Change of Address

Alas, the blog has had to move. If I told you why, I'd have to kill you. If, however, you would like to continue reading, please leave a comment, or get into contact with me and I shall inform you of its new, secret whereabouts.

Aftermath

Must. Finish. Blog. With. Appropriate. And. Happy. Ending!

So those of you who made it this far are clearly all avid readers (thank you parents, Courtney, Chandni, Karin, Libs, Grandparents and what I understand to be an on/off commitment from Lizzie, Laura and Heather - anyone I've left out, leave a comment and you will be duly included in the hardback edition. No comment and flattery, no inclusion.) and will probably be aware that I am now home and have pretty much forgotten the last few days of my trip in the excitement of snow and Christmas and clothes that are not made from alpaca.

During my last three days in Lima I went to the beach, ate at a very expensive restaurant because they looked at me in a way that said 'We don't like your kind here. You clearly can't afford it.' Little did they know that I was a GRINGA EUROPEAN and one of my pennies was worth a million and three of their soles. Or at least that's what I thought until I looked at my bank balance. I also checked into a Loki which was nowhere near as party party as Cusco, but was pretty posh. I sought funs elsewhere at the apartment of a Swiss-Peruvian girl who was friends with the Swiss girl who was friends with the American, Karen, who had befriended me in the hostel. Now, when your Daddy is Swiss and works in something important and Swiss, then his money goes a long, long way in Peru. The apartment was AMAZING. I got nervous, and then I got drunk and revealed my grubby working middle class roots somewhat over-enthusiastically by going on and on about how amazing everything was. She humoured me though and let me get lost in the house before coming to find me and giving me another glass of expensive wine.

I then shopped for pretties and then, when the money ran out, just took photos of pretties to look at later and wish I'd bought. Then I read the whole of 'Catcher in the Rye' in a day, packed and took a taxi to the airport. The taxi driver was super chatty. I was not. The flights were DESPERATELY BORING apart from maybe the second where I tried to do a movie marathon. I got through three. Has anyone ever seen 'Mrs Ratcliffe's Revolution'? Quite amusing.

I'm pretty sure that mine was the last flight to land in the whole of the UK before the snow hit properly. Emotional, Love Actually, reunion with family which involved a very large bar of cadburys, and then home for the first, blissful cup of Earl Grey in four months. Five have since been consumed and everyone has been like heaven in a cup.

However, I am still having difficulty adapting to a lifestyle that involves throwing loo paper down the toilet and drinking out of the tap without contracting dysentry, but other than that, the reverse culture shock is minimal. I also have not adapted to the British pound and am still dividing all prices by four and thinking 'huh, not bad.' I went into Fortnum and Masons and did this. RECIPE FOR FINANCIAL DISASTER.

Thank you all for following and encouraging. I promise to do it again next time I run away to foreign lands.

Adios y gracias para todos x

Nazca (remains of the day), Huacachina and Lima

Gah! I genuinely thought this last week was going to be boring, but in true South American style, I have been inundated with excitement, adventures, near death, protests, skeletons and the Spanish inquisition. Hark! I hear the sound of many fascinating stories approaching. I shall try and keep them short, snappy and ete-catching...

So, remember I decided to do a four hour trek through the desert to sandboard down the HIGHEST (known) DUNE IN THE WORLD? Remember that? Yeah? Well, I did. But that's not all. I went with the most disgustingly, sickeningly amorous Croate-Argentinian couple in the world, who were the impetus for Emma's Adventure in The Desert. First up, they were about half an hour late. We were on kind of a tight schedule re: sunset. Then, they walked super slow: he was fat, she was an embarrassment to the female sex and they hadn't realised that walking for four hours in the desert meant WALKING FOR FOUR HOURS IN THE DESERT, PEOPLE! It's not going to be a stroll in the park. And yet they strolled. And stopped every 10-20 minutes not only to profess their undying love for each other and to make out, but also to take photos of themselves with desert backgrounds and of themselves making out in front of desert backgrounds. Guess who was the photographer... me, right. I have a big future in the international porn industry. I took some good photos.

But we were kinda on a tight schedule re: impending pitch blackness in the middle of the desert.

So we got to the dunes and threw ourselves down them, I quite stylishly, the couple like a couple of imbeciles (their words, not mine. I did not disagree), and got pockets full of sand and then we took on the 1km dune. The last one. The mac daddy. That's 1,000m of sand everyone. 10,000cm. At the top, I looked at our little guide Enrique and said 'Really? 1km? It doesn't look that high.' How wrong I was. So very, very wrong. I think after about 300m I sat down on my bum and just slid down. Then, when that got too difficult, I took the board off and walked down. Because walking down dunes is pretty fun, actually. Better than walking up them.

And the sunset was beautiful. So beautiful that the couple had to have a photo in front of it. Little did they realise (because they clearly didn't have a brain cell between them), that we were still in the middle of the desert and the sun was setting.

We walked for just over an hour in the dark. In the desert. With one tiny torch between the four of us.

Now I was actually thinking 'This is AWESOME', because I am British and that's how they make us in the U of K: optimistic and stoic and reliable. And slightly crazy. I had been in the sun all day. Plus, I had complete faith in little Enrique and simply followed him step for step and eventually we got to the road. But oh dear, oh dear. For more than an hour, I had heard no aclamations of love and affection from the couple. Something told me that a certain fat, lazy Argentinian was none too happy. It got worse when we got to the road because little Enrique's transport had abandoned him. So the Argentinian let rip and claimed he was dying from the walk (because he was fat) and that everything had been badly organised (because they were late and had to stop every 10-20 minutes for PDA) and that everything was terrible, terrible! And if there's something I really can't stand, it's fuss pots. The only person with the right to fuss and complain in the world is ME!

So we waited, and we waited but nothing conspired. I had now lost faith in little Enrique and, when a bus stopped (for some reason) about 50m away from us, I decided to show these people how things were done, ran up to the bus driver and jabbered away: Señor there are four of us, we are lost, in the middle of the desert, are you going to Nazca do you have space for us? Pretty impressive Spanish nowadays, hey? The poor bus driver, completely bewildered, began to tell me how dangerous it was to be out in the desert in the middle of nowhere after dark. Blahdeblahdeblah do I look like I don't realise? So he agrees to take us, I run back to the others but they say to me: don't worry, we have called the police, they are coming.

Now, I feel, this is logic that helped me to earn my first: I could see a bus. It said Nazca. They said they would take me. I could see no police car. How was I to know a police car would really be coming? How long would I have to wait for this police car when there was a bus right there? How did I know the policemen would not do something scary like take my passport away from me? So, I metaphorically flashed them the Vs and ran back to the bus. Poor bus driver: they're not coming Señor, I don't know why, I don't understand them, it's just me, let's go, forget about them! Leave them in the desert for the scorpions and the buzzards. (That last bit I didn't say in Spanish, but I feel the sentiment was internationally understood).

So I made it back to Nazca in time for pizza and palta and then moved on to Huacachina where I did absolutely nothing but lie by a pool and write my bestseller for two days. Sweet.

Then I took a 4 1/2 hour bus journey to Lima that took TWELVE HOURS because we had to sit outside a town called Cañete for six and a half hours because they wanted a university and the government wouldn't give it to them, so they closed off the whole town. Now I'm big on education, but that seemed a little childish to me. They did, however, give us free rice to apologise for the delay.

So now I am in Lima and thought I was going to another Loki hostel. The hostel the taxi driver dropped me off at, however, was called Pariwana and it was like stepping into an alternate universe: everything was exactly the same as Loki - the beds, the 'this bed is reserved sign', the rules, the dinner menu, the stock in the bar, the check out time, the activities board, the breakfast, everything - and yet they were telling me it was not Loki. So I stayed there, waiting to see what would happen. So far no dwarves have told me my favourite gum has come back into fashion, so maybe it is just a coincidence?

And today, to honour Laura's birthday, I went and did things I thought she would enjoy: I visited a monastery where, in the catacombs, they have on display the bones of between 30-40,000 people, neatly arranged femurs with femurs, skulls with skulls, and in one circular pit, in a spiral of femurs and also skulls. I only realised on the way out, that this means that someone actually sat for hours, lovingly placing the bones artistically together. Imagine that. I mean, really, imagine if that was your job? Also, the guide dropped her keys into a PIT OF SKULLS, which I found amusing, if somewhat distressing. Everywhere smelt of bones. And it's also a little upsetting that I recognised that smell.

Guest: Ah, what is that musty, old smell?
Emma: oh, that's the smell of bones. I'd know it anywhere.
Guest: What? You are sick and disgusting.

Then I visited the Spanish Inquisition museum where they have life-size how-to replicas of torture victims, so you can re-enact the Spanish Inquisition in your own time, and also access to the tiny cells they kept prisoners in as they suffered. Suffered! But the most interesting thing, of course, according to our guide, was the network of irrigation tracts that clearly indicates that this was one of the only buildings in Lima in the 16th century to have running water! Gosh!

And now I shall go and look at art. So far nothing has beaten Cordoba, but after this morning's jaunts, you never know, Lima might deliver.

Hasta pronto peeps x

Copacobana, Arequipa, Cabanaconde, Nazca

So, as we can see, since leaving Cusco, I have been on the rapid fire adventure path and have visited many places in a short amount of time. Most have been culturally stimulating, often with beautiful landscapes and historical significance. However, unless you are seeing it for yourself, this is pretty dull, so I shall sum up before getting to a more interesting story:

Copacobana: had salt and vinegar pringles at the border crossing on the way there AND back. Bliss. Took a boat to Isla del Sol where myself and a French friend, Laure, walked far too far into the middle of nowhere in flip flops or, as I learnt after about six confused references to them, 'claquettes'. We missed the sunrise and came back to Copa where I bumped into Christian, an Austrian hippie I had worked with very briefly in Cusco who is now living, yes, living, on Isla del Sol. He gave me a rock. For luck.

Arequipa: a very pretty colonial town. Begrudgingly (I have been here for four months now, let's not forget) I thought I'd better do some sightseeing. There was a protest in the square and the people sported flags of Che because, whatever it was they were upset about, he will be able to fix it. I didn't have the heart to tell them that HE HAS BEEN DEAD FOR 42 YEARS and will not be coming to lend a hand. Off I went to Santa Catalina Convent where, I am telling you, if I have little to do when I'm 65, I will be retiring there to prune orange trees. It is sweet! Every 'cell' (try: deluxe single room) has an ensuite kitchen where one of the duties was to bake cookies. Also in Arequipa I ate delicious trout (Peruvian speciality) on the terrace of a beautiful restaurant overlooking the cathedral. Price for two courses, a coke and a glass of wine? Why, only 10 British pounds!

Cabanaconde: I took a bus through beautiful Inca terracing and mountains. I walked down into a gorge and swam in an 'oasis' (read: outdoor pool), I had a flap about a drowning indentifiably HUGE bug possibly stinging me in the mouth, but it was okay, no permanent damage done to beautiful face. I took a mule back up as I have now achieved Li Hi of all Li Hi (Machu Picchu, remember that?) and feel I no longer need to prove myself. The mule farted all the way up. I discreetly joined him and hoped the horseman couldn't tell the difference. Tee hee. The owner of the hostel tried to get me drunk on Pisco sours, but I have spent three weeks in the Loki Hostel and it shall never be possbile to get me drunk again.

Nazca: now, here comes the touristically significant story. There are two reasons to come to Nazca: the lines and Cerro Blanco, the largest known sand dune IN THE WORLD. But that is a story for another day as I haven't walked up it yet. I know I said I am done being Li Hi, but the appeal of another IN THE WORLD is just too much to resist. So I am walking in the blazing desert sun tomorrow for 4 hours to throw myself down 1000m of sand on a piece of wood. I have seen the boards. I fear for my life.

Today, however, I went to see the Nazca lines, a series of images somehow carved out into the earth. I am wikipedia-ing it now to offer a better explanation: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nazca_lines There we go. Wikipedia is just so much more articulate than me. Seeing the lines requires paying a comparatively extortionate amount of money to go in a little plane and fly over them. When I arrived at the airstrip, my first thought was: are these Cessna 207s REAL planes or have they constructed them from bolsa wood? Does Peru have rules about this sort of thing? If so, could I get a copy faxed to my desk straight away? Also, who is this man? Does he look like a qualified pilot to you, Brazilian and Czech couple? What's that? No speaky English? Oh.

However, all fears dissipated when the 'pilot', if that was his real name, looked at the two couples, shoved them in the back and ushered me INTO THE FRONT OF THE PLANE. WOWOWOWOW!! What an idiot. He clearly hadn't received the urgent telegram informing him that EMMA HAS TO TOUCH DANGEROUS LOOKING BUTTONS THE INSTANT SHE SEES THEM. So, whilst he was chatting to his groundling person, I sat in the front, silently spazzing out, repeating 'do not touch unless you want to die, do not touch unless you want to die.' But the dials and red and blue knob thingies and playstation stylee joystick were so pretty, I almost considered that death would be a fine price to pay just to see WHAT HAPPENED if I pulled the thing that had THROTTLE taped over the top of it.

I managed to resist and orf we went into the sky, I, waiting and waiting for the sick feeling to come but, to my amazement, delight, pride and astonishment, the sick feeling never came! No warmth in the cheeks, no OHGODHEREITCOMES, only a little bit of warning forehead sweat. And, just because I have always been taught that competition and winning at the expense of others is healthy, I beat the lady in the back who was sick. Ha. Take that lady. Not as Li Hi as me, are you? AND I get travel sick! So I proved myself to have a firm and steadfast constitution even in the most stomach stressful situations and therefore, despite farting-mule, am still Li Hi.

Also, the lines were cool, my favourite being 'the tree', but not as cool as seeing the landscape from a tiny plane, out of which I was definitely not sick!

It is very possible that next blog will be coming from Heathrow airport as I sit waiting for my bags that will probably NEVER COME (sod's law). How exciting is that?!

Machu Picchu via Salkantay

Right-o. Machu Picchu, the whole point of coming to South America. The Lost City of the Incas. The MacDaddy of Precolombian ruins.

So before I even got on the plane at Heathrow I thought: how can I make this as difficult as possible to prove to myself and others that I am truly li hi ('hardcore' for all those not fluent in mandarin) and should replace Demi Moore in the remake of GI Jane? And the Lonely Planet, which has otherwise been entirely useless to me, told me of the legendary SALKANTAY trail and I said YES, I will pit myself against this mighty SALKANTAY and we will see who is greater and which of us has more STRENGTH and PERSEVERENCE.

And to keep me warm, the nice lady at the travel agents gave me a feather sleeping bag and feather jacket and a pair of sexy waterproof clown trousers. Nice. And I vowed to wear the same clothes (other than underwear) for four whole days and then dress up nicely for Machu Picchu, but I didn't have space in my bag so I had to wear the same clothes all the time apart from once I changed my t-shirt.

So on the first day I got picked up at 4:30am and slept on an apparently very scary bus drive to Mollepata where I woke up and met my team: 3 Americans, 3 Dutchies, 3 Frenchies, a Quebecoise, 1 Brit, 1 Japanese, 1 German and 2 Aussies. All very nice people. So off we went, and the first day was hard because first days always are because in my mind I think THIS WAS A MISTAKE, I READ BOOKS FOR A LIVING. But I remained in good spirits and quickly found my rightful position almost-at-the-back. Scenery on the first day was beautiful and camp was at the foot of the mighty SALKANTAY, which was cold. However, we did arrive before it began chucking it down with rain.

Next day we woke up at 5am and were walking by 6am through a cloud that had sat down on the mountain, completely obscuring any sort of view. We were walking from 3800m to 4600m so it was slow going - fifty metres at a time and then a rest, then another fifty metres. One of our Aussie boys, One Lung Thompson, who has a history of pneumonia was struggling so, being the team player I am, I walked the last half an hour with him, encouraging him from rock to rock so he didn't get too demoralised. But he was a trooper and the whole team made it and had a cheeky shot of rum at the top, which was well needed since the descent, although slightly euphoric, bordering on hysterical happiness at having done the hardest bit and CONQUERED the mighty Salkantay, saw the cloud break and all of us got soaked to the skin, waterproof or no waterproof. Note: waterproofs are never waterproof, only shower proof.

Snotty-nosed, we walked through some Highland-type scenery, crossed some rivers to get over my fear (I made everyone go before me) and then walked out into cloud forest where I snuck off to relieve myself and was almost discovered by some horsemen coming the other way. Whoops.

At camp the cooks nearly burnt the thatched cook hut down and I almost saved everyone's life by saying: GET OUT, EVERYONE OUT NOW! I also had a moment with my dear, dear camera which, since it is made by Samsung, has broken down and can only be opened if you grab the lense with a pair of tweezers and pull it out. What a mess. I was so happy when I finally got it to work though because I didn't think I'd be able to get any photos of Machu Picchu.

Day three we went on a bear hunt through some very deep mud that made some excellent noises. That was up a very steep hill too, to a beautiful viewpoint, and then we went down again, had a snack with some turkeys and piglets (with, not of), and then caught a bus when we reached the road to Santa Teresa. And, get this. THEY LET US SIT ON THE TOP OF THE BUS! Best way to travel on a skinny gorge-side road with cloud forest flying past, ducking to avoid low hanging branches. So beautiful!

At Santa Teresa we went to the thermal baths where we made a human pyramid. A fateful human pyramid that resulted in me being EATEN ALIVE by bugs. And this isn't a joke. Both legs swelled up with about 40 bites each, big red welts, which tightened up my skin and radiated heat like sunburn and itched like nothing has ever itched before. So walking for the next few days was stiff, but I am Li Hi and did not complain, but rather revelled in the grossness of the fact that I looked like I'd caught the pox.

After a monkey had pooed in one of our Dutch boy's pocket, we took the bus on day four to the beginning of an active train track where, of course, we walked the whole day on the track, jumping into the undergrowth every now and then when Peru Rail passed by. Flat walking, but difficult because we were stepping between irregular sleepers which messed up any walking rhythmn and made everything a bit awkward. I therefore decided to risk breaking an ankle and walk the whole way on the actual track supported by two big sticks with which to make me walk better, but I got stick shoulder and gave up after about half an hour.

We arrived at Aguas Calientes, the town next to Machu Picchu in the early afternoon and our guide Victor immediately said: who wants to climb a mountain? Now I will admit, at this point my legs felt like lead and I thought, definitely not me you crazy Peruvian man, but that would have been weak and cheating and girly so after twenty minutes of dying on a hostel bed I got up and climbed up an 80º incline, scrambling over rocks and up ladders drilled into the rocks and steps carved into the rocks. Obviously I was happy because there were steps. The whole point was that there was an alternative view of MP which was pretty cool.

On our final day, we got up at 3:30am to climb some more STEPS in the dark, and that was probably the hardest part. Trying to pick my legs up was a big effort, especially as they were still red and swollen. But getting to the top (and having another celebratory shot of rum at 5am) was the best feeling ever, and we were all in time to get tickets to Waynapichu, another mountain that we obviously wanted to climb after four days of doing nothing but climbing mountains.

Machu Picchu really is as amazing as everybody says it is and there's no way to describe it - I just wouldn't do it justice. The only way to appreciate it is to go yourselves so everyone get yourselves over to Peru! It's so beautiful, and we were so lucky to (eventually) have a clear day.

To finish off, Michael, Poonam and I walked back to Aguas Calientes in the rain and had a very long lunch with cocktails that went straight to our head. We then almost missed the train back, and decided to finish the rum and try to make the day a 24 hour celebration of our achievement and even though I remember very little, I think we might have made it!

LI HI!

Cusco

Hola!

So, another week has passed and more adventures have been had. After scary cockney girl left the hostel, it became apparent that actually, there was very little drama at Loki, and that staff and guests alike were very calm and relaxed and fun, apart from when it came to scary cockney girl, where one guest summed up the sentiments of all with the statement, 'I want to stab her in the face'. Aggressive, but maybe true and necessary.

Anyway, my bar team, who no longer need pseudonyms to protect identity, are very lovely and work hard and have lots of fun, apart from maybe Shaggy who is on a completely different planet due to the consumption of far too many illegal substances and a profoundly philosophical outlook on life. He is very concerned with good and bad energies. Yes, Shaggy...

So all my shifts are going very well. Being at the Loki hostel is a little like being at freshers week in university over and over and over again, which is fun, but quite damaging for your liver. Despite many nights out, I have forced myself to be cultural and have visited the nearby ruins of Saksaywaman, many garish Catholic churches, and a little further afield the market town of Pisaq, which also has Inca ruins. Now when I arrived in Pisaq yesterday I was feeling a little worse for wear as the night before had been a rather messy Smurf Party and as staff, I had been obliged to dress up and make a fool of myself, but when I got off the little minibus, having just driven through the beautiful sacred valley (really, really stunning), I discovered a market full of pretties that I wandered around and took artistic photos of, and then thought 'ah, these Pisaq ruins look like an easy cultural sight to tick off on my list, and since I have an extortionately overpriced tourist ticket, I should go and check it out.' Little did I know that the ruins at Pisaq are MIGHTY and AWESOME and HIGH UP and I had to walk 3 miles uphill in jeans and rubbish little trainers, feeling hungover and needing the toilet, to get to them.

However.

A most joyous and wonderous discovery has been made.

The. Incas. Liked. Steps...!

So through the mist of delicate stomachs and fatigue, and heat and sweat and chaffing jeans, I was truly and honestly ecstatic. Just imagine - thousands and thousands of very high steps, branching off in all directions to reach cool fort ruins where you can still clearly see separate rooms and doorways and irrigation systems and round look out fort bits with windows for throwing spears and shooting arrows. Who wouldn't want all that when grossly hungover and probably still full of vodka? Of course I took many photos of BEAUTIFUL STEPS that I am unable to upload onto the blog, and now I am pretty much convinced that I am somehow descendent from Incas and that this obsession of steps has trickled down through the bloodline to endow me with a special feeling every time I climb steps.

After going 'ooh, aah, Pisaq is way cooler than I expected' and realising there was an easier, fat American tourist way of reaching it by road and minibus and feeling superior and fit despite the many 5 minute rests I took on the way up to 'appreciate scenery' (read: die inside a little), I walked aaaall the way back down again and had pumpkin soup in a restaurant. And then I came home again. Home being the hostel I now feel I was born in and will never leave, and for the first time in a week had a quiet night and watched a ridiculous Will Farrel movie and ate an overpriced McFlurry. Because I am wholeheartedly embracing Peruvian culture, you see.

I have, also, had ten intensive hours of Spanish lessons and have learnt conjugation of all verbs including reflexive in the present, preterite and perfect past. Now I only have two other past tenses, the future and the conditional to learn myself... and I have to remember them all and put them into practice! It's been very encouraging that nobody I meet who speaks Spanish and has the ability to at least speak basic English, has bothered to speak English to me. This has of course left me with the delusion that I am now trilingual, which I am not. But the goal of learning conversational Spanish has been achieved. Well done.

Projects for the coming week include: trying to convince all guests at the hostel that Stu and I are in fact related, booking my trek to Machu Picchu, doing some more cultural things, having at least one night off from drinking and uploading some photos onto my bloggy blog. We shall see how many of these things can be achieved...

Only four weeks until I come home. So many things still to be done!

La Paz - Cusco

I think this might be a record for time in between blogs. A whole week!

Somewhat deceptively, the most exciting part of this blog did not happen in La Paz, it is left over from Samaipata. On my last day there I decided to take a tour lead by a crazy Dutch man into the cloudforest. I was accompanied by the most miserable German couple, but this didn't ruin the experience in the slightest: there were giant, prehistoric ferns, slugs that spat yellow acid, monkey tracks (no actual monkeys), jaguar tracks (no actual jaguars, I would probably be dead by now), and many other exciting and Othello-soliloquy things besides. It was very pretty, but alas, the computers still can't cope with photos so you'll have to wait a bit to share the beauty.

I then took a three hour taxi ride to Santa Cruz through some more amazing cloud forest scenery and got on a bus straight to La Paz. On the bus I sat next to a nine year old boy who was travelling all on his own - you thought I was brave! I felt very maternal. This bus, though far superior to the previous life-questioning buses, took so long to get to La Paz I nearly cried, but eventually we got there and I went to meet my two friends Una and Kate in our hostel.

What followed was a number of very lazy days. I have the excuse that not only were we getting used to the altitude, I was also feeling very delicate in the stomach region, and although I know exactly how to fix this, the thought of not eating for 24 hours and spending all day in bed does not appeal to me. Neither does dioralyte. So I have been suffering for some time. We therefore watched the Michael Jackson movie and 2012, ate lots of ice cream, spent long lunches in cafés, wandered around the streets shopping for alpaca themed pretties and visited some museums including the musical instrument museum where you are allowed to play all the instruments, including the armadillo harp. Awesome. We also had a number of good nights out.

I did not do the Death Road. I don't know why, but it just didn't appeal to me. Let's blame it on the altitude again (apparently 3600m above sea level). Kate and I did, however, go horseriding on some HUGE but very docile horses, all the way up to the tip of Valle de la Luna (there are lots of Valle de la Lunas - remember the one I went to in Chile? There is also one in Argentina, and apparently they are all individual and we have never seen anything like them before.) We also got to see the city from the famous viewing point, and it was pretty impressive. I am also coming to like horses more and more, though I still don't know what to do when they start to move faster than a steady walk.

Due to civil unrest and road blocks, we were unable to get to Copacobana and Lake Titicaca on a bus (pity) so we decided to be flashpackers and took a cheapish flight from La Paz to Cusco where we arrived on Sunday morning to our new hostel. We did fly over Lake Titicaca, which was pretty impressive, and don't worry, I will be getting myself down there. I'm not coming all the way here to miss the spooky Inca legends of the Isla del Sol.

Now, because I have the attention span of a fish, I am about two weeks ahead of schedule, having never spent longer than four nights in the same place. So I made the decision to stay put in Cusco for a while, and get free board and food at my hostel by working some bar shifts. There are many positives to this idea: it is only 4 days a week, leaving me free to travel to Machu Picchu and Lake Titicaca on my days off, and to learn Spanish when I'm not working, and to do day trips to Saksaywaman and other interesting Inca sites, and to do some river running. However, it is a three week commitment, so I'll have to rush the rest of Peru into two weeks (probably more than enough time, I get bored easily) and, if any of you ever heard any stories of my ski season - it looks like it might be similar to that, but now I am older and wiser and better at avoiding DRAMA by disappearing or keeping my mouth shut or simply shrugging and saying 'I don't know man, I only got here yesterday, I'm not really sure what's going on.'

So the next few blogs will probably be stories of ridiculous people with code names, interdispersed with incredible stories of freezing to death on the way to Machu Picchu. It is cold here.

Last night's story involved Cockney girl, who doesn't even work at the hostel anymore, deciding she did not like the Pretty German, as the Pretty German had apparently been running around breaking the heart of the Boy Who Should Know Better As He Is 26 Years Old. Not that this had anything to do with Cockney, but true to form of all our favourite British representatives on international soil, she decided she would express her opinion aggresively, with violence, expletives and loud enough for the whole hostel to hear. How ridiculous. Finance Bear, a fellow Brit, summed up the thoughts I had tactfully decided not to articulate: 'I came travelling to get away from pikies like her.'

So, as I'm sure you will understand, I will be asking to work the night shift so I can avoid these social delights, and will be getting up before 9am every morning to slink out to my Spanish lessons/cultural experiences.

Until the next 'International Eastenders' episode...