Friends Reunited

At the beginning of the journey, this time seemed a very long way away, but as we arrived in Yangshuo we had to start facing up to the reality that the next stop on our travels would be our last, so we better make the most of it.

Yangshuo was a bit of a change from what we'd seen of China so far and was definitely backpacker central. The town itself most closely resembled a French ski resort even down to a large quantity of wooden buildings. We were to spend nearly three days in Yanshuo and we intended to make the most of it. We already had a days cycling organised and quickly organised a cookery course, ready to put our skills to the test of Chinese cuisine.

The cookery course itself was in a bar/hotel owned by the same people who owned the hotel we were staying in. Siobhán, Kirsty and I were met at our hotel by a nice girl who firstly took us on a tour of the local market. Those of you reading who are of a skweamish disposition may wish to skip the rest of this paragraph . . . the market was quite impressive, with a large selection of vegetables, meat and fish much of which was still alive, it his here that those of you reading back in dear old blighty may find it a little unpleasant as a specialty of the region is dog and we could both hear them barking in cages as well as seeing one poor example hanging much like you'd see a piglet hanging in a butchers. We were advised by our guide that dog lovers should not despair as they don't east the cute ones!

Following the market visit we spent several hours learning to cook several different dishes, although Siobhán was a little peeved when one of the ladies asked expectantly if I did all of the cooking at home. What can I say, she just had an eye for talent!

The bike ride we were booked on was a fantastic day as we cycled around the karst scenery and paddy fields, plus the obvious advantage of the entire region being completely flat, excellent cycling terrain! The karst topography made for a stunning back drop, with lots of Sugar Loaf'esque mountains dotting the landscape.

Following Yanshuo we were finally off to our ultimate destination Hong Kong and a reunion for Siobhán with her friend Dima from JP. We didn't have a great deal of time in Hong Kong, just one night and Siobhán lost no time in getting straight into shopping mode.

First stop was to get a new pair of sunglasses, something she had deliberately not bought during our travels as it was only too likely they would have got broken or lost. We can't have been in the glasses store for more than five minutes and Siobhán was deciding between a pair of Channels and a pair of Ray Bans, when the almost inevitable happened and she managed to drop the Ray Bans. It would appear they are not the most robust of sunglasses, as they landed lens down and immediately shattered on the floor . . . I think it's fair to say this broke even Siobháns impressive record of breakage as we handed over the money for the already broken glasses :(

This wasn't going to get us down and the view as we reached the docks in Kowloon to head over to Hong Kong island was extremely impressive. We took the Star Ferry over and spent the rest of the day walking around most of the city and shopping at every available opportunity.
Soon night time had come and we met up with Dima, his wife Anya and their visiting friend who's name I'm afraid I can't remember, sorry, where we had been told to gather at the docks.

Dima had organised for us to head out to Lamma island, which entailed a boat ride to the opposite side of Hong Kong and some spectacular night time scenery. Dima has clearly been in Hong Kong too long as he complained of the cold on top of the boat, whilst cloaked in his big winter coat, as Siobhán and I sat there in our summer clothes thinking it was lovely weather!

Dinner consisted of a banquet of excellent sea food, including a dish of chilli clams that was so hot it honestly made me cry! A boat ride back and the night was over, so many thanks to Dima and Anya for a superb final evening, it was an brilliant end to our travels!

That's kind of it, the following night, just after midnight we boarded our final plane and headed for London where my parents were waiting to pick us up at 06:30 in the morning, thanks folks!
Thanks to all of you, whoever you may be, for reading. It's definitely helped us to keep track of what we've been up to, we hope you've enjoyed reading it even 1% as much as we've enjoyed our time traveling.

Until next time Zàijiàn!

Voyage of the Dam'ed

The journey to Chongqing, China's largest (and possibly ugliest) City, was a new experience. We had to take a public bus from Mount Emei, a rather concerning experience given what appear to be the rules of the road in China; I think we can sum this up as bigger is better, who give's a damn which side of the road you're on!

We weren't spending any real time in Chongqing, rather this was the embarkation spot for our three day journey down the Yangtze river to the Three Gorges Dam, the largest hydro-electric power plant in the world. I won't go into the arguments for and against the dam as they are largely the same as any other major dam ever built, but to give some perspective the river will have risen over 100 meters in places, displacing over 1.2 million people and requiring the manual transportation of of sturgeon up river each year by lorry to prevent their extinction. There are also concerns as to the build quality of the dam and if the worst were to ever happen and the dam failed, water would reach Shanghai over 1300km away!

Oddly, despite the impact, we failed to meet a single descenting voice amongst those displaced, with each and every person we spoke to thinking it was a fabulous idea. Personally I felt this showed the remaining power of the communist state, but what do I know?

The boat we were traveling on had been mercifully upgraded from what used to be used for the tour we were booked on, although was still a far stretch from the QE2 I'm sure. As we were nearing the end of our travels, Siobhán and I decided to upgrade to one of two Presidential suites for the grand total of about £50 over the course of the three nights, bargain!

We were joined on the boat by two other groups, approximately 20 Chinese and 40+ Russian Americans. The Chinese we could not communicate with, other than to be treated to the usual number of requests for photo opportunities that they seemed to love having with westerners.

The same could not be said about the Russians. Before I continue, I should point out that we were on the boat for the duration of the US Presidential election and our little band of travelers were the best equipped for communication with the outside world, making the Russians keen to converse with us. This led to some slightly animated debates, as it transpired that the Russian Americans were to a man (and woman) raging John McCain supporters and honestly believed that Obama was both a communist and terrorist all rolled into one, contrasting rather starkly with our traveling companions, especially Roger and Lynn who had bother personally been out canvassing for the Democrats!

Anyway, what can I say about the journey itself, it was pretty wet. The overwhelming theme of the weather for the three days could at best be described as gloomy and grey. Add into this a new characteristic we had not previously discovered about the Chinese, being their love of punctuality as we were regularly repramanded for being late for meals or indeed missing them in their entirety. The crew however, got their own back every morning, as they would play incessantly dreadful music from 06:30 to ensure that everyone got up and it was impossible to have this music turned off in your cabin!

We drank heavily to help numb the pain, an act which led one evening to us being introduced to the "Murdering Miners" as Siobhán liked to call them. We were informed by our tour guide, that some of the Chinese on board were an infamous group of mine owners where fatalities were a regular occurance. I therefore spent one very late evening drinking the head "Murdering Miners" congac, whilst he himself set about destroying an entire bottle of very decent Remy Martin XO by pooring green tea into it . . . I honestly felt like crying!

The trip finished with a visit to the dam itself. We were now rounding the final corner in our global travels, as we prepared to head for Yangshou!

Drunken Monks

After Chengdu we headed on towards Mount Emei, stopping en route at the Giant Buddha at Leshan, a huge Buddha carved into the side of a mountain. The trip to Mount Emei was yet another to fill us with trepidation, as we were to be spending the following three nights stopping in Buddhist monasteries.

We arrived at the first at the foot of Mount Emei and were shown into basic, if clean rooms at the back of the temple. A quick inspection of the bathroom facilities and I had made my decision to become happily dirty for the next few days and pray for constipation! To get a mental picture of the facilities think shed and hole!

The next bump in the road was that we were informed the temple would be closed up at 21:30, a little early as far as we were concerned, so we thought we'd better make the most of the time we had. So it was that Siobhán, Kirsty, Bing and I headed to the nearby five star hotel in the search of beer and karaoke. The night quickly regressed as karaoke became our new favourite hobby and Kirsty enamoured herself to the local head of tourism who had come to the same bar with is friends and spent the evening trying to impress our blonde haired little friend with duets and a kung fu demonstration!

One thing led to another and before we knew it, it was 23:00 and well past our curfew! A quick taxi ride back and we talked our way into the temple and swiftly to bed, like the well behaved guests we were. Things were fine, until a little before 04:00 when the bell ringing began . . . it wasn't until 04:00 that the chanting began and we started to regret the late night the evening before.

06:00 came around rather slowly given the constant chanting and with it the beginning of our day to head up Mount Emei. We spent three hours on a coach heading up the remarkably developed mountain, road all the way to the top, not exactly like the Inca Trail. From the bus stop it was a short uphill walk and cable car to the top where there was an extremely impressive Buddhist monument and stunning views of the entire mountain range all the way up to the snow peaks.

Before heading up the mountain, we had been warned that there is a rather aggressive troupe of monkeys. Now we hadn't seen any on the way up, but as we walked back to the bus stop, they seemed o be everywhere, stealing food and drink off tourists and generally making a spectacle of themselves, but nothing too sinister. This was until one foolish tourist had decided to feed the monkeys, not only were they only more than willing participants in the transaction, but once they realised she had no more left set about attacking her with surprising ferocity as she stood there screaming and frozen to the spot!

This little show, acted as a smart reminder as to the danger of the monkeys, as the remainder of the day was to be spend walking about ten miles to the second monestary, through an area of forest heavily populated with monkeys. The walk itself was a much needed bit of exercise to combat the excesses of the previous evening and whilst a little steep toward the end well worth the effort and the monkeys were fortunately thin on the ground. The facilities at the second monastery, whilst in an impressive location on top of a mountain peak, facilities were on a similar par to the first, with the added advantage of damp rooms!

The walk back the following day was a speedy affair as we headed back towards the first monastery and our final night in my less than favourite accommodation. Siobhán, Kirsty and I did spend a very pleasant afternoon back at the five star hotel in the spa, with a choice of ridiculously hot and positively burning pools to "rest" our aching bodies. The most unusual of the therapies involved sitting in a pool around 40 degrees C with a shoal of little fish nibbling at you! A very strange experience and not one I would necessarily suggest. For those of you who are paying attention and remember the start of this entry, you will be glad to know that I did have a shower before I went into the pools!

We ended the day with an excellent meal of stir fried frog, we were even introduced to our dinner before hand as they hopped across the restaurant floor and we named the Pierre and Hénry!

Anyway, with that we had conquered what was likely to be the worst accommodation of our trip (other than the trains) and we headed for Chongqing, gateway to the Yangtse.

Bells, drums & a bear that wants to be left to die

So Xi'an was the second stop of our trip through China and the city our tour guide Bing had chosen to make his home; if I'm honest I can't entirely see why. It's a fairly average, not particularly attractive city and was the first occasion we have really seen high levels of smog.

We arrived very early in the morning, but were gratefully able to book straight into our hotel, a blessing when you spent the entire previous night unable to sleep on the train. We headed into breakfast in the hotel and quickly regretted our choice, so much so that five minutes later we were sitting in Starbucks, drinking coffee and eating pastries; nearly three months had passed and we had finally succumbed to eating in western restaurants!

In the city of Xi'an the only thing to really do was visit the Bell Tower and Drum Tower and the names kind of give away what awaits you inside. Siobhán & Kirsty were in far better moods than my good self, so gave the drums a good beating whilst I looked on. The most interesting area in town was the Muslim quarter, with huge numbers of Middle Eastern restaurants and a large market where Siobhán started to practice her bartering skills, which I have to say were pretty impressive.

The real reason to be here of course was to visit the Terracotta Warriors which are situated near by. The museum, if we can call it that, is split into three main buildings, but in my opinion they take you through them the wrong way round, as the first and main building houses vast numbers of pretty intact warriors giving a very impressive impact, whilst the second two are far smaller and would work better in build up . . . Chinese Tourist Board take heed! I'm sure they'll be reading our blog ;)

After just a couple of days in Xi'an we were back on a train and heading for Chengdu. This was the mother of all train journeys, being as it was 17 hours in length and to be honest the first train seemed like luxury in comparison to this one. We helped numb the pain by spending several hours in the restaurant car drinking and playing "guess what we've ordered" as the trains are one of the few places where no one seems to speak English and the menus are solely in Mandarin.

The reason for our visit to Chengdu was to visit a Panda reserve. Now don't get me wrong, they're quite cute, particularly the half dozen babies that had not long been born, but we really should be accepting the bloody obvious, that being as a species Pandas are neither meant to or indeed seem to want to survive!

Let's look at the facts, they are biologically carniverous, but can't be arsed to eat anything other than certain kinds of bamboo, a plant to nutritionally void that they have to consume it in vast quantities. Secondly they don't like sex and even for those that can be coaxed into having a go have the unfortunate hinderance of the males being so poorly endowed that they often can't quite make it . . . definitely not a species that would be comfortable showering down the gym!
Let's not blame it all on the poor men though, the women are so unaccustomed to child birth that when they do have a child (generally by means of artificial insemination) they freak out and frequently kill the cub.

I think it's time that we let evolution prove it's worth and take this unfortunately cute species the way of so many before it . . . maybe I'll setup a new group on Facebook "We the undersigned want the Panda to die!" and wait for the death threats to start rolling in!

Anyway, rant over, next stop Mount Emei.

The Beginning of the End

I can't honestly say I wasn't looking forward to China, my idea of a pleasant end to our travels involved more time lying on deserted beaches in a remote part of Thailand, but Siobhán had been adamant that she wanted to travel through China and so it was we touched down in Beijing, not entirely sure what we were to be expecting on the other side of the plane doors.

Well, initial impressions were definitely good, no queues to speak of, shiny new airport and probably the most efficient customs checks to date; every customs officer even had a little pad with four buttons in front of them so that you could rate their performance, can you imagine the uproar by unions in the UK if such a scheme were to be implemented? Anyway, we gave our customs man a top rating, not just because he was quick, but also because we were slightly concerned he'd be dragged away by the authorities if we didn't ;)

As we left the airport we joined our first queue, that for a taxi, and we quickly discovered that queueing in China isn't quite the same as back in dear old Blighty. Indeed walking straight to the front of the queue if you can't be bothered waiting seems to be the order of the day. Despite this very un-English behaviour before too long we were ushered toward a taxi and our first challenge. The tour company we were using had provided us with details of which hotel we were to be checking into, but only in English! A twenty minute muddle of confusion ensued, with us trying to make ourselves understood, speaking to his friend on the phone who was trying their best to translate and me heading back to the taxi queue to ask for assistance, all failing to get us any the nearer to our driver understanding the destination. Finally, I had a brainwave and called the hotel we were going to, explained our situation to the English speaking receptionist and handed over the phone to the driver to receive instructions . . . first hurdle overcome and we were on our way.

The hotel was a pleasant surprise, it wasn't exactly the Ritz, but neither was it the slum I was expecting. Our first day in Beijing was our own and first order of the day, breakfast! We walked around in something of a daze as the confusion of being immersed in a culture with a different alphabet became all too apparent. We finally chose a restaurant at random, only to discover they specialised in curry. We were not about to let this change our minds, as we weren't entirely sure we would fare any better in any other establishment, so we set about enjoying a chinese curry as our first meal in the far east.

The remainder of the day we spent wandering around Beijing and visiting the Temple of Heaven, where we became aware of how many people there really are in this country. It was not possible to get a photo without their being hundreds of others in the shot and a school trip to the temple seemed to consist of more children than I think exist in the UK!

Our first evening meant meeting up with our tour guide and the rest of our travelling companions. The group turned out to be very small and consisted of a 21 year old blonde girl form England, a 70+ aged couple from California and Bing our tour guide. The following two days consisted of a walk along a 30 tower section of the Great Wall, trips to the Summer Palace and Forbidden City and a visit to a charitable project the tour company supports, which helps educate and employ mentally handicapped people from poor homes.

The walk on the wall would probably be the pick of the activities and we ended it by deciding to take a trip down a zip wire over a river. This all seemed like good fun until we reached the top of the queue. Now those of you who know me will realise I am not the most svelt of individuals, but whilst being strapped into the harness and being told "No, No" with a shake of the head I was thinking I would have to trudge down the path in embarassment rather than take the zip wire. Not at all, despite being told (or so I thought) that it did not seem like a good (and by good I mean safe) idea for me to go, due to the size of the harness compared to me, the lady in charge seemed to forget her earlier warnings and simply pushed me over the edge.

I will admit following our earlier exchanges I may have held on a little tighter than I would in other circumstances, but fortunately her terminal predicitions failed to materialise and 30 seconds later I was safe and sound at the bottom of the wire with the rest of the gang.

You can see a video of Siobhán and Kirsty (who were made to go together because Kirsty is so small) heading down the zip wire below.

We ended our three day stay in Beijing, by taking a mini-bus to the train station to take what was to be the first of four overnight train journeys. We were stoping in what is known as hard sleeper class, which basically consists of a doorless cabin the size of a postage stamp with six bunks, three on either side. I will spare the joyous details of one of these journeys for a later post and so it was we were headed for our second stop in China, Xi'an.

The Wizard of Oz

It's true to say that we were more than a little concerned about our trip down under.

First note of concern was the length of time we'd be travelling. We firstly headed from Rio to Santiago in Chile; this flight was only about four hours but was last thing at night so we didn't end up getting to our hotel until the wee small hours of the following morning, although it was fortunately placed. being as it was directly outside the arrivals exit!

The following day we put our luggage into storage and got a taxi into town. We spent a glorious day in Santiago, wandering round, eating fresh fish in the market and drinking (big shock I know) some nice wine. We also got chance to visit a museum where there was a special exhibition on allowing you to watch the artists at work, plus some slightly bizarre neon and fluorescent heads and little bodies all covered in pins.

We made our way back to the airport at the end of what was a lovely, but quite long day, we thought very early to make sure we got good seats for the dreaded plane to Oz. Imagine our surprise when the rest of the plane already appeared to be in line before us. It slowly dawned on us that the reason was that the airline is notorious for over subscribing this particular flight (although we're not sure why everyone is so keen to leave the continent!) and so it was we were asked if we would mind switching flights to the following day if we were put up over night and given some travel vouchers. A quick confab later and we had agreed not to give up our seats for anything less than an upgrade to business class. Unfortunately this was also over subscribed the following day and so it was that their pleas fell on our deaf ears and we headed for departures.

The flight to Australia via Auckland was not too heinous, most flights tend not to be as long as work does not lie at the destination, although we wouldn't be particularly recommending the airline LAN to any of you. Siobhán made a new friend on the flight, a four year old Kiwi boy with an Argentinean mother, from where they were returned following a visit to Grandma and Grandad. Siobhán finally seemed to have found her intellectual equal as she set about entertaining him for the length of the flight (or was it the other way round?) but she was finally beaten when her new friend wanted to play hangman in Spanish . . . he seemed rather confused as to why Siobhán was not more able to help him!

Melbourne finally reared it's head, following a transfer from Sydney and we set about deciphering Aisling's directions. We did not actually have a house number, rather a description, which she later claimed was a mistake, but I wander whether she really wanted us to visit . . . ;)

Now, those of you who know me will realise that I am already enamoured with Australia from an earlier trip to Sydney and the East Coast, with their beautiful weather and friendly people even managing to out weigh their rather irritating ability to beat us a pretty much any sport you would care to name and Melbourne did not lesson this. It was a stunning city, easily navigable by foot from side to side thanks largely to its flatness and friendliness towards pedestrians. Siobhán and I spent many a pleasant hour wandering round the city, suburbs and Vic market, an even more impressive food market than our dear own Borough.

The highlight of our travels to Melbourne was obviously catching up with our old friend (no comment on her age I promise) Aisling, who has taken up this fine city as her current abode. It is here that lay the root of our second fear for our trip to Australia. The issue was, that when Aisling was living in London she was rather insatiable from a socialising point of view and many were the night that Siobhán and I would have to retire, tale between our legs, as Aisling and her more energetic friends would continue on to yet another club or bar in the early (or sometimes even late) hours of the morning. We were fearful therefore of not being able to keep up and being rightfully chastised for our lethargy.

Little should we have feared as it turned out as Aisling would seem to be broken! No more is the non-stop party goer, she is now one of us! Happy to end the night with the date the same when she returned as when she began and even (on rare occasion) requiring a night off!

Joking aside, whilst the nights were not filled with loud music and clubs as we had feared, we had some great evenings out dining on fine food and wine and meeting up with all of Aisling’s lovely new friends, including Joe a very amiable and generous Canadian who even welcomed Siobhán and I onto his birthday dinner.

One of the more memorable nights had to be the evening we had arranged to meet up with Rachel, a girl Siobhán used to work with at JP and who is now good friends with Aisling. The night in question was to a show in the Spiegeltent (http://www.spiegeltent.net/) where we endured, and I'm afraid that is the only way to describe the show itself, a small white man giving a performance as Grace Jones, the famous Amazonianly statuesque black woman . . . it was bizarre to say the least! That being said we did have a fantastic night getting to meet up with a large group of Aisling’s new friends and partying away into the early hours of the morning.

The highlight of the trip, was without doubt the road trip the three of us enjoyed down the Great Ocean Road. We had hired a car and stocked up with fabulous food and drink form the Vic market and spent three days driving down and back to visit the 12 Apostles (some big rocks in the sea) and spending the nights in holiday camps, where for a change copious quantities of wine were consumed and the two girls lost themselves in 8 year old versions of themselves on a large inflatable pillow!

There is a nasty rumour circulating that I myself succumbed to the guilty pleasures of jumping on a large cushion of air, but I'm afraid such scandalous rumours will not be tolerated on this site, particularly without photographic evidence!

Anyway, no sooner had our time in Oz begun than it was over and we caught our penultimate flight of the journey, as we headed into the unknown that is China . . .

We're back, baby!

Ok, I appreciate that this may be a little out of sequence as the blog doesn't yet cover Australia or any of China but hey, we were too busy enjoying ourselves!

We got back in from Hong Kong at 05:15 on Friday morning, to be met by my parents who had got up at 03:00 in the morning to fetch us from Heathrow; fairly impressive considering my previous slanderous comments about my fathers age, I'm sure you'll agree.

Anyway, Siobhán is back to work on Monday, but as I am now officially part of the Great Unwashed, I will be endeavouring to finish off the blog for our own reminiscence, so if you are interested and would like to see how we finished our travels please do pop back over the next week or two as I keep myself entertained by putting in the final entries. If you no longer care, tough, it'll be here anyway.

The Wedding Crashers

Ok, well maybe it wasn’t a wedding, but we do seem to have got pretty good at getting involved in peoples honeymoons. Indeed Parity seems to be a fairly popular destination for honeymooners from various countries, with two newly wed couples staying at our Pousada and several more with whom we ended up spending time.

Before I go any further, I must thank Mendel with whom I used t work at BarCap, as it is he who suggested we spend time in Parity and it is a truly beautiful spot. The Pousada where we were lodging was the top recommendation from Trip Advisor (the travellers Bible) and it turned out to be a beautifully constructed boutique hotel owned by an American former network engineer (maybe that could be a career for me, when it turns out our impromptu travels have destroyed my once promising career!) and his artist wife, who couldn’t do enough to recommend places to go, lend a bike to get around on, or provide maps and recommendations for days out.

We managed to fit in a couple of dives, a jeep tour through the jungle where Siobhán froze under a waterfall, and afternoons and evenings, trawling around the stunning old town, one of which we spent in the company of another Brazilian lady and her American husband at the grandly (if perhaps slightly suspectly) named Academy of Food and Other Pleasures. This entailed three other couples (all newly wed and rather tragically nearly all in Investment Banking), plus ourselves spending an evening in the hosts beautiful home, being taught how to make a risotto and drinking as much red wine as you could handle. It turned out that the chef (the lady of the host couple) has also just written a cookery book, at the request of a publisher and as we speak should be embarking upon a world wide publicity tour for it.

It was on our last day in Parity that we had the good fortune to meet another newly-wed couple who were staying at our Pousada, Ian and Lorraine. Ian an actor and carpenter and Lorraine who is the spitting image of Thandi Newton were given the same advise as ourselves by the Pousada proprietor, of a beach side restaurant and bar that would be a good place to spend the afternoon. We arrived a little after them at the beach and sheepishly introduced ourselves, as we recognised them from the hotel. Within about five minutes we were alll sitting around a table, drinking the strongest passion fruit Caiprinhas you have ever seen in your life and that is where we remained for the following six or seven hours, covered from what had become an unfortunately rain drenched afternoon, but which bearly registered on us as we chatted away like old friends, getting more and more drunk!

The following day we had to head off to catch a bus to Rio, but not before we had exchanged contact details and agreed to meet up in Rio on our final day, when Ian and Lorraine would also be in town. The final bus journey to Rio was again rather arduous, but none the less we finally made it to our hotel, dropped off our bags and headed to reception to ask for a map of the area so we could go and get some dinner. At this point, you may have thought we had just suggested to the receptionist that we would like to take a stroll around Baghdad wearing “I Love Bush!” T-Shirts, such was his apparent dread at what we had proposed. Liking to think we are careful about such things, we heeded the gentlemans advice and took a taxi to a restaurant he booked for us, deciding we would decide during day light hours if Rio was quite as inhospitable as he was attempting to suggest.

By the gleam of daylight (and plenty of rain) it is fair to say, that Rio did not quite match the pictures we had in our heads of tanned beauties and muscle bound show-offs, strutting around Copacabana beach, but at the same time nor did it turn out to be Beirut on a bad day!

We slowly built up our courage over the next few days through visiting the usual sights such as Christ the Redeemer and Sugar Loaf Mountain and had decided that our final evening in Rio was to be spent in Lapa (what is considered perhaps the worst part of town), sampling the local nightlife and Samba clubs, when as luck would have it we received an email from Ian and Lorraine who had arrived in Rio early due to non-stop rain in Parity since we had left. We called them up and arranged to meet in Santa Theresa for drinks . . . well it didn’t take long for us to get back in the swing of things and four hours later we persuaded the perhaps dubious Ian to accompany us down into Lapa at some time approaching midnight.

Four more drink fueled hours swept by and we all got to experience the dubious pleasure of spending time in what can only be desribed as the OAP Samba club in town, getting to watch distinctly old people (even older than my father!) strut, gyrate and grind into positions and poses that may be forever indelibly printed to my rather delicate mind!

Anyway, with that it was time to leave Brazil and embark on what we had both been dreading, the several day journey to the Land of Oz and a visit to Ms. Aisling Twomey!

Brazil by Bus

We caught the first if our four buses from the national bus terminal in Foz do Iguazu following a late dinner at a restaurant describing itself as Modern Brazilian . . . from the brief exposure we had thus far experienced, this meant little more than more expensive, with the fare on offer not being dis-similar to our previous meals in Brazil, largely consisting of copious quantities of cooked meats in various guises. Indeed the salad that pre cursed Siobháns meal would constitute a considerable sized meal in any restaurant London may have to offer.

To be fair, I was pleasantly surprised by the bus on which we had booked. Front row, airline style seats, plenty of leg room and no fear of annoying passengers behind when reclining. Unfortunately even the most luxurious of bus cannot turn an 11 hour, overnight journey into something one could actually describe as a wonderful experience and so we were more than happy, when upon arrival in Curitiba at 7 o’clock in the morning that our hotel was a mere five minute walk away and they were happy for us to check in immediately.

The hotel, like the town itself was no great shakes, but we did manage to visit an Oscar Niemeyer designed building, he is the architect responsible for large portions of Brasilia, as well as make a trip to the local cinema, where the usual hapless American hero managed to save the world (by which I mean the American version of it) from an evil computer, hell bent on a logically baffling US genocide!

Just one night in Curitiba and we caught our second bus on to Sao Paolo, the financial centre of Brazil and home to the worlds largest Japanese population outside of Japan, apparently. Whilst nothing spectacular to look at, we spent three pleasant days in Sao Paolo, even managing to find a delicatessen that sold fabulous cured meats and French cheese, the kind of food we have been rather missing since we embarked upon our little sojourn and spent a lovely evening in our little apart-hotel devouring our spoils and washing them down with liberal quantities of wine!

A third, very winding, bus journey took us to our penultimate Brazilian destination of Parity, but that can wait for the next installment (I bet you can’t wait!)

Wet Again

We left Buenos Aires after far too short a period of time and took what was going to be the final of our flights before leaving South America, as we planned to travel by land through Brazil, to Iguazu.

There is only one reason to visit Iguazu and that is the absolutely stunning waterfalls. You can visit the falls from both Argentina and Brazil, as they straddle the border between the two countries. We were flying into Puerto Iguazu first on the Argentinian side and from there were to travel to Foz do Iguazu in Brazil, to see which side offered the best view.

A friendly local called John, who owned a small B&B, had helped organise accommodation for us from Buenos Aires (as his was booked out) and upon our arrival we were met by a taxi driver he had organised for us, someone we were going to become all too familiar with as he took it upon himself to by our designated chauffeur for the subsequent three days.

The accommodation he had organised was not what could be described as the best experience, with an odour somewhat akin to the underside of a compost heap and an air conditioning unit that made my beloved wife fear she was going to contract legionaires disease. This however, was not my cause for complaint, but more that we had unwittingly been booked into a hotel that specialised as a holiday venue for German tourists. We weren’t so much battling them for deck chairs as the usual stereotype would infer, but they did seem to annex the breakfast buffet each morning.

That being said, John was still a more than accommodating host, even though we weren’t stopping at his establishment, inviting us round and plying us with copious quantities of Caiprinhas and introducing us to his guests who we enjoyed a pleasant evening with.

In terms of the two Iguazus there was not much to rave about in either town, although if forced to chose I would say the Argentinian town is nicer. It would be somewhat more difficult to chose between the visit to the falls on each side, with Brazil arguably offering the best views, whilst Argentina offers a better feeling of them as it is from there you can walk directly over them. Having said that unless you’re American you don’t really need to chose as it is easy to get between the two. Our unfortunate trans-Atlantic cousins however, have to pay $120 per person for the privilege of passing into Brazil, which could be a little rich for a different angle of the falls.

On our first visit there on the Argentinian side, we took a boat under the falls, which whilst tremendous fun, did leave us soaked to proportions not seen since biblical times (or our trip to Columbia). Fortunately on this attempt we had seen the likelihood coming and had taken the necessary precautions, so no more electrical equipment needed to suffer an untimely demise. The one thing we hadn’t considered was just how cold it was going to be going under the falls, a phrase involving brass monkeys leaps to mind.

From Brazil, we decided a second ride under the falls may be a little over the top, so instead went white water rafting just downstream of the falls. It wasn’t the most thrilling of white knuckle rides, but fun was definitely had by all, especially Siobhán who went for a little swim in the icy cold river. I’m afraid I have no pictures to enhance this image as taking a camera would not have done it the world of good and the company charged about £40 for the privilege, which we figured was a little on the steep side.

That pretty much covers our time in Iguazu, take a look at the photo gallery if you haven’t already, as there are some fairly stunning photos of the falls for you all to become envious over, as well as hundreds of butterflys that literally flocked together on the Argentinian side and a few little monkeys. Our next stop would take us into the final country of our South American voyage, this time by bus to Curitiba, a journey of ten hours overnight that I think it is fair to say I was not looking forward to. Anyway, I’ll leave the gory details for the next post.

You know when you've been tango'd

There is only really one suitable description for our first impressions of Buenos Aires, and that is massive. Coming from London you think that not a lot is going to take you by surprise, but the pure size of BA is immense, apparently bulging with the best part of thirteen million residents, effectively twice as many as the capital of dear old Blighty.

Our cab from the Airport to our Hotel took about forty minutes, trailing through the sprawling metropolis to San Telmo, the oldest district of BA and home to those of a bohemian persuasion. Whilst our hotel was a lovely converted town house, it was a little nearer to La Boca, an area reknowned for it's high crime levels and general lack of safety, than is perhaps sanguine. A fact probably made evident by the hotel continually keeping it's front door locked.

On our first day we wandered down to the main square and took in a few of the sights, such as the Presidential Palace Casa Rosada. I was feeling fairly scruffy having up to this point failed to get a hair cut and so we marched onwards looking for a barbers. This turned out to be a rather fruitless mission as I rejected venue after venue as being too girly, but I did at least manage to track down some new clothes, although Siobhán talking me into buying a velvet jacket may have been a purchase too far.

It was whilst wearing both my new jeans and jumper on a walk the following day, that an Argentine couple started gesticulting wildly at us. A few dazed moments later the reasoning for their energetic wavings became clear as we realised that we had both just had the misfortune of a pigeon deciding it needed a bathroom break, leaving us both rather the worse for wear, so much so that we needed to immediately head for the nearest mall and buy Siobhán a new pair of jeans, whilst hoping that with a little care and attention, my jeans and jumper may survive.

As you may expect, in a city the size of BA, there was plenty for us to try and fit into our short stay. We had the obligatory long walks around the city, which has become one of our staple activities on our travels, as well as spending time at an enourmous antiques market, partying in Palermo and spending an evening at the obligatory tango show.

It was during a visit to La Boca to see the Caminito that we managed to make one of our now customary cock-ups. Everyone warns visitors to BA that walking to La Boca to see the brightly coloured buildings of Caminito is fine and perfectly safe, but that in no circumstances should you wander anywhere else in La Boca.

We were following the instructions from our guide book, which indicated you could walk along the harbour in safety however, about twenty minutes into a slum we had just about realised that we may not be in the best part of town . . . this thought was confirmed by a taxi that mercifully drove by, slowed, and gave us rather cusory glances, following which I flagged him down.

The driver was so clearly concerned at where we had been walking and his Spanglish mixed with gestures of being shot in the head made his message clear, as did the fact all of his doors were locked and he wouldn't stop anywhere in the area, happily driving on the wrong side of the road if it avoided slowing down, let alone stopping.

Anyway, as you've probably realised, based on the fact we're writing this, we emerged from the slums unscathed and suitably chastised by our taxi driver, ready for the next part of our journey . . . Iguazu!

Tour Map Updated!

Ok, I know it has taken me until the evening before we go, but I have finally added the Chinese destinations onto the tour map, so click on through and see where we're headed in the final leg of our trip.

I'll also do my best to bring the blog up to date this week. Buenos Aires will be up today and I'll try and fill you in on Brazil and Melbourne whilst we're in Beijing.

Good Food, Plentiful Wine & Goats Galore

So we had finally escaped from the maximum security country that is Bolivia and headed into Salta in northern Argentina. Following our usual level of good luck in such matters we arrived at 23:00 and waited nearly 45 minutes for a taxi from the airport as we had managed to fly in at the end of a religious festival and all the taxis were busy in town!

One good nights sleep in Salta and we were off again, taking a bus to Cafayate with a lone ambition of getting free booze as we were heading for wine country and as many free wine tasting tours as you can shake a stick at!

We took a small bus for the four hour trip, with some glorious scenery and beautiful weather to help us make the way. Unfortunately the young lady sitting in-front of me appeared to be under the mistaken apprehension that I had no legs and Siobháns aversion to any road with a bend in it made for a less than pleasant journey. None the less, once we arrived, the accommodation we had booked was just round the corner from the main square and was beautifully decorated, leaving us to while away the afternoon in the sun with very few concerns.

The evening came and we headed for the restaurant in town most recommended for steak and I think it is fair to say we were salivating at the prospect of finally getting a good meal following the gastronomic wasteland that is Bolivia. It is hard to describe how truly happy we were as the side of cow was place in-front of each of us and I started my long awaited recovery from the mere waife of a boy I had become . . . anyway, getting back to reality it is clear to see where Argentina get their reputation for the worlds best steak, so our trip to Cafayate ended its first day on more than happy terms.

The second day brought with it the prime purpose of our little jaunt, and so it was that we came upon renting the worlds most uncomfortable bikes in all of creationdom. The little vineyards were not far apart from each other or town, but this did not prevent my poor behind from becoming more battered than a cod from the local fish shop!

A small trifle such as this was not about to prevent the goal of free wine however, and so it was we made our way to the first vineyard which was . . . shut – damn it! Never mind onto the one next door, definitely open as it had tour buses outside so we set about our quite unsuccessful mission of making ourselves understood to the Spanish speaking employees and spectacularly failed for a second time to get so much of a sniff of the juice of the gods – double damn it!

Feeling somewhat beaten and a little weak at the knees from the dehydration brought on by our lack of liquid sustainance we headed for our third stop, the first proper bodega (they make the wine but don’t have vines). Glory be to God upon high if they weren’t open (if only just as it was approaching lunch) and surely enough they filled our glasses as we nodded sagely and made appropriate gurgling sounds to show our approval. We were clearly getting in the swing of things as we made it to our next bodega within a 50m walk (again just squeezing in before lunch) and worked through our little routine again, nodding to each other and sniffing in a suitable theatrical manner.

The wind had clearly turned in our favour, allowing us to cycle back to the first vineyard we had tried for which we had now figured out the opening times and this time we were met with success, not just more wine, but also a tour around the facilities. We made ourselves sound rather knowledgeable to our lovely hostess by mentioning Napa Valley and Stellenbosch and before you know it we were making our way back into town rather pleased with our days efforts and very much more unsteadily on the bikes, partly I suspect from the wine, but I fear more so from the bruising endowed to my poor bottom!

During our little adventure, we had bought a bottle of wine from each stop (just to be polite you understand) so we had a cunning plan to drink the first of these in our hotel that evening prior to dinner, but for this we felt we would need a little accompaniment.

Now before I go further, I should warn Joe and Rav that they should perhaps not be reading this at work as the excitement and jealousy they are about to feel may get them some odd looks as they start to perspire and go red (just to clear up any misunderstanding for the rest of my probably limited readership, I should point out that during a previous trip to Croatia we discovered an unhealthy bond between the gentlemen named above and the creatures I am about to mention below).

I have previously promised to Joe that I would provide a picture of a nice Alpaca to make up for the lack of Goat pictures I had managed to get for him (check the comments on previous blog entries) and indeed during one of our wine stops I did indeed get the picture as promised however, someone was clearly thinking Joe and Ravi deserved better than this and so it was we discovered just 1Km out of town a . . . Goat Farm!

Siobhán and I got some pictures for you lads [see the full collection here], but be warned some of those goats pictured are minors (by which I mean young, rather than working under ground) and so should be afforded the appropriate level of respect.

Anyway, now I have the little in-jokes with the gang back in London in print (can you say in print when it’s in a blog?), I will attempt to return back to the details of the day. We had a tour round the farm and purchased some very pleasant cheese to go with our wine, making for the end of a rather successful, if painful day.

One further day was spent in Cafayate, before a further bus journey back to Salta and a second anniversary dinner in Salta, where the extremely nice owner showed us round his wine cellar, we drank champagne and puffed a fine cigar (well I did anyway). I will leave this entry here, next up Buenos Aires . . .

Escape from La Paz

Breaking out is impossible . . . breaking in is insane!




Ok, so as Siobhán may have mentioned in her last post, we had discovered that getting to our intended next destination may be a little more difficult that expected. Political unrest in Bolivia meant that there were a series of strikes taking place and wild fire political action to block roads as the result of disagreement between the newly gas rich states and the rest over President Morales plan to more evenly distribute the wealth to help the indigenous poor.

Never the less, we were not to be deterred and so it was your favourite, daring globe trotters booked their tickets, packed their bags and made their way to the bus office (carrying their own bags and everything, not a porter or concierge in sight!)

Following a 20 minute wait, we were asked to follow the lady from the office to the bus. Now we assumed having been asked to meet at the bus office it may be somewhere near by, at least in the same postal code. This was clearly a foolish assumption on our part as we walked so far across town with our bags, that we were beginning to wonder if the company's cunning plan to get by any road blocks was simply for us to walk the entire way.

Eventually, a bus, or something that at least resembled a bus did appear and we were ushered inside. Now I believe my beloved mentioned in her last post, that the last bus smelt rather unfortunately of the toilet. This little problem was not to be repeated as the bus company had come up with a brilliant solution for the four hour journey, no toilet!
I accept this may not seem like an end of the world situation, but I have yet to mention that we may have been experiencing slightly upset stomachs since we entered Bolivia, possibly related to the world class cuisine we had come to endure.

The journey to La Paz that followed, continued fairly uneventfully, with the only event of note being at a gas station the bus took a 15 minute break at, where a Japanese gentleman travelling on our bus thought it would be a good idea to light up a cigarette whilst wandering around the petrol pumps.

Once arriving at the vast sprawl that was La Paz, the bus company had one final cost saving measure up their sleeves, which consisted finding a more suitable venue to park than the bus station. The chosen venue was a practically vertical hill, which doubled up as one of the busiest roads in La Paz and barely big enough for a car to fit down, let alone squeeze past a parked bus on. Fortunately our bags were quickly off the bus and Siobhán managed to fight her way past the thronging crowd and launch herself into the only cab visible in the entire street, much to the consternation of some of our fellow passengers.

Before long we had made our way to the next hotel, The Ritz (what? we deserved a little luxury after the bus!)

The next 5 days were to be spent in La Paz. We had clearly not thought this entirely through. La Paz doubled up as both gastronomically bleak and something of an entertainment free zone, but it was not done messing with us there! We had a plan to travel through Bolivia and on into Brazil, but had not booked our onward travel. It turns out it's even harder to leave La Paz than to enter it and our options boiled down to a propable combination of several very slow bus and train journeys, likely to total around 30 hours through the eastern states that were currently the centre of the troubles. Indeed by the time we needed to leave 9 people had been murdered and the President was trying to arrest the leaders of the troublesome state.

With all of this in mind we decided to fly out of Bolivia, but even this seemed practically impossible, with no international flights out of La Paz, forcing we either fly all the way back to Peru, or go via Santa Cruz (capital of the problem state) which we were kindly informed by the sales assistant in the travel office was occasionally taken over by the protesters.

Well, to be honest things weren't as bad as I enjoy making them sound and we decided that our best route of escape would be to add Argentina into our itinerary and we made the necessary arrangements to fly into Salta, followed by Buenos Aires, which would make it straight forward to carry onto one of our intended destinations of Iguazu.

The day to leave came and in the mean time we had bought a painting. We needed to visit the art gallery on the morning we were to leave and so headed back to the gallery to finish the paper work and organise shipping. Upon nearing the gallery it turned out we were walking straight into an organised rally against the gas rich states. To make things more fun it transpired that the march was to continue straight past our hotel and so it became a race to see who would make it there first, us or the march. It turns out it was pretty much a tie, leading to us being escorted from the hotel to a back street where they had organised for a taxi ready to make it out to the airport.

Alright, if I'm honest I'm making it all sound far more exciting and dangerous than it really way, but after all you wouldn't want to read a dull blog!

[btw click here if you don't understand the picture / tag line]

The Orient Express, Puno and Cobacabana.

Hi all, Siobhán here, as this is my first entry I hope you'll forgive me if it is not up to Matts usual high standard.

After our triumphant completion of the Inca trail, we spent a night in Aguas Calientes before heading back to Cusco. The train from Aguas Calientes to Cusco was an experience all by itself - the mountain is so steep that the train goes back and forth across the mountain to get down. Each switch is done manually with flashlights by guys in the last carriage of the train and guys on the tracks switching the points on the track. Eventually however (only after Matt and Greg had drunk the on-board bar out of beer) we reached Cusco and said good-bye to Greg and Melissa as we were heading to Puno on The Orient Express (yes there is one in South America apparently) to Puno the next morning.

After nearly missing the train we settled down to a full day of sitting on a comfortable train and being brought food and drinks (a welcome change from long days spent hiking up and down mountains). We were definitely mixing with Peruvian high society as there was a couple of models on board doing some sort of publicity piece (possibly for the Peruvian equivalent of Hello). The view from the train was amazing, the vast altiplano stretching off into the distance, populated mostly by llamas.

On arrival in Puno it appeared that the entire pre-teen population of the town wanted to clean Matt and my boots, to be fair this was a theme thoughout Peru however the Puno bootcleaners were the most persistent. The first order on business in Puno was to organise a bus to Copacabana in Bolivia the next day. With that done we explored the town a little before heading to bed.

The bus to Copacabana was a less than pleasant experience (travelling isn't all fun and games you know). Suffice it to say that the whole bus smelled of toilet and we were stuck on it for 3.5 hours. Still though we felt like proper back backers carrying our packs off the bus and heading into town.

Copacabana is right on the banks of Lake Titicaca and we had a fabulous little house shaped a bit like a cone. The plan for our stay was to head over to Isla de Sol and do some hiking. The more famous Copacabana beach in Rio (the one from the song) is actually called after this little Bolivian town as it has been a pilgrimage town since Inca times - The incas believed that their civilization began here and that the sun was born here. While from colonial times to the present day there are pilgrimages to worship the Virgin of Copacabana - and icon carved by a priest of Inca decent in 1576.

Somehow the hike around Isla de Sol seemed incredibly difficult (even for seasoned hikers like ourselves :-) Its starts at about 3,800m and climbs about 100m - 200m which isn't that different from the altitude that we were used to on The Inca Trail but for whatever reason we both seemed much more effected by the altitude here than in Peru. I put it down to the lack of Coca tea, which I had consumed gallons of in Peru. I was slightly worried that I might be suffering withdrawal symtoms. However the lake is stunningly beautiful, incredibly blue and clear and huge - going on for as far as the eye can see. Unfortunately we don't have any pictures of our day on Lake Titicaca as I forgot the camera.

It was only on trying to organise a bus from Copacabana to La Paz that we realised that there was some Political unrest in Bolivia - it appeared that on previous days buses were unable to travel due to rocks and other blocks being strewn on the road. However luckily it seemed that on the particular day that we had chosento travel there were no strikes planned. So off to La Paz we headed.

Quick update

I'll make this quick, as we've only just got into Curitiba at 06:30 this morning following an all night bus journey (hard core travelling or what! - ok it had flat beds, air conditioning and a toilet, but still!)

I've been getting abused by my younger sister in-law for being lazy and not updating the blog, so I promise posts on Bolivia and Argenitina will be making their way onto the blog very soon (probably once we hit Sao Paulo tomorrow). I'll also post the Argentina photos as soon as we have a good enough Internet connection, hopefully some of the photos from Iguazu falls will make you all jealous ;)

In the mean time be pleased to know we're still alive and I've updated the tour map as we finally decided how we're getting to Rio.

The Inca Trail

It was 07:00 and we were still waiting in the hotel lobby nearly an hour after we had been told we’d be picked up. Now I think it is fair to say that both of us were perhaps hoping there had been a mix up and we had been forgotten about; a perfect opportunity to withdraw from what currently seemed a ridiculous challenge we had set ourselves with both our dignity in tact (kind of) and indignation at the travel company with which we could bitterly complain to our friends at the injustice at having the opportunity snatched away from us.

A quick Spanglish call later and we were informed we had not been forgotten about, but one of our new comrade in arms had not been ready when the bus arrived and that they would be here shortly. Bugger!

And so it was we found ourselves on a somewhat cramped mini-bus winding our way towards the start of the Inca Trail approximately two hours away from Cuzco. The journey for the most part was pretty uneventful; that was until we neared our destination and a remarkable number of rocks began to be strewn across the road. We found this somewhat peculiar and it was only a few days later that we worked out this was the remnants of a strike (something of a continental wide hobby as far as we can tell) but it was the overturned bus that we had also had to drive past that gave a slightly more chilling message once we’d figured this all out.

Eventually we arrived at the car park for the beginning of the trail and discovered that out of the dozen people taking part in our group, only ourselves and a mother and daughter had opted not to carry their own rucksacks, making us feel a little weak, although not weak enough to reconsider carrying them ourselves. So slightly embarrassed and rather more nervous we set off on the first of the four day trek, a mere 12Km relatively flat walk to the first nights camp. The decision to not take our own packs quickly showed dividends as we swiftly marched to the front of the group, walking gradually upwards alongside the Urumba river. The walk began fairly uneventfully, with just the occasional porter running past to put us in our places.

It must be mentioned at this juncture that the porters are superhuman in their strength and endurance. Generally not large men, but strong as Oxen, they can generally be relied on to reduce any sense of triumph you may be feeling at your endeavours to pitiful self-revelry as they run past easily carrying 20Kg of backpacks, camping and cooking equipment, ready to greet you with a cool drink and food as you stagger tired and sweaty into the lunch or evening camp, where they have inevitably been for several hours prior to your arrival unpacking, building tents, preparing food and generally doing everything you have done as well as act as builder, cook, cleaner and servant whilst also congratulating you as you finally make it to their deftly prepared camp.

That being said, I think it is fair to say that as we all entered the first lunch camp, we were somewhat surprised to be met by not just a simple sandwich or packed lunch, but three course meal round a communal table inside a tent specifically for the purpose! I don’t believe there was a single member of the group that was not somewhat stunned at the level of effort that had gone in to providing us with our lunch.

It was just before and after lunch that we had the only real up hill climbs of the first day. Whilst we handled them without too much trouble, some of those carrying their own packs were definitely beginning to reconsider their positions. It was after the second of the steep climbs that we foolishly asked how steep these climbs were compared to what we were to expect the following day. The answer was not what we had hoped as our guide described the second day as “up, up and up again”. It was with this fearful message revolving around our heads that we made our first nights camp.

I should explain that I have not camped since being a member of the Cub Scouts whilst still in Primary School and Siobhán cannot remember when she last did. I think it is fair to say that as we lay cold and shuddering in sleeping bags, in a tent too short for me to lay flat and on a slope so great that we kept ending up in a heap at the foot of the tent, that our passion for this type of holiday accommodation was not reignighted.

Following a rather sleepless night we came to the second day and all but two of our fellow adventurers had made the decision to pass their rucksacks on to porters, feeling the warnings of how hard the day to come would be should be heeded. This included Greg & Melissa, an American couple from Virginia, who were carrying the most unbelievably large packs each that I’m personally astounded they made it through day one!

And so began the second day a further 12Km. We swiftly moved from the front of the group on day one, to the back on day two. It is hard to describe the continual climb that faced us, with Greg and I competing for the first to have a coronary on the trail. The uphill climb consisted of three two hour climbs of 350m, 450m and 400m respectively. This may seem to you; as it certainly did to me prior to the physical reality, as not too great, but with each section came an increasing steepness and reducing oxygen levels. Whilst Siobhán was not too greatly affected, I honestly believe that had the top of the mountain been just 10m higher I would not have made it.

It was as a staggering wreck that I finally struggled over the apex of the first pass and collapsed to the floor, hoping beyond hope that I would never have to move again. Sadly the Inca Trail is a hard master and fifteen short minutes later we began the decent to the second day camp. Having climbed 1.2Km during the first part of the day we now needed to descend a further 0.7Km down. Whilst I found a somewhat renewed vigour in at least exercising a new muscle group, Siobhán began to appreciate Zeldas warnings of how for some, downhill on the trail was even worse than the up.

Several hours later and we finally made it into camp. A small illustration of how tired we had become during this second day can be made by highlighting that once we had walked down to the camp, we needed to walk up maybe 5m or 10m to get to our designated area in the camp. An exercise that required both of us to take a break part way as we huffed and puffed our way to the end of the second day.

I would like at this point to also thank Greg & Melissa who had been fortunate enough to be assigned a larger tent than us on the first night. Knowing how hard we had found the day and that the following day was to be my 30th birthday they had asked the guides to give us their tent for the night, which made for a far more pleasurable nights sleep (as well as the exhaustion from the days activities).

I will attempt to cut this tale somewhat short, as I am cognisant that this entry is tending more toward the epic.

The third day (and my 30th birthday) was a 16Km trek and began with a further steep 450m climb over the second pass (can you believe some people do both the first and second passes on the second day!!!). Revived from a nights rest, the second pass was made without too much ado, leading to yet another steep descent the following side to view some Inca ruins and make off for lunch camp.

Siobhán, Melissa, Greg and I started early after lunch on the third day and I’m not sure where from, but I had discovered a renewed energy as I marched our little band mercilessly toward the third pass, finally breaking away by myself about 1Km from the third pass to practically run to our final apex.

The descent following the third apex was gigantic and all four of our merry little group were feeling we had walked our last as we finally made it down over 2000 steps to our third and final camp, perched on a tiny outcrop of land above an extremely steep drop. None the less, I was not going to let the days exertions over shadow it being my 30th birthday. As luck would have it there was a bar at the final camp and Siobhán swiftly leapt into action as bar maid for the night, providing Greg and I with a continual stream of cold beers.

As well as this the group (I think lead by a lovely girl called Celeste) had made preparations to mark the occasion of my 30th birthday and so it was I was presented with a double Twix with makeshift match candles. Thanks to you all.

The fourth and final day started at 04:00 whilst still dark to make it to the Sun Gate in time for sunrise. Tragically the weather had decided we were to be denied this view as the heavens opened and commenced to drench us for the 6Km final walk. When we finally arrived at Machu Picchu the ruins could barely be seen due to the cloud level and rain and so we made our way down into town to dry off, have a shower and get some lunch.

Siobhán, Melissa, Greg and I then returned to Machu Picchu in the afternoon and following a second downpour managed to finally get to tour round the ruins and get the well deserved photos, if not in the classical sun drenched style.

I appreciate I have kept your attention for a rather long time with this post so will finally draw to a close. Please take a look at our photos from the links in the right hand menu if you’d like to get a better view of what we got up to. Hopefully my next post will be a little more concise, so until next time!