G'day Mate!

I don’t know if I have ever mentioned it before but when I was eighteen I lived in Australia for a year, working and travelling my way down the East Coast. I don’t tend to talk about it very much so you would be forgiven for not realising that I am somewhat of an institution Down Under. During the fifteen hour flight from Buenos Aires to Sydney I wondered what the Aussies would have organised for my return; I had heard rumours that Kylie and the cast of Neighbours had paid the Government to be involved in the welcome back ceremony. I was a little disappointed that Toadfish wasn’t waiting at the arrivals gate re-enacting the T-mobile ‘Welcome Home’ advert, but once we had checked in to the cheapest airport hotel for some much needed sleep and switched on the news, it was confirmed; Australia was gripped in “Beaber Fever”! Hordes of screaming girls were pictured on the news, all professing their love for Beaber, and I learnt that it had been organised for me to do a series of shows around the country, no worries mate! Happily I dozed off to sleep, content in the knowledge that Australia loved me. It wasn’t until I woke the next morning, had shaken away the Quantas red-eye cobwebs and checked on the status of “Beaber Fever” that I realised that the screaming wasn’t for me at all but for the squeaky-voiced adolescent douchebag Justin Bieber. So with no parade to be the guest of honour at, we headed back to the airport to board what was to be the first of many flights inside Australia, to Ayers Rock to see if the Aboriginals had put anything on for my return.

Ayers Rock, or Uluru as we Australians knowingly call it, had been on my Bucket List ever since Mum, Dad & Louis had been there on their mini world tour and had boasted about the wondrous sunsets, sunrises and stars they had seen there. Although we weren’t able to do it with quite the same panache that they had (the exclusive Latitude 131 was a little out of our price range) I was still super excited to see the Rock and experience its Outback magic. We checked in to our hostel and spent an hour or so pouring over the dozens of tour options available to us; should we fork out for the ‘Sounds of Silence’ dinner, a helicopter ride over Uluru at dawn or a camel ride through the desert as the sun is setting? For those of you who have ever travelled on a Gap Yah budget, you’ll appreciate that despite being in some of the best places in the world it is always a little depressing to turn down the amazing options on offer for the cheaper option of a shuttle bus to Uluru to walk around unguided before being dropped off at a car park to watch the sunset with the masses. I realise that this sounds a little spoiled, and it can be true that the best things in life are free, but the lure of the ‘Sounds of Silence’ dinner complete with Australian BBQ and ‘Star Stories’ had been difficult to turn down. I was quickly cheered up though by a trip to the shop to purchase the necessities such as Heinz Baked Beans, Tim Tams, salt and vinegar crisps and Vegemite followed by an amazing sunset over Uluru, with an ice-cold glass of Magners cider in hand!

The next day after an early start to see the sunrise and a breakfast of poached eggs and beans on toast, we packed up a little picnic for our walk around the base of Uluru and boarded the shuttle bus that would take us to the starting point of the walk. We had been in a moral and ethical dilemma over whether to climb up Uluru as the Aboriginals don’t like tourists climbing the Rock as it is considered to be extremely sacred, not to mention dangerous, but despite this it is actually allowed to climb the Rock if you want to. Forrest fancied the challenge but understood my hesitance as we were both keen to respect the wishes of the Aboriginals who are considered to be the ‘original owners’ of Uluru. Luckily the decision was made for us as the climb was closed due to strong winds at the top, so content in the knowledge that we wouldn’t have done it anyway as responsible and ethical Gap Yah’ers we headed off around the base of the incredible glowing red monolith. Until now I have neglected to mention one very serious problem that we had with Ayers Rock, as I have been wondering at how best to explain the torturously irritating additions to our time there. When I say ONE very serious problem, perhaps it would have been more reasonable to say TRILLIONS of serious problems in the form of huge great big flies that buzzed around so incessantly that it was necessary to spend our precious Australian dollars on fly nets to wear very attractively over our heads to keep the flies out of our facial orifices. Needless to say, the picnic was a disaster as I struggled to fit the sandwiches through the holes in the fly net, and proceeded to sulk when I realised that eating the salt and vinegar crisps, which I had so desperately been looking forward to after months of only Mega Queso Doritos in South America, was an impossibility. Safely protected from the swarms of flies buzzing around us, the walk around the base of Uluru took a couple of hours, and despite the difficulties we faced every time we wanted to stop and take a picture sans fly net, the scenery was absolutely stunning and Uluru itself so breath-taking that it is not hard to see why it is so sacred to the Aboriginals. After seeking refuge from the heat and the flies in the Cultural Centre for a while we boarded the bus to go and watch the sunset over Uluru from a viewing spot. I hadn’t forgotten the other tour options available, with complimentary champagne and nibbles as the sun set, but for once I was glad that we had picked the cheapest option as the thought of battling the flies as they tried to share my champagne and canapés was simply too distressing and I felt sorry for those rich people as we stood happily in our sexy fly nets in the car park watching Uluru change colour as the sun set over the desert. It wasn’t the greatest sunset we have seen on our Gap Yah, but I felt an astonishing sense of “the awesome powah of nature"!



We left Uluru the next day to return to one of our favourite spots in Australia thus far – Sydney Airport to take yet another flight, this time to Melbourne where we would be staying with Matt and Jenna. We had met Matt and Jenna (Manna?! Jett?!) during the Lost City trek in Colombia and had formed a bond over the blood, sweat and tears we lost there. We’d separated with promises to write Melbourne in to our itinerary, but this can often happen in Gap Yah circles, “Yeah sure I’ll come visit you in Norway next summer!”, however we had heard such great things about Sydney’s ‘Little Sister’ that we had booked our flights in Cusco and it was confirmed. Arriving late on the Friday night meant that there was only time for a quick catch up and a tour round Jenna’s family home before we collapsed in to bed, exhausted and finally taking time to catch our breath after the long flight from Buenos Aires and a whirlwind trip to the Red Centre. Melbourne is famous for its foodie prowess, and the following morning we experienced the breakfast culture that Matt had told us about, with a trip to Porgies for a scrummy breakfast, before being dropped off on Chapel Street while Jenna went to work. Struggling with the trendy shoppers with bulging bags of lovely new clothes from the cool shops on Chapel Street we escaped in to the sanctuary of the Irish Pub for a pint while we waited for Jenna to come back and rescue us. I did note with some satisfaction that Sports Girl was selling a jumper for $90 that was very similar to the jumpers found on markets all over South America and that I had purchased for the far more reasonable sum of $4! Jenna met us when she had finished work and took us on a tour around the wealthiest neighbourhood in Melbourne’s suburbs, and we were struck again at how everything we had seen so far reminded us of the suburbs of Los Angeles, before meeting Matt and driving to St Kilda (with a quick sushi stop beforehand!) We spent a couple of hours on the beach, drinking Cleanskin wine out of plastic cups watching the buzz of St Kilda on a sunny Saturday afternoon. But the delightful afternoon came to an abrupt end when a horrible seagull did a poo on me, and we went back to Jenna’s to get ready for our BIG SATURDAY NIGHT ON THE TOWN!



Forrest and Matt started the night in style with a trip to watch Richmond vs. Lions (Aussie Rules?) at the MCG, while I did not do this despite the worry that I would miss the half-time show they had put on in my honour. I, wearing borrowed heels two sizes too small, got the train in to the City to meet Ellie, a friend from University who I had not seen for years and was living in Melbourne. To make things easier we went straight to the bar where I had arranged to meet the others later, and I quickly realised that we’d made a wise decision. The view over Melbourne’s CBD from the Rooftop Bar was stunning and we had a great few hours catching up with each other’s lives and everyone we’d ever known at University’s lives as well! Ellie quickly introduced me to her Aussie boyfriend before I went to meet the others in Cookie. Lots of drinks later we ended the night in a fancy kebab shop with actual table and chairs, not unlike Blackburn’s Darwen Street.



After a very shaky and tired start to Sunday morning we woke up just enough to pile in to the car for a day trip to Phillip Island where Jenna has a summer home. We broke up the drive with a quick stop to get donuts from a roadside cart and when we drove over the bridge to the Island we were all feeling a little less dead. Blustering winds whipped away any remaining cobwebs as Jenna took us on a tour of the Island. My guidebook had said that Phillip Island receives around 4.5 million visitors every year, which is 3 million more than Cusco, and with its beautiful sweeping coastlines, pristine beaches with turquoise waves combined with the tiny fairy penguin inhabitants it is not difficult to understand why it so popular. We ended the day at a winery where we sampled some of their wines (no spitting for me!) with a delectable cheese board and nibbly things. Somehow Jenna managed the drive back to Melbourne without falling asleep after our long day, and Matt cooked up kangaroo steaks for us before bed.



Not wanting Jenna to be crowned Tour Guide of the Melbourne Trip, Matt took us on his own tour around the city, showing us everything that Melbourne has to offer. He managed to include everything that Melbourne is famous for and our whirlwind tour took us all over to explore Parliament Square, Southbank and all the other sights around the city before a yummy lunch of dumplings in Chinatown. We then had a coffee and a cupcake in one of Melbourne’s famous Laneways, which reminded me of Diagon Alley in Harry Potter with its hidden nooks and crannies and exciting treasures to discover. We continued exploring the city, stopping to admire the State Library of Victoria and to see where Matt planned to set up a coffee cart on one of the University campuses. Thoroughly satisfied that Matt had shown us the majority of Melbourne’s offerings we headed back to Jenna’s for a roast lamb dinner, something that we had been sorely missing on our Gap Yah, and a very quick visit to Swartz’s CrossFit Melbourne. We said goodbye to Matt that evening as he was up and away early the next morning for a job trial, reminding us that it doesn’t take long for the real world to come creeping back as soon as you abandon Gap Yah and return home. I met up with another friend the next morning, Nicola, who had been a close friend when I was in Trinity Beach. It was unfortunate that it was such a rushed meeting, but we managed to catch up on all the essentials, like who is dating who, as we reunited over poached eggs and pancakes. Jenna drove us to the airport a few hours after I got back from my breakfast with Nicola and we again made promises that we would see each other again, next time in London so we could return their wonderful hospitality. We were a little sad to be leaving the comforts of a family home where we had been treated so nicely, but we didn’t remain down for long as we were going back to SYDNEY AIRPORT, where this time we would actually be leaving the airport in search of P. Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney.



We checked in to our hostel which was located in Kings Cross, infamous for prostitutes and debauchery (the area not the hostel) and were happy to learn that the Harbour Bridge and Opera House were visible from the window in our dorm. Already feeling the purse strings loosen after almost a week in Australia it was time to tighten them again, which can only mean one thing… GOON! Goon is to Gap Yah what steak is to Argentina, or what cocaine is to Colombia , and basically refers to any “wine” that comes in a box that doesn’t list the grape (e.g. Shiraz, Chardonnay), instead calling it ‘Dry White’ or ‘Fruity Red’. You can imagine Forrest’s despair when I explained that this was the way forward while we were in Australia, and he unhappily and unsuccessfully tried to find wine in a bottle that wasn’t ridiculously expensive, even the wines made in Australia were almost double the cost of back home. Unwilling to succumb to ‘Fruitylexia’ adored by Gap Yah’ers Australia-wide, he eventually decided that if he had to buy wine in a box or a bag it would have to be one of the more upmarket ones and we ended up with a wine that had chosen to package their wine like that for environmental reasons rather than for cost so Eco Forrest was happy on all counts. Accompanying our Goon was the first of many poverty-stricken meals in Australia. Having been so used to eating whatever we wanted whenever we wanted in South America, food shopping with a budget again caused some slight disagreements in the supermarket but we eventually settled on pasta and sauce, a Gap Yah staple; cheap, simple and bland.

We woke reasonable early due to the extremely creaky bunk beds in the hostel, and set off to find Nemo. We had decided that the best way to see the city in the little time we had would be with a hop-on-hop-off city bus, which also provided us with transport to Bondi the next day. Our first stop was the Opera House, and we disembarked here and explored the whole area around the Opera House, Circular Quay, The Rocks and Harbour Bridge as I provided a running commentary about the history from my guide book. I’d like to reiterate what I said 5 years ago when I went to Sydney; seeing the iconic structures up close makes you very much aware of just how far away from home you really are, and I had slight pangs of homesickness as we did our own mini harbour tour. We ate our picnic lunch (ham, cream cheese, tomato and vegemite sandwiches, salt and vinegar crisps and Goon) in glorious sunshine in the Botanical Gardens with a view over the harbour before walking around to Mrs MacQuarrie’s chair for that perfect postcard picture of the Opera House and Bridge. Jumping back on the bus where we had left off we continued with our city tour, getting off occasionally at points of interest (normally for a food top-up) and dodging the wind and branches as we drove around the city. Forrest got a bit excited when he saw the KPMG building in the CBD, but Sydney didn’t particularly give me the vibe that I could live there because everything seems to be so ridiculously revolved around tourism unlike Melbourne where I could quite easily see myself living if it wasn’t quite so far away from home. We headed back to the hostel on the last bus of the day just as darkness fell for another meal of pasta and Goon, we had settled in to the Australian stereotype of Gap Yah in no time.



Utilising our city bus tour tickets we caught the bus out to Bondi, and although it was a nice day it wasn’t sunbathing weather due to the gale-force winds which meant that we were able to view the beach in all its glory without the millions of people that flock there and cover the sand. We’d heard mixed things about the beach itself, but I thought it was beautiful, bordered with interesting graffiti and clear waves it was easy to see why it was so famous. I was especially impressed with the swimming pools carved in to the rocks at Bondi, and also later in Bronte, where the sea waves crash over the swimmers who have to be very dedicated (or mad) to swim in the icey water! We attempted the coastal walk to Coogee however the winds were so strong by this point that it was slightly difficult so we only got so far as Bronte where we found protection from the winds and had our picnic (see above) on the grass behind the beautiful little beach and read our books. After a couple of hours we headed back to Bondi to sneak back on to the bus back to the city despite our 24-hour tickets expiring. We were successful and spent the evening planning out the rest of our time in Australia, chatting to a lovely girl from our dorm and eating pie, mash and peas from Pie Face! On our last day in Sydney we once again escaped the hustle and bustle of the city and boarded a ferry to Manly, where we sunbathed on the beach with our clothes on, ate fish and chips and thoroughly relaxed watching the surfers, which is what you’re supposed to do in Manly, before heading back in to the city to pick up our bags and getting on something that we had not been missing at all…A NIGHT BUS!



Having been slightly spoiled with the ‘luxurious’ night buses in South America, with practically fully-reclining seats and waitress service, we were back down to earth with a bump as we boarded the Greyhound that would take us up the East Coast to Byron Bay. Poor Forrest had no room at all for his legs (I was fine obviously) and we were shocked to find that neither food, nor coca tea were going to be served at any point in the journey. We made it through the night though, albeit a little groggy, and arrived in Byron Bay to bright sunshine. Dumping our bags at the hostel unable to check in until a later hour, we went straight to the beach where we cheered on the masses of people taking part in the Byron triathlon and narrowly avoided a seagull attack when we treated ourselves to a cheap picnic lunch of sushi handrolls. The hostel we were staying at was pretty cool, and on our first night there after a pasta dinner we got chatting to a girl who we happily shared our Goon with (“no please, we insist that you help us drink it!”). We were picked up the next day by the Happy Bus which was to take us to Nimbin, an old hippie community where Gap Yah’ers tend to go for one reason only, and it isn’t to visit the Marijuana Museum on the highstreet. After a rather pointless stop at a random waterfall, our next stop was at a very colourful and happy Sunday market where we treated our hangovers to a rustic sausage sandwich and an ice cream as we watched the weird and wonderful world go by, before heading in to Nimbin itself. Too poor to purchase any of the offerings, we amused ourselves by reading the funny shop signs such as “Bring-a-bong” and laughed at people that looked like they’d spent far too much time in Nimbin. We even visited the museum. We met up with the rest of the group for a pathetic excuse for a BBQ, and it quickly became clear that a few other people on the bus obviously had more money than sense and had experimented with the hash cookies that were sold in every shop and were now suffering as a consequence. It was going to be a very long bus ride back to Byron for them! A rainy start to the next day meant that we felt no urge to get out and do anything and spent the morning catching up with things and reading. The rain eventually cleared by around 4pm so we quickly rushed out to do the walk to the lighthouse in search of dolphins. The walk up to the lighthouse was beautiful and although we didn’t get to see any dolphins we were treated to a stunning sunset as we walked back along the beautiful beach to the hostel. To celebrate a lovely time in Byron Bay we treated ourselves to a drink of something other than Goon in an actual bar and then dinner of something other than pasta in the form of jacket potatoes, beans and cheese.



We had planned our trip to Australia down to the letter due to the limited time we had there and the amount of amazing excursions the East Coast offered, which was something new to us after our lackadaisical attitude towards getting around South America, and we had only been able to pick a few of the highlights Australia had to offer. So Ayres Rock, Melbourne, Sydney and Byron Bay had all been ticked off, and it was now time to mingle with our fellow Gap Yah’ers in close quarters with the obligatory tours on Fraser Island and Whitsundays before spending a week of relaxation in Trinity Beach with friends. Advance Gap Yah Fair!

Forrest’s Financial Forecast…

With the exception of Brazil, South America turned out to be mostly inexpensive. Booze, especially beer, was cheap, eating out was cheap, hostels were cheap and activities, tours etc were, wait for it… cheap! This made for a happy budget-conscious Gap Yah’er.

How things change.

As a keen reader of newspapers, always devoting some time to the financial pages, I knew Australia was not going to be cheap before we landed on her soil. With one of the fastest growing economies in the developed world today, Australia shook off the GFC (Global Financial Crisis) as it’s known here as if it were a minor tremor. China’s insatiable appetite for Australia’s raw materials has resulted in a commodity boom and consequently, the Aussie dollar has got stronger and stronger. For those of you who are currently thinking “what the f**k is he talking about?!” I’ll spell it out for you…

strong Aussie dollar + weak British pound = EXPENSIVE!!!!!

Let’s start with the fundamentals, essentials you could say. A Dairy Milk bar back home costs around 60p these days, maybe a little more, maybe a little less. Over here it sells for the princely sum of £1.70! ONE POUND SEVENTY! Although, the other day I do confess seeing an offer for two chocolate bars for the tiny sum of £3, which I suppose makes everything okay. And now to booze - although rare, it so happens that every now and again Tesco or Asda will offer three crates of beer, that’s 48 bottles for £20. That’s 42p per bottle and a true gain of the bar variety. Let’s compare the “offer” on at our local bottle shop, a crate (albeit with 20 bottle not 16) for $45, that’s £30. A quick sum reveals that’s £1.50 a bottle; more than three times as much as the UK price. This expensiveness extends to everywhere and everything in Australia; suffice to say the dining-out-every-night days of South America have well and truly come to an end. Whereas in Buenos Aires one could sample the very finest steak for around £8-10, the cost here would be at least double, probably triple. In Melbourne we walked past a restaurant which Matt described as “pretty decent” and steak there cost a cool $120, that’s £80.

Although I have loved every second of this country thus far – there are so many amazing things to see and do, it been tough from a financial perspective. And therefore as we look forward to next part of our Gap Yah adventure in South East Asia, my financial forecast is sweet and simple… things can only get better!!!

Hakuna Matata!

We had finally arrived in the promised land, and immediately after checking in to our hostel (the aptly named Tango Backpackers) Forrest practically pushed me out of the door and in the direction of our first parilla for his long awaited steak and Malbec. With gazillions of steakhouses to choose from in Buenos Aires we went with a recommendation from both my RG and the helpful girl on reception, Don Julio’s. With a name like that there was absolutely no way it would be able to disappoint, and disappoint it didn’t. Conscious that Forrest was probably able to blow our entire Gap Yah fund on steak in the eight days we were in Argentina, we decided against entrées of empanadas and offal and went straight for the good stuff. The menu was slightly confusing, with over ten different cuts of meat all under the steak subheading, but with a little help from our waiter Forrest eventually chose the 600g T-Bone (rare) and I went for the slightly less gluttonous 300g tenderloin (medium-rare), accompanied with chips and salad and washed down with a bottle of Argentinian Malbec. The meal was delicious, everything we had been hoping for, however Forrest was slightly disappointed with his steak, although cooked perfectly around the outside it was more raw than rare towards the centre. He wasn’t deterred though and still managed to find it in himself to finish it all. Exhausted from our red meat and red wine overdose, we dragged ourselves back to the hostel and collapsed into bed, our bodies desperately digesting our meal ready to do it all again for breakfast.



Breakfast brought us another Argentinian delicacy in the form of the divine Dulce de Leche, a little piece of gooey caramel heaven spread on toast (also great eaten with ice cream, in Alfajores, on media-luna croissants and with a tablespoon), we couldn’t help but think that Buenos Aires was going to be tight on our waistlines as much as our budget. We spent the morning catching up with the blog and friends and family back home, and waiting (and waiting) for Kyle and Veronica to come and show us the city. The vigilant Gap Yah followers of you out there may remember Kyle from the Ciudad Perdida entry as the Australian who shamed Forrest by walking the entire trek barefoot without a single glitch. He was now living in Buenos Aires with his Peruvian girlfriend Veronica as she studied at the University there, and they came to meet us at our hostel and took us for lunch in Palermo, the trendy neighbourhood of Buenos Aires where we were staying. Walking to the restaurant I had to draw my eyes away from the alluring shop windows displaying all manner of delightful looking clothes and shoes, which after three and a half months in fashions no-man’s land was pretty difficult to do. Forrest made good on his promise to have steak at least once a day, and we forced down another delicious meal while we reminisced about the good ol’ Lost City days before heading further in to Palermo for happy hour cocktails and made plans for the coming week.

Item number one on the agenda was THE BEST ZOO IN THE ENTIRE WORLD©! I had spent a good few hours poring over Kyle’s photos from Matt and Jenna’s visit, which showed them up close and personal with the cutest lion cubs in the world, and had been excited to meet Simba ever since. We arrived at the zoo to be greeted by a cage with two sleeping lion cubs in it, and Forrest and I eagerly had our picture taken with them, barely able to contain our excitement. Kyle dragged us away, explaining that the best was yet to come, and lead us towards the entrance of the zoo to buy our tickets and a bag of animal feed. The animal feed turned out to be a mistake for as soon as Forrest rustled the brown paper bag he was immediately swarmed by geese of all sizes, ducks, chickens and pigeons all desperate for a tasty piece of corn. Unable to say boo to a goose, I maintained my distance and laughed as Forrest was harassed by his new feathered friends while trying to feed the less offensive farm animals. The next lion cage we went in to had two six-month old lion cubs and one tiger cub, and we all happily stroked them as their keeper explained, translated by Veronica, that the cubs are taken away from their mothers at birth and reared by dogs who teach them how to coexist with humans and how to play safely. If one of the cubs got a little too rough, as is their nature, their “mother” dog would gently nip them to remind them to play more gently. Although the cubs were happy to pose for photos with us, they didn’t particularly like having a huge moonface shoved in their snouts as I quickly found out when trying to give the cutest one a kiss and got a little shock when he tried to bite my nose off.



As we wandered around the zoo, chased by the gaggle of geese that refused to leave us alone, it quickly became apparent that it wasn’t going to be winning any awards for ethics or animal welfare. The farm animals seemed happy enough, but it wasn’t easy to see the two huge bears in a cage barely big enough for a hamster, and the sea lions swimming round and round in a tiny paddling pool. The big cats seemed content enough laying in the sun, despite their smallish cages and kidnapped babies, but when you think about the huge areas they typically inhabit you can’t help but feel that it’s not at all right to keep them cooped up entirely for our viewing pleasure. Not wanting to lament the loss of the animal’s freedom for too long, we cheered ourselves up with a visit to the teeny tiny lion cub enclosure (a much nicer word than cage!) and as we cuddled the sleepy one-month old babies thoughts of animal rights quickly left our heads. Sure it might not have the vast open areas of the Serengeti, or even the conservation facilities of San Diego Zoo, but when were we ever going to get the opportunity to get so close to the king of the jungle again?

After feeding a fully-grown tiger milk out of our hands (y’know, just an everyday occurrence in the life of a Gap Yah’er) it was time to pay a visit to the Lion King. It was a pretty scary experience being so close to such a huge lion and one glance at his humongous paws and massive teeth was enough to remind us that he could tear us to a shred in an instant if we so much as dared to upstage him in the photos. That was not to be a problem as he posed like a pro as we trembled behind him. A camel ride, a baby lama and a sewer rat later and we were all ready to head back to the city to satisfy Forrest’s steak cravings. On our way out we couldn’t help but pay one last visit to the cage in the entrance, luring visitors in with its cute lion inhabitants, now holding four three-month old lion cubs all eager to play with us. As their mother dogs slept, exhausted after a day of lion-rearing, the cubs took the opportunity to go a little wild and while I stroked the more placid of the lions, Forrest made the mistake of lowering himself down to the cubs level, thus providing them with all the encouragement they needed to launch themselves towards him and “attack”. Luckily his years of fending off Sooty’s attacks held him in good stead and he held his own as two of the cubs pawed his face and chewed on his arms and hands. I looked up at one stage to see him practically lying down with one lion licking his head and the other gnawing on his arm as they rolled around the cage! A wonderful end to a roaringly successful day in the lion’s den.



We caught the bus back in to the city, and after changing hostels and washing away the hay and fleas (probably) it was time for more steak and red wine. Kyle and Veronica met us at our hostel and took us to Puerto Madero, the richest neighbourhood in Buenos Aires, for a surprisingly cheap buffet filled with delicious sushi, salads, pastas and of course the ubiquitous Argentinian churrasco. Between them Forrest and Kyle must have devoured at least a whole cow and a whole pig before admitting defeat, but somehow still managed to find a little extra room for some tiramisu! The boys suggested a little recline at a nearby bar to let our food digest before we headed off, but to all of our dismay the Hooters next door was closed so instead we jumped in a taxi to La Catedral, a tango club in a decidedly less well-to-do neighbourhood than Puerto Madero. La Catedral had been highly recommended by Doug so we were confident of its credentials, but as we pulled up outside a rather seedy looking joint I was slightly worried that we had brought our friends along to a crack den rather than a popular tango club. We nervously climbed the stairs to the club, not knowing whether we were going to dance or die, but to our delight we were greeted with mood lighting, a live band and couples gracefully tangoing across the crowded dance floor rather than knives, needles and nightmares. The professional couples illuminating the dance floor with their tango prowess wouldn’t have been out of place in a glittering ballroom in the world’s finest dance halls, but the atmosphere and design at La Catedral couldn’t have been less akin to Blackpool’s Empire if it tried. Situated in a dilapidated warehouse, the crumbling walls were hidden behind crazy modern art mixed with old Argentinian eclecticism. We watched from the side-lines, too shy to join in with the ridiculously professional seeming dancers, as we were seduced by the charm and character of La Catedral. The night came to a magical conclusion when the dance floor cleared and the tangoers were replaced with a band and a singer who serenaded their audience with lilting Argentinian melodies. Happily satiated with excellent food, red wine, company and tango we headed back to our new hostel for bed.



The next day was spent relaxing in the hostel, doing the obligatory “chores” of blogging, photo uploading and skyping. We left only to get some empanadas to mollify our grumbling hungover stomachs, but they were not particularly happy with our accidental offerings; tuna empanadas with icing on top. Even less delicious than they sound. The day after, happily rested, we set off to explore the city. Our first stop was the astounding Recoletta cemetery, whose ornate mausoleums towered over us as we wandered around awestruck, it was unlike anything I had ever seen before. The highlight however was Eva ‘Evita’ Peron’s grave, which is somewhat of a shrine to her and understandably crowded with tourists wanting to take photos. I did a little rendition of the Madonna classic ‘Don’t Cry For Me Argentina’ to the adoring onlookers, but was slightly disappointed not to have a balcony present for everyone to fully appreciate my vocal prowess. We quickly got bored of wandering around the cemetery and although it was interesting to see the elaborate crypts, at the end of the day it is still just a graveyard and that can only amuse one for so long. We very quickly made our way through the touristic nightmare on Florida Avenue, and had a delicious cheap lunch of burritos before heading to the slightly more upmarket Café Tortoni, an old tango café that is somewhat of an institution now after 150 years, for coffee and cake. We had to queue a little before we were allowed in, but once inside it was easy to see why people flock there. Aside from the mouthwateringly amazing cakes, the atmosphere inside transports you back to 1858 but one can only imagine the elegance and style of the customers back then sipping cocktails as they tangoed their way around the mirrored rooms, sidestepping the writers and artists that made Café Tortoni their home. We were brought back to reality with a pretty harsh bump when we stopped by to see Les Madres de Plaza Mayo. Les Madres are a group of women whose children went “missing” during the dirty war in Argentina, and ever since then they have marched in Plaza Mayo every Thursday from 3:30-4:00 for thirty years in protest of this and to draw attention to their plight. The determination and heartbreak still so present on these women’s faces is clear to see as they chant their way around the square holding up photographs of their children, who they have never given up the hope of finding, or at least finding out what happened to them. It is sometimes easy to forget as a Gap Yah’er visiting these countries that the difficulties of their pasts are still ever present and it is important to take a moment from beaches, drinking and buses to appreciate the true spirit of the people who live in these countries and are still fighting for freedom in one way or another. Although a slightly subdued ending to a lovely day sightseeing in Buenos Aires, we ended on a high note with more steak and red wine, this time with Jackie and Simon a couple we had met right back at the beginning in Rio de Janeiro.

Good Friday brought us something completely different to the repetition of sightseeing in the form of a theme park in Tigre with Kyle. Our expectations weren’t particularly high, but we were excited to experience something new in South America and I had thoroughly checked out the park’s health and safety credentials beforehand. We keenly rushed on to the two main attractions, upside down and spinny rollercoasters which were of a pretty good standard but nowhere near Alton Towers amazingness. Once they were done we tried out the other rides but our childlike enthusiasm quickly waned as we realised that they were probably kid’s rides and Forrest and Kyle struggled to even get their legs under the safety bars. The boys got some amusement out of the fairground style stalls, with Forrest winning me a tiny little prize on the basketball game, but after going on the big rides for a second time it seemed as though our day out at the theme park had come to an end. Not the greatest day out ever, but it was still good to get out of the city and do something different. Forrest met up with Kyle again the next night to go and watch a River Plate football match, something he had been looking forward to since the disappointment of the Maracana being closed in Brazil, and he tells me that it was a good match, they kicked the ball and ran up and down the pitch, but in the end River Plate lost which was a little bit rubbish.



I had used the time wisely while Forrest had been at the football and created an easter egg hunt around the hostel for Forrest for the next day, which was exhausting trying to think of witty rhyming clues (in one I rhymed ‘pillow’ with ‘fellow’!), but when I eventually managed to drag him out of bed on Easter Sunday he was thoroughly appreciative (not just of the unexpected early morning chocolate) and a few of my clues even managed to bamboozle him for at least five seconds. His favourite clues were “The Easter Bunny is such a cool geezer, he’s hidden an egg inside the …”, and “The Easter Bunny has fallen over, what a clumsy tit. Perhaps there’s an egg inside the first …?” – can you figure out where the eggs were hidden?! After the excitement of the egg hunt, we headed in to La Boca to see the colourful houses on the little touristy street filled with tango shows and photo opportunities with Maradona. We settled down with a jug of sangria as we watched the dancers perform and spent an hour or so people watching on the busy street, the highlight of this being a dog wearing a little pink hat! We then quickly rushed to San Telmo where we dodged the market laden streets to meet Kyle and Veronica for one last steak before we left for Australia. After we had satisfied our steak needs (it was becoming an addiction) we set off to go for a drink in Puerto Madero as Forrest and Kyle were determined to have at least one drink in Hooters! I am not going to dwell on what happened next but what followed was a very annoying pickpocket scam on the subway carried out with very little skill but nevertheless the thief was successful in securing one All Saints wallet, 500 pesos, one immediately cancelled Nationwide credit card and a UK driving license with the stern glare of Forrest to constantly remind him of his sins. To make things worse we were then subjected to another attempted mugging whilst we tried to board a subway to report the first incident, however Kyle’s diligence and alertness thwarted it. Luckily we had Kyle and Veronica with us to help us out both with Spanish and cash so the situation wasn’t desperate but just a little dire, and although it was unfortunate that it had to happen on our last night in South America it couldn’t put a dampener on our incredible time over the last three and a half months. We were treated to breakfast at Veronica’s the next morning, as saying goodbye a little depressed on the subway the night before hadn’t been very appealing, before heading to the airport to board a very long flight around the world to the next leg of our Gap Yah adventure… Australia!



South America was everything that we had thought it was going to be and more. I would be hard pressed to find something that I hadn’t enjoyed about it, and even the bit rubbish things like tummy upsets, the poverty in some places and the pickpockets all add to the adventure and turn the trip in to something that would otherwise be just a holiday. After all, as David Brent quite rightly said “to see the rainbow you have to put up with the rain” and what a rainbow we had seen in South America. Bueno.

Forrest’s South American Final Final Thought…

After a wondrous three and a half months in South America, I leave with only splendiferous memories. South America has everything a Gap Yah’er could possibly want; from the pristine sandy white beaches and turquoise waters of Colombia’s Caribbean coast, to the spectacular sunsets over the Amazonian jungle and the awe-inspiring snow-capped peaks of the Andean mountains. And let’s not forget the delectable cuisine of Buenos Aires. However, as with everywhere and everything on this planet, there’s always room for improvement, and therefore I would like to conclude with Forrest’s Top Ten Tips for Improving South America.

1. Make the Brazilian bikini bottoms smaller.
2. Either i, tarmac the lost city trek in Colombia or ii, provide emergency foot wear stops along the way.
3. Lower the altitude of the continent; such an easy and simple step to take yet it will save thousands from the dreaded altitude sickness.
4. Improve the provision of, access to and quality of red wine throughout the continent (with the exception of Argentina and Chile of course!) - it is inhumane to subject people to the likes of Brazilian suave on an eight day trip up the amazon.
5. When it comes to surfing lessons, surf boards must be fit for purpose. Inappropriate and unsuitable equipment can give the unfair impression of clumsiness.
6. Compulsory English lessons for all – without them the continent will never shake off its label of linguistic ignorance and arrogance.
7. The security on the Argentina subte (subway) has to be improved; pick pockets should be lifers.
8. Take whatever steps possible to end Brazil’s economic boom thus putting an end to the extortionate prices paid by Gap Yah’ers.
9. Animals from zoos and conservation centres around the world should be repatriated to the jungle. It is the right and proper thing to do – Gap Yah’ers shouldn’t have to wander around the rainforest aimlessly.
10.DO NOT close the Maracana in Rio de Janeiro whilst footballer lovers, including yours truly, are in the city. Excuses such as “renovations for the 2014 World Cup and 2016 Olympics are currently taking place” are, quite frankly, pathetic.

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...