Mission to Mount Machu Pichu

Its possible to the take train to see one of the 7 wonders of the world. I however, with my two totally unhinged friends from PSF and formally Ohio, Monica and Maria, were taking on a 4 day trek, more hardcore (but cheaper) than the actual Inca trail instead...

Day 1 started with a 4am wake-up call (avec hangover after staying in the bar until middnight spending all my hiking dosh on Redwine and giggles with Monica). Grumpy and tired, our 3 hour bus ride was followed by the instant realisation taht the 15 soles (about 5 dollars) was not goign to last me the trip, when basic rip-off comedor breakfast came in at 20.

"Borrowed" bread and Jam later, we were off on a pretty flat but scenic 7 hour hike to our basecamp at the foot of snowy Mount Salkantey. Set in the bend of a babbling river, with wild horses grazing around us it was certainly beautiful, but it was bloody cold too. Dressed in all our clothes, including ski jacket, alpaca socks and gloves, we squeezed into our tent and spent the night huddled together for wamth, shivering our whats-its off on the ice-cold floor, our apparently not so artic quality afterall sleeping bags barely taking the edge off.

Day 2 began with a cup of hot Coca tea in our tent, which warmed us enough to force ourselves reluctantly out into the Baltic conditions and up the icy peak looming over us from some 4600m above sea-level. The start was brutal, requiring numerous stops to take clothes on, catch breath, put clothes back on, find bush for private moment etc etc. Its a wonder we ever made it. The final switch-backs were a matter of sheer determination, forcing ourselves up the snowy path, totally winded by the altitude, as our guide practically ran up vertically, ignoring the path altogether, coca leaves jammed in hus cheeks with barely a sweat on. Bastard!

The stop at the top was limited to a quick woop and a photo-call before we decended to less hostile conditions, soon finding ourselves in dense green humid forest where we set up our jungle basecamp in a locals garden. Stocked up on beers and munching on pre-dinner popcorn we huddled together as the rain pounded the tin roof of our tiny dining room, noone wanting to think to hard about our sorry little tents getting drenched outside.

A half day really (thank god!) day 3 involved plenty of squelching through muddy jungle to an afternoon and rest and relaxation, greatly aided by our discovery of a generally stope that agreed to take my emergency 10 dollars in exchange for 2 cartons of our old favourite. cheap red wine! With full tummys, fuzzy heads and warm from the campfire, we were soon to bed and slept like babies.

Despite the combination of hangovers and best efforts of our guide to discourage us, day 4 started with the determination that we would not be getting the bus with the rest of the group. Nope! we would be hiking the whole day, with our backpacks, in the burning sun that as already blazing down on our banging heads.

It turns out our guide really did wish we werent quite so ressilliant,a s he lasted about 20 minutes before inventing a "shit I forgot something back at the campsite, you keep going and ill catch you up" story and buggering off to get the bus wth the rest of the lightweights, leaving us to fend for oursleves.

5 hours later, dehydrated, legs trembling, but in high spirits, Jose "caught us up" and broke the news that we still had a long way to go. Our bodies protesting in earnist, we trudged on along the railway tracks (no money for the train obviosuly towards Aguas Calientes at the base of Mach Pichu, arriving in the pitch-black (apparently we "should have started earlier") and wanting to commit murder. Food, shower and bed. Tomorrow was going to be brutal!

Day 5 was what this was all about. It was time for Machu Pichu baby! That didnt make the 3.30 start any easier I can assure you. It was going to be a long day. Wrapped up in far too many clothes we were soon sweating like pigs as we started to climb the 1600-somthing Inca steps in the dark to the summit. Drenched from head to toe, head-spinning and the colour of beetroot we made it to the entrance gate, where we were met by a couple of hundred cheating tourists all cheerfully getting off the cheating shuttle bus. Bastards!

Once in, perched high above the ruins watching the sunrise out of the mist, slowly revealing the incredible sight below, it was all totally worth it. We had made it. And it was stunning. Laid out before us the anciemt walls and terraces filled with bright green grass, Mount Huanapichu towering above, made the most amazing sight you just could stop staring. Incredible.

After teh initial excitement had worn off, we all promptly passed out on one of the agricultural slopes in the early morning sun for a well deserved nap. Waking up groggy, stiff and dying for a wee, the local Peruvian tourists found us very funny indeed. Who cares, we were at Machu Pichu!

Anyone would have thought we had had enough excitement for one day. But no. Instead we decided to climb another few thousand steps up Huanapichu to admire the ruins from so high above that it made the visitors below look like match-stick men. This last bit finished me off, and how I got all the way back down I have no idea. I was too tired to really remember.

Shattered and skint we arrived back to Cusco at 2am after falling asleep on the train, no doubt with rather large grins on our faces. One of the seven wonders of the world. Tick! And sod getting the bus!

Colca Canyon and Turning 28

After the 5 days of dawn til dusk hiking and musty tents, the comforts of Cusco, with crazy new friends, cute guys and great nightlife, it was a week before I got my act together and left for Arequipa, this time to catch up with another PSF buddy and celebrate getting ever closer to 30. Great!

In true form, my "big day" was spent groaning in bed with a hangover from hell, which served only to exassabate my inevitable homesickness. Still, thanks to good friends and French gypsies, I was soon back on my feet celebrating with good food, not so good wine and plenty of table dancing before crashing out otra vez. I would have swapped it for a BBQ on Brighton beach with friends and family in a second, but turning 28 culd certainly have been worse.

The next day,a nd still half cut, Jihan and I staggered after a determined Sidoney to catch our bus to Colca Canyon. At over 3000m deep, it dwarfs the far more famous Grand Canyon by some distance. And we were climbing down it!

A combination of waking up late from basecamp and Jihan being glued to the football we didnt get goign at sparrow fart as planned. This coupled with lack of maps, motivation and sense of direction soon left us lost, and then finally desending down into the steep dusty crator in the burning - heat of the day - sun.

We arrived at the lush green Oasis burnt to a crisp, and alraedy discussing how the hell we were going to get abck up before dark. Thankfully Jihan took charge,m haggling with a locala dn hiring three donkeys for the journey back. Happy as pigs in shit, we threw ourselves into the natural swimming pools and even caught the England match on a wonkey old radio, while getting ever more merry from dehydration and a carton of Chile´s finest.

Our trip back up the windy path on "horseback" was up there with some of the funniest hours of my life. Drunk as skunks, Sid wailing that her donkey´s legs were bowing and was about to keel over, Jihan bellowing constantly in broken spanish that hers was about to fall of the edge, I laughed so much I nearly did. We certainly didnt do it the conventional way, but we got back to the top in 3 safe pieces, all very relieved to be alive, and celebrated with another carton of Chilian for the road. naturally.

Pisco Sin Fronteras - Dust, Digging and a little bit of Drinking

Landing back in the dirt poor desert of Pisco after the serenity of Huaraz was enough to make me head stright back to the hills and buy myself a pair of walking poles. The fact that it was a complete shithole, was of course the reason I was there. 2 years after an earthquake destroyed the already destitute town, all the NGOs and buggered off to patch-up some other god-forsaken place, leaving just one totally independent (and as I soon find out totally mental) organisation to try to help put the place back together.

PSF, is hands down the most out there, grassroots, anarchic, chaotic and awesome project I have ever seen, lewt alone be lucky enough to be part of. Anywhere between 50 and 100 people living, eating and working together, paying just 5 dollars a day for food and board, working tirelessly to help the people of Pisco put their lives back together. They have no NGO status, no outside funding. They just do it themselves. In the two weeks I was there I met some of the most amazing and downright crazy people ever, amd made friends for life.

Its hard to describe what its like to be one of 30 people working in the middle of the desert, no electricity, water, sanitation, just dust and a load of rubbish. Two cement mixers going full blast, 10 wheel barrows, 20 shovellers alogging it out in the heat of the day, in what feels like the middle of nowhere. Until that it, you realise that the piles of blankets, the couple of pots and pans, and the tables and chairs scattered around the place are in fact what is left of these peoples homes.

Once the floors have dried (which in 90 degree heat does not take long at all), they can start to rebuild their houses round solid foundations often for the first time ever. I cannot put into words how good it makes you feel to see that happening. Or how humbling it is when they somehow manage to feed all 30 of you huge plates of pasta (and ceviche!), in tin bowls borrowed from friends and family, cooked on calorgas.

When not laying floors, or digging trenches, there were day centers for kids to go to, only to find they didnt even have any paper of pens. Or they had tennis rachets, but no money to buy any balls. Heartbreaking, though a quick trip to the market and about 20 quid means that they do now have enough stuff to keep them busy for a while at least.

As you can imagine, by the end of the week, we were ready to let our hair down. And that we would. Off to the oasis in the desert now foundly and forever known as "Wakichina", we would book out the whole hotel: pool, bar, a BBQ in the Discoteca. We´d go sandboarding and generally go beserk. Goodtimes. But not a patch on having the life squeezed out of you by the lady whose house you just helped put back together.

I´ll say no more. www.piscosinfronteras.net

Hiking in Huaraz Highñamds

After 3 days of traveling through the arid dusrty desert of Northern Peru, it was quite a suprise waking up with a freezing cold right cheek stuck to a frosted bus windown. Peering out into the misty dawn, the sun was just poking its head out from behind the snow capped ridges of the Cordillas Blancas. Thick fog clung to the dark moody landscape, as we wound our way through the frozen moores, past icy rivers and tiny little houses scattered along the roadside.

Huaraz itself, often missed by most gingo trailers, was absolutely beautiful. From the roof terrace of our hostel, you could bask in the warm sun in the day, and snuggle by the open fire at night, taking in the views of the snowy peaks that surrounded you on all sides. It is of course these snowy peaks that are the reason people go in the first place, though the temptation to just curl up with a good book and a nice glass of wine is very hard to resist.

I managed to tear myself away for two harkcore hikes. Both involed brutally early starts, peaks of over 4600m and getting very cold and wet indeed. All in all they both nearly killed me. The first due to the section of "ropes of ladders" which should apprently "only be tackled by experienced climbers", which is dragged our sorry selves over to reach the most pictureque picnic spots I have ever had the pelasre of nibbling a tuna sandwich at. No bigger than your average swimming pool, the lake starting deep blue purple in the middle, changing through all the colours of the rainbow, to green, yellow, orange, and ending at the shoreline with fringes of bright red and pink. Totally worth it. I wasnt going for a dip though, thats for sure! We left that to the crazy Russians.

Just in case I didnt love Huaraz eough by then, we arrived back to one of the craziest moist hectic carnivals I have ever seen. It had been going on for days, marching bands, pounding the streets from dawn until dusk, but this was different. The whole town was in full fiesta. Hundrededs of competing dance troops, dressed to impress. Huge feathered head-dresses, sequined sashes, tassled tunics, beaded skirts, faces covered in mirrored covered masks, and enough lace and glitter to make Lily Savage blush. All accompanied by 20 piece bands all battling each other, sweat dripping from their faces.

All over town, families were enjoying the show, which meant the filthy children running wild, letting off fireworks left right and center, old men were getting smashed on Pisco, and the women were dressed in their best wears, big trilby hats, bright skirts, clashing tights and little witchy buckle-up shoes, chowing down on spit roasted hog and god knows what else. What a night. And what a way to remember Huaraz.

Markets Middle Earth and Getting Mad Ideas into your Head!

My timing was out to catch the ultimate Saturday Market extravaganza in Otovalo, which is probaby all to the good considering how much money I managed to spend and how little space I have left in my Mary Poppins backpack, from just one spending spree on a quiet day.

High in the Andes of Northern Ecuador, the town had a much more traditional feel than anyhting I had seen since Guatemala. The women, now often smaller than me again, wore their long dark hair in long low ponytails, wrapped in colourful material, under their fabulous felt trilby hats adorned with bright feathers. The look was finished off with layers and layers of shiny golden beads worn round their necks, as they carried their children strapped to their backs with beautifully embroidered material. The Men, though no way as beautiful, held their end up in fresh white cullots and funny little sandles, tied up with a matching white ribbons.

The main square was buzzing with bargain hunters and was a treasure chest of pretty things: emboidered rugs, throws and wall hangingng dipicting tradiional Andean scenes, bags, purses, hats, scarfs, ceramics, and too much beautiful jewellery to chose from, the most random find being a miniture guitar made out of a dead armadillo. Hummmm.

All spent-out I was off to Quito, to take in the World famous Old Town, which, as old towns go, was nice enough. To be honest, I think Ive seen enough. Climbing the Basilica Church however, was anything but dull, and the views from the very top of the towers were incredible (if a little precarious) the city sandwiched between two mountain ranges and stretching as far as we could see.

In need of a good night out, I hit the town with some girls from my hostal. Copious amounts of cocktails later we landed on our feet at an awesome bar, packed with beautiful people dancing some serious salsa. The girls glided like gazzells across the danceful, flung effortlessly around by hot sweaty hunks. We had as fabulous time, but I can think of other animals we might have looked like as we staggered out in the early hours. And the next morning, when I woke up to discover that I had apparently booked myself a salsa lesson for the next evening! Well, when in Rome!

Before returning to the dancefloor to master the Merenge, and while nursing a rather huge hangover, we had the small matter of getting to the middle of the world and back to contend with.

For all intents and purposes, it is just a big yellow line painted on the floor, with 00,00 Latitude writen next to it, therefore I can imagine that for some people, the Equator is a bit of an anticimax. Unless of course you are as big a kid as I am, in which case how could you not love throwing yourself on the floor to have their photo taken straddling both hemispheres. Add to that shrunken Amazonian heads, watching water dissapear in different directions down plugholes and trying to balance an egg on a nail...what more could you want? And did I mention that you weigh a whole kilo less there? There you go! Now youre listening!

South from the Capital I was off to Banos, which, with the little wiggly thing on top of the N that they use sometimes in Spanish means, essentially, the toilet. Or to he more accurate, Bathrooms. Thankfully it was not a shithole, but a lovely little town, hemmed in by lush green mountains and a rather active Volcano. The place is all about adventure sports, so I threw myself into the action, hiking in the hills, rafting in the rivers and cycling through the valleys to the Amazon spread majesticallly out into the distance. E

Evenings were spent snuggled by the fire at my favourite cozy little hangout, drinking wine, watching free films, stuffing myself with delicious (and well-deserved food) and working my way though their briliant bookswap. Bliss! There was one other thing I was in Banos to do though, and it didnt involve lounging around or stuffing my face!

More than 100m high, off a bridge over the river on the outskirts of town, Banos has its own take on the Bungyjump. Attached to a harness but with no elastic for bounce, you essentially throw yourself into the raveen, freefalling before swinging like a pendelumn over the gorge below. By Day 4 I had procrastinated long enough and it was now or never. I had talked myself into it and I wasnt leaving until I had!

I dont mind admitting it that I bottled it the second I got there. As soon as a peered over the edge and saw the rapids pulsating below. Jesus Crist. What was I thinking. Watching people disappear over the side like lemmings didnt help either. In fact, it made it worse. With adrenaline coursing though my body and my head a fuzzy mess, I was trying to compose complicated excuses to myself as to why I didnt really need to do this, when an almost as terrified guy approached me and asked if i wanted to jump with him. No attached you understand, but at the same time.

The second I said yes, I actually felt a bit better. For about 2 seconds. Then it was back to paralising fear again. We aggreed that there should be no hanging around. Harness on, up on the edge, 3,2,1. Go! Teetering on the platform I could not look down. I glanced across shaking like a leaf and could see his face was as green as his t-shirt. Fuck it, we are going to die!

I am really not sure how I managed to jump, everything from then is a bit of a blur. I just remember starting the countdown and then the feeling of falling into absolute nothingness, so fast I could not breath. Then suddenly the yank of my rope (thank god) and the lurch as I zoomed under the bridge and out the otherside, wooping as we went. Absolutely horriying. Totally awesome! Never again.

Budget backpacker or not, I rewarded myself with a full-body massage and a Jacuzzi at one of the Spas, booked myself on a bus to the coast and spent the next few days indluging in some serious rest, relaxation and cocktails, on the beach. What a way to celebrate six months on the road!

Popayan, Pasto and not Throwing up Fluffy Things

Ok, i´ll be honest. This last month has been a funny one for me. By no means bad, but maybe just a little sad. I guess its not surprising really, after six months on the road, having visitors reminding me of home, and then finally leaving the bossom of the Gomez clan in Bogota. Flying solo again, staring at the great expanse of South America in my trusty guidebook. Its bound to be a bit hard.

Its not all doom and gloom though, dont worry. Ive been on plenty of adventures and up to lots fo mischief. Sometimes its not until you write oit all down, you realise quite how much stuff you´ve done! Here goes with the first installment...

Before getting to Ecuador, I had the not so small matter of Southern Colombia to take care of, which I did at some speed. First stop was San Augustin, where i stayed at a beautiful Finca, with Bamboo cabanas, open-air showers, animals grazing in the gardens and the best farmhouse toast and homemade Jam I have ever tasted. To my surprise, I also discovered a new love of horses, after spending a lovely sunny day riding (and at some points even galloping!) though the countryside exploring the ancient burial tombs and ruins scattered in the surrounding hills.

Next on my list was the perfectly sized and really rather pretty Popayan, reached by a truely ridiculous cross-country roadtrip, through what was clearly FARC country based on the number of military check points we had to endure. We bounced along in the back of this rusty of minivan, suspension shot to pieces, thought the misty mountians and across the foggy moores all day, not seeing a soul for hours at a time, rain hammering down down on already impassable roads. Ill put it like this: Lonely Planet should advise the complusary wearing of a sports bra for this one. if that wasnt trauma enough, I was caught mid-wee break in the bushes by a machiine gun weilding soilder who told me I should probably just use the chunder inducing toilets like everyone else instead. Advice taken.

With not much to see once you had strolled though the cobbled streets and admired the whitewashed building and innumerable churches, I decided to embark on a rough and ready hot-spring/mountain-biking adventure. On reflexion, these activities were done in the wrong order, but thankfully the 30km back was mainly downhill, and the hot-chocolate and cheese in the cafe outside one of the towns many love-hotels did wonders to perk me up.

The rather unattrcactive town of Pasto was next on the list: the original home of the Gomez clan. Soggy and on Sunday-shutdown, i didnt get off to the best fot starts with this place. Snuggling in my hostel watching rubbish films and eating Colombian junkfood was the order of the day I´m afraid. No wonder Andrei loves living in Brighton!

Still, there was the important issue of a rather more traditional meal to be had before I left, so i wasnt going anywhere just yet. Yes thats right people ! Cuy. Little fluffy fried Guinepig. Yum! Some vegetarian huh?

My date for the evening was Memo, who whisked me off to a rather posh out of town Cuy-house and whom it became quickly clear LOVED the stuff. Great! more for him.

Im not sure what I was expecting, but the entire inner-workings of the poor little bugger, deep-fried and served on a bed of popcorn as an entree? I was not. Can I be honest? It is fucking disgusting. And it smelt like a dead rat. funny that...

By the time the actual recognisable animal arrived, crackling and all but thankfully minus feet, I was feeling rather sick. Thank god for Redwine and willpower. And god bless the homeless guy who took it off our hands on the way home. Never again. Give me a spicy beanburder anyday.

Alas. i have no pictures of all these antics, as I lost all my photos in what turned out was the first in a small bout of badluck. I know, I hear you! Guinepig payback!

Pissed off amd feeling more than a little bit peaky, I was finally leaving Colombia behind me, headed for the Ecuadorian border, stopping only to take in the simply beautiful church of Las Lajas, set deep into a rich green valley, and famous for the thousands of miracles it is said to have produced (though unfortunetly these do not include the resurrection of said photos).

First stop on the otherside. The Andean market town of Otovalo, and some serious retail therapy!

So far in South America: Friends Family and Fabulous Times

I just worked out that I have been in South America 6 weeks already, and I have still not made it south of Bogota. How has that happened? What have I been doing? I have decided to blame family and friends, and am thoroughly happy about it.

After my hectic non-stop adventure though Central America, it was time to chill out for a while and take stock. Let it all sink in a prepare myself for the next installment of my adventure South.

First up was a visit from my lovely parents, whom I didn’t realize how much I missed. Their choice was Venezuela, mainly because it is pretty much the only country in the hemisphere they hadn’t already been too. Add to this, the buzz that surrounds Hugo Chavez and his Bolivarian revolution, and it was a no brainer really.

Keen to see what all the fuss was about, we had a pretty busy time planned. It kicked off with a brake-neck and thoroughly unrealistic 14 hour journey to meet them in Merida, which involved 2 flights, 2 taxis, 2 buses and a shit load of cash, making it just in time before my Mum sent out a search party and hit the bottle with worry.


We spent the first few days exploring the city and surrounding landscape, which could have been more different. The former was big and rather ugly, covered in political graffiti and a grey haze, while the latter was really quite beautiful and incredibly varied: rolling green hills, snow capped mountains and bone dry cactus fields, all within spitting distance of each other.


Once over the worst of the jetlag, we were off to Los Llanos and on safari! Baking hot savanna awaited us, heat waves rising from the brown grass into the bright blue sky, as far as the eye could see. Sweat beads trickled down our backs as we bounced about in the back of our jeep, hurtling across the dry plains and into the wilderness.

I never expected to see so much wildlife. The place was literally crawling with animals, roaming the land and basking in the remaining watering holes: wallowing wilder beasts and semi-submerged Caiman, staring at you from beneath the surface, crowds of capibaras (strange looking things that look like huge guinea pigs) dodging the jaws of death at the waters-edge. Add to the mix; wild horses, bright red Ibis, stripy tailed raccoons, enormous anteaters, pink fresh water dolphins swimming and piranha infested waters (one of which I managed to catch and eat) and it really was something to behold.

The highlight though had to be the anaconda hunting. I still can’t quite believe what I saw. Our local guide, armed with just a stick and a with a little help from a rather brave buddy, literally dragging a absolutely enormous 5 meter snake out of the marshland by its tail, before hoisting it up onto our shoulders for the obligatory safari photo op. Even my Mum let them wrap its tail round her neck. Not slimy at all, it felt like a huge heavy muscle gripping on to you, so capable of crushing you to death in a matter of seconds none of us let it stay there long.

After all this excitement, we were all ready for a bit of rest and relaxation, so off we went to soak up the sun and the very welcome sea breezes of the Caribbean coast, choosing a bit of flopping about on the beach over hot heavy and really rather dangerous Caracas. It’s fair to say that we didn’t exactly have a revolutionary time, but we certainly had a lovely time. Significantly browner and more relaxed, they waved me off before starting their return journey back to bleak old blighty.

Arriving at Bogota’s El Dorado, I had no time to be home-sick, as I was whisked off by my fabulous Colombia family for the next few weeks, to be fussed over and looked after like one of their own. I simply cannot put into words how lovely Andrei’s parents have been to me. Giving me guided tours of the city, letting me lounge by the pool in Anapoima and generally making me feel so welcome I could quite easily never leave. And let’s not even get started on Carolina, although she has quite possibly ruined my liver forever. Since when is beer for breakfast acceptable behaviour?

Last but by no means least, was a visit from a certain someone from back home who I certainly was not expecting to see this side of the Atlantic. When I got the news, I nearly fell off my chair. Zac was coming to Colombia.

It certainly didn’t really sink in until I was waiting at the airport to pick him up, and I saw him though the window, his roadsign bright hoodie and high-tops unmistakable amoung the crowds, even from that distance. It turns out that needn’t have necked quite that much wine with nerves beforehand, as we laughed and joked all the way back to La Candelaria, whizzing wildly through the city back to our cozy little hostel and our room with a view.

We managed to meet in the middle with the whole “I just wanna lie on a beautiful beach for two weeks” and the “you have to at least see a bit of Colombia while you are here Zac” argument, heading first to the beautiful city of Cartagena. The romance of the place was slightly dimmed by Zac’s chronic case of the traveling shits, but thankfully it didn’t last long, and we were soon off in search of the ultimate beach.

First stop was a day trip sailing round Islas Rosarios, ending up at Playa Blanca, which certainly lived up to its name, though I have a feeling Zac almost enjoyed clinging on the deck as we crashed across the sea, waves drenching us from overhead, more than bright-white sands and crystal clear waters.

Next was Taganaga, which I knew he would love. How can you not? It doesn’t have the incredible beaches, but it is the loveliest little fishing village with one of the most chilled out atmospheres of anywhere I have ever been. The sunsets over the pretty little bay, as people stroll along the malecon in the warm evening, sipping fresh fruit smoothies, buying pretty things from Argentinian hippies and sampling the local seafood at one of the beachfront restaurants. Pure Bliss.

After a few days we did manage to drag ourselves away from our favourite spot on the local beach and from our favourite breakfast/lunch/smoothie/cocktail/dinner/any-excuse-really cafe, and headed off to Tayrona National Park.

A sweaty bus ride and a hike though the forest later (backpacks strapped to our backs and monkey-spotting as we went) and we arrived on the windswept beaches of Arecifes, the pristine pools of La Picina and beautiful bays of El Cabo. Looking at Zac, soaked up to the waist and wielding a huge stick, anyone would have thought we had hiked for days in search of Paradise.

Did we find it? I think so. The beaches we beautifully clear and the waters wonderfully clear and filled with big tropical fish to spot. Add to this the fact that we splashed out on a hill-top cabana with quite possibly the best view I have ever seen, and it was all pretty idyllic. Sharing a bowl of Spaghetti between us and almost dying of dehydration when we ran out of money? Less so. But that’s all part of the fun right? An awesome few days was topped off with an exhilarating (and very soggy) speed boat ride back to civilization. And a well-deserved feed.

With the end of our trip in sight, we boarded an overnight bus back towards Bogota, a new experience for Zac and one which I think he secretly enjoyed despite the protests, thanks to a little help from a healthy dose of Zopiclon and enough warm clothes to make the brutal air-conditioning more bearable. And I have to say it was much nicer to have someone to snuggle up to, rather than the ususal snoring local.

We made sure to stop off in San Gil - and paid someone to jump off into Colombia’s largest canon with just Zac and a paragliding sail attached to themselves, before heading back to Bogota. Souvenir shopping, takeaway pizza and rubbish films finished off a fabulous few weeks. And United States stupidly stringent immigration policy meant that we got to spend another day bimbling in Bogota before we finally parted company for a while once again.

I have absolutely loved spending time with familiar faces, and it certainly makes me miss home that bit more, but as I survey the vast expanse of South America on the map, with just my backpack for company, I can’t wait to get going!