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!

Danger Mouse: Adventure Olympics

I thought it was about time I pointed out that I have not spent the last 4 months lying on the beach and binging. Granted there has been quite a bit of that, but I have also been trying my hand at some adventure sports. Here is my round up of said adventures, each with their own awesomeness rating too boot:

1. Scuba Diving in Honduras

After enduring 2 days of hidiously patronising videos, I was ready to jack it in. Then there was all the gear, which weighed a ton and had to be put together properly to ensure all the pipes went in the right place s and all the buttons and dials were doing what they should be. A regulator to breath through (very important), and extra one in case things go wrong (hopefully not), and BCD, which is basically a big jacket yiou can inflate and deflate to help you float or sink. Goggles, mask, snorkle, fins, wetsuit a belt with weights attached (yes really) and a socking great big tanker full of air, enough for about an hour at the bottom of the sea. I could barely stand up in all that crap and I looked like a very pissed off penguin staggering about on the dock trying to stay upright.

Once in the water though, its a different story. The feeling the first time your head slips below the surface, eyes open and breathing normally, is quite incredible. First comes the quite rational fear of drowning, ear drums bursting, lungs exploding. But by then its too late. Immediate panic gives way to total calm, as you sink slowly to the bottom of the ocean and enter into a different world.

The first couple of dives are mostly taken up with carrying out seemingly impossble tasks 15 meters underwater, such as taking off you mask and putting it back on, without freaking out or losing your contact lenses, and practising what to do if you run out of air (turn to god almighty and pray basically), but once that is out of the way, you are free.

Floating weightlessly like an astronaught through beautiful crystal clear caribbean sea, gorping at coral gardens, swimming effortlessly with huge schools of brightly coloured fish, diving down in search of big ugly Morey Eels and giant crabs, with claws the size of my forearm, in deep dark caves.

Scuba Diving is handsdown the most surreal and tranquil thing I have ever experienced. The calmness and the quietness is hypnotising. Surfacing at sunset on Christmas Day was spectacular. Get me back down there!

Awesomeness Rating: 10/10

2. Ultimate Surfing: Nica Style

Back in Nicaragua, it was time catch some pacific waves. Not exactly an adventure sport, but its going in, mainly because I nearly died trying it.

I opted for an old salty dog over a buff Aussie to teach me, chosing experience over the extracurricular. Alfredo was a nutter and thankfully a great teacher too, because before long I was standing up on the board and sailing across the whitewash towards the shoring, wooping with delight. very uncool.

I think I may have not a bit ahead of myself however, when I booked myself on a surf trip he next day, dragging Rachel along for the ride. Alarm bells began to ring when we were told we would surf straight off the boat, and not from the beach. Surely thats the wrong side of the waves for a beginner...

It took approximately 3 minutes for an enormous wave to completely wipe me out, sucking me in, churning me round and round in the melle, spitting me out in the wash, water up my nose, board gone, gasping for air and wondering what the hell just happened. I think I am going to leave it to the Aussies afterall.

Awesomeness Rating: 3/10.

3. Volcano Boarding:

Right. This one should definitly be an Olympic sport. Throwing yourself down the lava fields of an actice Volcano with a homemade snowboard strapped to your feet. In the dark. Totally ridiculus. And its the only place you can do it in the world!

First you have to hike up the thing, with the board and all your kit strapped to your back, before settling down to watch the big burnt orange sun slowly sink down below the horizon. Then its time to don the knee, elbow and wrist pads (very sexy), along with industrial strength gloves, tie the board to your feet, stand up and wait for a good shove to get you going.

And boy do you go, you absolutely fly down. And you cant stop. The only way is to literally throw yourself into the volcanic ash, close your eyes and hope for the best. My tactic was to just go straight down and hold on for dear life. Apparently I was a natural. I am not so sure.

Finally at the bottom, I landed in a hot sweaty heap, covered in black ash, half a volcano down my bra and beeming with joy. I had survived, but there was no bloody way I was climbing back up to do it again though. It was Beer O'clock.

Awesomeness Ration: 7/10

4. White Water Rafting.

Now, I have learned a lesson with this one. It is this: When the dude in charge asks if anyone has ever done this before, just say "no". Don't go "oh yeah I went over this 7 meter waterall in New Zealand a few years ago". Huge excitement followed as this is apparently the biggest commerical raftable waterfall in the world. Bar none. And bugger me I was stuck in the front boat, perched right on the edge, paddling like mad as we lauched ourselves down grade 4 rapids.

Good fun, but dare I say it. I could have donw with a bit more danger. Grade 5 next time.

Awesomeness Rating: 6/10

And last but not most certaonly not least.....

5. Paragliding

This was a treat from Mum and Dad that I think the former at least almost instantly regreted giving me. As we climbed higher and higher up the steep sided valley to the "jump off" Mum became greener and greener with fear as Dad did with envy. By the time we reached the top and looked out across the deep gorge disappearing thousnads of meters below us, I felt pretty poorly too.

Things werent helped by the fact that I was last to go, so i had to stand and watch as one guy threw up all over himself on takeoff, while others just bottled it completely. My pilot however, was cool as a cucumber and there was only one way down!

I think my stomach actually left my body when we launched off into nothingness, me squeeling with delight and William bellowing at me in Spanish to sit still and not wriggle. Off we went, swooping across the valley, and then whizzing around in tight circles and loops like you do on a rollercoaster (once he was sure I wasnt a chunderer that is).

Then, after the initial excitement came total calmness. The only sound was the cold wind whistling past as we glided gently throught he clouds towards the Sunset. Absoluetly beautiful. And the closest thing you can get to actually flying. Very cool, though I'd quite like to have a go at flying it myself next time....

Awesomeness rating: 9/10

So thats it. Enough daftness for a bit now, and just a skydive and a bungy jump to go now!

Pick Ups and Pleading Poverty

Ok, so i admit it, I havent exactly being roughing it these last couple of months. I have been taking the slightly less shit bus and paying $4 for a room that that a light that works and a door that locks. I have been cheating.

New Years Day was spent in the recovery position, lounging by a swimming pool, drinking Red Wine and eating rather posh cheese. Hard life eh? Granted, we didn´t pay to get in, but rather we snuck in, with a bottle from the offie stashed in my bag, but all the same, this is not what traveling is all about, right?

So, when a rather crazy swiss girl suggested hitch-hiking and chicken busing it across Honduras on only $10 a day, I thought, fuck it. Vamos! Porque No?

It is probably best that I dont go into too much detail, as I would rather my parents don´t have simultaneous heart attacks on the spot, but suffice to say, chicken buses take absolutely forever and often leave you standed in the middle of bloody nowhere, while riding in the back of random peoples´ pick-up trucks is brilliant fun if rather daft, and living on only street food and fruit makes you thin! I have never been very good at haggling. I just smile and had over the cash. Stupid Tourist! Not anymore. Try it next time in Tesco, see if you can get a bunch of bananas for 5p. he he!

Dirty, tired, starving and skint, we reached Lago Yojao, and the relative comfort a little shaby cabin overlooking te lake. With hot water!

We had traveled through some of the poorest and roughest parts of Honduras. Example: The Lonely Planet on La Entrada: "an unattactive crossroads with a reputation for narcotrafficing. Something must have gone wrong for you to end up here" ha ha! Other highlights included ´Gracias´...lets just change that to ´No Gracias´ and ´La Esperanza´, which was certainly NOT somewhere you would want to wait.

People looked at us like we were aliens. Crazy Aliens! But everyone was so nice to us. What were we doing here? were we lost? Did we looking for a nice hotel? These people had not seen a white person for a long time, and we didn´t see another tourist for days and days. In fact, I still havent. Bliss! Thats why we did it! And best of all: my Spanish is the best it has ever been!

Tomorrow I head to Nicaragua, and I am not ashamed to say that I am off to lounge on the beach and eat fresh fish for few days! Fuck it! I deserve it!

Beach Bumming in Belize and Living it up in Livingston

After my Guatemalan adventures I was certainly ready for some serious beach action. And where better than the Caribbean?

My first stop was a tiny Island called Caye Caulker, about a half an hour boat ride from Belize City. There are no roads and therefore no cars there, just sandy paths and golf carts. Bliss! This place is so chilled out that if you walk to fast, some big dredlocked Garifuna guy will stop you in your tracks and say 'hey, what da rush girl? chill out, go slow, dis is Belize man, lemme get you some rum punch'

After the hectic markets and chaotic chicken buses of Guate, I didn't need telling twice. Is was like another world. Broken English, Bob Marley, Baggy shorts, Boxfresh trainers, Basketball vests, Beany hats, bandanas and Big fat spiffs. Unpronouncable mayan names were replaced with Lucky, Rocky, Bunny and {my favourite of all} Major

Days were spent snorkling at the reef, surrounded my sharks and Sting Rays, Octopus and Lobster, all set in beautiful colourful coral gardens. I have never seen so many fish in my life. Pink ones, yellow ones, blue green and purple ones, stripey ones and spotty ones, tiny ones and absolutely enormous ones. At sunset everyone would retire to he Lazy Lizard to watch the sunset, where you could dangle your feet in the warm sea, while sitting at the bar sipping panty rippers. Evening ended eating fresh fish from Big Mamas BBQ and succumbing to the sounds of reggaeton.

If that place hadn't broken the bank, I would still be there, but with only $2 Belize to the $1US, it was time to move on. 1 watertaxi, 2 boats, 3 buses and 2 days later and I was back in Guatemala, though not the Guatemala I was used to! Livingston, through friendly enough, was pretty sketchy when you scratched the surface. One night hanging out with the local gangs at Longbeach Bar was enough for me, so when I was offered the last place on a bus to The Bay Islands in Honduras leaving the next morning, I was in.

Granted, the subsequent Tapado (traditional soup with pretty myuch everything sea-dwelling in it) followed by an night bender avec flaming Sambuca, was not the best of ideas, but then again impromptu parties are always the best. When my newly found travel buddies came to ´wake me up´ the following morning I was still propping up the bar and declaring that the full days traveling we had to come, with no sleep whatsoever would be 'no problem at all'.

Thankfully managed to firm the first boatride to Puerto Barrios at sunrise, before passing out on the back of the bus for some well deserved shut eye. I don't remember going through immigration at the Guatemala, Honduras border, though my passport says that I did. With two hours to kill in La Ceiba before the Ferry across to the Island, we found ourselves in a huge US style Mall, sheltering from the pouring rain, succumbing to the temptation of Burger King and Pizza Hut, which I don't mind admitting was absolutely f**king delicious!

Almost there, and pretty much on my last legs, we boarded the Ferry. We should have taken note of the fact that sick bags were being handed out in hand quantities before me had even left the port. 5 minutes later and we all knew why. It was like being on a rollercoaster, but without the safety straps! The boat listed and lurched across the straight, sending people flying across the deck as they puked uncontrollably into their laps.

How I managed not to lose my lunch and decorate the place I have no idea. I put it down to shear determination and willpower, but I was certainly rather green by the time we arrived at Utila dock. We had made it! The next task was to learn how to breath underwater. Joy!

Lounging at the lakes and dicing with death

Well I am just recovering from the shock of nearly losing all my pictures, because of some virus or another, and reflecting on my last two weeks in Guate...

Aldous Huxley said "Lago de Atitlan and its several immense volcanoes is really too much of a good thing. After a few days of this impossible landscapoe one finds oneself thinking nostalgically of the English home counties". Well I can vouch for that. It was simply beautiful, so it is not surprising that my 3 day stay turned into over a week!

Each of the lakeside towns had its own feel and charm. San Juan with its complete lack of tourism, cheap comodors, murals and womens weaving cooperatives. San Pedro, with its party athmosphere reminded me a bit of Thailand. We has a great few days getting drunk on redwine at the Swimming Pool Bar all day and dancing all night to awful music at Freedom bar, downing glow in the dark G&Ts. Lazy morning were spent nursing hangovers and sleepless nights over very late breakfasts, and afternoons were spent swinging in hammocks being a stonehead, glazing at the lake and eating Pan de Banaña.

Across at the other side San Juan was equally as chilled, though we did venture up yet another Volcano once our legs had recovered from the previous hike. It was a hot sweaty battle, but the view at the top were sublime, though short lived, as we were reliable informed by our consciencious guide that bandaderos were loitering nearby ready to relieve of of our cameras or worse. Needless to say, we beat the world record for descent!

San Marcos felt like a hippy commune so i left before I was dressed in tie-die, fed lentils and forced to do a moon dance. Panajachel was more upbeat and tacky, with ´tradiitonal´ xelophone themed bars that kept me awake all night. I was in my element however, pottering about the place purchashing pretty things like they were going out of fashion.

With my back to the lake, I was finally headed for Antigua, stopping off at two great market towns on the way. First was Solola, made famous (here at least) recently, when the towns people decided to take the law into their own hands. çWith no respect for, or trust in Giatemalan police or the country´s judicial system, they decided to burn the town´s police station to the ground, amçnd then publicaly lynch said criminals in the square, burning their bodies in a pile for good measure. All was quiet in the aftermath when i was there, just a heaving local market selling everything from chickens, shoes, dried pasta, industrial sized pots of hair gel, and pretty much anything else you can think of. A burnt out cop car had been turned into a stall selling pirate DVDs and bras. Genius.

Next was Chichcastenango (try saysing that after a few), which was different kettle of fish altogether. This is where all the crasftmen (and women) from across Guate to sell their wares. The town turns into the biggest market around everyweek, the streets jammed with Guatemaltecas busting around in traditional dress, stalls selling jewellery, wood carving, and everything it is possible to make using the traditional material they weave here. bags, cushions, purses, bottlebottle holders...you name it. Everywhere has it nutter though, and the guy entertaining the crowd with his tales of wrestling wild animnals and flogging their innards for their healing properties had to be seen to be believed (he brought the lot along, dried and skinned for reinactment purposes and I assume our beneift)...

Anyway, exhausted and skint in arrived in Antigua, pleasantly surprised that it as not completely packed full of hideous gringos. More partying followed, with roof top cocktails at sunset overlooing the cities three huge surrounding volcanoes and salsa in the evenings. Its a tough life! The city itslef was beautiful, with cobbled streets, a lovely plaza and 24(!) churches. Enough of that. I was there for a reason. Yes you have guessed it. Another Volcano!

I had heard about Pacaya, but nothing could quite prepare me for it. This time it was about the hike, or the altitude, or the vistas. It was about the Lava. There is no way round it. It was completely and uttlerly dangerous. 20 tourists, stumbling about on top of an extremely active volcano at dusk, wobbling around on inch-thick crust taking photos of the huge oozing lava rivers flowing right past us. We toasted marshmellows in the fire as the wind howled and lava crackled under our feet. With meted shoes and hot feet we scrabbled back down in the dark, filthy dirty and totally exhilerated. How they allow it I dont know, but it was incredible.

Mum at this point I suggest a stiff Gin x

Next of the list of extreme adventure was Semuc Champey. Incredibly beautiful and totally unique, it is difficult to describe. From above it looks like series of bright blue and green pools, friged with yellow, shelving down through the dense green jungle that surrounds it, sinking into each other as they flow, and joined up by a series of waterfalls.

First though, we headed to the nearby caves, with our flipflops tied to our feet and armed only with candles we inched deeper and deeper inot the darkness, as the water crept up over our knees and then up to our necks. We swam through tunnels, climed up underground waterfalls on rope ladders, squeezed through tiny gaps between the cave walls and lept off ledges into deep (thankfully) pools of blackness, flying past stalitites as we went. Awesome. And I am no have claustophobia!

Back out into the sunshine, we swung off the river banks on rope swings, plunging into the cool water, each time just missing the huge rock plateaus jutting out into the calm blue. We tubed down the rapids on rubber rings and splashed about in the calm pools in the sunshine, making our way downstream. Then it ws the big one. A 15 metre Waterfall, and only one way down. Like lemmings we threw oursleves off, disappearing over the edge and plunging into the pools below. da, you would have loved it! My tummy left its position my mu body, as did my bikini on it.

Safely down, we scrambled up and under another waterwall, as the water pelted down on us, to see where the tranquility ends and the fierce underground river re-emerges in all it glory. Our guide also pointed out this was where the bodies of three tourists emerged, in pieces, some days later, after falling in at the other end some time ago...

One final launch off into he pools below and a mildly hairy swim across the mouth of the rapids and we were all back safe and dry. Hungry, tired and with a few cuts and bruises to show for an absolutely amazing day!

Hiking the Highlands to Atitlan

There is a chicken bus that goes from Xela to Lago Atitlan. It takes about an hour, is a little bumpy and often carried farm animals as well as people, but it is reliable, and cheap. You may therefore wonder why on earth I decided to spend three days hiking here instead. Trust me, I wondered this too.

Our first day started at 6.30am in Xela, with a wholesome breakfast and manic re-packing of my enormous backpack, with the rest of our group at Quetzaltrekkers, who were the volunteer run, vegan, ethically minded and really rather vague guides responsible for us for the duration of our trip. Its a wonder we ever left to be frank.

Armed with everything we needed for three days strapped to or backs {including sleeping bags, mats, dry clothes, food, crockery, unnecessarily heavy tubs of 'trail mix'(glorified nuts} and enough water for a month, we began our hike with a very pointless mission across Xela city, before hopping onto a chicken bus to our actual starting point, at the foot of an absolutely huge ridge we were set to climb.

I was already knackered by this point, wishing I had left a few more days to recover after my last hike up Volcan Santa Maria two days before {hardcore yes I am} and already considering turfing out he trail mix and at least 3 of my litres of the water I had been told I must carry at. all. times. If only I had known what was next, I would have been straight back on that chicken bus no questions.

The first two hours of our assent nearly killed the fat girl straight off. It was definitely the hardest part of the day, but the views at the top were absolutely stunning, with Volcan Tacamulco in the distance one way and the journey ahead of us spread out in the other. We walked until dusk, along exposed peaks, grassy plains, across cloud covered ridges, down steep slippery slopes, through thick pine forest and dense tropical jungle until our legs felt like jelly. I have never been so pleased to see the first signs of civilisation in my life {even if it did consist of piles of rubbish by the road as we approached Santa Catarina, where we were to spend our first night}.

When I say civilisation, I say it in the loosest possible sense of the word, because lets just say, that town was weird. The 'fair' had arrived in town, so the little shabby square had been turned into a spiderman themed ammusement arcade, complete with its own mini feras wheel, which certainly did not look like it could have held the weight of a human, groaning as it spun and was poked at by a precariously positioned mechanic. Around it were rows of identical stalls all selling the same rockhard bagel looking things that noone was buying because we were the only ones there. Was this strange scene for our benefit? Who knows. All I now is that all this seemed rather normal after stepping inside the bar...

We had been warned to get a take out where beer was concerned, but I had obviously protested that we must 'drink with the locals'. Smart move. On arrival it became clear that the bar was in fact just a rather disgusting concrete room and the locals were to all intents and purposes about 4 absolutely twatted old men, dribbling on themselves and leering at the incredibly patient {and not to mention brave} Mayan bar women, who was busy defending the last 3 bottles of beer left in the place. In and out was the word of the day, never to return.

The beer tasted like nectar however, swigged around a huge cooking pot of pasta {thank god I didn't get lumbered with carrying that piece of kit!} in an old disused municiple building, where we slept like babies on the hard concrete floor, woken only by a rather strange french guy pleasuring himself in his bag.

The next day we were up at 6, sitting in a smokey comedor eating rice and beans, next to the Carneceria outside which the days prime cuts had been delivered in the form of a whole cow, skinned and slumped in the back of a toyota pickup truck, avec head, feet and tail. Under any other circumstances I would have declined breakfast, but I was starving. The local kids on the other hand were having a ball, watching the carcus being heaved out and hacked up, and left to play with the remains, poking the tail through the eye socket for our benefit, squeeling with joy.

Another full day of hiking awaited us, so off we went in a long line snaking through villages and farms, clanking our pots and pans as we went, stopping only to practice of Kitche {spanish was pretty much useless here} and take pictures of hilarious looking bulls with pink bows in their hair. Although an easier day in comparison, we did have 'record hill' to contend with before lunch. A pilgrimage of all Quetzaltrekkers, it was basically a brutal climb up a ridiculously steep mountain, in the blazing midday sun, against the clock, with our 60 litre packs on. The fastest time is 9 and a half minutes. Sue managed 14 and a half and me 16. Apparently both very respectable times. Its fair to say it nearly killed me, and I can safely say that I enjoyed the cigarette at the top far more than any sense of achievement.

That night was spent at San Pedro's house, drying off after our trek through the river, filling our hungry tummys with great food, and taking it in turns to get clean in his tepid shower. An even earlier night was had, and thankfully no more extra curricular activities were witnessed during the night {I assume he had learned his lesson after having a carton of juice hurled at his head the night before}.

We woke at 3.30am to find that Pedro's cat had eaten our stash of banana bread. You should have seen Sue's face. Luckily for him, the little bastard was keeping a low profile. Anyway, the incredibly early start was for a very good reason, as after staggered through the pitch black still half asleep, we were back in our sleeping bags, perched above the lake, sipping hot chocolate and huddled to keep warm, starring into the darkness, waiting for sunrise.

Slowly, as the minutes ticked by, we began to pick out the mountain ridge in the distance across the lake, as the sky started to turn from black to deep navy blue and then pink, as the sun rose behind them and active volanos puffed ash into the air. Gradually the edge of the like came alive too, as lights began to twinkle in the little villages that surround the lake, and the first fishing boats made their journey through the dawn mist. We were in the perfect spot to watch this beautiful landscape emerge and change, and night turned into day.

With tummys full of porridge and heavy legs, we began our dessent to San Juan and our final destination, stopping only for one last killer climb up 'the nose', which is the highest point around the lake for more incredible views. A hot shower, more rice and beans and and a couple of well deserved glasses of wine later, we were tucked up actual real beds, with real sheets and pillows, fast asleep by 9. Enough hiking for a while I think.