Guianas and all of Brazil! Even the countries I was in I have only seen a little. Hmmm, perhaps I will have to make sure of a return trip some day in the future....
Anyway, some highly subjective lists from my experiences

Most Amazing Places and Activities
1) Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia.

2) Machu Picchu. Wow.

3) The bus trip from Piura to Huancabamba, Peru. Should come with a vertigo health warning.

4) Huacachina and its sand mountains. A little playground.

5) Mine tour, Potosi, Bolivia. Medieval working conditions.
6) Death road, Bolivia. Survived!

7) San Pedro ceremonies and life in Rhiannon Community. Vegan Christmas with the gang was a great one from home.

8) Recoleta graveyard, Buenos Aires, Argentina. Saw Evita's grave!

9) Mario Karting to the Pailon del Diablo, near Banos, Ecuador. The hot baths too.

10) Pablo Escobar tour, Medellin. Meeting Pablo´s brother Roberto Ecscobar and not believing a word he said really.

11) Cartagena beach, Colombia.

12) Route 66, La Paz. Ahem, quite an eye opener.

13) Lake Titicaca, Isla del Sol, Copacabana.

Isla Del Sol ninas, Bolivia

14) Walking around Mindo´s waterfalls (northern Ecuador).
15) Guitar lessons, Arequipa, Peru.

16) Building an earthbag house at Rhiannon
17) Salt Lakes (more ponds) near San Pedro de Atacama, Chile.

18) My friends coming over from Ireland and Russia. You know who you are.

19) Teaching English for 3 months in a local Malchingui primary school.

20) Failing to summit Cotopaxi (5800m)

22) The moon through telescopes in Chile. I actually took this by putting my camera to the telescope lens.

Favourite Cities
There are some amazing cities in South America. The colonial architecture in many of them is beautiful and I love the idea of having large central plazas around which a city centre is based. It is something we do not have in Ireland (having not been conquered by the relevant powers in history). Moving out from the centre there are usually a whole mixture of suburbs, sprawling out with rapid growth evident. In particular those semi-completed houses with metal rebar poking out everywhere. To me the cities almost always seemed bigger than I expected, maybe it is because many of them are pretty low-rise and with low density population. There is quite a contrast between the countries, with Ecuador and Colombia in my opinion seeming more 'Americanised' than those further south.

In general I don´t like cities and South America has some dangerous and unpleasant ones. La Paz can be dangerous, some are gigantic, dusty sprawls (sorry Lima), and others, well they just have little appeal to me such as Antofagasta in Chile. That impression then stays, for better or worse. Potosi in Bolivia was one of the most depressing places I have been in a long time. We drove through a quarry on a public bus to get out of it. Many of the people there working in the mines have such tough lives, all I can do is respect them. There is much more to those places than what I saw of that I am sure, but you generally get impressions of a place that inform your decision to move on. Can't see everything, everywhere.

Some cities I loved
1) Cusco, Peru. Amazing, amazing, amazing. Steps up to the hype and then some. I had a great time there, even if you do have to ignore the 'mesaje, mesaje?' calls and general industrial scale tourist harrassment.

2) Medellin, Colombia. The nightlife was great, a bit too great really. The women are pretty gorgeous alright, tis true.

3) Cochabamba, Bolivia. A real surprise. Spent a great few weeks here and met some really great people. Even played as support act in a gig in "Na Fianna" Irish pub on a Spanish Music night. More the people than the place.

4) La Paz, Bolivia. Big, smelly, dangerous, difficult to breathe. I loved it and hung out with a great group.

5) Santiago, Chile. Sometimes accused of having no soul, I really enjoyed it. Although I am not sure if it was just the great Sammy hostel or the first two live earthquakes of my life.

6) Quito, Ecuador. Popped into and out of this city all the time I lived at Rhiannon. It was a slow burner but I really grew to love it. A home from home.

Songs

Music, music, music. It is everywhere, and not always the great cumba, salsa, or native Andean music South America is famed for. Some of the tribal ceremony music I heard, especially in Rhiannon with the myriad of people there was great. Who knew songs about mother earth, fire, stars and coexistence could be so good. Well, me anyway.

However, the following ear busters will most likely be heard at the weekend or on a bus, nice and loud, multiple times per night/trip.

1) I Don't Know How To Describe This Girl Without Being Disrespectful

2) It's Time For Africa - stop it already!

3) Rhianna - We Found Love.

4) Cora, cora, cora, corazoooooaaann. Dont know what it’s called. Most songs in South America seem to be about someone’s heart.

5) War Horse. Which is a film. Having seen it five times on buses I am entitled to review it. It is only worthy of such a short one. Very poor, and always too loud.

6) Hermosa, hermosa, I see you senti mataaaaa.....yep.

My top six hostels (in no particular order)

Travelling solo, everyone knows hostels are the way to go. Some were more like hotels. The standard was often very high.
1) Wild Rover or Loki, La Paz, Bolivia. These places were so much fun and basically no different. Bad for your health if you stay too long. Great food too. Wild Rover in Cusco is equally great, with live music on Sunday nights. Me and my friend Alan played music there for three weeks and had a great time with the gang there. You often meet people travelling who simply stay in one of these for months, not working or anything. Which is a bit sad.

2) Loki Hostel, Mancora, Peru. A hostel in the sun, with a bar and swimming pool. At hostel prices. Enough said.

3) Plantas y Blancos, Banos, Ecuador. Cosy, great kitchen facilities, pavilion area with nice log fire burning. Helpful staff.

4) Secret Garden, Quito, Ecuador. Lovely spot, with great rooftop terrace.

5) Sammy Hostel, Santiago, Chile. The atmosphere in this hostel was amazing, a home from home. The people there were some of the best I met in South America.

6) La Casa De Felipe, Taganga, Colombia. Amazing spot, well worth the slightly extra cash.

Food

I wanted to do a food thing for South America, but my IPOD on which I had most of the pictures was stolen. Food in South America is generally inexpensive, with the correlation of sometimes having little to no flavour. Grease is not a flavour, if it was the food could be described as flavoursome, but not tasty. Ah that’s a bit harsh actually. But I will take it back rather than delete it. Life for vegetarians in South America is probably not as difficult as people sometimes make it out to be, having travelled a good bit with my friend Laura who is a vegetarian, it wasn´t too difficult for her, I think. I chose the vegetarian option many times because it looked better than the sometimes dubious pieces of meat being served about me. Although many times, especially in cheaper almuerzo spots the vegetarian option simply consists of the meat being removed from the plate or soup. Voila, comida vegetariana! In the case of a soup, this doesn´t really make it vegetarian. Some food experiences I do not want to repeat for some time. Having said all that, I have had some great food there too, many of the cheap almuerzos are great value, you cannot complain when you get a soup and main for $1.50.

Good
1) Steaks in Argentina. I had one the size of a pizza. Medium rare to perfection.

2) Pique Machu. I think I have spelled that correctly. Chips, beef strips, stir fried veggies, spicy gravy, and sausage. Good for weight gain. Done right it is delicious and a cut above what it sounds like there, written down.

3) Seafood on the coast of Ecuador. Uniformly amazing.

4) Fish from freshwater Lake Titicaca in Copacabana, Bolivia. Delicious, and such a nice break from the starch-laden altiplano and Andes food.

5) Colombian arepas. Mmmm.

Bad
1) Fried banana or plantain. Just......not much to say. Normal bananas are better. Food high up in the Andes in Huancabamba - fried rice and fried banana, is not a dinner frankly. It should definitely not be served for all three meals. Although I am not sure what you are meant to do when it seems to be all you have. I also seemed to often (twice, I suspect a third time also) get a stomach parasite which coincided with eating friend plantain banana. I don`t think there is an actual link between the two but that kind of seals the deal for me.

2) The Chilean completo. A hot dog with everything on it. Not good for the heart. I overindulged.

3) Bolivian food in general. Fried everything.

4) Malchingui almuerzos. Unfortunately, most people won't get to eat these delicacies.

5) A whole host of street food that should be approached with caution.

Good Luck Bad Luck

All in all I cannot complain. I have had a relatively stress and incident free year, with only minor upsets. I know people who were physically assaulted, had laptops stolen from bags on buses, a friend who kicked a Peruvian police officer where it hurts after he tried to rape her, to mention a few incidents. Still, I never felt in any more danger (almost anywhere) than I would have walking around Dublin on a Saturday night. So, common sense and much can be avoided. Travelling with someone else does make a big difference too. Well, here’s some bad luck I did run into.....

1) Dengue. I likely caught Dengue somewhere in Colombia, from a mosquito. By the end of it, the doctors in Bogota couldn’t say for sure what I had. It was a ‘tropical fever’, many of which they cannot diagnose. It was thirteen days of headaches, vomiting, fevers, muscle aches, dizziness, hardly being able to eat a single thing. I had all flu symptoms I can think of, and then some. I lost about a stone in weight too. I wasn’t looking too wonderful by the end of it.

2) Diahorrea in Lima, Peru. Ran along the length of a motorway, across it, and back along the other side. I made it to a toilet just in time. Its’s something that could have ended much differently, and possibly have made a much better story.

3) Diahorrea during San Pedro ceremony in Huancabamba, Peru. This was a very difficult night. Making the toilet got progressively more difficult as the night went on. The night was preceded by fried plantain banana.

4) IPOD and 3 jumpers stolen (all seperate occasions). My IPOD was stolen from beside my head while I slept. Likely another backpacker. Never got to the bottom of that. Never leave jumpers or other stuff down in night clubs or pubs. I suppose that one applies most places in the world really. I gained lots of free clothes along the way, something I hadn’t counted on. They were given to me.

5) Woman with fish on bus in Bolivia. It goes without saying a big bag of fish should not be allowed on a bus. She was on it for five hours, between La Paz and Cochabamba, sitting next to me. Not cool. Everyone was pissed off with her. There isn’t much that is not allowed on a Bolivian bus. A bag of slowly defrosting fish is one. Still, I kinda felt sorry for her. I mean she must have HAD to bring it on for some reason.

La Paz

Hasta luego America del sur!

It all started out at the end of 2012 in Rhiannon Permaculture Commune, with a concrete pit that was designed to be used as a biogas tank. Sam, John, and I were the initial trusty trio asked by owners Nicky and Helen to design and build a house (of our design) around this pit. The pit measures about 4m length by 1.5m width. Bodge it, wedge it, and feck it we entitled ourselves, me being the latter. We set about it in earnest. We were on a pretty strict low budget, which made it more enjoyable really. The idea of building on a low budget, using locally sourced materials greatly appealed to me. Besides Rhiannon is a permaculture farm, in keeping with some of its fundamental principles was important.

So planning began in earnest for an earthbag construction around the `pit of despair` as it affectionately became known over the days of heat, sunburn, mosquitos and stolen breaktime eggs. We decided to build up four to five layers of sandbags with a wooden construct house on top of these. The sandags were to form a basement area that included the concrete pit as a sub-basement, within the basement. Onto the wooden house we decided on what someone called a 'sloping chinese style roof'. I was not sure how authentically 'chinese' looking it would end up being, I was pretty sure none of us could build one without a Chinese carpenter on hand. It would certainly have a style all of its own, that´s for sure. With a sum total of much enthusiasm and almost zero construction experience between the three of us we set about our work in the rough order it needed to be done. Unfortunately, John and Sam had to leave to continue their travels relatively shortly after the project started. I was there running the project almost to its completion, with the able assistance and enthusiasm of many a volunteer at Rhiannon - a big thank you to all involved, you know who you are! In particular a big thanks to Sebastian and Tyler who helped the project daily through some of its toughest stages.

The rough task list bodge it, wedge it and I started out with was a a bit irrelevant. Some of it went to plan, much didn´t. When I was asked at a couple of stages where the plan was for the house (feeling an Office moment come on), I would point to my head and let them know where it was. This seemed to reassure people immensely. Ha haaaa. The list as it happened:

1. Flattened and levelled the ground about the pit for the house foundation.
2. Repaired the pit concrete, especially at the top. It was in need of filling and levelling. We also had to make a mould for this.
3. Laid the foundations of the house, including vapor barrier.
4. Waterproofed some of the concrete pit interior with limewash.
5. Getting all the wood, making all the window frames, paint-protecting all the wood, and laying the floor of the basement.
6. Design Change!
7. Increased the wall heights, slow row after slow row. Interlocked walls and straight wall 'feet'. Basically built the house.
8. Ah for f%$k sake: stuff goes a bit wrong.
9. Roofed the house...almost.

The house generally proceeded well, with a major change during the course of the project. Needless to say I learned many lessons about sandbag construction, but also perseverance and commitment, and who knows these may be useful if I am lucky enough to build something of my own someday.

1. Flattening Out and Levelling (conjugatin' the verb 'tamp') the Ground.

We took our garden hoe and set to work, churning the soil about the pit, tossing out weeds and roots as much as possible. It was tough work and much of the soil was semi-cemented together by the assortment of roots and growth holding it together. Sam in particular took some pretty determined swings with a pick axe, intent on turning some sod, oblivious of anyone foolish enough to get in the way of his killer arcs.

He could have been an Uruk-Hai.

After about two days of determined action, we had prepared a space into which we could lay the foundations for the house. Tamp that s$%t boy!

2. Repairing the Pit Concrete.

This was a tricky enough job. It needed to be done because the concrete was very poorly finished on the top of the house. It was uneven along its length, narrowed in finish towards the top, and was not level from end to end. Not a good basis to proceed. We therefore built a mould into which we could put the concrete and fixed it all around the top of the pit for pouring, hand-mixed. We did this over the course of three or four days, hand mixing the cement and filling some of the worst holes in the concrete walls.

Getting caught down wind of John during these three days was not a good idea. Someone apparently robbed a few of John´s carefully numbered breaktime eggs (imagine an egg lent calendar - John it was hilarious), perhaps it was for the best.

When we took the moulds off, the finish was not perfact but it was much better than what was there before. We now had a reasonably rectangle, level, and mostly smooth pit top to work with that provided a solid base around which we could begin construction of the basement. We ordered a truckload of gravel which was delivered to us the next day.

3. Laying the Foundations of the House

We carted in the gravel and poured it to about six inches height as the first layer for the foundation.

We laid bags filled with gravel for the first part of the foundation. The rest of the house was to be built on these.

We put this in both the bottom of the pit and around the sides of the pit. We then put in the vapour layers, to prevent moisture and gases from seeping up from the earth below. We mainly re-used stuff lying about Rhiannon, scavenged from a slow death on the ground.

Then we poured in some more gravel to finish the foundation. We tried to level it all out as best we could, tamp, tamp, tamp. The whole site was a bit of an optical illusion, with the land running in slopes east to west and north to south. When something was levelled out using a spirit level it looked like it wasn´t level, relative to other stuff that in fact wasn´t level, but looked it.

4. Waterproofing the Concrete Pit With Limewash

We used limewash paint (water plus lime - very inexpensive) to waterproof the inside of the concrete pit, up to the point at which we expected the wooden floor in the concrete pit to begin. Ashkan, our friendly Iranian painter on the day, painted a big "A" for his name on the wall which we mistook for an anarchist symbol. Ha ha. He is currently peddling through Peru somewhere on a $50 bike - best of luck sir!

From the wooden floor up would be the inhabitable space of the pit and using a limewash paint on the inside would not have been good idea because it comes off quite easily with contact. Perhaps a lime plaster or something would be better as it was rough concrete on the walls of the pit and the lime plaster would apply quite nicely. Anyway, that was not for doing now, more for when the house was built.

5. Wooden floor Foundations

Man's Best Friend
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We next laid the floor foundations for putting down the wooden floor. We decided to put in the floor of the house before it was built. A floor could just as easily be put down once the house was built. We put it in beforehand because we decided that the walls of the outside of the house would be perfect for anchoring the wooden floor. For anchoring it on the inside we decided that the floorboard would be screwed into a frame we had built around the top inside of the pit.

We had to do lots of work on the wood, including sanding, cutting edge to allow it fit together, and painting with Maderol protector. I was definitely high from that stuff for one day. We laid all the wood down over the space of two days. It was a long process, but our finished floor looked pretty decent at the end of it!

We made lots of window and door frames

We used thick Eucalyptus wooden beams, coated in Asphaltico blackness on the bottom to protect them for the longer term against any dampness. Asphaltico is nasty stuff.

6. Design Change!

Nicky and Helen pulled me aside shortly after the floor was laid to discuss a design change. Seeing as I didn´t have much time left in South America, they wanted me to change the plans from a sandbag basement/house on top to simply a sandbag house built around the pit. The whole area of the pit and around was originally intended to be a basement, now it would all simply be the house area. That was fine by me, the more ´complete´ a project I could do before I left the better. The last thing I wanted to do was to leave a half completed house behind. At this stage I also extended my stay, putting off my flights by a month to mid March in order to do all I could to finish the house (or as much as I could) before I left.

7. Interlocking the walls and support bags.

We began the pattern of laying the walls and interlocking each wall into ´footsteps´. These are necessary when putting down a foundation wall. Without these the wall cannot support itself sufficiently. A circular or dome earthbag structure is self-supporting. A straight wall earthbag structure is not. We also put barbed wire (two parallel strips) on each layer of sandbags. The barbed wire provides the walls and structure with high tensile and shear strength and largely prevents the bags from moving once they are down.

Once a pretty efficient system of digging, bag making and laying was set up, the walls began to go up pretty quickly. On average we had three people (including myself) working on the house. One person digging, another filling bags, and another making an positioning bags on the wall. As the walls got higher it was not possible to lift the bags onto the house, the person filling the bags was confined to filling them on the wall, with others passing up buckets of earth. The ideal number of people working was five; two on the walls filling bags, two digging and filling buckets, the last passing buckets to people on the walls. Unfortunately we didn´t always have the optimum number of people and work moved a bit slower than hoped. We were also excavating all the earth from a spot about two meters below and fifteen feet from the house, increasing the workload.

It was pretty satisfying to see the progress day on day though. Doors and window frames were added into the structure as we went along.

8. Ah for f%$k sake: stuff goes a bit wrong

It was all going so smoothly. As we got up through the layers, I noticed a pretty unnerving wobble in one of the walls. We looked and put it down to one of the joins over a window as being the culprit where some of the bags were not very well joined together. However, while that was part of the problem there were also one or two other factors. Some of the earlier bags we had made were not closed/filled well enough. This resulted in them sagging somewhat and not providing the support as they should have. A sagging sandbag is a pretty miserably looking sight, especially in the middle of a multi-tonne wall you have just built. In addition we had not paid enough attention to keeping some of the walls plumb enough. We were more focused on keeping them level, which really is not as important. As a result of the above, a wobble had developed in this wall and in another. The fact that we had used three different type of earthbags (long story) in the house also made it more difficult to judge the ´plumbness´ of the walls because some were shorter and fatter.

There was only one thing for it; take the offending walls apart and rebuild. No one, myself included, was happy with having to do this. Thanks to Marian and Zoe in particular for helping me in this fun task.

It was not a huge deal but it mean much heavy lifting and battling with barbed wire, which is nasty shit that aims for you as it springs back from being pinned down. We kept joking that the site was like something conceived for the next in the "Final Destination" series of films. Barbed wire, metal twine, metal sheeting, concrete pits, hammers, heights, 150kg bags, cocky and inexperienced people....I can see the plot already. Lesson learned, fill bags properly and keep the wall plum, it makes life easier.

9. Almost getting the roof on

Not getting the roof on was a disappointment. I gunned for it as best I could, my March 11th departure date looming over me like a joint Iberian/Copa Airlines albatross. I went out in the afternoons to hammer, bolt, screw, and tie stuff into place, but it wasn't enough. There was only three of us working on the house (with me going a little OTT some afternoons), it wasn't enough to get the work done. It takes quite a long time to chisel wood, especially with chisels well beyond their best before date. Soviet pre-WW2 possibly.

A combination of straight squared CSA beams and round ones were used to build the roof frame, of different lengths and varying, but reasonably similar thicknesses. Three upright beams went across the centre of the house, cemented into the pit, to support the centre of the roof frame structure. It didn't seem possible to get truly straight wood where we lived.

I actually drew a plan for the roof, and we proceeded according to that. Unfortunately I took the plan back to Ireland with me where I have it right now, of no use to the two lads building the roof. Everything effectively still in my head then.

Here's the last photo I took

I did up to that point in three months, with the able assistance of many volunteers like myself at different times. Everyone who worked on it contributed and I am grateful to all for their toil, help, and ideas along the way.

Plenty of next steps remain. I said I didn't want to leave with the house half finished. I left when it was three quarters finished. Victory! If we could have avoided some of the mistakes made almost entirely by inexperience, the roof could have been put on, and perhaps a bit more while I was there. My only disappointment is in not getting that finished before I left as it would have really felt more finished. It was better to do a good job than a rushed one, however, and we can all be proud of what we made there. Good luck to Kelly, Guillaume, and possibly others who are currently finishing the roof. There are next steps, but most are to do with the furnishing and finalisation of the house:

Put on the roof
Put a floor in the basement.
Finish the floor in the main house part.
Put glass in some windows and glass bottles in others (for local carpenter).
Put in a door (local carpenter).
Adobe and limewash the outside of the house.

Some things I would not do again:

• Sit on barbed wire.

• Put gravel in the foundation bags. The bags deteriorate with exposure to sunshine. As there is no clay or soil in gravel, there is nothing to bind the gravel together except pressure from above and the bag´s compression strength. I will research it but I think using solely earthbags filled with soil is the best approach. Perhaps adequately covering the gravel bags from UV rays would also work.

• Have half and one third bags that are not fattened properly or closed really tightly. The rain leached soil out of some of these and and this resulted in saggy asses on some of the bags. Not desirable as it looks quite shitty and is not good for the structure, particularly where it results in bags placed on top beginning to sag.

• Wear sandals too often.

• Leave the earthbags exposed to the sun and rain. Rain leeches out the soil and UV rays deteriorate the bags.

• Keep a closer eye on how plumb the walls are. As a result of not doing this we had to rebuild small parts of two walls, costing us about three days. Still, I am very glad we decided to do that rather than rushing ahead. Oh and don´t use different sized bags, it is a pain in the arse when trying to get the walls plumb. I knew this but due to availability of bags we proceeded with different ones anyway.

• Be without a buff for prolonged periods.

All in all it was great fun, immensely satisfying, and something I would like to do again in the future. I think I got a bit fitter over the months working on it also. I will add pictures of the house when it is completed and standing proud. All in all it should mot come to more than $500 or so when completed I think.

Forward left foot, forward right foot, lift and smack in ice axe, blink to regain orientation, forward left foot, forward right foot, resist the urge to vomit, move and re-insert ice axe, squeeze fingers and toes, left foot, right foot, I feel pretty hellish, keep going, blink, forward left, forward right and so on.......I certainly struggled on my first climb of this type. I have been living over 3000m for quite some time and didn`t think altitude sickness would get at me. It did and I never made the summit. I made it down though, thankfully. I learned some lessons on the way, that`s for sure.

Me and Tyler booked our climb from "World Bikes" on Pinto and Amazonas in Quito. The staff were very friendly and helped us get fitted for all the gear we would need, including ice picks and crampons. We returned to our hostel for a good sleep, due to leave for Cotopaxi National Park at 8:30 the following morning in a 4x4. We slept in the middle of the Mariscal party zone, untz, untz, untz, probably not such a great idea ahead of the climb. A gaggle of little french kids insisted on running up and down the stairs beside my bed at intervals as I was trying to go asleep. Helpfully, there was a little hole in the wall just above my head; I could see their noisy little feet beating away my sleep. It was a slow nod-off.

We loaded all our gear into the 4x4 the following morning and set out with our guide Gustavo and another climber, Stefan from Switzerland.

View of Quito on the way to Cotopaxi

In typical South American style our guide cheerfully told us the trip to Cotopaxi National Park would take about and hour and half. Our 4x4`s top speed was actually 30mph, unless we were wheeling down a hill, at which it topped out closer to 40mph. I felt like we were travelling in a wheeled turtle. We picked up another guide, Jaime (to climb a guide per two clients is needed). We arrived to Cotopaxi Park after about 4 hours. Even allowing for a sandwich stop and picking up another guide, that was a new estimation/deception error order of magitude. The deception is delivered cheerfully, so I don`t mind much.

Cotopaxi Park

We traversed Cotopaxi National Park and drove to the carpark at the foot of the mountain, some 4500 metres up. We unloaded all the gear and trekked up to the refuge at 4800m.

On route to refuge

It was slow going, you can feel the thiness of the air up there. After a cup of flavoured water (real caffeine tea probably wouldn`t be a good idea at this altitude) we trekked up another 200m to the glacier start point for some practice with our ice picks, tethering ropes, and crampons. We practised for an underwhelming fifteen minutes before it was time to go back down to the refuge as it was getting dark and dinner was to be served at 6pm. The guide informed me that the glacier is getting higher and higher up the mountain each year so it is a longer trek to the training glacier. Yes global warming is a fact and so is your slow car, Gus. I was glad to return to the refuge however, to conserve energy for the main climb. We would be climbing over 1000m vertical. Not. going. to. be. easy. Ate a spaguetti bolognese and slept for about three hours.

Refuge sleeping area

We were meant to get up at 11pm, but we didn`t, not one of the forty or so climbers seemed to get getting up. I woke up with a splitting headache and sort of wanted to just stay in bed, cosy and curled up. Moving felt like equalling vomiting. The wind was howling outside, buffeting the refuge. Maybe tonight the weather would be too bad and the guides would call it off, I half hoped to myself. They didn`t and woke us a short while later. Ouch, I felt really rough. I was dizzy, nauseous, and had that throbbing headache. This is not a good start. I checked with the others - some touches of headaches but otherwise not too bad. I sat at the table wanting to eat. I ate a few spoonfuls of cereal but couldn`t eat any more, my head was swimming. The irony of not being able to eat nice breakfast cereal when I am craving it so much these days. Not to fault Rhiannon porridge. I think I have eaten every concievable mixture, form, and flavouring of porridge there is at this stage. I still feel indifferent to the stuff. Getting on my gear was a challenge, a bit like an unpleasant reverse drunk undressing.

We went outside into the cold night a little after twelve. One of the first things I saw as we set out was a big chap throwing up on the pavement outside the refuge. A great comfort he was. We set out at a slow clip, carefully measuring out pace with the guides, breathing relaxed and steadily. As we climbed up ftom the refuge short lines of bobbing lights could be seen above and below where we were as the climbers began to take to the slopes. I was quite ill, dizzy and felt like vomiting. I elected to go a bit slower with Gustavo. Tyler and Stefan went ahead with the other guide, Jaime. After about two and a half hours, me and Gustavo made it to the ice line, about 300m up from the refuge. We (I) were making slower progress than most.

It took quite a while for Gustavo to put on my crampons. They didnt really fit my boots, but he did a great job in the cold, snowing conditions. I helped a bit but couldn`t reach the bottom of my feet very well with all the gear I had on about my waist. We put some extra string/rope around the crampons for South American style, "extra security". In fairness I must say I felt safe with Gustavo, he kept talking to me and guiding me as I climbed; he was solid. The next two hours were a bit blurry, we climbed up pretty hefty ice faces and walked across some crevasses.

I had just finished reading Joe Simpson`s "Touching the Void", crevasses take on a whole new meaning after that book. We tethered ourselves on either side of a crevasse when we had to cross one, then took the proverbial `leap of faith`step across, praying that the ice would remain for you, just another climber. The scale of the mountain up close at this altitude was impressive, a total ice jungle. Impersonal and no doubt deadly in the wrong circumstances.

We met Tyler and Stefan coming back down with their guide, Jaime. Stefan was suffering and wanted off. Tyler had at this stage descended 200m with Stefan and Jaime (guide must descend if a climber wants, climbers without training or qualifications have to descend with the guide) and was not feeling like ascending those 200 vertical metres again with me and Gustavo. That may not sound very far, but it seems like a lot when you are up there, climbing all night. They had reached about 5500m. Gustavo and I pressed on. I felt quite a bit stronger at this stage, even well. We passed about ten other climbers descending, having turned back for home. We kept on moving up, crossing crevasses, climbing up a roped ice wall, and hugging a one foot wide path round a blind corner to name a few bits. I kept mentioning to Gustavo I would like to make the summit, he kept replying "yes, yes, a little bit further then we can see how we are". The guides like to summit before the sun is out beating too strong as the ice on the way down would become more dangerous, particularly those crevasses.

After another hour or so I was told we wouldn`t be making the summit. From early on Gustavo knew we were never going to make the summit, but to his total credit he kept climbing with me, pushing me to where I could go that night. He could easily have told me much earlier that we weren`t going to make and turn around for home, sure the money was the same for him. He brought me as far as I could have gone that night. A mental shift happened very soon after I was told we wouldn`t be going to the summit. The motivation that kept me going through the sickness vanished. I just wanted off. My hands and feet were freezing, snot was frozen solid on my face, and my nausea was returning. I looked up at all the ice above us. An imprisoned character in the Count of Monti Cristo digs for years through rock and finally gets somewhere; he ends up at another prison cell. This moment felt a bit like that. We walked up a little further and I told him "I`ve had enough buddy". We made it to a bit over 5500m. It was a very humbling moment.

The walk down took over an hour and a half, probably two. Although I am not sure. Seeing the sun rise, standing there above the clouds surrounded by all that ice and geometry was amazing.

Taking photos was pretty far from my mind as I was concentrating on the climb and my hands did not want to come out of their gloves one bit. At the end of the ice on the descent we could see the refuge quite clearly. It looked so close. It was deceptively far. A long scramble down the scree slope was left. I was consciously aware I looked like a drunk man walking down the slope.

Legs flopping everywhere. We made it back after eight sometime, where I had a spaced out chat with Tyler and collapsed into bed for a while. We were ready to leave. As Tyler so succinctly put it "Let`s get in the car and drive the f%$k away from this climate". De acuerdo.

I learned some lessons, pretty basic stuff I am sure:

Don`t dream of climbing something like this without a guide if you don`t have the experience.
Bring big thick woolly socks. Not that shitty thin ones I had.
Fingerless gloves are not enough, even when covered with thick mittens.
Don`t choose the lightest boots, mine were no use. Heavy warmer ones are better.
Acclimatise as much as possible, I really suffered with the altitude.
Be careful not to over extend yourself and make sure your guide is looking out for what is best for you, even when you don`t know it yourself. Get a good guide.

Adios Cotopaxi

This was the daddy of all telefericos I had taken in all of South America. We travelled to the La Gasca area in the West of Quito to catch the teleferico, which transported us from circa 2900 m up to 4000m. Quite a jump in altitude, it is significantly colder at the top that at the bottom. The air reminded me of that at Laguna Quilatoa or La Paz. Thin, thin, thin. The teleferico was a nice change from some of the belts and braces contraptions I have seen running (the recent teleferico to the Mindo waterfalls springs to mind). French built.

From the point of departure of the Teleferico we began the climb up to the peak of Rucu Pichincha. The walk (sometimes really climbing) up was really enjoyable, and we kept getting glimpses of Quito.

We made quite quick time on the way up, passing a number of people on the way including one chap who looked like he had all his worldly possessions on his back. People inconveniencing themselves in a big way like that always interest me. It must have been a fair struggle to the summit with that gear. There is the other extreme as well. Seeing plenty of people attempting to climb this moderate but high altitude mountain in tight jeans, sandals, loafers or club clothes does make you wonder. On our return from the summit, one guy stopped and asked us ´how long to the top?´. A shirt, jeans, and loafers. Where was he off to. A summit disco? I told him about and hour, hour and a half. I wondered would he ever make the top dressed like he had just come from a club or off a yacht. Perhaps he was aiming for maximum convenience, he just could pop out on the town after his trot to the summit, without the need to shower or change, lynx in hand. Tyler and Lucy saw him in the line for the teleferico soon after us, therefore he didn´t make it to or near the summit. I mean, what exactly did he expect. Another chap from Denmark we were chatting to at the summit seemed insistent on running down the mountain slipping and sliding the whole way down, as if being pulled all the way down by his thighs attached to an invisible impatient German shepard. I saw him fall twice on his arse, he must have fallen lots of times. He seemed relaxed and easygoing on the summit. Lots of daylight left, expensive camera on his front, I just thought......´strange´, that one.

Me and Tyler

Me and Lucy, and a bloody hand which we found hilarious at the time

The view of Quito and the surrounds from the summit of Rucu Pichincha is smashing. It is cold on the summit, winds whipping. The other peaks of the Pichincha Range like Guagua Pichincha, Padre Encantado and Condor Guachaman can also be seen. We relaxed and enjoyed the moment after the climb. We posed under the stupidly helpful sign.

Apparently the Ecaudorian government is considering making it mandatory for guides to need to be hired to climb the mountain, particularly the trickier rock face climb to the summit. Total rubbish. Moving carefully, slowly and sensibly anyone with coordination and common sense can climb this mountain. I didn´t need any specialised gear (trekking boots and decent clothes to climb in excepted), so why should I need a guide to lead me up a mountain? Some mountains of course a guide is needed, without question if you have little or no real mountaineering experience (me pretty much) and/or require the use of specialised equipment (crampons or ice picks etc). Me and Tyler followed our friend Lucy to the top, she had climbed it many times before. But that doesn´t change the fact that me and Tyler could have managed fine without Lucy. Why should I have to pay lots of money to do something I can do myself armed with my own arms, legs, shoes, and common sense. Yes, it is a horrible thing when someone falls of a mountain or gets killed climbing one such as Rucu Pichincha, but many times this happens because the person was negligent or started operating (or didn´t recognise) way outside their comfort zone and experience.

Mountains ARE dangerous, always have been, obviously that`s the attraction to a greater or lesser extent. As Geroge Mallory allegedly replied to the question "Why do you want to climb Mount Everest", "Simply because it is there". They always have been, always will be. He later died on that, the greatest of our home`s mountains, exactly proving nor disproving anything, except that mountains simply are. People will always get injured or killed so long as they are being climbed. But the idea of imposing mandatory guides on a mountain like Rucu Pichincha is ridiculous. Resonable climbing and walking thousands of feet up is within most adults comfort zone (or slightly outside of it). Therefore ok, not something to be mandatorily monetised. Lucy has climbed the mountain over 40 times, should she be told she needs a guide to climb it? Rubbish.

But the reasoning does swing both ways. A lot comes down to people knowing their own limits. If you are really unfit, have not acclimatised to the altitude, have bad legs, or are terrified of heights, well, don´t climb mountains like this; something bad might happen. Common sense. Seeing people climb up the really steep, alternate loose rock route to the summit was interesting (the one with ´Pasa de la Muerte´ - Death Pass, we took the gentler but longer route). Lucy said it is very easy to get lost there. Many from what I could see were `kitted out` in their running shoes, t-shirts and shorts. Easy on the equipment folks, never mind the winds, altitude, or immeadiately apparent danger of the route. Laughing and joking, no impression of any experience between them or any realisation of how potentially treacherous that route was. One look at that climb makes you think ´Hmmm, there`s one that really should not be climbed without specialist gear or unless you really know what you are doing´, but yet on they go, an unfortunate accident waiting to happen. Three people were killed on this mountain last year. Climbing such a route on nothing more than a whim, without gear or expericene is ignorant and shows a total lack or respect for the mountain.

Ecuadorian Government, please don`t legislate to make this beautiful mountain guide-only. It is ridiculous. You can´t legislate against nature or for common sense. Perhaps ensuring people have the right gear and a low-down of the dangers would be more appropriate. Disco stus, stupid tourists, and fast-running impatient Danish chaps, please don`t give it a reason to do something ridiculous....

I want a better camera soon.

The bus from Quito with the Flor Del Valle company was thankfully operating on New Year`s Day. The night before (New Year`s Eve), the operator had to have a long discussion with what I presume was bus H.Q about whether the bus would in fact be running on New Year`s Day. After many exchanges over this perplexing question it was resolved. The bus can be caught from Ofelia, the northernmost bus station in Quito. Ofelia can be reached using the Quito North South Metro Bus. There are afternoon buses and early am buses in both directions.

Mindo is located north of Quito in the San Miguel de Los Cantos canton, among some of Ecuador`s finest examples of cloudforest. The name is certainly pretty apt, there is a non stop mist and cloud surrounding Mindo, from which the forest protrudes at intervals. It is all very Jurassic Park, but in a different way to Sorata. It has much more jungle and seems a lot warmer due to the humidity. I can`t wait to see the Amazon, even though I find humid conditions a bit tricky to live in.

Mindo is awash with accomodations, with a clutter of places to stay along the main street and off this street in side alleys. We ended up staying in a place a few blocks from the main street called Jardin de los Pajeros. A great little hostel, complete with small swimming pool, a good breakfast and a charming older lady running it. Unfortunately, the walls were as thin as paper. The buildings around Mindo are different to many of the concrete boxes that I have seen much of in Ecuador to date. Some lovely little wooden constructs pop out from the woods everywhere.

I felt quite at ease there, breakfasts in the nicely sunlit dining area made me feel right at home. Although it looked nothing like my actual home. I think it reminded me of the bed and breakfast we used to run.

I visited the waterfalls (cascadas) that Mindo is famous for. From Mindo, the road to the waterfalls exits the town to the right above the little park. It is a really tranquil hour and half trek, with some traffic on the roads which is easily balanced out by the sounds of the jungle and the scenery on the way.

The Mindo Canopy Adventure company had signs everywhere advertising their activities, including some saying "No bote basura" (Don`t throw rubbish). Ironically these signs were the only `rubbish` I saw. Cause and effect?

The Tarabito (zip line carriage type thing, $5 return) moved at a nice clip across a small gorge to the entrance to the waterfalls. The view as we crossed was amazing, and pretty high.

Cascada Nambillo. I went for a swim here. I swam in situ against the current which was quite a cool feeling.

Cascada de Los Colibres

Very bouncy foot bridge (quite like a trampoline)

Cascada Las Ondinas

The cascada Reina is in the opposite direction to all the others and can be seen in a two hour round trip from the tarabito. All the others can be seen in about a two hour round trip. There is a foot bridge that can be taken instead of the tarabito also.

It started pouring rain, good thing I brought my trusty raincoat. Although within about an hour that was pretty soaked too. Rain in a rainforest is a double whammy - you get soaked and then again as the water falls down once the leaves let it go.

The best meal(s) I had in town was in the Cascadas del Mindo restaurant on the main street. A three dollar almuerzo got me a chicken and yuca soup, a leg of chicken with rice and nicely flavoured salsa (hot and cold), fried banana (patacones), fresh lemonade and a scoop of chocolate ice cream for dessert. Not bad. The dinner I got there was lovely too - trucha al ajillo (river trout with spicy garlic and chilli sauce). Mmmm, just do it.

Oh and bring bug spray, they bite here.

The setting in and around Rhiannon is pretty spectacular with some especially amazing sunrises, evenings and sunsets. Most of these were taken on my extremely modest little Fujifilm camera. Needless to say I really wanted something more powerful. But sometimes nature takes all the work out of it.

Sunset man

Chimborazo

Sunset over Rhiannon with Quito below

Sunset over Rhiannon with Quito below

Rise of the planet of the men (Quito uprising)

A red sky at night...

Chimborazo

A platform with a view

Teepees

Bad Moon Rising over Malchingui

Cotopaxi

Moon at night

Moon at night

Sunset in the woods at Rhiannon

Sunset on a cycle at Rhiannon

Sunset on a cycle

Dawn(ish) walk to school

Dawn(ish) walk to school 2

Arriving in Canoa was somewhat surreal for me. For many months before leaving for South America I had researched where I wanted to start my trip with the idea of learning Spanish effectively and cheaply early on. I had settled on the Sundown Inn in Canoa for the combination of spanish lessons, food, price, and great coast location. However, the more affordable return flights from Buenos Aires eventually decided the matter against Canoa.

How different would my trip have been if I started my trip from Canoa? Thinking of all the people I have met so far and the wonderful places and things I have seen, it is easy to say I would not change anything. On a practical side, getting to Canoa from Quito is a bit tricky and would have been a little more so with no Spanish. Thinking about that decision is interesting however. A simple choice; start here or there and in all likelihood two very different experiences in 11 months will result. Although the same can be said if I decided to start a month later, or with less money, or if I was travelling with someone, or if I cycled about. I ran down the beach to the Sundown Inn Hotel, where I was due to start the trip. I stood looking at the sign and the hotel, it felt quite strange, almost like I had already been here before. Or a mirror image of a part of my life that never was. It hard to explain but it was a pretty surreal moment. I reminded me I missed many people I had met so far on my travels, and my friends and family at home.

Looking at the map and the progress of the route I have taken so far, I can`t help but wonder what doing it the opposite way would have turned up. Perhaps I would have met some of the same people travelling north as I made my way south. Of necessity friendships really emerge when you are travelling in the same direction with someone with a similar purpose and outlook in life.

Canoa is a really nice little town, it would have been perfect to start my travels, despite getting there from Quito being a bit of a pain. All the action takes place on a small strip by the sea. I can imagine some lamenting the loss of an ´undiscovered´ vibe in Canoa. It is becoming more and more touristy as the years roll on by all accounts, pulling in both nationals and foreigners alike. It still has its charms intact; bamboo shacks, thatched roofs, samba music, cocktails, coconuts, and a smashing beach even nicer (ahem) than the one in my hometown of Tramore. Perhaps those things aren`t charms for some people, more a reason to avoid a place. Running barefoot along this stretch of beach was pure joy. The super charged disco shack next to our hotel wasn`t. The speakers were about eight feet high, blowing the eardrums off anyone within fifty feet. The shack´s staff must have been literally going deaf. If that sounds like an old-timer whine; good, it applies aptly. Oh and samba, always samba, samba, samba, all night long.

Canoa Strip

The first dip of the coast

One of my super intensive workouts - I don´t know how the camera woman kept up.....

A (dead unfortunately) turtle

Very cool cat

If that last photo doesn´t keep you reading, well nothing will.

The seafood in our beachfront hotel (it´s in the Lonely Planet) was fantastic, as were most of the other choices. It was the nicest grilled fish I had in memory. The sea water was warm, but not bath-warm like it was in Colombia. As I understand the Pacific Ocean is colder than the Atlantic anyway, due to the Gulf (of Mexico) Stream, exactly where we were swimming in Colombia. The latitude no doubt affects things as well. Ecuador does not seem as warm or as humid as Colombia at the coast, despite being on the equator. The sun will burn you to a crisp though, on the coast or at altitude. Perhaps my Irish skin is well below average in defences against el sol.

Olga and I moved on to Montanita, another town along the coast. Travelling by bus took a lot longer than expected due to the arse about face way we had to get the buses, including some backtracking. It took about eight hours if I recall. We were extremely pissed off with buses by the time we took this photo of the inside of another...........!bus!

Montanita is another great little spot, but a bit like Canoa on steroids. It was a little too developed for my liking but was fine for spending another few days of relaxation. Great beach too, some of the other beaches on Ecuador´s coast must be pretty spectacular if these are anything to go by. We ended up at an all night reggae beach party one night, with live bands, great music, and some of the worst singing I heard in a long time. No matter a party on the beach at the equator under the night sky doesn´t need much to make it pretty perfect.

The surf in Montanita was great, the waves were even a bit too big for someone with relatively little experience such as me.

I said goodbye to Olga after two weeks travelling, she headed back to mother Russia. I returned to Rhiannon farm to resume life there. After a couple of weeks I visited the famous Otavalo indigenous handcrafts market. Wow, if you want to pick up some great locally made stuff, including the famous Panama hats, this is the place. Be sure to haggle though and buy from the one stand if possible to increase bargaining power - I got over 40% off the price quoted me initially.

I am going to stay at Rhiannon until after Christmas, I love the people and the place and see no reason to move on when I can spend Christmas here with friends.

I met my friend Olga at the airport in Guayaquil, she was over for a two week holiday and tour of Ecuador. We stayed overnight in Guayaquil as she had arrived from Russia and needed a good night´s sleep. We set out early the next morning for the hot springs town of Banos in central Ecuador.

It is a busy little town, literally enclosed in by rolling hills of green mist-tumbled forest. Everyone should have a set of thermal baths on hand to visit, they are so refreshing. The combination of dipping yourself in the freezing cold water (blue below) rolling down from a nearby waterfall and the heated, slightly sulfuric water from the springs in quick sucession is totally invigorating.

Granted, the immediate impression was that the heated water did look like great big tubs of pee, and the slightly funky smell is from the sulphur, apparently. When kids started splashing about I couldn´t help but take the precaution of seeking a quieter spot where my face wasn´t being splashed by the warm sulphur pee-water. No complaints though, I found myself returning to the hot springs a second time.

We rented a little buggy and drove to the Pailon del Diablo (Devil´s Waterfall), no driving licence needed. The buggy had a `Strictly for Offroad Use` sign on it. Well this is South America....hmmm....

Of course we spent the entire 40km or so round trip on main roads, driving through tunnels at the base of hills and mountains. At one stage we were behind a massive touring bus, with a line of cars behind us and it felt like we were living a Mario Cart race. Thankfully nobody threw bananas at us. We stopped at some smaller waterfalls on the way.

The Devil`s Waterfall was pretty cool, the power of the thing churning at the base of the fall was something else. We climbed right up through cuts in the rocks made for dwarfs and enjoyed a brief but wet stand underneath the waterfall itself.

From Banos we got a bus to Ambato, on to Latacunga to do the Quilatoa loop to the magnificanet crater of lake Quilatoa. Nearly 4000m up, the setting is spectacular and spartan, humbling to the human scale. Trekking out of the crater was challenging. We had to take regular breaks to allow our heart rates to slow back to normal. From the top

From the bottom

We didn´t have time to make other stops on the loop, so pressed on to Quito after we had seen the crater.

The bus presentations in Ecuador are bloody endless. In the trip in Ecuador so far I have seen a Catholic Evangelical preacher (looking for money from the good passengers for prayers for loved ones or simply the pleasure of his sermon, which to me largely consisted of passionate shouting at us...), a clown selling chocolate bars and red apples cut like, well, clown noses, a blind man telling his life story, and an endless stream of people selling the same stuff at five minute intervals. As soon as one finishes their presentation or selling another just appears at the door. Like regenerating bad guys in a computer game.

Simply put, we visited Quito´s ´New Town´ and ´Old Town´ and availed ourselves of some of the city´s nightlife. We were unlucky for our walkabouts for the two days as it rained much of the time. Mc Donald´s is expensive here relative to many retaurants, ba da da da daaaa...

From here it was on to Ecuador´s coastline for a visit to a few towns, including Canoa, where I was initially due to start my trip if my flights to Buenos Aires hadn´t been such good value.

After our spell around the Panama border we hopped on the speedboat for the trip back across open ocean to Turbo.

Next stop was Cartagena, where we did little sightseeing and basically enjoyed hanging about the streets around the hostel. We met up with some Argentian guys (I had met in Huancachina) and Germans and headed out to the local plaza where there was a bit of a street party happening. We ended playing music with some locals in the plaza that night til the wee hours. We did a quick walk around the city´s old town and visited the beach, both were well worth a look.

The beach is enormous, which is just as well because it gets completely crowded with people looking to escape the heat with a bit of a dip.

We spent approximately a week at the little seaside town of Taganga. It is not exactly what you would call idyllic; the town is not pretty, the beach is more pebbles than sand, and everything is a little overpriced. However, I loved it, especially the warm sea, easily the warmest I have swam in my life. Those goggles that have been lzing idle in my bag for ages came into their own.

Unfortunately I was bitten at some stage by a mosquito which transmitted a tropical virus to me. I killed a mosquito in my room one evening and it exploded into a little circle of blood. I like to believe that was the offender. It was the sickest I have been in a long time, for a total of twelve days. I had almost every symptom I can think of over the two weeks; sore neck, back, arms, legs, knees, headaches, earaches, vomiting, no appetite (I couldn´t eat in fact), diarrhoea, and my inner ear balance was all messed up. My body felt like it had been soaked in strong menthol or something. Laura informed me I wasn´t thinking straight either and talking semi-rubbish, I believe her, I found it difficult to gather clear thoughts. It was pretty serious feeling stuff.

We had thankfully already booked flights to Bogota (from Santa Marta is was cheaper than by bus, and about 22 hours faster!), and it was a relief to get out of the oppressive heat of Taganga. Not to mention flee the bloody mosquitos. I felt it was likely I had Dengue fever and certainly did not want to get bitten again, which can be very serious if you have Dengue. We agreed to get me to a hospital once we had landed in Bogota, five days into being sick, with no signs of it abating. This we did, I went through the usual blood tests etc and they told me it was pretty likey I had Dengue fever, especially as I had all the symptoms. Nothing to do but lie low and wait it out. I did very little in Bogota, except hang about the hostel, walk to the movie room, watch a flim, walk back to bed. I lost half a stone over it all. I went back to the hospital and was told I was on the mend, and it may not have been Dengue fever, just some tropical virus. Most take about 14 days to work out of your system. Lesson learned; put on the repellent when it is needed. It was no barrel of laughs. Many thanks to Laura and Melle who looked after me, without you two it would have been a lot more difficult.

After Bogota I headed back to the farm in Quito for two weeks of work. I said a fond goodbye to Laura who was heading into Brazil down the Amazon.

After leaving Rhiannon, we headed through northern Ecuador. A lovely part of the country, in many places reminding me of a more mountainous Ireland. It wished I had more time in Ecuador, but consolded myself in the knowledge I would be back in the near future. We got to the Colombian border crossing at Tulcan, which was, surprisingly, pretty much the least stringent SA border crossing of my trip so far. Showed our passports, got stamped and walked across, without the large (or indeed any) military presence I was expecting. If they were there I certainly didn´t see them.

The Colombian currency is about COP1800 = $1. I always wonder with these high denomination currencies why someone once looked at an apple and said yes, lets make it worth 500 units. Lets start small with the apples and eggs and work up. Maybe they weren't a fan of decimal points. Laura wondered would it be cheaper to use a COP500 note as toilet paper rather than use it to pay for most of the public toilets. Yes, it probably would. We are pretty sure there isn´t a COP500 note, we haven´t come across one, perhaps that is the very reason. Ha ha. Everything covered.

We pressed on from there to our next destination, the coffee growing region (although that is really much of Colombia) of Salento. Salento is a very colorful little town, with some colonial-style balconies and streets painted in wacky colours, particularly off the main square.

Lassie

We ate here a few days; the owner was even more colourful

The town is nestled in the middle of lots of hills and coffee plantations. There are also a few billiard halls around the square, with tables that have....no pockets. The local game involves three balls; a red, yellow, and white. Hit them in any order, the first ball hit has to hit the second ball, and bounce off three sides of the table, and the second in turn has to hit the third. Not easy when the three are scattered across the table. I prefer normal pool, it´s more fun.

The mirador (view point) up the hill from the main square was well worth the trek up.

We stayed at the aptly named ´Plantation House´, which was great, especially for the free cups of fresh Colombian coffee available each morning. We spent a few days there, including a coffee plantation tour.

Laura drinking her coffee

Me doing the same....mm.

After seeing how the coffee was harvested, dried, and prepared we got a small shot of coffee to drink. I wanted a big mug of it. Small cups of coffee make sense in Colombia though, the last thing you want is a Starbucks style 600ml jug to drink in this heat. The coffee cracks and pops like popcorn when it is being dry roasted, it even smells like it too.

More interestingly I discovered that pineapples grow in an unexpected way; out of the ground on a stalk. They look a bit like some sort of organic grenade from a space sci-fi.

Another day we went on a trek to a hummingbird sanctuary (not a sentence I thought I would write on this trip)

We arrived in Medellin, the city that was once primarily known on account of its infamous son, Pablo Escobar. Everyone was dancing in the bus station, which you don´t see everyday.

We went on a tour of, well Pablo Escobar stuff, the proceeds of part of the tour allegedly going to an AIDs charity Pablo`s brother, Roberto, set up. We visited Pablo`s grave and heard the stories about those buried next to him.

Picture of Pablo and accompanying bullet hole in the wall, at one of his safe-houses.

One of Pablo´s large homes blown to a shell by the Medellin Cartel in an attempt to kill him. Ironically it is going to now be turned into a police station.

We also got to have coffee with Roberto Escobar for about twenty minutes and ask him some questions about his life and Pablo`s. That was interesting, but we were left in no doubt that part of him had stonewalled aspects of his life and he was not going to get into real depth of explanations or reasonings with a load of gringo tourists. Which, in a way, is pretty understandable. I regretted not having read more about Pablo and all the drug wars before meeting him.

We got a bus from Medellin to Turbo (circa eleven hours) in north eastern Colombia. I made the schoolboy error of not bringing enough warm clothes for the bus journey, probably on account of the general heat and warm nights. In South America that is generally a big mistake. So.....

• The bus was freezing cold, no blankets or anything for customers paying (especially compared to other SA countries) a relatively large amount of money. I hardly slept at all; it is hard when you are entirely full-body refrigerated like a yogurt.

• Called semi-cama, but I couldn`t fit my legs into the space in front of me (got thigh cramps as a result!).....therefore NOT semi-cama.

• TERRIBLE films, Transporter 3 and Hitman, volume set to eleven out of ten, eugh...

• Flat tire in the middle of nowhere, all dark with pickup trucks, oil tankers, and lots of people not on the bus ganging around it. Thought they were guerillas there for a moment or two, and so did others on the bus I think.

• No overhead lights, just sat there in darkness for the whole thing, except when the landing strip-esque phasars lining the middle were turned on. And then you went semi-blind. I mean for f$%k sake....

• The assistant driver (not sure what he was) kept pestering us (Laura really) about going to Panama, even though we said we weren`t, probably selling a trip on a buddy`s boat/plane.

• We got dropped in the middle of nowhere in Turbo at 5am in the morning, even though we thought we were going to the terminal.

I am of course entirely to blame for allowing myself experience all of the above, because if I brought a jumper, trousers, and hat (possible earplugs aswell) I would have likely slept through most of it. So, lesson previously learned, remembered.

We loitered around the boat terminal in Turbo waiting for the speedboat to Capurgana, near the Panama border, which is basically only reachable by boat or air.

I was very tired, even a bit delirious, and the boat left over an hour late. The boat ride itself was good fun, a two and half hour trip; roaring and bouncing across the coastline in the morning sunshine. I fell asleep for some of the trip, and got a bit sunburned for want of sunscreen. On arrival, following some negotiations, a local showed us to our lodgings. A small cabin with bathroom for a good price. It is hard to do much here without sweating the b`Jesus out of it. It`s so humid, even at night. The town is small and funky, with a few art stalls, restuarants, and little bars. It is a little more expensive than other spots in Colombia, presumably on account of having to fly and ship stuff in. The beach is pure paradise though, straight picture-postcard.

In between beach lounging, we ate lovely home-made arepas plus scrambled eggs and spinach each day from a little hut run by a cheerful little lady, just off the corner of the soccer pitch.

Arepa time (two please)!

Our hostel garden

We basically hung out and chilled. You cannot do a whole lot more here. One day we trekked through the jungle to Sapzurro, the small village right on the Panama border. The trek through the jungle is not far (bit over an hour), but the heat makes it pretty tough. There was a thunderstorm the night before (happens a lot here) making the trail muddy, slippery, and super humid. We also had to cross about twelve foot of an ant army on the march. We strolled across them, after a few seconds we began to feel little pinches on our legs. The little ones weren`t biting, but the bigger soldier ants certainly were. Aggressive little buggers too, they really go for it, bite, move, bite, move. We hit or squished them off. You wouldn`t want to give them too much time to swarm you because they would in a matter of seconds! I always thought wasps were aggressive, they are more inquisitive (in a passive-aggressive wasp way), a new bar has been set by those ants.

Went for a dip upon arriving in Sapzurro.

The sea is above luke warm, definitely the warmest sea water I have ever been in. Had some lovely pizza in a restaurant in Sapzurro. I was told to put on my shirt Just because this is Colombia, people think we don`t have rules about these things, I was informed by owner. It´s always about the delivery of the message though, I felt like telling him. We trekked up the hill to the Panama border and stood around with some dozing guards for a while.

We then went back to Sapzurro, the heat was too much, for me in particular. Sapzurro and Capurghana feel like the kinds of places that tourism (at least ´gringo-tourism´) has not taken off, but may well do so over the next decade, for better or for worse.

Next up, north east along the coast of Colombia.

I headed into northern Peru, and decided to stop over in the sunny little beach town, Mancora. I decided to stay at the Loki hostel, mainly on account of the pool and good food. I wasn´t disappointed and had an enjoyable two days of unwinding. After Mancora I headed straight into Ecuador, passing through Guayaquil and Quito on my way to a spot of volunteering at a permaculture farm. Six buses, two taxis, and twenty four hours later I arrived at my destination, the Rhiannon Community (http://www.rhiannon-community.org/), just north of Quito near a town called Manchingui. It sits on the bulge of the equator. I was looking forward to meeting lots of new people and catching up with my Finnish hill-scrambling buddy, Laura, who had been staying here for a number of weeks already.

The Rhiannon community is a four year old permaculture farm, whose ultimate goal is to restore otherwise sandy, windswept, and largely unproductive land back to productivity. The two owners, Nikki and Helen, have, in conjunction with hundreds of hard working volunteers set up a real community here, centred around the large and spacious central bungalow. The vibe here is wonderfully tranquil with all the volunteers taking turns cooking, working, relaxing, unwinding, meditating, singing, farming, and enjoying the location and the style of life that a place like this grants. There are between five to twenty volunteers on the farm at any one time, although the number varies quite a bit as people arrive and leave at various points. Nikki and Helen run this place like an extended family and everyone is made to feel at home and welcome. Their energy and enthusiasm to create their lives and home through the volunteers creates the atmosphere that has made Rhiannon such a success, even at this relatively early stage in its life.

The location is stunning, nightimes here are pretty magical, with the combination of seeing Quito and other towns lit up low down in the valley, the clear starry sky, Cotopaxi volcano and various mountains looming in the distance, the windy exposure of the site, and the unusual colours that result in the night time mixture. I arrived at night; the wind almost tore my hat off, but the views were worth a short linger.

There have been lots of additions to the site since the shell of a house was bought by Nikki and Helen; solar panels for electricity and hot showers, a dry composting toilet, a greenhouse, many different gardens/nurserys, three tipis for volunteers to stay in, a yoga/reiki yurt, a temescal sweat lodge, outdoor yoga platforms, camping area, a meditation hut, lots of small constructs on the grounds, and last but not least, a pretty awesome ´hobbit house´, made from sandbags, wooden beams and earth. It does look a little like something from the Shire. The main house also has a pool table and large yoga room.

The front door of the main house, plus all the doggies.

Funky kitchen

Chess

The Hobbit House back

The Hobbit house front

Rob, the volunteer that designed and built the hobbit house, with help from other volunteers during the planning and construction, had returned for a holiday and was staying in the hobbit house while I was there. Discussing the hobbit house, I asked him when the hobbit was due to be coming out. I said something akin to being waiting for its appearance for a while and really looking forward to seeing it, without a suggestion of sarcasm. Rob looked confused. I sat and wondered. Naturally all became clear to us when I finally dropped I meant the upcoming Peter Jackson film, not an actual hobbit.

Massage/Reiki Yurt; fixing the wooden door

Unless it´s your day off, everyone gets up and works from circa eight in the moring, doing the jobs that need to be done, including taking turns cooking breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The diet is strictly vegetarian but the food is good; wholesome and healty. It was a welcome break for me from all the meat-laden dishes I´ve been fairly regularly munching my way through since arriving in South America. In fact, I missed meat so little that I intend to keep up a mainly vegetarian diet for a while and see how it works out. A digression such as a late night burger from a stall after some alcohol will be permitted however.....I can´t be too hard on myself. Everything in moderation including moderation, as they say.

I loved the life here, having lots of time to read, play a bit of guitar, play pool, and get to know all the others working at the farm in my spare time. I started reading Lord of the Rings, again, for perhaps the fifth or sixth time. Yes it is a bit strange, the book has a pull on me, a bit like the evil ring itself. Time matters here, spending it well is not difficult. It is enjoyable to live somewhere that money is not the centre of attention, and hardly enters into day to day life. Volunteers make donations to the monthly running of the farm and can purchase beer, wine, chocolate etc from the stores in the house. Which is great; I like a beer in the evening.

I, along with others at various stages spent many days repairing the greenhouse walls and structure in a somewhat pitched battle between man and nature. Humans, hammers, nails, and twine in the blue corner and a sweeping, sandy, stormy wind in the red. Man was slightly ahead on points when I left. One morning, we cleaned up a load of rubbish near the local primary school, in part to do a good neighbourly deal and in part to find plastic bottles and other useful items for use on the farm, particularly as holders for plants in the nursery.

Me and Ursina, roadside cleaning

We also did a san pedro ceremony while I was there, with most of the volunteers and a few external people participating, including the shaman and his wife. It was quite different to the previous ceremony I participated in, being indoors and with most of the people knowing each other beforehand. There was much more enjoyable and more powerful music, and no diahorrea, which is always great. In general, there are no set rules for the ceremony or how it is performed, with the rituals and processes getting passed down from father to son, mother to daughter, and often not having changed much in thousands of years. Western predudices should not be part of these ceremonies; I certainly approached it with an open heart and mind and benefited more from doing so. The local people take the ceremonies very seriously and I won`t go into more detail, suffice to say everyone seemed very satisfied with the night, and reflectively in the days afterwards.

Our shaman, a fantastic musician, playing an encore request in the morning on a `Do not close` sign, which was kinda funny.

The gang (I quite regret my Brentish pose in this)

I intend on coming back here after a month or so travelling Colombia, to resume the life of work, relaxation, good food, and good company.

Who wouldn`t, with views like these from their back graden.

So there I was, standing semi naked on the side of a lake, 4000m up in the Peruvian Andes, shivering, soaked, freezing, with a man in a poncho spitting tobacco juice on me and dancing around me, while waving a stick about my head....

I wanted to put my clothes back on.....

Ok, rewind a bit. The town of Huanchaco runs for a few kilometres along the beach and is considerably bigger than I expected. The Lonely Planet describes Hunchaco as a ´surfing village´. It didn´t strike me as a village, more like quite a decent sized town, sprawling along the beach. Although being Irish I must admit that we tend to have a somewhat different definition of what a village, town, and city is compared to most nationalities. A crossroads with a shop, two houses, and bench is a village to us. Huanchaco to me is very much a town (it even had a road with four lanes running in parts of it!), a part of the suburbs of the sprawling Trujillo. To a Brit or a German it would most likely be a village.

I went for a run about town on the Friday morning I arrived, along the pretty magnificent beach which was largely obscured by light drizzle/fog. I can certainly see why it is a popular spot for surfers. The weather was wet(ish), overcast, and a little cold. What left me a little disappointed was there seemed to be nothing going on in the town itself during the day or in the evening, with very few people on the streets. Despite it being Friday (admittedly off-season) not a soul was stirring that night, there would have been more atmosphere in a nunnery, only a few seafront restaurants were open. It all seemed a little ´sad´.

Perhaps it was the time of year I was visiting but I was glad to be staying only one night.

I visited the ruins of Chan Chan, a city of the Chimu civilisation, the most recent dominant civilisation of Peru before they were conquered by the mighty Incas. It is mostly composed of adobe buildings and as such has not really withstood the test of time very well. Still, it is pretty impressive and must have been some sight in its day. They created an artificial lake for themselves, the exact reason unknown. Some theories reckon it was for sacrifices to the moon (which are always better with a reflection), others that they created it as a relaxation space. Pretty impressive.

The Chimu-made laguna

I also visited the smaller temples of La Huaca Esmeralda and La Huaca Arco. Chan Chan is enough in my opinion. If you are going to visit sites in this area I would go for Chan Chan and La Huaca del Sol/Luna (I have heard the latter are well worth it). I crowned myself king of one of the temples, then left forever.

A Peruvian hairless dog, higher body temperatures than ordinary dogs and can be used as body warmers! However, uuugly......

The medium sized combi buses that run between Trujillo and Huanchaco are good fun, and definitely win ´buses of the trip´ so far, for all the wrong reasons of course. The driver has to reach about a metre behind him to his right to change gears which is quite funny, they have zero suspension, (even) Peruvians cannot fit into the seats on most of the buses they are so tightly packed together, there is sometimes grease all over the floor (which means it is very difficult to remain in your seat/safe at braking time if you are sitting in the middle at the back/standing) and two out of three I was on were belting out music with big speakers up front, creating a bit of a party atmosphere. The best part though was the feeling that you were inside the rattling, heaving forward area of a WW2 B-52 bomber during an air raid, without (most) of the danger.

I got a comfortable overnight bus to Piura in a little known Transformer (why are the Transformers always crappy vehicles like buses.......).

I hopped on a less salubrious bus for the eight hour trip to the town of Huancabamba, deep in the Andes to the east. An Argentinian guy recommended it to me as somewhere a bit different. It was to take top honours for the most genuinely scary bus trip of South America so far, and that´s quite an accolade. ´Death Road´ in Bolivia and the trip from Cusco to Macchu Pichu gain honourable mentions, but this was something else altogether. The town of Chanchaque marks the lunch point of the trip, about three hours in. The plaza was picturesque.

The next five hours would be hairy.

At some stages the road is actually no narrower than the bus, with a drop (from what can be seen) that looks to extend all the way past the clouds to the ground below, well over kilometre down in some cases. I kept looking for the edge and the bottom, sometimes I couldn´t see either from the bus window. Even the Peruvians were muttering along the lines of ´hmmmm.....yes, very dangerous´. When they think it, you should too. The scenery was pretty spectacular aswell, driving above the clouds in many parts, which the Andean highland winds were whipping into a kind of dance that took our minds off danger for a while.

I arrived at Huancabamba and stayed at a comfortable little hotel called ´Virgin del Carmen´, would recommend it for anyone travelling here. It smelled like my granny´s kitchen, which is a compliment. Huancabamba is certainly off the beated track, I was the only gringo I ever saw in town.

Street in Huancabamba

I did some reading about the shamans (brujos) that operate around the Huaringas lakes, about an hour to and hour and a half drive from Huancabamba. I was interested in these ceremonies; it is something the Peruvians take very seriously and the region is famous all over South America for the alleged power of its shamans. They are said to cure everything from disease, to bad luck, and addictions, for you or for loved ones and people you know. The rituals are said to go on all night and involve a trip to one of the nearby lakes and imbibing a hallucinogenic liquid made from the san pedro cactus. Two days after arriving I was on my way to a ritual.

I was picked up outside the hotel at five in the morning, where me and the other three Peruvians in the car picked up supplies necessary for the ritual, mainly consisting of fragranced liquids (but not quite perfumes). We drove to the maestro (master)´s house, where we were immeadiately surrounded with old women trying to get us to rent ponchos. Eventually we were convinced to rent them as it would be very cold at night (we were about 3500m up).

View from the maestro´s back yard

We had individual consultations with the maestro to explain what we wished to get out of the ritual that night. More people joined us and we set out in a large pickup truck for the Laguna Negra where the induction ceremony would be performed. We arrived at the walking point for the lake. More people tried to get us to rent horses here, I declined, the circa 4.5km walk to the lake was well within my two legs´ capabilities.

The induction ceremony consisted of standing facing the cliff at the Laguna Negro and making wishes/willing good luck/ridding disease etc while the shamans chanted, sang, rattled, and danced. The shamans also sprayed us (with their mouths) with perfume, alcohol, various other liquids, and we got dusted with talcum powder. There was something quite powerful about this location; the freezing cold, the beauty, the gale force winds. I found myself chanting and dancing just like everyone else.

Then, we had to dip in the lake, completely covering our bodies, including head, three times. This was not easy, the water was freezing and the wind was stripping the heat off our bodies. We had to get out and do some rituals with the shamans on the shore, before putting back on our clothes. They danced around us, waved staffs about our heads, blessed us (akin to a knighting) and spat and sprayed stuff all over us.

Feel the burn!

After eight agonising minutes we got to put back on our clothes.

I struggled a bit on the walk back, feeling weak. I thought it was a combination of lack of food, exertion, my hopeless fake Converse runners (for rough trails), and the ever present lack of air at this altitude. I was to find out later it was the early stages of (I think) food poisoning and for certain, diarrohea. I hopped in the back of the pickup truck for the trip back to the maestro´s house with father and son, Oscar and Danger (yep that was his name). It a was cold and breezy forty five minutes. They kept calling me ´gringo´ all day - I have a name too.

The main ceremony with the maestro and his shaman understudies was to happen that night, starting at about eleven. We had seven hours in between to try catch up on some sleep and eat. I tried to sleep on my straw bed, which was very hard and not at all comfortable, resulting in little sleep. I was also beginning to feel a bit ill which added nothing helpful. Finally, when I was in the sleepy zone and about to nod off, three corn cobs fell on me from the corn-cob-storage-area located right above us.

Our lovely room

About nine at night I was not feeling well at all. Stomach cramps and constant runs to the toilet. The cold in the air up here is very chilling, it is difficult to get warm. The people living in the Andes in South America often endure without electricity or any heating. They are tough; this is not an easy place to grow old.

The ceremony lasted from about eleven pm to six am in the morning. The maestro was accompanied by four or five understudies, some of the presumably maestros in training. I didn´t take pictures; it really did not seem to be the right thing to do, and nobody else was either. A total of 13 people, excluding the maestro and his associates were participating in the ceremony, I was the only gringo and everyone had by now started calling me gringo. The age ranges were from the youngest at sixteen (Danger) to a woman that looked to be in her fifties. Once the maestro was ready with all his equipment, potions, and implements, it was time to start.

Each of us was given a cup of san pedro to drink. It was cloudy white, and tasted a little bit sweet and sour at the same time. Fortunately, even with my stomach doing cartwheels all day I was able to keep it down. We went outside and shook our limbs to get rid of all evil and unwanted stuff in our bodies. We then sat in total darkness for about half an hour, the only sounds coming from the maestro every now and then. The maestro and his understudies then (in total darkness) began guzzling what I assume was the san pedro. I mean guzzling too, gulping away for a good ten to fifteen minutes.

The rest of the night consisted of sitting down, some people in a slightly trancelike state, dancing, shaking our bodies, getting sprayed with all mannner of fragranced liquids, and getting blessed. The San Pedro had a mild effect; I felt a little bit drunk but simply pleasantly in tune with everthing that was going on in the ceremony and I could understand most of what was being said. Unfortunately my stomach would flash a bit of pain at me every now and then and I was more aware of it than most other sensations. The shamanism obviously has paganistic origins but interestingly Jesus and doing the signs of the cross have made their way into the ritual and are an integral part of it. Sure no harm in a bit of hedging your bets.

At one point we had to snort a combination of tobacco juice and strong alcohol which was helpfully served up to us in shallow little metal seashells. This stuff is meant to make you vomit, all part of the purging yourself of negative energies and unwanteds. It sure worked. I was the second person to head outside after snorting mine, my stomach did not need much of an invitation to become active. Pretty soon everyone was outside. It resmbled the scene in Stand by Me when ´Lardass´ gets his revenge. The maestro took each of us aside spoke to us individually, while he was right up there on the San Pedro. Supposedly it allows him to see into our souls and know some information about us. I must say I was quite surprised at what he said to me, with quite a few things he seemed to know, and I don´t know how. I was a little taken aback by this. It ended at sunrise, where we paid the maestro and gladly returned to bed, hopefully having got what we came for.

All in all, it was an enjoyable, somewhat arduous experience. There was a little bit of money grabbing and slight dishonesty going on about the ceremony/trip (see below) which took from it a bit, but I would recommend it for someone looking to see something different, truly Peruvian, and who knows to perhaps even cure something.

Me and the maestro, post ceremony.

Finally a little mention of the costs. I was told the price I had agreed to pay for the ritual (it is somewhat voluntary although between S130 and S250 is the norm), was an all inclusive price - transport, accomodation, food etc. Not true, not true. Not included were the following; transport to and from the lake from the maestro´s house, horse rental (if you need it), poncho rental, paying the shaman who gives you your final blessing, paying the maestro (if you wish) for a cocktail of liquids to be put into your charm (a bottle that is blessed, with flowers and other stuff inside it) for good luck, and food at the maestro´s place. All these added about seventy soles onto the costs (minimum). There are optional trips to other lakes also that will add on further costs. So keep that in mind when making your contributions for the ritual.

Be aware that a lot of charlatans operate in the area. I was reassured by the Peruvians I went with that our maestro was very much genuine, and had been doing this longer than anyone else in the area and came from a line of shamans. When you get into Huancabamba, ask for Juancito, he is the son of the maestro - Juan Manuel Melenchez Garcia - and facilitates trips to the region.

Huacachina is a small desert oasis on the edge of Ica city, nestled between rolling hills of pure sand. I was uncerimoniously dropped off the 18 hour bus journey on the side of the street in Ica, somewhere on the outskirts. I later found out that Ica doesn´t really have a central bus terminal so fair enough. The usual helpful phalanx of taxi drivers didn´t approach me this time, only one. He told me that Huacachina was a twenty minute drive from Ica, consequently I got ripped off as the drive was quite a bit shorter, even in the tiny Daewoo taxi. I was too tired to make any sort of protest; anyway it was my fault for not checking the distance or reading my Lonely Planet, this was exactly the sort of thing it is for. There is also the unofficial agreement that a price accepted, is stuck to.

I was going to check my LP for accomodation once I got to Huacachina but my helpful and overpaid taxi driver suggested one he thought I would like, with a pool. He went in and greeted the owners, obviously familiar with them, and to his credit wasn´t wrong. Great spot, oh dear, I could see myself spending quite a few more days delaying here. So what, that´s the point of being entirely footloose. Pool, bar, restuarant, big spacious rooms, the perfect place to unwind a little. The biggest nightclub I have been in South America (excepting one in Buenos Aires) was situated out the back of the hostel complex, but (thankfully) only open on the weekends. When it is open, you don´t have much choice but to go in, sleep is off the menu it is so loud.

There is something very tranquil and attractive about life here, with some pretty good restaurants and a pace of life that is a welcome change after Cusco. I met a girl who had two months to travel Peru and Bolivia and had spent three weeks of her time here! I can see how that might happen. I have been enjoying some early morning runs and swims and generally unwinding. Of course no trip here would be complete without a bit of sandboarding and a roller coaster dune buggying trip around the surrounding sand mountains.

Sunset was great

A seriously underpowered moto taxi, they are everywhere here. Every kilometre inside one of these motorised biscuit tins, especially in the city, is both slow and scary.

I wanted to see the new Batman film in Ica, the websites of the two cinemas didn´t display whether there were any screenings with subtitles or not. Nobody answered the phones when I rang. I went to both cinemas - eight screenings of Batman per day, not a single with subtitles. Oh lads what are ye doing, surely there must be a demand for a subtitled Batman in one of four screenings. Can you imagine Heath Ledger´s masterful performance as the Joker in the previous incarnation being trodden by some terrible dubbing? More subtitled films please, I miss the cinema!

Watched Katie Taylor battle her way to Olympic gold, magnificent, what a boxer. After following her progress for many years, it was fantastic to see her get the gold she deserves. The final and awards ceremony was one of the greatest sports events I´ve ever watched. To only have been there in the Excel Arena....

Most people will probably remember where they were when they watched Katie won the gold, I certainly won´t forget, what a legend. Congrats to all involved on a great Olympics for team Ireland.

I´ve spent the last few weeks in Arequipa and Cusco. Arequipa is a very nice city, I intended to spend a quiet week there, but as usual things rarely go to plan. I met a lovely lady from Finland, Tiia, and one evening while we were sitting having dinner at a restaurant, a huge gay pride parade marched by, catching us completely unawares. That seems to happen a lot in South America, one minute all is calm, the next minute a big whirlwind of colour, sound, sights, and smells is making its way down the road in celebration of something or other.

I travelled to Cusco to meet my friend Alan who was coming over from Ireland for two weeks from the 13th of July. Cusco is a really lovely city, particularly the city centre, it is not a UNESCO World Heritage Site for no reason. Walking around the city centre is a feast for the eyes; the Plaza de Armas and Plaza San Francisco are worth visiting to see by themselves. Cusco is overrun by tourists (not excepting myself), but this doesn´t take away from its charm and character. I could spend a lot of time here, and well, I (we) did. We stayed at the Wild Rover Hostel, we had a great time there with a great bunch of people, including the guys from Northern Ireland I had met in Bolivia. Myself, Alan, Niall, Colm, Ronan, and a few other Irish guys played marathon 6-7 hour or more open mic sessions in the big hostel bar and I don´t recall having so much fun in a long long time. We also managed to work out some discounted accomodation for ourselves; a very nice deal indeed.

Alan

Niall

I didn´t want to leave, neither did Alan, we actually forsake some of our other plans for his two week trip to stay on longer in Cusco. Sometimes the people in a place change your appetite for gobbling up sites and sights, and that is the way it should be (even if that place is Cusco, the archaelogical capital of the Americas!). Plenty of enjoyment was had.

A few days after arriving we went to Pisac and returned to Cusco via a very enjoyable 11km trek to some Inca Ruins, four in total; Tambomachay, Pukapukara, Q´enqo, and Saqsaywaman (pronounced ´sexy woman´). Alan brought my trekking boots from Ireland and they are a very welcome addition to prolonged walking days.

A spot of quad biking didn´t go astray either. Not sure exactly how many kilometres we covered, but we were racing about for around four and a half hours. Great fun, and it made me realise that I miss driving my car, or more specifically my dad´s GT6 and Spitfire.

We visited the Moray Inca ruins, where the Incas had set up concentric rings of terraces that were used to grow different varieties of crops on an experimental and necessity basis. The rings actually have their own micro climates due to differences in altitude, wind, and sunshine. The temperature difference between the top and bottom rings can be as much as 15 degrees celsius. Very clever stuff indeed!

Last but not least, the South American ´rite of passage´, Machu Picchu. Incredible, spectacular, amazing, words don´t really do this place justice. We went for a two day tour, which included trekking to and overnighting in Aguas Calientes. We would have went for longer but we didn´t realise we would be staying on in Cusco for so long. We got up just after 4am in Agusa Calientes to begin the climb up to Machu Picchu (over 2500 steps!), in a light drizzle, with high humidity increasing as we climbed up into the clouds.

As the sun burned away the clouds and mist the full beauty of Machu Picchu and its majestic setting revealed itself.

Alan has gone home and I feel like I need a holiday to recover. I have had my Ipod, MP3 player, and two jumpers robbed here, through no fault of my own, a reminder that theft is pretty rampant. Take ALL resonable precuations with your stuff in South America or the chances are it will disappear, fellow travellers being the culprits in many cases. Next up, head north along the Peruvian coast, exact destination unknown.

Me, Peter, and David set out from Copacabana for the slow journey across to Isla del Sol by boat.

We got off at the the final stop of the boat; the northern town of Cha´llampampa. Although I didn´t think it at this stage as I had just arrived, it appears that most of Isla del Sol is run by children; shops, accomodation, food stalls, restaurants, you name it. Does anyone go to school here? No sooner were we off the boats than we were being lobbied by an assortment of kids, all wanting us to go to their accomodations. We haggled of course and found a kid that was willing to go to b20 (about e2.50) each for a nights accomodation.

Our rooms were located on the right hand side of the town, on the way we had to dodge and assortment of sheep, pigs, bulls, cows, and donkeys being brought down from the hills, again mainly by kids.

Dusk and sunset at Cha´llampampa were a bit of a feast for the eyes. Mmmmmm.....

We decided that we would hike to the main town on the south of the Island, Yumani. We brought all our bags with us from Copacabana, which in hindsight might not have been the best idea, we could have just left our bags in a hostel in Copacabana and only brought what we really needed to Isla Del Sol. The benefit of hindsight.

David, Peter, and me before we set out

The circa 8km trek was fairly tough going with all our gear on us, factoring in the altitude, sunshine, and steep climbs, but that was only in David and I´s case. Peter was suffering from ´Bolivian Belly´ and it was getting worse as the three and a half hour trek wore on - half way through he was having a hellish time. It culminated in a vomiting purge on the way out of a village, the locals and ourselves looking on helplessly. He felt much better afterwards, needless to say.

I love this photo, two little Bolvian girls look at us; the curiosities.

We reached the southern town of Yumani in time for Peter to seek the sanctity of a bed and me and David went for a well deserved trout feast and beers. Unfortunately, David then got sick similarly to Peter and had to hit the sack early, never to rise until noon next day.

I decided get up at the crack of dawn (after half six) and hike the length of the island to the Inca ruins in the north (about 20 km round trip). The crisp morning air was refreshing and I enjoyed the sensation of having the whole island to myself as there was no one else about at that hour of the morning.

On the way I met a little dog myself and David had been feeding the night before at dinner. He ran up to me barking and I threw the banana skin I had in my hand at him. Following our mutual gestures of respect and friendship, he decided to accompany me all the way to the Inca ruins.

The views from highest points of the island of the surrounding land and Lake Titicaca are pretty magnificant and were all the more vivid in the early morning light.

I trekked along the path running through the centre of the island, imagining the Incas sprinting (not plodding) along the same pathway hundreds of years ago, masters of a vast empire that was almost completely empty, wild, and entirely theirs. I hadn´t encountered a single person on my walk to the ruins. The ruins were very interesting, the pictures speak for themselves.

My little canine friend had picked up a plastic bottle and insisted on loudly fighting with it all over the Inca ruins. I had to tell the him (in so much as you can ´tell´ a dog) to shut up quite a few times; he was interrupting my quite enjoyable daydreaming in this spot. I felt a bit like Tom Hanks from Castaway, except Wilson the football was my canine buddy. I fed and watered myself and the dog and we set out on the path back, still not having met anyone.

On the way back from the ruins my little bud was beginning to tire out, and was struggling a bit with the steps. I gave him the last of my water, a biscuit, and encouraged him along. We were a team. After about twenty minutes of walking I met couple walking towards the ruins. Passed them and kept walking. Ten minutes later - hold on where´s the dog? I look back and there he is slowly, wearily following the couple quite a distance away, in the ´wrong´ direction on the other side of the ridge, then they all disappear around the corner. Ah for f$%k.......some mothers do ´ave´ em.

I was back by half eleven and didn´t have to pay for a single entry/exit point on the island, which was pretty satisfying, ha ha! We then headed back to Copacobana, where I got the flu/altitude weariness/sunstroke for two days, not so good. I´m heading onto Arequipa in Peru now to live with a family for a week or so. My Bolivian visa is nearly expired so its time to leave anyway.