Pea, Pea, Carrot, Carrot.

We arrived in Cusco with four days and four objectives before starting our Inca Trail to Machu Picchu; #1. acclimatize to the high altitude, #2. eat a BLT at Jack's Cafe, #3. persue the local markets for warm clothes and presents for home, and #4. BUY SOME DECENT WALKING SHOES! We had finally come to the conclusion that our flimsy Converse simply weren't going to cut it for the Inca Trail and it was time to purchase some sensible footwear. Being us however, we obviously went with the more pressing priority at hand and headed straight to Jack's Cafe, which had come highly recommended by both South America A La Emily and my Rough Guide, a winning combination! Another winning combination was the BLT with avocado sandwich we gobbled down at Jack's, a cozy little cafe that wouldn't have been out of place in a small English market town. It is small things like this (or rather enormous things in the case of the sandwich) that can make a slightly homesick Gap Yah'er nostalgic for her small English market town, and are always a welcome breath of fresh air from the sometimes claustrophobic South American living. Objective #2 DONE!

With over 1.5 million tourists visiting Cusco every year it isn't surprising that the beautiful little town nestled in the Andean mountains has more to offer than simply being the gateway for the Inca Trail. My Rough Guide was chock-a-block with museums, art galleries and Inca relics and ruins to explore, and the closest one to Jack's Cafe was the famous 12-cornered San Blas Inca Stone, literally a stone's throw away (please excuse the pun!) from where we were having lunch. An idiot could locate it in under a minute. It took us twenty. We wandered around the building trying to spot the famous stone, and it wasn't until a local took pity on our stupidity that we finally found what we had been looking for. A stone. A stone that looked identical to every other brick in the wall, with the slight exception of one or two more corners. We couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed with our first sighting of an old Inca relic, but we were quickly cheered up by photos with another old Inca relic and her baby lama!





The next day we set off in search for objective #4. We were finally going to give our tired and aching trekking feet the cushioned soles and ankle support that they had been desperately screaming out for ever since we had subjected them to the Converse torture of the Ciudad Perdida. With every other shop in Cusco selling everything and anything one could possibly want or need for the Inca Trail, we wrongly assumed that achieving this objective would be a walk in the park. We couldn’t have been more wrong. After the thirtieth shop brought out yet another small-fitting size nine shoe for Forrest to squeeze on to his size twelve feet, we came to the conclusion that his size probably didn’t even exist in Peru, after all a small Peruvian man would find it pretty difficult to balance on such enormous feet! Just as we had resigned ourselves to the fact that Forrest was going to have to give Wilma (our guide from the Lost City) a call to ask to borrow his sandals again, we finally found the only shop in Cusco that sold shoes not made for borrowers and managed to get Forrest kitted out in the right size, while I managed to find shoes that didn’t make me feel like a middle-aged frump. We even managed to successfully barter both pairs of shoes down to a very reasonable price, objective #4 DONE! We separated to celebrate our new purchases – Forrest to the Irish Bar to watch the football and me to skype with my beautiful Jenny, who although owns A LOT of shoes, has nothing quite so stylish and sexy as my new walking boots! A night of Kings with a group of Australians can only lead to one thing; dancing on the tables to the Spice Girls and a bad hangover the next day.

We dragged ourselves out of bed and fought off a pretty bad Kings hangover in order to peruse the local markets in search of warm alpaca clothes, and presents to send home (if we ever got round to it that is, we were still lugging stuff around from Brazil!). Steering well clear of the food stalls in the centre of the market (rotten foetus egg was not a pleasant prospect in such a delicate state) we haggled our way around the touristy artesania and successfully obtained everything we needed for the Inca Trail, warm alpaca jumpers, socks and hats, and presents for friends and family (resisting the urge to get Phoebe an alpaca wool Inca mask for fear that she would actually wear it in public). Forrest even managed to get himself a replacement for his beloved Abercrombies back at home in the form of stripy “traveller pants” which unfortunately I couldn’t get him to promise not to wear in public! Another yummy meal at Jack’s Café of beef and red wine stew with mash topped off another successful day, but it wasn’t a patch on Mummy Cross’ Monday night leftovers stew.

Friday 8th April was the official start of our ‘Gap Adventure’ as we checked in to an actual real life hotel, a much neglected commodity in the hostelling world of the Gap Yah, and I made use of the free wifi and had a bit of an emotional skype with my parents while Forrest went off in search of a new daypack to store all our new purchases in. Feeling a little homesick, I tried to lighten my spirits by playing a rather cruel trick on my parents by pretending that the teeny tiny alpaca jumper purchased for Godbean was actually for their new Grandchild – they weren’t particularly amused! I said bye to my parents as they wished me luck for our impending adventure, and rushed to the briefing programmed for 5pm. When Forrest still hadn’t shown with one minute to go I feared that he’d forgotten all about it, but he made it in time albeit slightly flushed. As everyone was getting settled he quickly explained in rather hushed tones that he’d been unable to find a suitable inexpensive daypack, so had instead treated himself to a massage by one of the young Peruvian girls around the main square. My annoyance quickly disapperated (I thought this was a real word but a squiggly red line forced me to do a quick google search and found out it is a J.K Rowling Harry Potterism!) as he explained that his experience was not too dissimilar to the Friends episode where Ross gives a massage using a toy truck and wooden spoons, and his highly qualified masseuse even managed to answer the phone and hold a five-minute telephone conversation while prodding poor Forrest as he lay on the makeshift massage table willing it to be over.

The briefing’s purpose was for us to meet our fellow trekkers and to introduce us to Gonzalo, our primary guide for the trek. Gonzalo explained the itinerary for the next few days, and talked us through what to expect from the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. He also explained that although we were given a 6kg weight limit for our duffel bags which were carried by the porters, 3kg of this was used up by sleeping bag and sleeping mat. As I desperately tried to work out what weight allowance this worked out at (6-3=?), I realised that not only was I not going to be able to take my entire toiletries case with me, I may also have to forgo a few packs of Tangfastics that we had bought for the trek especially. Nightmare. We spent the next couple of hours getting organised, packing and weighing our duffel bags, before going out for a Friday night all-you-can-eat Indian buffet and then bed.

As promised Gonzalo met us bright and early at 7am at the hotel and we boarded the bus for our Sacred Valley Tour. I was hoping for a couple more hours shut eye before we arrived at our first stop, however Gonzalo was a talking machine and proceeded to tell us everything and anything about Peru, Cusco, the Sacred Valley, the Inca Trail, Incas in general and even about the Peruvian election taking place that weekend. The first destination on our itinerary was a small Peruvian village, supported by Gap Community Projects. Gap employ the men from the village as porters, and support the women of the village by bringing through bus after bus of tourists all eager and willing to buy the local produce. We were given a talk on how alpaca wool was made and dyed, using natural substances available to the women, and then not so discreetly prodded towards the market stalls. Already completely alpaca-d up we couldn’t justify purchasing any more lama jumpers, however encouraged by Gonzalo we did buy a big packet of coca leaves which we were told help with acclimatization and altitude sickness. Objective #1 DONE!

After a couple of stops to take pictures of the stunning views of the Sacred Valley, we arrived at our first Inca citadel, Pisac, just as the weather turned sour allowing us to try out our very attractive ponchos bought especially for this eventuality as we explored. The impressive ruins gave us a small taste of what to expect over the next few days as we wandered around the ancient gardening terraces and the watchtower. The next stop was a yummy buffet lunch where we were treated to alpaca stew and cheesecake, before visiting a chicha (traditional corn beer) house. Here we were taught how to make the beer and even got to try a little of the two varieties, but the highlight was playing the traditional local game where the aim was the throw gold coins inside a frog’s mouth, earning points depending on where the coin fell. The game gave the group the opportunity to loosen up, as we laughed at each other’s attempts at the game, all of us failing to get the coin anywhere near the table let alone in the frog’s mouth! Sadly we were dragged away from the chicha house, and back on the bus in the direction of Ollantaytambo where we were to stay the night before the trek started the next day. Once we had checked in to the hotel, we went to explore the Inca Fortress of Ollantaytambo, an impressive ancient citadel suspended in the mountains with a view over the town and the surrounding valley. Here Gonzalo explained a little more about the Inca stones used in the buildings and walls, which were often enormous and didn’t need any form of cement or reinforcement due to the skilful masonry of the Incas, and the 12-cornered stone that we had been so disdainful of in Cusco became slightly more impressive. Left to our own devices we wandered further up the mountainside to explore and it wasn’t long before the guards were blowing their whistles at us to make us come down which we took as our cue to leave, and we all ventured in to the pretty little town for a group dinner before what was to be the latest night that week with bed at nine pm!



The Inca Trail Day One: It was time for the walking to begin, and feeling confident that not a single pebble would thwart me in my new walking boots I pushed aside thoughts of Josh and Kyle giving the Lost City trek a 7/10 difficulty level and the Inca Trail a NINE! We had only been walking for a few minutes when Gonzalo gathered us all around and asked us to take out three coca leaves for an offering. Slightly bemused, we reluctantly did as we were told as he explained that we were going to make an offering to Pachamama, or Mother Earth, to ensure safe passage on our trek, and the three leaves represented the three levels of Inca beliefs. After playing a little ditty on his panpipes, Gonzalo “made the offering” and instructed us to make our own and told us that we should leave our leaves at a place of our own choosing along the trail. I am aware that this all sounds a little corny and trite, but I was happy to accept any help that Pachamama had to offer me. The walking never really picked up any sort of momentum on the first day, as we all kept together as a group, which meant we had to stop and wait for everyone to catch up every ten minutes, frustrating Forrest but I was more than content with the relaxed walking pace. There were a couple of uphill climbs which, due to the altitude, left you a little out of puff, but we always stopped at the top for the rest of the group so it wasn’t really a problem, and compared to the horrific first day of the Lost City trek, the four hour walk to the first campsite really was a walk in the park. It wasn’t until we reached our first camp that we realised the enormity of the porter’s role. Not only did they carry our bags, all the camping equipment and cooking facilities (including the kitchen sink pretty much) but by the time we arrived they had already set up all of our tents, erected the kitchen and dining tents and begun cooking dinner and they still managed to find the energy for a game of football against anyone stupid enough to try their luck against the healthy lungs of an Andean porter. I was happy to sit on the sidelines, but Forrest eagerly joined in and contributed to the trekker’s win of 2-0. I doubt he will ever play a game of football in such beautiful surroundings, or with such little oxygen again. A snack of popcorn and hot chocolate was quickly followed by a beautiful dinner and a game of cards with our new friends, before we headed to bed in our little red tents.



The Inca Trail Day Two: We were woken in our tents by the porters bringing us a cup of coca tea and a bowl of warm water to wash ourselves, no doubt the best room service I have ever had! I guzzled down my coca tea, desperate for that much needed little kick of energy it would give me in order to tackle DEAD WOMAN’S PASS! With my iPod in and Rihanna powering me along, I was confident that I was going to make it, rather than roll back down the mountain like I feared in the Lost City. Rihanna was quickly replaced by Louie who nattered me all the way up the 2400m pass and ensured that I didn’t in fact become a Dead Woman as we tackled the steep mountainside together. Louie was an absolute star, encouraging me to walk that little bit further before resting and not only helped me up the pass but encouraged absolutely everyone she encountered who seemed to be struggling. For the last few hundred metres we were a little mismatched group of five, all bullied by Louie to the top. Our efforts paid off, for although the view was obscured by cloud we could see how far we’d climbed and after a few obligatory summit photos, we began our descent down to the camp with Melissa and Steve who had been waiting for us at the top. We arrived at camp at 11:30am to be greeted by Anna, Keith and Forrest who had already been there for an hour, and celebrated our success with Tangfastics as we waited for the rest of our group to arrive. The hardest day was over and we had finished before midday! A chilling afternoon reading and admiring the view was in order, before being introduced to our 21 porters without whom the trip would not be possible. That evening we had another delicious dinner and a game of Uno while we all crossed our fingers for clear skies as we had been promised an Astronomy lesson from Robin and Dennis. Unfortunately the clouds meant that it was to be another early night, but I can tell you know that as a Taurus I am stable, loyal and loving and as a Scorpio Forrest is clumsy… oh wait, that’s Astrology (I’m playing the game Mum, I’m playing the game!)



The Inca Trail Day Three: After our coca tea breakfast in bed we emerged from the tent to find that we were completely submerged in cloud which meant a pretty cold, damp and miserable start to the day. Day three brought us the longest day of walking and another steep pass to tackle, but we stopped often to explore the various Inca ruins along the way, and once at the top we all congregated together for a group summit photo that hadn’t been possible the previous day due to the different walking speeds of the group. It was a few hours walk to where we would have lunch which turned out to be pretty dull due to the clouds obscuring any view around us, but we did have to pass through an Inca tunnel carved through the cliff face which was pretty awesome. Lunch came as a welcome relief from the gloomy day outside, and we cheered ourselves up with a game of Celebrity Head as we waited for the rest of the group to arrive. I emerged victorious as I baffled everyone with my celebrity, Pablo Escobar, having thrown them with a ‘yes’ to ‘Am I from the Northern Hemisphere?’! After lunch we began our descent down to the final campsite, the aptly nicknamed ‘Gringo Killer’, but by this time the weather had cleared up slightly and we were able to admire the beautiful exotic orchids and other fauna that adorned the cloud forest’s path as we trekked on by. We quickly explored one final Inca ruin, believed to be a resting place for travellers heading for Machu Picchu, before heading to our final resting place, Winay Wayna or ‘Forever Young’. Forrest relished the opportunity for a semi-hot shower while the rest of us were content with supping down beers as we admired the view of Machu Picchu mountain, and it wasn’t long before we got a little rowdy and rounds were being bought for the group, the guides and the porters. After dinner we were treated to an immense cake by the porters as they sang traditional songs for us accompanied by Gonzalo on his panpipes. The music took a slightly weird turn when the music changed from Peruvian folk to Celine Dion’s classic My Heart Will Go On and we took this as our cue for bed.



The Inca Trail Day Four: Our earliest wake up at 3:30am as the porters had to quickly pack up all the tents and rush down to catch the first train back to Ollantaytambo. We joined the queue of people all waiting for the gates to open at 5:30am, where it seemed as though there would be a mad dash to the top. As it was, there was no pushing and shoving and we began our final hours walk towards the Sun Gate for our first sighting of Machu Picchu. Anna, Forrest and I were leading our pack and we had been walking for about 45 minutes when we heard laughing up ahead and figured that we must have reached the Sun Gate. It didn’t take us long to realise that it was in fact screaming as we heard someone shouting “just hold on to the tree, someone has gone to get help!”, and as we passed the commotion we realised that a girl (who turned out to be one of the girls we had tackled Dead Woman’s Pass with on day 2) had somehow fallen off the path and over the edge of the cliff. Luckily she had landed amongst the vegetation and was in no immediate danger so we didn’t hang around for fear that we would create further problems as people began to gather on the path behind us all jostling to get past, but Gonzalo and Fireman Keith were the heroes of the hour making a rope out of ponchos to rescue the girl, who had fallen about 25 feet and escaped with only a sprained wrist! She was incredibly lucky as a further three metres along the path there would have been no vegetation to break her fall, just a sheer drop down the valley, and we slowed our pace down a little after that as reaching the Sun Gate before the crowds for that perfect photo no longer seemed as important as just staying on the path.

When we reached the Sun Gate disappointingly our view of Machu Picchu was entirely masked by a thick covering of cloud and we couldn’t help but feel a little cheated out of the emotional reaction we had heard about upon first sighting of the impressive Inca citadel. We hung around at the top for a little while, but Gonzalo and Victor were convinced that the clouds weren’t going to clear for some time and we half-heartedly headed down to the ruins. Every now and then the clouds would shift offering us tantalising glimpses of the ruins before they moved and obscuring our view, but we managed to get a couple of photos with the buildings in the background rather than just mist. Disheartened, we cheered ourselves up with a breakfast of pizza and quiche and by the time our tour was about to start the clouds had disappeared and the sun was shining. Lead by Gonazalo we explored the ancient citadel and now that we could see more than a metre in front of us it wasn’t hard to understand why Machu Picchu attracted so much attention. Even the loud obnoxious American tourists in jeans and trainers couldn’t ruin the magical atmosphere as we relished in our accomplishment and in our beautiful surroundings. After the tour we headed off to see whether we could climb Huayna Pichu (like we’d not done enough of that!) but all I can say on that subject is WOW as I pass it over to Forrest’s Final Thought to describe the ascent up the awe-inspiring peak!



The five of us stupid enough to want to walk more left Machu Picchu and rushed down to Aguas Calientes to meet with the rest of or group who were waiting for us with Pisco Sours in a little café. After a hurried cocktail and a rushed lunch we headed for the train station, where we all got comfortable for our scenic train ride back through the mountains to Ollantaytambo. We patiently waited for about an hour without leaving the station when a woman walked past holding her camera up to the window shaking her head knowingly. The picture on screen was of landslide damage to the train tracks a little further down, and it quickly became apparent that we weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. Rather than be sensible, put our feet up and get some well-deserved shut eye while we waited for the train to set off, we of course decided to make the most of a pretty crappy situation and head for the nearest, cheapest bring-your-own-booze drinking establishment. All sixteen of the trekkers joined us, of varying ages from 23-69, and what followed was an extremely funny game of Kings while we drank away the hours until it was time to return to the train. For anyone not familiar with the wonderful drinking game that is Kings (also known as Kings Cup or Ring of Fire) I’ll give you a little idea of the rules; a deck of cards are placed face down around a pint glass, and one by one participating players chose a card which corresponds to an agreed rule, such as ‘8: Pick A Mate’, ‘9: Bust A Rhyme’ and ‘4: To The Floor’. It isn’t as simple a game as say Snap, however the rules are written down for everyone to see and every time a card is picked that person has the opportunity to see what the relevant rule is, but it still managed to baffle, confuse and eventually defeat the older members of the game as we all steadily got rowdier and rowdier. We became so absorbed in the hilarity of Margaret’s inability to grasp the concept of the game as she got drunker with every card picked that we lost track of time and realised that the train was about to leave without us. Although we were having ridiculous amounts of fun the thought of spending the night in Aguas Calientes was not appealing and we all half sprinted, half stumbled back to the train where our fellow passengers looked delighted to see such a well-behaved group of reprobates join them.

Two bottles of Pisco later and we had somehow convinced the rest of the members of our carriage to join us in a game of Toothless Vegetables. I think it was probably a case of ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’, but in any case ‘bwocowi’ was a very welcome vegetable participant! I would like to tell you more about the three hour train journey back to Ollantaytambo but in truth it is slightly hazy, but that was definitely the altitude not the alcohol. When we eventually made it back to our bus six hours later than planned we were informed that the return journey to Cusco would take slightly longer than expected due to another landslide and everyone’s exhilaration turned into exhaustion and it was a rather subdued and quiet four hours back to Cusco. Arriving back to our hotel was a joyous occasion after such a long day and we fell in to bed, too exhausted to even have a shower, but extremely happy with our amazing Inca Trail.

We said goodbye to our Inca friends the next morning, promising to share photographs and memories once we returned back to normality. Feeling that there was more to see of Cusco, we fought away fatigue and headed off to Koricancha, where lamas, Inca ruins, Catholicism and modern art combined meant that we felt that we’d done enough touristy stuff to reward ourselves with a little pampering. Forrest went for a sexy massage with a sixty year old Peruvian man (HA!) while I went for a manicure and pedicure with Louie and Melissa. It wasn’t the most professional operation to say the least, just ask poor Louie who had opted for the less relaxing bikini wax, but you have to laugh when you end up filing your own nails, the dirty foot water is spilt over you when the girl’s phone falls in to it and you come out with nails of varying lengths and with varnish all over your hands with the exception of the nails! A massage was needed to relax after the ordeal, topped off with a fun night out with the girls and Briefcakes at Wild Rover.

Going to bed at six and getting up at eight is never a very good idea, and those of you who have ever met Forrest will understand how much of a worry it was for me when the alarm went off but luckily I managed to drag him out of bed and to the airport. Probably an even bigger accomplishment than the Inca Trail itself! It was back to Lima where we didn’t do very much at all apart from visit CrossFit Peru and CrossFit San Luis as Forrest was determined to save every single penny possible for steak and red wine in Buenos Aires!

We had an incredible experience on the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu and met some truly wonderful people who helped to make the trip an unforgettable experience, definitely one of the highlights of our trip so far!

Forrest’s Final Thought…

It was in Paddy’s Irish bar on an idle Wednesday afternoon in Cusco, whilst watching the Chelsea vs Man Utd champion’s league game with my fellow Mancunian Gap Yah’ers Kev and Juan Carlos, that the idea of climbing Huanya Picchu was first thrust upon me. The advice was simply that it was a “must do”, the views were spectacular, breath-taking even and far superior to those at the famous Sun Gate.

The first meeting with Gonzalo and our fellow Gap Adventurers in Cusco the night before we left for Ollantaytambo gave me the opportunity to enquire about the possibility of the climbing it. I was informed that it was a possibility, however it depended on many factors, namely the weather, the speed at we reached Machu Picchu on the final day (in order to sign up for it) and fact that only 400 people were allowed to climb it each day. So it was settled; we would reach Machu Picchu at break-neck speed on that final day, the weather would be great and we would for sure being amongst the first 400 people to sign up!

Unfortunately this was to prove not to be the case. Although we were amongst the first people on the Inca Trail to reach the Sun Gate and thus Machu Picchu on the final day, I was informed that people who spent the night in Aguas Calientes would have reached Machu Picchu at least an hour before us. In addition to this the weather situation, with so much cloud that we could barely see five feet in front of us, didn’t bode well. And so when Gonzalo, upon reaching the Machu Picchu, asked one the security guards to radio through and ask about the state of play, we received the dreaded news – Huanya Picchu was, despite the gloomy weather, all booked up. No!!!!!!!!!

Not to let this ruin my day, and with Gonzalo at the helm, we set upon our wonderful guided tour of Machu Picchu. As the day started to clear up and delightful blue skies appear, and although it was hard to feel disappointed with the stunning sights surrounding us, I couldn’t help but feel that day would have been made just that little bit more complete with views from Huanya Picchu, especially now the weather had significantly improved. However, the ritualistic coca leaf offering to the Incan gods at the start of trip must have paid off and our fortunes were to change. A fellow guide informed Gonzalo at the end of tour around Machu Picchu that, for some unknown reason, there were still places available to climb Huanya Picchu! Yes!!!!!!!

With most of our group understandably tired after four days of trekking, it was only to be Melissa, Lou, Anna, Bea and I who set off to the climb the awe-inspiring peak. On our way through the checkpoint at the bottom of Huanya Picchu, we all filled what looked like a huge visitor’s book with the usual details of name, passport number, nationality etc, as well as a signature. Although this may have simply been a formality, someone did inform us (which has not been verified) that we were actually signing a declaration in case we fell off and plummeted thousands of metres to our deaths; something which has happened before! We were told that the peak takes 45 minutes to climb, however we were pushed for time and decided were ascend as quickly as our tired legs and aching feet would take us. From afar Huanya Picchu looks almost impossible to climb due to its steep sides, however once we started climbing, steep seemed like an understatement. The windy paths and practically vertical stairs made for a difficult climb, however the Inca Trail had left us in good physical condition and although tired, we surprised ourselves with our fitness and speed and managed to overtake most other climbers with considerable ease. This, combined with our enthusiasm to reach the peak, meant that we arrived at the top in an impressive 29 minutes, a time that would have been even quicker if it wasn’t for the retards towards the top who obviously hadn’t quite mastered the art of climbing steps (you may think retards is a bit insulting however to say that they were going at a snail’s pace would be THE understatement of the century!).

At the top we were greeted with one of the most stunningly beautiful sights that one could ever see! Kev and Juan Carlos were not wrong, spectacular and breath-taking it was indeed and in my opinion, not just a “must do” for anyone visiting Machu Picchu but a “must do” for anyone full stop! It was only here you could grasp in its entirety the awesome landscape surrounding the lost city of Machu Picchu, and appreciate the brilliance and aesthetics of Machu Picchu itself. This view was quite simply the highlight of my Gap Yah adventure thus far!



p.s To those you wondering about my footwear situation on the Inca Trail after the now infamous Ciudad Perdida in Colombia, I am pleased to inform you that this hike went without a glitch. The purchase of some proper hiking shoes proved to be a great call, and although this will surprise and maybe even disappoint some of you, I am pleased to report that I did not stumble, fall or injure myself throughout the whole trek. Needless to say, Senor Clumsy is no more, dead. And anyone who continues to use the clumsy tag will be subject to the UK’s libel laws.

Perah Dahling!

"Oh my god, I can't believe you said that, because that really reminds me of this time on my Gap Yah! Yah, I was in South Americah, in Perah..."

After yet another night bus, two weary Gap Yah'ers arrived in Lima at 6:30am and went straight to bed! A very much needed couple of hours sleep meant that we woke feeling fresh and ready to explore Lima, Peru's capital city, of which we had received very mixed advice; from amazing all-you-can-eat sushi to simply "leave", it was time for us to make up our own minds.

Not wanting to immerse ourselves completely in big city mayhem after a couple of weeks chilling by the beach, we decided to ease in slowly by checking out the Barranco area where we were staying. Overlooking the ocean, Barranco is described in my RG as a "kind of limeno Left Bank" however with nothing really of interest to see other than the Museum of Electricty (and I'm not sure that that is really of interest to anyone other than Benjamin Franklin) we headed down to the "beach". Despite a few surfers bobbing in the waves among the pollution, the dirty pebbly strip of beach right next to the very busy main road was not particularly to our liking, and we decided to cut our losses and go back to the hostel for a drink. On the way back we stopped to admire the "Bridge of Sighs" which is so called because it supposedly has the most romantic view in Lima, however by this stage a gloomy sea mist had encompassed us and the bridge did live up to it's name but with more of a sigh of exasperation. The day wasn't a complete disaster however as we did manage to squeeze in some Peruvian culture in the form of a Pisco Sour, the national drink consisting of Pisco brandy, lime juice, sugar, bitters and egg white! Much nicer than it sounds trust me!

The next day, determined to find something good about Lima, we went into the city and after a very average lunch we went to the San Francisco Catacombs. The entry price included a guided tour of the Monastry and its catacombs, however "guided tour" is really giving it too much credit. Our "English-speaking" tour consisted of a Peruvian who couldn't speak any English other than the spiel he had sort of memorised which was mumbled as he walked away from us towards the next room. We aimlessly followed our "guide" desperately trying (and failing) to hear what he was saying, and when we arrived in the church's vast crypts containing the skulls and bones of some seventy thousand people, the creepy atmosphere and crappy guide meant that I couldn't wait get back in to the open air, even if it was the polluted air of Lima city centre. A quick Starbucks Frappe in Parque Kennedy and a little explore of the shops in Miraflores was next on the menu before heading back to the hostel to escape the gloom and doom of the mist that settled over us like Dementors.

Our next destination was Huacachina for a much needed adrenalin fix after the monotony of Lima. A beautiful little oasis in the middle of the Peruvian desert, whose calm is only broken with the screams of Gap Yah'ers sandboarding and buggying in the surrounding dunes. On our first evening there we climbed the nearest sand dune to watch the sunset over the desert before a relaxed BBQ and beers around the pool topped off a lovely day.



I was up early the next day relaxing by the pool. It wasn't until Forrest eventually emerged and pointed out the incredible view that I remembered that we were surrounded by stunning sand dunes, and we spent the rest of the morning reading, swimming and admiring the view from our sunbeds. The afternoon's entertainment was brought to us courtesy of one highly suspect dune buggy which raced up, up and over the sand dunes at breakneck speeds before hurtling back down flinging sand in our screaming mouths. Much like your average car journey with Forrest : ) The dune buggy stopped at the top of the sandy mountains for us to board down, however being unaccustomed to snowboarding or any other variety of extreme sports I chose to take the easy option and go down on my stomach, while Forrest stumbled his way down half on his feet and half on his bottom. After a couple of smaller dunes the dune buggy eventually screeched to a halt perched precariously at the top of an enormous mountain, and health and safety concerns were thrown out of the window as we were practically pushed over the edge and hurtling down the side of the dune. Sledging in the Castle park this was not! We had all been given a small piece of wax to rub on our boards, but poor Forrest got slightly confused about the purpose of the wax and thought that it would create friction and slow the board down so didn't bother putting any on. So while everyone else went down at 100 miles an hour, Forrest slowly traversed down the practically vertical slope, desperately paddling with his arms trying to pick up speed before eventually stopping halfway down. Not quite the screaming adrenalin filled experience he was hoping for, however the buggy ride back to the hostel was enough of a white-knuckle ride to ensure we didn't feel disappointed.



Continuing with our crazy antics, the next day we boarded a flight in Nazca to see the famous Nazca Lines, a series of ancient geoglyphs shaped like birds, animals and blobs. When we had booked this tour the guy in the hostel had explained that the prices were high because there is less competition between companies since the accidents. The accidents?! Hardly confidence inspiring but we like to live dangerously so decided to ignore all the warning signs. What. A. Mistake.

The teeny tiny plane had 2 pilots and 5 passengers including Forrest and I, and we all had to be weighed and seated in a specific order relating to our weight. I thought that the weigh-in would be the most frightening aspect of the flight, but I was wrong. From the second the wheels left the ground, the plane (about the size of a paper aeroplane made from a piece of A4 paper) bobbed about erratically, lurching up and down and side to side with no apparent control whatsoever. This ridiculous lurching combined with trillion degree stifling air meant that I had to clutch on to the inflight sick bag and pray with all my might that we weren't going to die and I wasn't going to chundah everywah. I barely managed to look out of the window when we flew over the lines as praying used up all my concentration, but the occasional glance down indicated that the lines were pretty spectacular. My Sunday mornings spent at St Mary's as a child with Oma, Opa and Aunty Jacqueline paid off and I managed to avoid a vomcano, however God was obviously teaching me a lesson for my less than Catholic lifestyle ever since and played a little April Fool on us. We're still not entirely sure what happened, but as we were heading back to the airport after the thirty minute (too long) flight one of the pilots started fiddling with his seatbelt and appeared to take his foot off the 'fly' pedal. The engine cut out for a millisecond before the pilot managed to get his seatbelt sorted and hit the gas again, however it felt like an eternity before it started up and succeeded in spoiling the only part of the flight I was remotely enjoying - going back. To recover from our Nazca ordeal we spent the afternoon chilling by the pool in Nazca's nicest hotel and researching stories of far too recent fatalities from Nazca flights and thanking our lucky stars that we were off that stupid tin plane.



Rather than stay in Nazca a moment longer than we had to we decided to get the hell outta dodge and boarded, you guessed it, another night bus to Arequipa. Being on the second floor of a double decker bus going over the Andes in the dark is in itself a pretty scary experience, but we managed to get some sleep and arrived in Arequipa to a beautiful sunshiney day. Once we checked in to our hostel Forrest caught up with some football and I caught up with the beautiful Emily who made my day even more sunshiney with very exciting news of an engagement and a Godbean! What a wonderful start to a lovely day in Arequipa! We spent the day exploring the pretty city, and had a guided tour of the San Francisco Convent which was so beautiful that I contemplated becoming a nun and Forrest was able to play with the settings on his camera to capture the stunning colours and volcanic landscape behind the Convent's walls. A 2:30am wake up the next day meant a very early night, but we still managed to squeeze in a couple of drinks with a nice English couple who had just done the Inca Trail with the same company as us, and thus gave us the lowdown on what to expect.



The early morning wake up was for a two day trek in Colca Canyon, a three hour drive from Arequipa which meant leaving at 3am to arrive in time for breakfast at 6. We were picked up from the hostel and crammed into a minibus far too small for the number of people which meant that sleeping was impossible. The driver's Reggatton music blaring from a speaker right next to my head didn't help either. After a breakfast of coca tea and stale bread we squeezed back in to the bus and went to the first stop on the tour to see if we could spot any condors. We got lucky and saw a couple of the huge birds soaring over the spectacular canyon which was pretty breathtaking, and then we realised that not only were we going to be walking down in to the depths of the canyon but at some stage we would also have to get back up. My feet got a little shaky in my inappropriate Converse shoes.

The scenery walking down in to the canyon was stunning, and I only slipped a couple of hundred times. We stopped for an alpaca stew halfway down and our guide Victor explained a little bit about where we were and about the beautiful flora and fauna surrounding us. The promise of "paradise" waiting for us at the bottom of the canyon spurred us on and we set off with renewed spirits however we couldn't help but be slightly disappointed when we arrived to find a slightly grotty, freezing cold swimming pool. Not exactly what John Milton had in mind but we still took the opportunity to soak our aching legs and relax before dinner, which to Forrest's delight came with a side-serving of 'ganter' (I resent having to write that word and give it any form of recognition). After attempting to take photos of the amazing stars we eventually hit the hay at the very late time of 8:30 in preparation for our uphill slog the next morning. A cup of coca tea for breakfast at 5:30am gave us the little extra energy boost we needed for the three hour climb out of the canyon. We set off just as the sun was rising, and the switchbacks in the path up the side of the canyon provided the perfect opportunity to stop to catch your breath and admire the incredible landscape. We celebrated our trekking prowess (hundreds of almosts but no falls - even Snr. Clumsy managed to remain upright!) with a relax in the thermal baths, a Colca Sour (YUM) and a big buffet lunch before heading back to Arequipa.



You'll be delighted to know that that evening we took our final overnight bus in South America, and to celebrate we decided to go for the more expensive 'Cama' seats - practically fully reclinable and waitress service. Somehow Forrest managed to have even less leg room than he did in the cheap seats and struggled to sleep so spent the journey cramped and listening to a very distressed child crying while me and my stumpy legs slept soundly all the way to Cusco.

Coming up in The Gap Yah Chronicles: With our Gap Yah travels in South America rapidly coming to an end we end our Latin adventure on a high...the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu followed by steak and red wine in Buenos Aires!

Forrest's Final Thought:

For those of you who aren't part of the YouTube generation (hi Mum and Dad!) who have been baffled and confused by the references to Gap Yah'ers, chundering and vomcanos, I present to you the ingenious inspiration for our blog that is Gap Yah...

Montanita Vs. Mancora

In this episode of The Gap Yah Chronicles, seasoned Gap Yah’ers Bea and Forrest put to bed the age old Gap Yah conundrum; which beach is better – Montanita in Ecuador or Mancora in Peru? Using the certified scoring method (‘out of ten’) I will assess each beach on its own merits before Forrest’s Final Thought concludes the debate with the official outcome. Let us begin…

Journey to destination

Montanita: Determined to finally leave Quito and get Forrest down to lower ground, we made the decision to get the bus in the daytime to Guayaquil (practically unheard of in Gap Yah circles) and from there hopefully get the night bus to Montanita. However, as the saying goes, the best laid schemes of Bea and Forrest oft go awry, and we arrived in Guayaquil to be informed that the next bus to Montanita was leaving the following morning at 7am. Stranded in the city Watson described as a ‘shithole with nothing going on’ (please excuse my French parents!), we stumbled upon our first real unplanned night, which obviously meant an argument over whether to eat (Forrest) or find accommodation (Bea) first. The lure of the food court in the bus station proved to be too great a temptation for Forrest, and although we had no bed for the night Forrest was happily content with his Big Mac. Eaten in silence might I add.

We eventually paid over the odds for a taxi to the nearest hostel reviewed in my Rough Guide, where Forrest desperately tried to find some sport to watch on the television and I researched bed bugs. All done in silence might I add.

We finally arrived in Montanita to bright sunshine, and any bad feelings from the previous evening were forgotten as we checked in to a beautiful hostel right on the beach.

6/10

Mancora: Excited to be heading to a new country we boarded the night bus that would take us over the Ecuador-Peru border to the promised land of Mancora. Having heard countless tales of amazingness from Semily Watcrock (Sam Crocker + Emily Watson = Semily Watcrock), even the lack of air conditioning and reclining seats for the thirteen hour journey couldn’t dampen our spirits. My excitement quickly turned to despair as the dreaded traveller tummy-gurgle set in and I realised that taking a cheaper bus meant that there was no toilet and I spent the next eight hours simultaneously shivering and sweating as the bus lurched towards Peru. My distress was not made any easier by the bus driver choosing to constantly drive on the opposite side of the road rather than have the hassle of overtaking any vehicle that may get in his way, only moving back on the correct side when something was approaching from the other direction.

Imagine my relief when the bus stopped at the border and I was able to get off. Again, in typical South-American disorganisation and disarray we were then informed that border control was closed and would not reopen until 3am at the earliest. With no toilet in sight (although I’m pretty sure the guy in the back office on Facebook probably had access to one), we waited outside immigration getting eaten alive by mosquitos as I tried to sleep in the intense heat whilst feeling like I was going to die. Three hours later, we eventually got over the border and back on the bus where we both somehow managed to sleep until we arrived in Mancora in the early hours of the morning.

1/10

Accommodation

Montanita: Our first night in Montanita was spent at Charo’s Hostel. A beautiful hostel with a pool, hot water, lovely food and amazing view of the beach from our bedroom window. Slightly spoiled by constant hammering and sawing directly overhead.

The next day we moved further down the beach towards the point to a beautiful hostel and surf camp right on the beach called Casa Del Sol. Much quieter away from “town”, the hostel had a very serene atmosphere and if it wasn’t for the slightly more expensive prices I could have happily stayed there for much longer. The beach bar, Casa Del Surf, served tasty maracuya (passionfruit) daiquiris and delectable fish tacos and burritos (although I have a sneaky suspicion that these were to be my stomach’s downfall).

7/10



Mancora: We were to learn a valuable lesson when choosing accommodation; always go for the place recommended by Emily’s Guide to South America, rather than following the Irish. Loki Del Mar in Mancora is more of a resort than a hostel, complete with its own swimming pool, bar and restaurant, eager staff organising activities such as beer pong and poker (Forrest was in heaven) and towels ‘reserving’ sunbeds at 6am.

Still suffering from my very serious illness, I had plenty of time to evaluate the quality of our 7-bed dorm for our first few days in Mancora (Forrest will be able to advise you more on the nightlife during this period of near-death) and although the proximity of the shared bathroom and ceiling fan above my bed were a welcome relief, the pounding music coming from all directions was not an ideal soundtrack to my sickness. Lou Bega’s Mambo No. 5 was a particular low point.

8/10



The Beach

Montanita: The terrible events in Japan that had threatened the Ecuadorian coast had luckily not affected Montanita, despite everyone being evacuated on the night of the earthquake in preparation for the tsunami. Speaking to people that had been there that night, I was extremely grateful that we were safely out of any harm’s way in Quito as I am not sure I would have handled being woken up in the middle of the night with people screaming “TSUNAMI” very well at all. And Forrest certainly wouldn’t have – you know how much he dislikes being woken up!

Montanita’s beach, although a little grubby, was a beautiful stretch of sand with warm water and perfect waves for surfing. We happily whiled away the hours sipping cocktails on luxury beach beds as we watched the experienced surfers ride waves at the point. The stunning pacific coast sunsets every evening didn’t hurt either.

8/10



Mancora: The sand in Mancora was much more to Forrest’s liking; less ‘dusty’ than Montanita’s beach and much cleaner, however the downside to having a pool at your hostel often means that the beach gets somewhat neglected. This is not to say that it went unappreciated however, as early morning yoga on a terrace overlooking the beautiful curved coastline was something to be rivalled.

7/10



Surf

Montanita: Having always thought of himself as a cool surfer dude, Forrest was keen to get into the water and see whether all those years of bodyboarding in Newquay had paid off. Our surf coach Roberto was the Chilean equivalent of Bodie from Point Break. After spending a good thirty minutes on the sand practicing the correct technique to getting up on your board and learning about the ethos of surf (whilst desperately trying to decipher Roberto’s heavy accent) it was time to hit the water. Or in our case, hit our heads with the board and hit our faces in the sand as we struggled over and over with each wave to keep hold of the board let alone anything remotely resembling surfing.

After two lessons with Roberto, I managed to get up on the board for approximately half a second a couple of times, but Forrest was still struggling to even manage to get on to his knees. Roberto explained that our problems were as follows; I was over-analysing the movement, aka too clever for my own good, and Forrest was simply too uncoordinated, aka CLUMSY!

4/10

Mancora: Although somewhat disheartened by our lack of surfing ability in Montanita, we pursued our dream of being surfers with Robby Munoz, an ex-pro surfer on the Californian circuit. Robby took us away from the laughing eyes of the crowded Mancora beach to the practically deserted and beautiful Los Organos twenty minutes down the coast. After a quick explanation as to the safety element of learning to surf, we entered the water and braced ourselves for more wiping out and swallowing water. What followed was somewhat short of a miracle. Aided by Robby, both of us were able to stand up and ride the waves after only a couple of falls, and by our second lesson we were even attempting to guide the board to follow the break of the wave and to ‘pump’ the board in order to go faster. I have a feeling that our success had more to do with Robby’s awesome coaching and help than our natural ability to surf, but nonetheless we were able to come away feeling as though we could ‘hang ten’ with the best of them (we can’t obviously – Robby was good but he can’t work miracles with Senor Clumsy himself!).

9/10

Food

Montanita: I have already mentioned the delish fish tacos and burritos served up by our hostel’s beach bar, accompanied by a spicy salsa and mango and ginger marinade they made the perfect cheap eat to watch the sunset with. Montanita also satisfied my cravings for pancakes, having had them savoury with cheese and ham for lunch and a late night snack with nutella and bananas, yummy. The highlight of our Montanitan culinary adventure however was our meal at Tiki Limbo which consisted of shrimp ceviche with plantain crisps to start, and then sesame-crusted tuna with garlic rice for me and a seafood stew for Forrest. All washed down with caipirinhas!

8.5/10

Mancora: As you can imagine, the thought of trying the Peruvian ceviche did not sit well with my poorly tummy, but Forrest informs me that the ceviche at Loki was nice although the taste was somewhat obliterated by an entire onion in each portion. Mancora is famed for its restaurants and after easing myself slowly back into the world of food with a falafel sandwich at Angela’s vegetarian café, we were able to enjoy a delicious Thai meal consisting of scallop wontons to start with an array of dips, and a chicken Pad Thai and a sweet and sour crispy pork, shrimp and peach dish (yes Mum – HOT FRUIT with savoury!) To Forrest’s delight, the Steak House served real steaks, not the thin pieces of carne posing as steaks served everywhere else in South America and he managed to find a bottle of red wine to his liking to accompany his 16oz fillet steak!

8.5/10

Nightlife

Montanita: The night doesn’t get going until late in Montanita, and mainly revolves around ‘Cocktail Alley’, where the cheap cocktails go down easily but the cheap alcohol hangover doesn’t dissolve quite so easily the next day. We had a fun night out with Jeff, our mate from Quito, replaying Kings in his hostel before hitting Cocktail Alley, however early morning surf lessons meant that we had to be careful with the amount of ‘Montanitas’ we consumed, although with hindsight perhaps some drunken confidence might not have been too terrible an idea!

7/10



Mancora: Loki’s evening entertainment of beer pong, karaoke, ‘pimps and hos’ fancy dress and drinking Olympics may not be to everyone’s taste but the crowd at Loki sure soaked them up, along with the very delicious slushy cocktails on offer. Forrest had a good night out with the Canadians from our dorm whilst I lay ill in bed, drinking at the hostel bar before heading to the infamous Charlie Browns to continue consuming endless amounts of booze. However, the curse of the traveller’s tummy forced us to have a pretty tame time in the party town of Mancora.

7.5/10



Sunsets

Montanita:



8.5/10

Mancora:



7/10

Final Score:
Montanita = 49/80
Mancora = 48/80

Forrest’s Final Thought…

And so it’s finally been settled, the age old conundrum that has spooked travellers for years has been put to bed, tudo bem Montanita! It was close call in the end, and if it wasn’t for a disastrous journey to Mancora which netted it a calamitous 1/10, we would be tudo beming Mancora instead! As it so happens I love both of the little beach resorts, and although very similar in many ways, each one had their own unique character.

And whilst we raise our glasses to Montanita, I would like to opine and put the record straight. Roberto, although you were a pretty cool dude, it would seem that your uncoordinated/clumsy/ungraceful/inept/awkward diagnosis was in the end, quite simply wrong. I cannot, and will not, be held responsible for poor surfboards which may give the impression of clumsiness.

And to those unbelievers, who still believe, incorrectly I might add, that I am clumsy, I present you with this photo…

En El Mitad Del Mundo

The summer of 2003 took the fifteen year old me on an epic travelling odyssey through the Americas; a three-week school adventure to Ecuador, a skinny-jeaned teenage dream in P’bro and Doctor’s Island with the Ushers, and a Cross Family road trip from lobster sandwiches in Boston to the Beast in New York, and finally ending up with the Feet in South Carolina. Although I could probably have happily spent the entire year back on Doctor’s Island with Pip, it was Ecuador that fuelled my desire to Gap Yah and I was looking forward to returning to discover whether what had seemed so alien to me at fifteen now seemed more like home after two and a half months in South America.

My memories of my visit to the middle of the world are hazy to say the least, but here is what I do remember: a butterfly landing on my shoulder at the thermal baths, a very embarrassing tribal dance with the Quechuan people in the jungle, watching Face/Off at the foot of Cotopaxi in the minibus in an effort to keep warm and getting pretty drunk wearing our new Ecuador football shirts on our last night in Quito. The last memory was in danger of being repeated.

We arrived in Quito late at night and jumped in a cab to our first stop, The Secret Garden Hostel. Blatantly ignoring the sign saying “reception is on the roof terrace, drop your heavy bags here!”, we lugged our backpacks up five very windy sets of stairs, huffing and puffing with the increase in altitude each step took us to. Even in the dark the view over Quito from the roof terrace was breath-taking, and we went to bed excited to be in a new country and to see what the next day would bring.



As we expected, the view in the morning was even more inspiring than it had been in the dark, and I instantly recognised the Virgin of Quito perched on top of El Panecillo and the impressive gothic Basilica, perhaps I remembered more than I thought. We set about exploring the Old Town, which was teeming with Ecuadorians taking advantage of the Catholic public holiday during Carnaval, and meandered through the square taking in the picture perfect sixteenth-century architecture and being really quite gobsmacked at just how tiny the Ecuadorians are (especially the men); I know someone who would feel right at home here, although he may have to purchase some stacks for his shoes to keep eye level with them (HI DAD!) The serenity of the morning was somewhat ruined when we were waiting to cross the road and were doused from head to toe in foam by a car whizzing past, apparently an Ecuadorian tradition at Carnaval along with water-throwing. Great.

After we’d recovered from the vicious foam attack, we braved the cities buses only to find that they were an obvious target for the renegade water throwers, and narrowly escaped being drenched every time the doors opened to let someone on or off. Three very nerve-wracking buses later and we arrived at the Mitad del Mundo. I had previously been to the monument on the Equator with school, and we all happily posed for photos with one foot on either side of the line (“Look, I’m in two places at once!”) indicating the middle of the world, so you can imagine my dismay when my trusty Rough Guide informed me that the real Equator lies approximately 300m further along the main road. Determined not to be duped, we ignored the very busy Fakecuator, and headed to the Museo Solar Inti Nan, where thanks to GPS the real Equator is now known to be. We explored the very cool and pretty little museum with a guide who showed us the various experiments that can be performed on the Equator, such as the water going down the plug hole and balancing an egg on the head of the nail, even harder than it sounds despite the benefit of reduced gravity! There was also an interesting exhibition on indigenous housing complete with some cute fluffy guinea pigs (to be boiled, skewed and roasted) and an extremely weird step-by-step guide on how to make a shrunken head, which I’m still not sure I fully understand, or whether I even want to. After the obligatory photos straddling the Equator and receiving our certificates and passport stamps, it was time to brave the bus back to the hostel for dinner and drinks with a view.



A gloomy and cold Shrove Tuesday in Quito was marvellously improved by pancakes for breakfast at the hostel and a trip to the Thermal Baths. ‘About two hours from Quito’, as everything was said to be but never actually was, Las Termas de Papallacta are located in the beautiful Andean highlands, which of course entails a scary windy bus ride overtaking anything that stands in your way despite the 100 foot drop. I have found that closing my eyes and pretending that I’m on a rollercoaster rather than a road helps with the fear, and the reward of a day relaxing in thermal springs with a massage at the end doesn’t hurt either! No butterfly this time, but a beautiful day none the less.

When we woke the next morning, the view from the roof terrace was obscured by sheeting rain (pun perhaps intended) so there was nothing else for it but to head to Gringolandia and watch the football in an Irish pub. I have already stated my disgust at the lack of Magners in my last post, but feel that it is quite necessary to reiterate this – it is a fallacy to reward yourself with the name ‘Finn McCool’s Irish Pub’ if you’re not going to have Magners, not cool Finn McCool, not cool at all. After beers and burgers in the New Town, we headed back to the hostel for an early night as we were getting up early to go to Cotopaxi. Forrest had other ideas though, and it wasn’t long before we were playing Kings with three Australians (never a good sign) and back in the New Town dancing to Thriller.

It goes without saying that instead of visiting an active volcano the next day, we spent the day in bed extremely hungover with a KFC.

Keen to shake of the Kings hangover which was still niggling me somewhere between my eyes, despite sleeping the entire day previously, we organised a trip to Mindo for some extreme adventure with Karla and Laine, the two Aussie girls we’d been out with two nights before. The morning’s adrenaline fix came from Mindo Canopy Adventure, for zip-lining along thirteen cables high above the forest, the highest and longest being 400m long and god knows how high. Although I was a little terrified of the cables snapping under my weight, once I was assured that not even I could snap stainless steel, it was great fun, and it wasn’t long before we were doing ‘Superman’ poses as we flew through the forest, and even the death-defying upside down Mariposa (Butterfly) pose.



Desperate for our next adrenaline fix, our next stop was the even scarier ‘Leeeeeap Ooooooffffffff Faaaaaaiiiiiith’! This involved a similar sort of cable/zip-lining set up but only this time rather than getting in to position and slowly sliding, we had to take a running jump over a canyon. You might think that with all my extreme bungy-jumping experience I would find this a doddle? No siree! It is never an easy thing to throw yourself off the side of a cliff with the hope that some so called ‘stainless steel’ is going to catch you and zip-line you to safety. I would probably say that mine was less a leap of faith, more a hesitant mistrust. But as you can tell, we lived to tell the tale and daringly even did another jump (again less of a jump, more of a stumble). Forrest says that his day in Mindo has given him a little more optimism for his impending bungy-jump in Cairns – watch this space! After Forrest braved the glacial waters of the Mindo waterfalls to experience the waterslide in the rocks, and after bidding adieu to our Australian buddies, we headed back to Quito for an early night – we really were going to Cotopaxi the next day!



When I was fifteen the idea of climbing the 5897m of Cotopaxi was not appealing, and I have to admit that as the picture-perfect symmetrical cone-shaped volcano loomed in to view, at twenty-three I still don’t feel the need to do so. I am more than happy to admire its beauty from afar and drink hot chocolate laced with rum in front of a log fire. The Secret Garden Cotopaxi was definitely the most homely and warm place we have stayed, even if we were staying in a tent! We were greeted with homemade minestrone soup and an exquisite view of the Avenue of Volcanoes. That afternoon we went on a short walk to some nearby waterfalls and relaxed in front of the fire with a glass of red wine and a good book before a dinner of burgers and jacket potatoes. Just like being back in England – bliss!



Forrest somehow persuaded me to walk up part of Cotopaxi, to the refuge located at the edge of the glacier at 4800m. Not as difficult as it sounds as we were driven practically to the front door of the refuge, however the half hour slog up the ashy side of the volcano was no mean feat due to the altitude, but with a rest after every ten steps I finally made it to the refuge for hot chocolate and very delicious banana cake. The views, as you can imagine, were breathtaking. If you ignored the snow-capped peaks in every direction, the verdant paramo (Andean grasslands) could have been mistaken for the rolling green hills of our beautiful Ribble Valley, and made me somewhat nostalgic for home and the view of Pendle Hill from Rock House.



The plan was to mountain bike back down from the jeep all the way back to the hostel, an activity I was less than thrilled about, being still a little unsteady on a bicycle after the Great Bike Race Incident in Gisburn Forest all those years ago. So, you can imagine my disappointment when it was discovered that our guide had only brought enough bikes for five people rather than the six planning to do the mountain biking. It was with great dignity and gallantry that I stepped aside and offered to ride back in the jeep so that another less-fortunate person than I would have the opportunity to take a bike, I’m not sure that I have mentioned that I had after all already been to Ecuador on a previous occasion. After a shaky start where Forrest discovered his brakes didn’t work, not exactly ideal when you’re about to zoom down the side of a volcano, we followed the bikers in the jeep as they navigated their way through the moon-like terrain at breakneck speed. We all met up again when we hit flat land, and I have to admit that I was a little jealous of their flushed faces and stupid grinning mouths, and perhaps should have been a little braver and joined in. If only I wasn’t psychologically scarred from being forced to enter a competitive bike race down a dangerous limestone track when I was just a tiny little girl. It obviously wasn’t long before Forrest’s luck ran out and he took a tumble on the track when his chain fell off. Luckily the jeep was still behind the bikes at this stage, and he was a very bwave boy despite his grazed hands and arms and simply jumped in the car with us. I personally think he was worried that I would eat all the food back at the hostel before the bikers even got back.

Unfortunately, Forrest’s luck went from bad to worse as his quick ascent and descent up and down Cotopaxi meant that the dreaded altitude sickness took hold and not even a strongly brewed cup of Coca tea was able to curb the nightmare that was to follow. I most certainly will not divulge the effects of altitude sickness on the body, for those of you who would like to know there are far more appropriate mediums such as the NHS website, but it meant that our little tent and access to an organic compost ‘toilet’ was no longer a suitable form of accommodation, and I moved a very weak and dazed Forrest to a beautiful honeymoon cabana complete with sunken bathtub and log fire, and most importantly a flushing toilet. I am pleased to report that I was a dutiful and attentive nurse throughout the night, supplying copious amounts of rehydrating liquids and even a hot water bottle, and was not even bitter in the slightest that it was looking as though we were not going to be able to do the horse-riding the following morning. Although Forrest was pretty devastated that he missed pizza night!

My Florence Nightingale behaviour during the night worked, and although Forrest was still feeling pretty ropey we decided it was probably best to get back to Quito rather than another sleepless night at altitude. A wise decision indeed, and Forrest spent the afternoon recuperating whilst I planned the next stage of our adventure, mainly to get Forrest back to an altitude he could cope with: sea level! Despite scary murmurings of a tsunami hitting the Ecuadorian coast after the devastating events in Japan, Ecuador had escaped unscathed, so it was back to the beach for us for sun, surf and ceviche.

Forrest's Final Thought… red red wine (stay close to me)

Bea has brought up an interesting point whilst deriding the lack of cider on the trip thus far, however, whilst I am partial to the odd glass of fermented apple juice every once in a while, it is not the lack of cider that has caused me grave disappointment and sleepless nights, it is the lack of decent red wine. To those of you who know me well, you will know that there are three loves in my life; red wine, friends & family, and football and to those of you who know me really well, you will know that they they go in that order.

The first stop was Brazil, a country boarding Argentina, whom arguably produces some of the finest red wines in the world. It would be logical to presume therefore that some of these wines would manage to make it over the border and supply Brazil’s burgeoning middle class with some decent Malbec, Cabernet Sauvignon et al. It was not to be the case. Red wine was scarce in Brazil and when it was found, it turned out to be disappointing to say the least. An example of this would be our eight day trip up the Amazon. Imagine my surprise when I was informed that the boat sold, of all things, red wine! The wine in question was a Brazilian wine known as Suave and supposedly very popular amongst the locals. And so with our bags safely put away in our cabin, I wasted no time in heading upstairs to the bar. The first thing I noticed was the temperature of the bottle; coming straight out of the fridge it was too cold for my liking, however with warm sun above us, it was only a matter of time before this was rectified. The second thing I noticed however was the taste. This could not be rectified. It was if someone had previously opened the bottle and inserted 7000 tea spoons of sugar along with full bottle of toilet cleaner. Disgusting.

Colombia proved to be much of the same with the exception of the supermarket chain, Exito. Exito, a very fine supermarket indeed, had a good selection of wines from around the world. However, my dismay and desperation were not to cease here. The wines although good were extortionately expensive and when travelling on a budget, extortionately expensive means too expensive. To give you an idea of prices, a bottle of Verve Clique, usually circa £40 in the UK was a cool £300 in Colombia. Disgusting.

I was rather disheartened by the time we reached the dizzying heights of Ecuador’s capital Quito and after drinking a glass of the house red in the bar (from a carton I might add – a carton!!!) I made a vow; I was not going to drink red wine, or any type of wine for that matter, until we reached the promised land of Argentina. So from now on, that’s 5 weeks without red wine. Disgusting.

Cartagena, Cocaine, Coffee & Culture

What better way to spend a rainy Wednesday afternoon in Quito than in an Irish bar watching the Tottenham vs AC Milan Champions League match (Forrest) and catching up with a slightly overdue Gap Yah blog (yours truly). I am managing to quell my severe disappointment at the so-called “Irish” bar’s lack of Magners in order to update you all (all eleven of you!) of our movements since we conquered La Ciudad Perdida…

After a cozy (*read as cramped and hot) night squashed in to our makeshift dorm room at Dreamers hostel, we accompanied the Australian’s on a day trip to Tayrona, after all what better way to relax after five days of strenuous hiking than to hike some more! Despite extreme fatigue, mainly due to the previous night’s sleeplessness than the exertion of the week, the two hour hike to Cabo San Juan didn’t seem half as bad as the last time Forrest and I had stumbled our way through the forrest. Whether this was due to our new-found hiking prowess or simply the lure of the beautiful beach that awaited us I’m not entirely sure. I have a sneaky suspicion that it was the first sighting of the Russian that spurred us on, who had obviously followed us to Tayrona having not quite had her fill of British/Australian humour that she had so desperately enjoyed on the trek. The Russian was still wearing the same tied-up camouflage belly top and shorts that she had worn for the previous five days, we were now even more convinced that she was definitely a member of KGB and had us under surveillance. It was a welcome relief to reach Cabo and we celebrated with a beautiful swim and a three hour sleep in the sunshine.

Our enthusiasm for hiking had well and truly escaped us when we all woke and the thought of the trek back was not appealing in the slightest, so with the exception of Webber who decided to run back to the road, we made the decision to get the boat back to Taganga. What followed was an incredible yet hair-raising experience. The tiny boat took off at breakneck speeds, and it felt as though we were flying as the waves crashed over us (and by this I don’t mean that we got a bit wet from the spray – the waves LITERALLY crashed over the boat soaking us to the skin). Even in the face of capsizing and drowning, the beauty of the coastline we sped past did not escape me (when I managed to open my eyes that is) and it could not have looked more like Jurassic Park with the pterodactyls (pelicans!) flying overhead! Soaking wet and shaky legged, we arrived back at Taganga just in time for a beautiful sunset. I would also like to clear something up on record – Jenna and Josh, I was not that scared and I certainly did not cry; I must have got some sea water in my eye or something.



After saying bye to Josh and Webber, more lasagne and more red wine, we retired to our room for some well-earned relaxation time in our private room…we were asleep within minutes! The next morning we made good on our promise to return to Cartagena, with Jenna and Matt in tow. The previously unfriendly and cold staff at El Viajero welcomed our return with open arms, well the girl on reception recognised us and managed to crack a smile, and we set about showing Jenna and Matt the beautiful city and doing the things we had missed out on the first time around. The first thing on our list was the castle, whose tunnels had been hyped up in the article previously mentioned in my Cartagena and the Caribbean blog post. The views from the castle were nice but nothing breathtaking, but exploring the tunnels was exciting until we decided to, as all well-travelled and adventurous GapYah’ers are inclined to do, escape the crowds and head deeper underground. Jenna and I had the sense to stop when our toes reached water, but Forrest and Matt, determined to find treasure, waded through ankle deep murky tunnel water finding only discarded rum bottles (not from pirates or military but from equally as idiotic tourists exploring the castle) but it wasn’t long before the sound of rats in the water made them come shrieking back. Re-emerging back in to the Caribbean sunshine, we continued our exploration of Cartagena’s defensive line with cocktails at Café Del Mar on the Citadel for sunset. An early night was forced upon us as an amazing meal of steak and mash (muchas gracias Matt and Jenna!) and red wine made it practically impossible to consider anything other than bed.



We spent the next morning wandering aimlessly around the city, browsing in the artisanal shops and photographing the beautiful colonial architecture, before an exquisite lunch of cheese and meats in a little Italian wine bar. It does seem that we have eaten more Italian food than anything vaguely Colombian, but believe me when I tell you that fried empanadas, plantains and rice can get quite tired, whereas pizza and pasta never disappoint. We were joined on our afternoon’s excursion to the Mud Volcano by none other than….THE RUSSIAN, whose KGB acting lessons came in to play as she pretended to be aghast when she saw us. I can report that she was still wearing the same clothes, however I choose to believe that the KGB provided her with more than one shirt to come away with. The mud volcano was pretty self-explanatory, although I would say perhaps more of a mud mound than a volcano. The “crater” at the top was already pretty chockablock with mud-covered people when we arrived, and it was hard to see how our bus load of people were going to fit in, but as one by one we were ushered in to the mud any inhibitions one might have had were extinguished as we were massaged with the “healing” mud by the mud-volcano men (something Matt and Forrest seemed pretty excited about) and then directed into any available space to experience the curious nature of the viscous mud. Jenna’s squeal of “IT’S CHUNKY!” when climbing down the ladder was a perfect description of the consistency of the mud, which gave the impression of no discernible sense of gravity and the resistance it created meant that you could stand up without actually touching hard ground. Forrest may be tall, but I think he was reaching beyond his grasp when he decided that he was going to try and touch the bottom, before politely being informed that the crater was 2300 feet deep! After dragging ourselves out of the mud and waddling with mud-filled bikini bottoms down to the river nearby, we were grabbed by women who washed the mud off us. A somewhat weird experience as we were plonked in barely deep enough water, and stripped naked whilst Colombian women scrubbed at our bodies and swimwear as we scrambled to cover our dignity in the shallow water.



The next evening we experienced our first long-haul bus journey, sixteen hours from Cartagena to Medellin, and I am delighted to inform you that neither sharing the sub-zero air-conditioned bus with The Russian (told you she was following us!) nor an attempted heist was able to stop us from snoozing the entire length of the journey. The attempted heist took place sometime in the very early hours of the morning, when a rock was thrown at the bus completely shattering one of the windows. I woke from my slumber at the sound of the crash, and couldn’t understand why the driver seemed to speed up rather than to stop and cover the window to stop the draught from disturbing my sleep. It all made sense however when we were told that we had been driving through guerrilla territory and whoever had thrown the rock would have wanted us to stop in order to steal our belongings. Let me tell you this for nothing, if any guerrilla had dared to steal my tins of tuna and Milo biscuits they would have found themselves dealing with a very angry and tired little girl!

My trusty Rough Guide says of Medellin; “it's hard to think of a city - apart from perhaps Baghdad - more in need of a public relations makeover” due mainly to its associations with Medellin Cartel drug lord Pablo Escobar. We had heard rumours that Medellin was the place to be if you wanted to party, perhaps a relic of remembrance from the days when Pablo ruled the city, however although we did enjoy a great night out with new friends Maika and Oscar, and bumping in to old friends Abbey, Sean and Donal, we also spent a cultural Sunday exploring Medellin’s more respectable tourist activities. Taking the Metro line (a gift from Pablo to the city) to Universidad station, we spent the day wandering through the Botantical gardens, marvelling at the butterfly garden, eating “crazy mango” covered with carnation milk and pepper at the Planetarium, broadening our minds at Planet Explore and finding Nemo at the Aquarium! After an exhausting day of learning and culture, we headed back to the hostel for dinner and to talk about Burgermeister in Amsterdam with Maika and Oscar!



The next day we went on the Pablo Escobar tour, which has become increasingly popular since the Jonny Depp movie Blow much to the displeasure of the Medellin tourist board. As we sped around the city visiting “Pablo’s places”, our guide told us his story which included the tragic events of his childhood, his rise to cocaine fame and his eventual murder/suicide depending on whether you choose to believe the Medellin police or Pablo’s family. We visited the first “house” that he built when he first amassed his fortune (more of an entire apartment building complete with swimming pool, tennis courts and a dining room that took up an entire floor), his grave and family’s graves and the rooftop where he met his ultimate demise. We were then taken up to his brother’s house, which was once their safe house known about only by Roberto and Pablo during their prime. We got to meet Roberto and explore the house that Roberto has turned in to a museum, detailing his and his brother’s lives, complete with fresh bullet holes from last September from an attempted robbery. Roberto was fascinating, and was happy to answer any questions about Pablo or their lives in general, so Forrest took the opportunity to ask him his opinion on Plan Colombia (which was that the government needed to provide realistic economic alternatives to cocaine production if they wanted it to succeed). Roberto seemed like such a friendly old man, that it was hard to remember that in his past life he was one of the most powerful drug-lords in the world, although when he made me briefly “disappear” behind a secret door in his living room the thought did enter my head!



The following day we took a six hour bus ride to Salento to discover Colombia’s other famous export, coffee! After being dropped off in the middle of nowhere in the pouring rain, we sought shelter in a dilapidated hut before braving the torrential downpour to find the bus that would take us into town and to our hostel, working coffee finca Plantation House. We had a beautiful dinner that evening, sampling Salento’s specialities of fried plantains with warm tomato chutney and trout baked with garlic and roasties – delicious! Salento was like a ghost town, probably something to do with the weather, so we headed back to the hostel to watch Black Swan (behind a pillow) in honour of Natalie Portman’s Best Actress Oscar the previous evening.

The owner of Planation House, an English guy called Tim, took us on a tour of the coffee farm the next afternoon, and although the scenery was stunning I couldn’t help but feel a little cheated when the coffee-making process was demonstrated using a poster! The most interesting part was hearing Tim’s plans for the future of the farm, which was to create a more boutique market for his coffee which included the domain name yourcoffeeplanation.com where you could buy your own coffee plants and get your own coffee shipped out to you – coming soon to a Christmas present near you! There was also a breathtaking bamboo forest to rival the one at the bottom of the garden at Rock House, where Forrest took the opportunity to practise some arty shots on his camera.



Our next stop was Bogota, where we were delighted to find that after an exhausting nine hour bus journey, our hostel had lost our booking and thus spent the night in their scabby sister hostel down the street. After eventually sorting out a room the next day, we had a morning of Colombian culture followed good couple of hours of American gluttony. First, we visited the Botero museum, a Colombian artist who celebrates all things fat; I can’t quite put my finger on why I enjoyed that so much! We also wandered around the other free museums in the vicinity, including the coin museum and stumbled upon a modern art exhibition in the huge library. We were slightly disappointed by the gold museum, which we had heard great things about, but we quickly cheered up by amazing burgers and Blow (watching with enhanced knowledge) later in the evening!



An early night was in order for our visit to CrossFit Bogota the next day, something I was extremely nervous about, not merely due to the amount of saturated fat I had inhaled the previous day, but also because at 2600 meters it is the highest CrossFit in the world and altitude and all its associated problems was going to make my poor body work even harder than Coach Chris. I know I keep promising but someday soon I will be posting a blog on the CrossFits we visit around the world and I will direct you to them as soon as they go live, so I am reluctant to tell you too much about it here. I will say that Forrest took it all in his stride and did an amazing hero W.O.D, while I chickened out and only did CrossFit Bogota’s benchmark workout, which although tough didn’t leave me feeling CrossFit fit, just lazy for not attempting the W.O.D.



That evening we were supposed to meet up with Sebastian, our friend from the boat journey to Tabatinga, however mixed scheduling meant that unfortunately it was not possible that evening, and desperate the escape the rain and the gloom of the city we were flying to Ecuador the next morning. Bidding us farewell on facebook, from both himself and from Colombia, Sebastian said “we hope that you will visit us again soon”; a sentiment shared by both of us entirely.



Forrest's Financial Forecast (kudos Tony!)

Much to our dismay, breakneck economic expansion in Brazil, coupled with raging inflation, caused the Brazillian Real to be Really expensive. Henceforth, although an extremely joyous time was had in Brazil, spending £17 on a bottle of factor 100 suncream was simply not sustainable. Colombia, financially at least, proved to be much more joyous. Years of civil unrest and economic instability worked in our favour (muchas gracias Pablo!) and with 3000 pesos to the pound, we arrived as millionaires. Watson's promises of living like a king, eating lobster dinners every night were not far wrong.

And now to the forecast... since 2000 the Ecuadorian government has implemented a radical dollarisation policy, which saw Ecuadorians ditching their sucres for the ubiquitous greenback. The effects of this controversial policy will be mainly two fold; one it will bring some much needed stability to the economy, whilst two, (and much to my disgust!) it will most certainly raise prices! Parents beware; backpacking sons and daughters may be in need of some additional liquidity.

However, a switch to using the dollar may not be all doom and gloom. I say this because after nearly spending 30,000 pesos (!!!) on one solitary avocado in Colombia, a switch to a more familiar currency (as seen on Grey's Anatomy and Gossip Girl) will hopefully result in better financial awareness for Bea.