Deloitte were looking for a social collaboration portal which employees will visit on a regular basis to share their own ideas with their colleagues, as well as read innovative thoughts from them. My concept revolves around this ever changing and fresh content, whereby the landing(home) page is the hub of all activity. Utilising best practice from successful social networking sites such as Twitter and Facebook, the user is able to post their idea directly from this landing page, and once submitted it will appear directly on the page as the newest idea in the feed. They can then sort this feed by a number of different criteria.

A commenting system on each idea allows for a conversation to take place. If an employee thinks an idea is good, they can choose to “like” it (which loses the ambiguity of a star rating system), which would provide a great insight into how popular an idea is, allowing them to be ranked on the site.

My final job when working at Playgroup was to help define the way forward online for Adnams. Adnams is well known for it’s local ales, but is actually a full on lifestyle brand – beer, wine, kitchenware, pubs, food, hotels and brewery tours amongst many others – based around the seaside town of Southwold. It’s a really nice brand, that wasn’t doing itself justice online, and perhaps not reaching the audience that it could and should have.

Playgroup were engaged by Adnams to propose a route forward with their online presence. A presence that should fully utilise the local feel of the Adnams brand, but then push that to a wider audience. Our strategy involved a complete redesign and restructure of Adnams.co.uk which involved a heavier use of social media presence as well as a strong editorial focus. As well as a more defined presence of the various divisions of Adnams by essentially creating microsites for each of beer, wine, hotels, food and “Cellar & kitchen” stores. On top of this, we proposed a separate “lifestyle” focused site, with a heavy editorial feel of “expertise” which could be used to push Adnams products but tied in with lifestyle choices or activities. The platform we proposed was WordPress.

As well as assisting with the strategy, my role was to define the user experience. We started off by hosting a workshop with all the stakeholders and senior Adnams employees. For this, I prepared a series of large, sketched wireframes on foam board that allowed those in the workshop to pick and re-arrange the various content modules/ideas I proposed in the wireframes for each section of the Adnams.co.uk site redesign as well as the lifestyle site. As well as add new ones with blank modules. Each wireframe was also tested alongside a series of very different user personas, with their own unique user journeys on how they would (1) get to the site, then (2) use it and (3) what they’d hope to get out of it.

I presented this part of the workshop, gaining successful feedback from which I could go back to the studio and produce more detailed wireframes using Omni Graffle. Unfortunately I left Playgroup before the pixels were put on the screen, but feel I played a big role within the creative process. Unfortunately the lifestyle site was never made.

Our talk focused on user centric design, in particular the challenges of designing for a young audience – how to get them to your site and keep them there, how to create an engaging user experience out of a generic technology platform such as SharePoint (with reference to common traits of young people) and the types of content and functionality young people enjoy engaging with (again, referencing their common personality traits).

My role in the talk was to take the audience through the process of creating an engaging user experience, right through from research phase to the evaluation phase of a “classic” project. Areas that I covered included gaining audience insights, creating user persona’s, defining the information architecture, sketching user journeys, creating design concepts (including wireframes), prototyping the concepts, the build and testing phase, developing engaging content, and evaluating and learning from what has been created. Each of these phases were backed up with real life examples that I had worked on, that related to SharePoint style portal design.

For the record, whilst SharePoint may not be seen as “sexy” in the world of interaction design, I can see the massive benefits for large corporations and institutions in adopting it for their web/intranet platforms, due to the collaborative and task focused nature of the product.

My role in this event was to facilitate a discussion with the audience and us (the “panel of experts”) on the role of play in engaging a youth audience. This was achieved by presenting several real life digital examples of brands being genuinely playful in engaging their audiences through an open, honest and interactive approach, which allow the consumers to become part of the brand itself, and those more traditional approaches which come across as apparently playful (a few giggles here and there) but completely fail to genuinely engage a consumer with the brand. Some of the examples I presented included Jones Soda, Okanagon Springs party sponsor, Piss Screen, Sony Vaoi – Stop Writing On My Wall, Threadless and Sonic Drive In (amongst many others – will let you make up your own mind about which ones are genuinely playful, and which ones are apparently playful!). The following discussion was based on these examples, allowing the audience themselves to make up their mind about which ones are apparently playful, and which ones are genuinely playful. With the aim of this to leave them realising what approach is the best to take when trying to engage a youth audience with their brand in the future, rather than us directly telling them.

It proved to be a successful event, with some great feedback. From a personal level I really enjoyed the public speaking, but also the research process beforehand, and the knowledge that I was performing a role of consultancy to a whole range of people that may help them improve the performance of their brand in this ever changing industry.

After leaving Quito (and an unfortunate meeting with those bastards who were in my dorm in Loki in La Paz that I ranted about 2 blogs ago at Quito airport, and an annoying $45 departure tax) I arrived in Brazil. A country that featured highly on my anticipation list, which thankfully didn’t disappoint. It was a relatively short stay in Brazil, primarily because I didn’t anticipate how damn expensive it’d be! Coming towards the end of my trip, this was bad news. Prices were the same, if not more expensive, than London in many places.

I flew into Sao Paulo, arriving at 4 in the morning, where I hoped to get a coach asap to Rio de Janeiro, where I was meeting up with Alan. This is where I had my first problems with the Portuguese language! Just as I was getting fully into my rhythm with the Spanish, Portuguese came along and confused the hell out of me. I’d heard it described as “Spanish gone wrong” (amongst some less politically correct statements!), and I can’t really argue with that. Written down, much of it looks similar to Spanish, however, spoken it resembles Russian more (the Brazilian/Portuguese accents sounds bizarrely Russian). Finding a coach to Rio at 4am in the morning proved more difficult than I thought! Until a friendly English speaking Brazilian chap told me I had to first take a bus to the Sao Paulo central bus station, and from there I could get one to Rio.

The coach took 6 hours, and several things struck me. Firstly, how incredibly beautiful the countryside was. I wasn’t sure the Andes could be topped, but this certainly came close! A series of lush green hills and winding roads with random bits of beautiful coastline with colourful buildings. Secondly, was how much more developed everything was – the roads were flat(!) and smooth, sign posts were everywhere, the coach was as comfortable as I’ve had with masses of leg room (a far cry from Bolivia and Laos), and service stations were just like at home but with better food and coffee. However, the driving was insanely dangerous, more so than elsewhere, I passed several crashes on this coach ride alone.

One of my favourite things about this trip is that I’ve interspersed travelling on my own with meeting up with friends and family. So it was great to meet up with Alan in Rio and spend the next 3 weeks with him travelling to Buenos Aires. Particularly as it meant I could make jokes that most people I meet just don’t seem to get. And we had much to catch up on. In fact it’s family and friends who make going home not such a bad thing! Many people I meet dread going home, infact many people seem to have been travelling forever, you get the impression many of them are running away from something. Dare I say it, I may even be looking forward to working again!

Rio is a city I have mixed feelings over, it was cool to be there, and we had a great time. But it’s not a city I feel I have much of an affinity with, like, say Shanghai and (now) Buenos Aires. In fact I think we both felt that it could have just been a city in Europe. Part of the experience of everywhere you travel to is the hostel you stay in. I remember staying in the shittest hostel ever in Budapest, and my time there wasn’t wonderful. We didn’t stay in a bad hostel, but it lacked an atmosphere really, which wasn’t helped by all the anal signs on the wall saying things like “you wouldn’t throw your belongings everywhere at home, so don’t do it here”, or “this is South America, not Europe, don’t put your toilet paper in the toilet” – it all felt a bit patronising. That said, we met some really sound people there.

One thing you can say about Rio, is that the scenery is stunning. Cities situated on the coast always impress me, seeing the natural beauty mixed in with human development provides a fascinating mix, and whilst the architecture isn’t particularly amazing in Rio, the sheer setting of it made it one of the most stunning cities I’ve seen.

On our day of “doing the touristy things” we headed to Sugar Mountain, where you have views of the city surrounding you. The guidebook says it costs half the price if you climb halfway and get the cable car from there, so this is what we proceeded to do. Only to find when we got there, that the gate was closed with a sign in Portuguese that might as well have said “haha, we thought we’d make you bastard tourists climb all the way up here before letting you know you can’t get the cable car, rather than putting it in the more sensible place at the foot of the mountain”. It did give us an opportunity to see some monkeys that resembled tree swinging rats, and our first glimpse at the stunning views we could expect to see at the top. As well as the comical situation of trying to climb up a near vertical rock face to climb over the fence with people looking down and laughing at us. So we went back down informing our fellow tourists along the way as to what they’ll find at the top. And paid the full amount to get the cable car up. Money well spent. The views around the whole city were pretty incredible. You could also see Jesus, in all his glory. Covered in fucking scaffolding! We came all the way to Rio, only to be denied our chance of climbing up to see the Jesus statue. Not only because of the scaffolding, but also because recent rain had caused mud slides which meant the mountain he stands on was currently inaccessible.

The highlight of Rio, without a doubt, was a visit to the Maracana. Once the biggest stadium in the world, it’s now been modernised to fit a mere 80,000 people in. I wasn’t too gutted about missing out on Jesus, because we were blessed with the luck of seeing a Copa Libertadores quarter final match, between Flamengo (of Brazil) and Universidad de Chile (surprisingly from Chile). The equivalent of seeing a Champions League quarter final in Europe. Brazil (slightly more than Argentina), is the most passionate footballing nation I have been to. Everyone loves football, everyone. Men, women, girls, boys, those in the middle, those neither, all of ‘em. It’s everywhere in the streets, shops, graffiti, on tv, flags hanging from houses. Given the fact we’re both football obsessed, we loved it.

The game itself was one of the most entertaining I’ve ever had the pleasure to see live. Flamengo’s attack was spearheaded by a fat Adriano (who the previous day was left out of the Brazil World Cup squad), and multicolour haired former CSKA Moscow forward Vagner Love (who was also left out of the squad, but this was more expected). They were both shit. They also had former Manchester United “star” Kleberson (who I think was included in the squad), and a goalkeeper called Bruno who likes to score goals. The Chilean side had several internationals who gave us glimpses of how well they’d do in the World Cup. They played excellent, fast, one touch football. Within 20 minutes they were 2-0 up, thanks to their brilliance, Flamengo’s crap defending, and Bruno’s insistence on being shit, yet still making several good saves. Then a changing point, one of the Chileans was sent off for 2 early bookings, and it became the Adriano and Vagner Love show. They were utter crap. Adriano pulled one back, with to be fair a fairly decent header. But then in a matter of 4 minutes I saw 2 of the worst open goal misses I’ve ever seen. One from each of them, both over the bar from a yard out. We found it all the more entertaining, however the 70,000 Brazilians around us were tearing their hair out and shouting in that (often overly) passionate Latino way when in distress. Things got worse after the break, the 10 man Chileans scored again, with a ruthless counter attacking goal. And the crowd were in dispair! However, they soon got behind their team, the singing was deafening, the atmosphere amazing. The Chileans defended stoutly with Flamengo throwing everything at them. Adriano hit the word work twice when it was easier to score, and Vagner Love was substituted to boos. The Chileans were unlucky when Juan scored a flukey long range goal in the final minute to finish 2-3. I think the second leg was a draw and Universidad deservedly progressed to the semis. Adriano, I believe, has since gone back to Italy to Roma. He needs to lose some of those extra pounds. And also respect to the Chilean fans there (all 20 of them) who gave all they had in the face of a barrage of abuse from the Brazilians, with Universidad coloured umbrellas.

I’m not much of a beach person, and well, I thought the famous Copacobana beach was a bit shit. It could have been in Toremolinos to be honest. What were far nicer were Ipanema and Botafogo beaches, which both seemed to fit perfectly with the urban environment, and mountainous backdrop, especially as the sun was setting.

Whilst in Rio, i realised what a mess I looked. It had been 2.5 months since my last haircut (I go every 3 weeks back home), and due to my beard trimmer not charging with Ecuadorian and Brazilian plugs, the beard was very long indeed. So I went to a hairdressers. The whole thing was an experience due to my lack of Portuguese and his lack of English. Now, the haircut took about 25 minutes. The beard trim took about 50 minutes. The whole 50 minutes with a flannel over my eyes so I couldn’t see, as he first trimmed with an electric shaver, before proceeding to sculpt the edges of my facial hair with intricate precision and the meanest looking blade I’ve ever had close to my face (which I only saw once the flannel was removed). He didn’t just do the sculpting process once, but twice to make sure.

After we left Rio, we made our way to Paraty, a place several people had recommended to me. It was beautiful. A tiny and brilliantly preserved Portuguese colonial town which impressed me far more than any of the Spanish colonial towns I’d visited in Peru and Ecuador. We stayed in a beach facing hostel in a very quiet area only 10 minutes walk from the town. With the friendliest most helpful staff I have ever come across in my life! Out of season, we virtually had the hostel to ourselves, it was perfectly peaceful. We timed our visit well as well with a local “religious” festival taking place in the town. I say religious lightly as it all seemed to be about football, boozing and popular music (I guess you could say those 3 are the Brazilian religion, but it is also the biggest catholic country in the world, I think). The festival was great, it had a real community feel, with barely any foreign tourists, just other Brazilians travelling down from Sao Paulo and the surrounding areas. Street sellers were selling beer and Caipirinha’s (one of my new favourite drinks), as people wandered around in high spirits, and watched live music on the big stage, with a different style act headlining each night. The first night was a reggae band, who might as well have been called “We love Bob Marley, and we wish we were him”. Now, I’ve got nothing against Bob, and can appreciate why he’s so legendary, I just struggle to like his music. Particularly as he seems to be every traveller’s idol. I’ve lost count of the amount of places I’ve been to (in Asia and over here) where his music is played, and his picture is placed in some sort of shrine, particularly in “surfer paradises”. Anyway, the festival was fun, and provided us with an entertaining few days where we really felt like we got to know the local culture.

Next up, we had a 21 hour (I think) overnight coach trip to Iguazu, which would normally be quite painful if it wasn’t for the remarkably good Brazilian coaches, and the fact that I’ve honed my sleeping on a coach technique (which still includes the inevitable nodding dog routine). The only downside was our seats being near the toilet, so it stunk of piss. Usually I struggle to get excited about visiting places which every traveller recommends, mainly because the hype leads to inevitable disappointment. Iguazu is a very different matter. The largest waterfalls in the world are situated on the border of Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay. And wow. They’re immense. Waterfall after waterfall with the meanest streams of water you will ever see. The first day we saw them on the Brazilian side, where you get a long distance view of all of them in their glory. The weather was pretty miserable, which I think added to the impact. The gloomy clouds added to the anger of the falls, as well as the fact the rain meant water levels were higher than usual. On the Brazilian side you walk along a platform that takes you virtually underneath one of the larger falls. Of course we were both unprepared and didn’t bring waterproofs, so got a good soaking. Even the usual hordes of tourists didn’t prevent the awesomeness.

The following day we took a day tour across the border into Argentina, where we were led around by a Brazilian man who resembled Atillio Lombardo (legendary former Crystal Palace caretaker boss for those that don’t know) with a bit more hair. For me, the Argentine side was even more immense. You walk along platforms that hover directly above the falls, giving an even better view of the sheer power of the water. One part, named ‘The Devil’s Throat’, was a particular highlight (although bloody freezing), as you’re engulfed in a cloud of spray from the biggest waterfall you’ll ever see. What struck me was how calm the river is until it gets to the edge, and as it starts to drop it suddenly gets incredibly violent. Again, unprepared, we got a good soaking! From then on you walk over a series of other waterfalls, and at one point the sun came out, creating fantastic rainbows over the already beautiful setting. There was an option to take a boat under the falls, which would have been spectacular, but it was too expensive. Previous travelling experiences have usually seen me taking in cities and general culture, but this trip has allowed me to see some incredible natural beauty, and I’m eager to see more.

Next stop, and our final stop in Brazil was Florionopolis. Everyone I know who’s been to Brazil says you must go there, so it was a bonus that Luke and Joana have recently moved there, and very kindly allowed us to stay in their beachside mansion. Florionopolis is a beautiful island situated off the South of Brazil, connected by the country’s largest bridge. It’s a very up and coming place, a business centre with great beaches and a massive lake right in the centre. It’s also the most expensive place in Brazil. And usually very sunny. Unfortunately it was very much off season during our visit, which meant half the island was closed. We had a great time none the less! Luke and Joana’s hospitality was great, and their house couldn’t be in a better location, facing the water with views of other small islands dotted around. I’m envious! It was a very relaxing time, with lots of eating. One of my favourite things about Brazil were the buffet restaurants where they weigh your food and charge you accordingly, or the slightly different version where you pay a set fee and get the salad buffet and then the waiters come round with all types of meat and fish and pizza and pasta. This gave me my first opportunity to try dessert pizzas! Strawberry and chocolate, banana and chocolate, basically anything you want that’s sweet! Beautiful.

And so after a brief stop in Brazil, it was time for an even briefer stop in Uruguay. I loved Brazil, and feel like I need to explore it further another time when I have a bigger budget, as I didn’t particularly get to know it as in depth as I’d have liked. One thing I do know is that a country so obsessed with football as Brazil, is a country I like! I really want to visit the North which is supposed to be even more beautiful, particularly the Bahia region.

Given the price difference was minimal and the time difference 18 hours, we decided to take a flight from Florionopolis to Montevideo, Uruguay’s capital, which went via Porto Allegre. Montevideo (and subsequently in my mind Uruguay as it was the only place we went to) is a very bizarre city. Whereas Bolivia is a long way behind, and Peru and Ecuador are playing catch up, to Brazil, Argentina and Chile, Uruguay feels like it’s been left behind. It apparently has one of the stablest and strongest economies in South America, however, a visit to Montevideo left us feeling like we were stuck in the late 80s / early 90s. The architecture, the vehicles, the cafes, bars, restaurants, shops, people and pretty much everything there, felt like it had been frozen in time.

It’s a very grey, gloomy and unattractive city – I thought it was great. Infact we extended our stay there by 2 nights, meaning we missed out on visiting the attractive colonial town of Colonia. Ugly large tower blocks, a random arch stabilised by breeze blocks and a statue of a man (not sure who) made up the main square, and the coastline was lined with a series of highrise blocks of flats which made it look like a grim day in one of the rougher parts of Brighton. Yet there was a charm. Everyone, and seriously everyone, was wandering around with a flask of hot water sipping away on a cup of maté. Maté is the tea that is famed in Argentina, that you drink through a spoon come straw device, in a special cup with maté leaves in which is regularly topped up with water. They love it. Argentina has nothing on Uruguay when it comes to drinking maté!

On the Sunday we went to the weekly market, expecting to see a load of local arts and crafts that you usually get at these things. Nope. You could pretty much get anything, as long as it was from pre 90s. Car parts, number plates (which I did get), ugly dolls with their hair missing, empty lighters, dirty clothes, broken alarm clocks, antique scales, unfashionable clothing, football socks of all colours, basically anything the locals could get their hands on they would sell, in this very large market. And then we went to a cafe, none of the clientele were under 60 other than us, the decor was very 80s, the cups didn’t look like they’d been cleaned since the 80s, the coffee tasted like it was from the 80s and the waiter smelt like he hadn’t washed since the 80s. Very odd, yet somehow charming.

Then something very surprising happened. We arrived back at our hostel to find a load of flyers advertising a Pixies night at another hostel in town. Now I know Pixies were originally around in the late 80s / early 90s which kind of fits in with the theme of Montevideo, but this night was very much out of synch with everything else we experienced there. It was like a get together of all the coolest, trendiest and most attractive folk in Uruguay. And the best thing is, we were the only foreigners there. In a very cool hostel bar, they basically played back-to-back Pixies songs, whilst selling cheap beer. And then a Uruguayan Pixies tribute band came on. Now I’m not usually a fan of tribute bands as they’re generally shit, but these guys were good. They played all the Pixies biggest hits, singing in a way that made you think that they probably don’t speak English. It was fun, especially when they invited a “guest” singer on to shout the angry songs in a manic Uruguayan way. Once the band had finished, and they’d run out of Pixies songs to play in the bar, they proceeded to play Sonic Youth tracks back-to-back. Only old ones from the late 80s/early 90s, mind. It was a perfect night out, as well as being completely random.

One downside to Montevideo was the fucking mosquitoes. I’ve never been bitten as much in my life as in Montevideo. Especially whilst sleeping at night, all I could hear were the bastards buzzing in my ear (that and the fat bloke in our dorm snoring), and waking up in the morning with bites all over the exposed parts of my body, which was essentially all my body other than my boxer shorts area (I guess I should be thankful the little fuckers didn’t get in there). The most annoying bite location was on the bottom of my feet, and their most prolific spot was definitely my back.

As mentioned before, our time in Uruguay was very brief, and infact we only went to Montevideo. If it was during the summer, Punte del Este or Punta del Diablo would have been on our itinerary, but it wasn’t. We also missed off Colonia del Sacramento, which sounded very picturesque if not a bit boring. A stay at an estancia would also have been interesting. Uruguay was random and bizarre, and I’d be amazed if I ever found myself there again, but it was also great fun.

From there we travelled to Buenos Aires, the capital of Argentina, a place I stayed in for the final 5 weeks of my trip. For the previous 5 months I was travelling very intensely, only staying in places for a few days max. (apart from Shanghai and La Paz)…which believe it or not can prove to be quite exhausting. So with that in mind, along with the fact I was low on funds (thus couldn’t really afford coaches elsewhere), it was winter in Argentina so the south (in particular) was freezing, Buenos Aires is fucking cool, and the small matter of the World Cup to watch, I decided I’d try to really get to know Buenos Aires and stay there. Good decision.

We made our way to Buenos Aires in spectacular fashion, by taking a boat across the River Plate. Well it turned out to be not so spectacular due to the grey clouds and rain hiding the view of the city as you arrive (that in combo with the Guns n Roses covers album played on the boat), but it was a good way to arrive in the city none the less, particularly from distance with the sillhouette of the city on the horizon. Buenos Aires is a wonderful city, that I put up there with London, Berlin and Shanghai as my favourites for sure. It has a very European feel to it, but with a South American twist. If you haven’t been, go.

My original plan was to move around different hostels in the city to get to know different areas. This hasn’t happened! We checked in at The Art Factory Hostel, and I stayed there until I went home 5 weeks later. It’s a really great hostel, probably the best I’ve stayed in. Based in San Telmo (more on San Telmo later), the building is an old doss house that used to be inhabited by budding artists. They used to pay their “rent” by decorating the walls with their art work. So each room, each corridor, the bar, reception, common room and the outside terrace area has the signature style of a host of different graffiti and stencil artists covering all the walls. It looks cool. But the art aspect doesn’t stop there. The bar hosts live music 4 times a week (acoustic music during the week from resident musicians, and a whole variety of local bands at the weekends which sees lots of locals in the bar). Other less regular nights include alternative film nights, puppet shows (surprisingly entertaining), poetry reading (a bit wanky), Jenga tournaments, BBQs and lots more.

That’s all great, but what really makes the hostel are the people.  The style of the hostel tends to attract a more cultured traveller rather than the party-centric Millhouse hostel down the road, I definitely met some sound people there. And I was there so long, the staff all became good friends, Argentine friends. Which helps to add some local authenticity to the experience. One man in particular is the soul of the hostel, Teo. He’s the entertainer, but not in a superficial way, everyone who stays here loves him. As well working the bar and playing his own brand of acoustic folk love songs (great voice and song writing ability), he takes you on tours of the city, and generally initiates fun by bringing people together. Particularly with nightly trips to La Puerta Roja (The Red Door)!  A local bar in San Telmo where I have spent many a night mixing with fellow travellers and local Argentines whilst drinking Quilmes (Argentine lager), Fernet (my new favourite drink, a minty spirit mixed with coke from Italy), and red wine (it’s pretty damn good over here), and playing endless games of pool. He also seems to have adopted an English accent in my honour! Another regular musician in the hostel, Gracia, is destined for good things, I’m sure. Like a female Bright Eyes, she has a stunning voice, as well as an affectionate onstage presence which inevitably sees her stopping midway through songs to say “fuck” as she goes slightly wrong. If she refined her act, it wouldn’t quite be the same. I was honoured that on my last night of seeing them, they dedicated songs to me.

Teo also got me a job in the hostel! My first ever job as a barman, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. At the weekends I opened the bar, and working during the football. Given my main daily past time during the world cup was watching football, it kinda made sense. But I have the added bonus of getting free accomodation and half price drinks and meals. It never gets too busy during the day, so has hardly been strenuous, but I’ve enjoyed it none the less. Particularly working during the Argentina v Mexico game, which was a great atmosphere. In fact watching the World Cup in Argentina in general was wonderful. They have such passion for their football, yet without unrealistic expectations (take note English). They love Maradona, the guy is an utter legend, and will back him all the way. But they still approach every game with a caution that I respect. I mean the attacking talent in their squad is 10 times that of the England squad – can you imagine the ridiculous hype we’d have here if we had a Messi, Higuain, and Tevez? A large screen was set up in Plaza San Martin to watch every game, but I just enjoyed watching the Argentina games in the hostel bar with my new found Argentine friends. The best moment was when Martin Palermo scored against Greece (I think) and a room fully of fully grown men (Boca Juniors fans) started crying, the guy’s a legend to them, and they shared his emotion. In England we’d probably throw beer over each other whilst we sung about god and the queen, even though we aren’t religious, or royalists.

My only problem with the locals is the language. I felt pretty confident whilst in Bolivia, Peru and Ecuador with my Spanish, as it’s very pure there, which whilst not being great, was allowing me to have regular conversations with locals. Here they speak Castellano, an extremely fast version of Spanish which has new words, mixes up syllabals, odd pronounciations and a great ability to make several words into one. The ‘ll’ sound in Spanish is pronounced with a ‘shj’ sound, as is the letter ‘y’ when used at the start of a syllable. Confusing, and slightly demoralising! Argentines though, are definitely the friendliest bunch I have come across in my time away. I’ve also met some other locals who have shown me other parts of Buenos Aires that I may not have necessarily seen if I didn’t meet them. And if I come back (which hopefully I will) I won’t be short of people to hang around with!

So, Alan stayed here for 5 days before we said an emotional goodbye and he headed home. Before then we went on an art tour of San Telmo. San Telmo is like the East London of Buenos Aires, for me the coolest and most interesting part. You speak to the majority of people who have visited the city and they’ll say “you must go to Palermo!”. Which you should, it’s quite nice, but San Telmo is a whole lot more interesting. Palermo is like West London, refined, posh and pricey, and all about shopping (overly priced shopping), as well as expensive cocktail bars. San Telmo on the other hand is grittier, with a much more alluring charm and an air of creativity all over the place. The small streets (many cobbled) are decorated with graffiti, lined with cafes, small bars and restaurants, indoor markets, modern art galleries, musical venues and tango halls amongst many others.

On Sundays, the main street in San Telmo, Defensar, hosts one of the coolest markets I have ever been to – local artists, designers and entrepreneurs sell their hand made goods, amongst general bric-a-brac, as well as street entertainers, tango dancers and musicians. It has a great vibe.

Another cool thing to do in Buenos Aires is to see a show by La Bomba. La Bomba are a local, predominantly percussion focused latino funk/jazz/dance band that play a redidency at the “Ciudad Cultural Konex”. In a trendy East London urban type venue, I saw Santiago Vasquez and La Grande play a 2 hour set. Santiago Vasquez is a member of La Bomba, and in his silver jump suit conducted a band of 15 drummers, trumpet players, guitar players, singers and percussionists wearing yellow jump suits. It was fully improvised, adding a cool latino edge to some funky jazz beats, and an all round great night of dancing. In fact the music scene in Buenos Aires in general is very good (much like the art scene). One night, in a bar called Guebara (see what they did there?), I stumbled across an improvised/experimental electro group, that played along with a crazyily random, yet talented violinist, and a woman that sung random words into a microphone when she felt like it. It was really really good.

A trip to Malba, the museum of Latino modern art was really interesting, and inspirational. Whilst I was there, there was an exhibition by American photographer, Robert Mapplethorpe, who produces very stylised black and white photography that mixes portraits of famous musicians, artists, models and actors (such as Talking Heads, Patti Smith, Andy Warhol and Grace Jones) with more risque imagery of homosexual sexual innuendo and full on S&M. It was a cool exhibition, totally unexpected. The building itself is pretty cool as well, and other works there all highly inspirational. Including a wooden bench, connected to another on the floor above with the panes of wood twisting around the whole building before connecting up with the other bench.

I also had to do some touristy things in Buenos Aires. The main one is La Boca, which whilst not being that exciting when you’re actually there, has an interesting story behind it (read the Wiki link). And is incredibly colourful! Infact there’s a cool vibe down there, with street artists and tango dancers all over. But it is very touristy, which I always find quite annoying – although interesting in this case given it’s history of being very poor.

The cemetery in Buenos Aires is a fascinating place to go. Not many cities in the world have a cemetery as one of it’s main tourist locations! It’s not a conventional cemetery of graves in the ground, it’s like a small village of large tombs with small passage ways that are very easy to get lost in. And in each tomb you can see the coffins lying there. The cemetery is also inhabitant by hundreds of cats, who each keep to their own location of the cemetry – many believed to hover round the graves of the family they once belonged to. A number of famous Argentines are ‘buried’ there, including Eva Peron.

And what is Argentina renowned for most (other than Maradona)? Steak and wine! And I had some great wine, but even better steak. I regularly went to a restaurant in San Telmo called Desnivel, where my favourite dish was “Lomo al Mostaza” – a beautiful, thick, tender (and massive) chunk of steak with Spanish potatoes in a mustard sauce. The meat in Argentina really does live up to it’s reputation. I’ve stories such as the cows are massaged, fed the best grass and probably read bed time stories to keep them happy. Whatever they do, they do it right. And in Desnivel, it’s unbelievably cheap for what you get. If you’re in Buenos Aires, go! The guidebooks recommend one called La Cabrera, which sounds great, but is probably the same standard as Desnivel, but a lot more expensive. Although you do get free champagne on the door, so perhaps that’s a reason to go. Although it’s very much aimed at tourists, whereas Desnivel has a great local vibe to it.

It wasn’t just the steak though. All over the city (particularly in San Telmo) were small parillas, which are small eateries with BBQs in, cooking all kinds of meat from steak, to pork, to chorizo, chicken and more. Very cheap, and again, delicious. A regular parilla I visited was Freddies, but on a visit to another one in San Telmo an incident happened that you would never see over here, or the States or any developed country really. The chimney to the BBQ, which ran all the way through the middle of the residential flats above, set on fire, with smoke coming out of the next 2 floors up. The woman who owned the parilla was going crazy, showing that latino passion. In fact everyone was going pretty crazy apart from one guy who kept his cool and tried to put it out. An Argentine friend I was with rang 911 to get the fire brigade down. Unbelievably, they wouldn’t pick up the phone until the 4th attempt, and that was after about 30 seconds of ringing!

And so, after 5 weeks in Buenos Aires / 4 months in South America / 6 months away all together, it was time to come home. And I now find myself in Eastbourne. What a fucking contrast. It does feel weird being home, but as I said before, there is only so long you can go away for when you don’t particularly have an aim. I think any future travels will be concentrated on one area that I can really get to know, and will also hopefully involve some working element. It’s been a great 6 months, one of diverse continents, cities, natural beauty, man made wonders and people, but for now I’m happy to be back with friends and family (and to be planning the next trip – probably Colombia and Central America).

La Paz is a distant memory now, but before I left I did one more thing… mountain biking down the world’s most dangerous road. Given I’m lame at most “extreme” sports I take part in, I was surprised at how much I enjoyed it. Chosing one of the better companies in town helped, their record of only one death to date is probably the best.

The ride started off at 4,800m, and began with a sip of this horrendous Bolivian alcohol, with some given to “pachamama” (mother earth to the indigenous Andean folk) for good measure. And descended to 1200m (I think). And was 60km in total. The first 20km was supposedly easy – on full tarmac, and not the actual “road of death”. The only problem was that it went through rain clouds, and you couldn’t see a thing! It was also fucking freezing and naturally I was soaked once I came through the clouds. The views were incredible though – lush green mountains with peaks immersed in clouds. Then came the road, an uneven gravel track that at times was 2m wide max. Up until 2004 this was the only road that linked La Paz with Coroico, with many of the accidents happening as vehicles tried to get past each other from both directions. However, at the time I did the ride, the new road was closed due to roadworks, meaning that as well as trying to avoid the 600m drops immediately to your left, there was also a load of traffic to tackle! Because traffic coming up the road gets priority, we were asked to cycle on the left of the road (ie with a massive fucking drop right next to you). There was no time to take in the beautiful views because you were too busy concentrating on (1) cycling on the most even, less stony part of the left hand side of the road, and (2) not falling 600m to your death. However, the ride was relatively tame compared to the journey back! Going up the road in a bus, with a probably drunk Bolivian driver who usually takes the safe new road. Sleeping seemed the best option, however waking up to see the middle part of the bus (where I was) hanging over the edge wasn’t much fun.

So, I’ve spent the majority of the last 6 weeks “overlanding” with 20 other people in the back of a truck. It’s kind of made travelling easy, but it’s a great way to meet (and more importantly get to know) people, as well as see as much of each country as possible (I realise the irony after my many rants about tickbox travellers – but I like to think I’m a bit more honest with how “amazing” everything is!). There’s no way I’d have seen or done as much as I have if I was travelling independantly. I’ve met some really sound people as well, from all over the place – Uk, Ireland, Holland, Denmark, Hungary, Ecuador, Brazil, Australia, New Zealand etc.

One thing that’s been picked up on by the others, that’s been pointed out before, is my extremely floppy head (that’s not a euphemism, that’s my actual head) when sleeping on transport. It’s like gravity disappears when my eyes shut, and I become a human nodding dog. If I’m in an aisle seat, I end up regularly head butting the person next to me, and if I’m by the window I end up bruising my head by smacking it on the glass. On one journey I had the window open, and nearly lost my head together many times (apparently, I was asleep).

My final destination in Bolivia was Copacabana (the beach in Rio de Janeiro was named after it). A really beautiful and tiny town on Laga Titicaca, the worlds highest lake (which also happens to be massive, stretching a long way into Peru). The highlight here was sitting on top of a hill watching the sunset, it kind of reminded me of Lake Como in Italy (not that I’ve ever been there). The lowlight was the worst meal I’ve ever had in a restaurant. A cuppa soup, followed by half a cows foot, with banana and engine oil for desert. Served at the pace of a South American snail (they’re slower than European snails, I’m sure). This kind of set the benchmark for many things in South America. Lets just say they’re not renowned for their speed, or quality, or just generally giving a shit. Still, it’s all part of the experience, and I’m not moaning unlike many others. I’ll rant about that later though.

A day trip to Isla de Sol also helped set me up for the next few weeks. Trekking up mountains, as well as visiting ruins. I’ve never been one for ancient history, I find it mildly interesting but hard to empathise with given how long ago it happens, and I find ruins or old things pretty underwhelming (check the blog with Angkor Wat in for example). I especially find it funny when people cream themselves over some life defining moment at seeing a few ancient rocks. I mean, c’mon! Wandering through a market, taking in locals everyday lives is far more interesting. Anyway, on Isla de Sol, we found ourselves looking at a rock that apparently resembles a puma, sacred to the Inca people. I think I look more like a puma than that thing. Still, tourists there were peering over their Lonely Planets gushing at how amazing it was. Isla Del Sol itself was beautiful, and lived up to it’s name as I came off the island with a nose that resembled Peter Schmeichel’s in his heyday (or Rudolf for those that don’t know Peter). And the trekking got me really enthusiastic for the Inca Trail.

And that was the end of my time in Bolivia. The poorest of all the South American countries I’m visiting on this trip, and therefor probably the most interesting. It seems like quite a confused country that doesn’t really know how to do things properly, but that just makes it more charming! On arriving in Peru, it was instantly obvious that they’ve got tourism sorted and are far more refined with it, which for me made it harder to really get to know the country like Bolivia. Tourism towns or cities generally seem quite fake, as everything is aimed at the traveller and therefor not very genuinally local. Large cities are exceptions as it’s easy to get away from the tourist trap. Which is why China appealed so much, and why I think cities like Rio and Buenos Aires will be awesome.

After a brief visit to a floating island on Laga Titicaca near Puno, that for reasons mentioned above seemed anything but genuine (a stark contrast to the ones I visited in Cambodia), we arrived in Cusco – “South America’s biggest party town”. So far it’s hard to argue againt that claim. I did fuck all sightseeing, instead all night drinking sessions followed by all day drinking sessions happened. From what I could tell, it’s a city that’s very similar to Krakow in Poland, architecturally and partyingly (new word?). A very attractive Spanish colonial town, that I took no photos of. Regular offers of “sniff”, “puff” and “powder” were sure signs that tourists were in town! As was the fact that Cusco was the centre of the Inca empire, meaning all treks to Machu Picchu and the like start from there. It had the refined touristness (another new word?) that again made it hard to really get to know the place. Plus I was always drunk.

In Cusco, I also got my first dose of the Peruvian vomits/shits. A regular occurence amongst travellers in this part of South America due to their complete lack of hygiene and dodgy water. Some may say this was alcohol induced, but I’ve gad enough hangovers in my time to know it wasn’t!

Another bizarre parallell to Krakow happened when I was in Cusco. I was once sitting in Krakow old town square enjoying a meal in the sun, when my fork slipped. As I tried to catch it, it looked like I purposely catapulted a chunk of food onto the white shirt of an attractive local behind me, who was dining with her big bastard boyfriend. Everyone looked at me in horror as I turned bright red with embarassement, whilst he looked at me with an “I’m going to kill you” stare. This incident wasn’t quite so extreme, but I did manage to spray my McDonalds coke onto some girl whilst she was eating with her boyfriend. His stare brought back some memories.

And to the Inca Trail and Machu Picchu. The holy grail of every ancient ruin lover in South America. Over the rainy months, Peru had massive problems with flooding that really hit the tourism industry, as most treks and Machu Picchu were closed. I was lucky (or not so lucky given the cost) as they opened the day before I arrived. I chose to do the “Andean Community Trek” rather than the classic Inca Trail as I didn’t fancy walking for 4 days with 500 or so other tourists. It turned out to be a good decision. I really loved the trek, walking through spectacular and untouched scenery for 4 days, with no other person in sight other than local communities that we camped with. Along with the guides, we had a team of cooks (awesome food) and porters, who with help from a load of llamas and donkeys carried our bags, tents and the cooking equipment the whole way! In my last blog I wrongly accused llamas of being stupid, I take that back. They’re immense animals, who took on proper rock climbing with bags on their backs, something they’ve been doing for centuries with the local communities. Not only did they do that, but they did it in half the amount of time we took! The first day of the treck involved us playing football with the locals at 3700m up, it was fucking knackering. I had 7 year old kids running rings around me! We were also supposed to give new equipment to the kids at a local school, but the little bastards didn’t turn up on time (for their first day back at school!), which was disappointing. As one of the faster members of the group, I was taken on more obscure routes through the mountains, and given the direct route was hardly a path, it made the trek even more fun. Infact the trek was by far the highlight over Machu Picchu.

The only downside to doing this trek was that it didn’t take you all the way to the “wonderful” Machu Picchu. The classic Inca trail takes you all the way to the sun gate, which would look spectacular if the whole mountain wasn’t engulfed in cloud at sun rise! I wasn’t too disappointed to miss this experience.

So we ended up in a town called Olayantambo, where there were some more ruins awaiting us, to get even more excited about Machu Picchu. It was a weird tourism town, with nothing much to do. A couple of us went into a “local” bar, where an entrepreneurial bastard local thought he’d take over from the barmaid, overcharge us for our beer, and then charge us for the “priviledge” of listening to music, so he and his mate could get an extra beer. I’d have bought him one if he’d have asked. Still, this was my first introduction to Sonia Morales, Peru’s most famous singer, I guess the equivalent to Sheryl Cole, although she looks more like a Thai ladyboy to me. YouTube her, her music is horrendous! But she’s so popular she even has beer named after her. Speaking of beer, I’m really fed up with crappy lager, the only decent one I’ve had on my whole trip is Beer Laos so far. Cusquena is Peru is possibly the worst yet, although that may just be because I’ve drunk too much to this point.

Back to Machu Picchu, to get there we had to get the most expensive train ever, which upon arrival we were told by an American female voice that “the great moment has arrived”. Bollocks! We arrived in a crappy tourist town called Aguas Calliente (hot waters), with still a 30 minute coach journey to go, and even when we did get there I would hardly call it “great”. You may have sensed my sarcasm towards Machu Picchu, I mean the idea behind it and what the Incas did so many years ago is impressive, but life defining moment it certainly ain’t. I struggle to gain any sort of empathy towards a few neatly arranged rocks from so many years ago, but it’s amazing how many tourists there were gushing about how life will never be the same again now they’ve visited Mach Picchu. One thing that made it better than I’d thought was that due to the floods, only a quarter (I think) of the usual amount of people were allowed in.

About a month ago I read ‘Smile when you’re lying – confessions of a travel writer’ by Chuck Thompson. It’s not a particularly amazing book, but I like his sarcastic approach to the travel industry, which I fully agree with. Too many people cream themselves at every possible moment, guidebooks being the worst. I’ve learnt to never trust a guidebook, they spout too much shit just to gain a few favours with restaurants, hotels etc, and are also far too paranoid about dangers, and are rarely updated properly. In the book, Thompson quotes Paul Theroux (my favourite cynical travel writer by far, it’s almost endurance travel and he’s not afraid to say how shit something is – “the most unhappy man to ever open a suitcase”) – “one of the unavoidable truths about travel is that it often isn’t fun” -I couldn’t agree more, and to be honest the fact that a lot of it isn’t fun, makes it even better. The stories of long coach journeys, people trying to screw you over or scary gangsters in a tiny Chinese bar make for the best. Just simply being immersed in another culture is enough for me. Another quote that he pointed out, that absolutely suits Machu Picchu, is from Samuel Johnson about the Giants Causeway – “worth seeing, yes: but not worth going to see” – couldn’t have put it better!

One of my favourite experiences in Peru was a night spent in Raqchi, a small settlement where the locals speak Quechua as their first language (and by yet more ruins). I stayed in the home of a local family (with Liam and Jezza from the trip), which proved to be great practice for my Spanish as we were all learning (including the family)! All the others from the trip stayed in different homes around the settlement, and in the evening everyone converged to our home for the evening festivities. Wearing traditional local dress! We took part in a ceremony which involved coca leaves and blessing pachamama, as well as the mountains, one-by-one. Followed by a hug from every single person there (about 50 I’d say) and then traditional dancing with the locals. All very bizarre, but great fun. I also played babysitter to the family’s young son, Omar, who was a little legend! He took a particular shining to my camera, photographing everything in sight. Particularly my “funny round eyes”.

Anyway, if I carry on at this rate it’ll be the worlds longest blog – so I’m not gonna go in chronological order, but group things together instead.

So, bird spotting. Something I never thought I’d do, but I’ve had 2 experiences of it in Peru! Firstly at Colca Canyon – the worlds deepest canyon. It’s famous for it’s Condors, the worlds largest birds after ostriches ( I think?). And I can confirm they’re fucking humungous, wings spanning to 3m. It was pretty cool as they flew straight towards you in large groups, almost as of they were posing for the hordes of tourists. But the tourists were actually more impressive, cheering each bird as it flew across the look out point. The elderly tick box tourism ones were the funniest, wowing at each one as they snapped away with their 300m long £3 million sports cameras. One guy looked like he was gearing up for a shift at the world cup final. Until I realised he was snapping away in auto mode, why the fuck would you need a camera like that if you don’t even know how to use the bloody thing?!

The other dose of bird spotting was on a boat trip around the Ballestos Islands – “the poor mans Galapogas”. It really stunk! The guano (bird shit) is collected every few years and sold for fertiliser – I’m guessing it’s been a while since they last collected it. It was cool though, I saw lots of Boobies, they were everywhere, lots of Peruvian Boobies. As well as Penguins, and a load of other birds. And seals and sea lions. I was disappointed to see no sea lions being attacked (and eaten) by killer whales, which is apparently a common occurence.

Arequipa was another postcard perfect Spanish colonial town, overly touristy, and where my experience was much the same as Cusco. The Peruvian vomits came back! I wasn’t too disappointed to miss the town though. I only missed a monastry and a museum that I won’t lose any sleep over! It makes me laugh when people have to see absolutely everything that’s on offer, everywhere. A church is a church, they’re all over the place. You’ll get to know a place far better by chilling in a cafe watching peoples everyday lives, rather than anxiously trying to see every ancient coin in a museum. I swear some people get too stressed over it, just chill, relax (or “chillax” as my Swiss friend from Uyuni would say), take in the culture around you, and enjoy yourself! And anyhow Arequipa seemed like one of those towns so geared at tourists that it’s hard to get to know it, unlike, say La Paz, where the locals everyday life isn’t just about tourism, so it feels a bit mote real and you can get to know them better.

Whilst I’m ranting about travellers again, I’ll go for one more. Food! If you order a bowl of pasta in Peru, that costs the equivalent of £1.20, it ain’t gonna be anything special. You can’t expect the quality of some plaza in Rome, when in South America. They’re pretty slack about most things, so of course food will be one. Anyway, it’s all part of travelling and experiencing how things are done in other cultures.

Speaking of food, one thing I loved about Peru was one of it’s national dishes – Ceviche. I could eat that stuff all day. Fresh raw fish, marinated in lemon/lime juice (the acid slightly cooks it), served with sweet potato, raw red onions and corn (the sweet corn here is massive, and really quite tasty). Beautiful. The fish in Peru is really nice and fresh. Although I probably got the shits from it!

One food that definitely made me feel a bit rough was another Peruvian national dish, guinea pig. It comes out on a plate looking like a baked rat, and is a nightmare to eat due to all the bones, and the fact that there is hardly any meat on it. I was encouraged to savour it over a few hours, slowly eating the ears, claws and head. Instead I rushed it, the little rodent made me feel sick! Earlier on in the day we visited a ladies house who breeds guinea pigs, they were literally everywhere. At one point she picked one, started strangling it and attempting to break it’s neck. The little fella was squealing away, but was soon drowned out by the sound of several grown men squealing away and hiding in the corner! Before it died, she let it run off.

Another thing I did a lot of in Peru was camping by the beach. I’ve never been a beach person, I get bored too easily. However, it was really nice to chill out after doing lots of energetic stuff! The beaches here aren’t great compared to Asia, and they have some of the meanest waves you’ll ever see, but I particularly enjoyed the remote beaches. In my last blog I ranted about Loki hostels, and how I’d never stay in one again. Well, I lied. I stayed in one in Mancora, which to be fair was a lot more chilled out than in La Paz, but still full of wankers. Mancora itself I really didn’t like, it might as well be called Magaluf, and the beaches weren’t even that nice. It’s only really there for people to party or surf in. I don’t surf, but I did party! The partying was made all the more entertaining by a mate smashing his face in when giving someone a piggy back down some stairs! When in Puerta Inca we played football againt the locals, well actually I was with the locals, and we destroyed the gringos. And then in the next game I was with the gringos and we destroyed the locals. Make of that what you will! Probably the most entertaining moment was when camping on a secluded beach called Punta Sol, where the biggest crabs I’ve ever seen kept on trying to sneak their way into our tent to sleep with us!

In one beach town, Huanchacco near Trujilla, I actually found some ruins that mildly interested me! Huaca del Sol (temple of the sun) and Huaca de la Luna (temple of the moon), are brilliantly preserved Moche ruins. The Incas were pretty lane compared to these guys. The temples are really vibrantly coloured, which is amazing considering they’re pre Inca. The Incas are completely overrated in my opinion, but it’s pretty much what the whole Peruvian tourist industry is based on. They’re completely patriotic people, every tour guide I had bigged their particular ruin, canyon or bird as the best thing ever. Often comparing them to other countries or continents prett unecessarily. Everywhere you look there’s a reference to the Incas, even their national fizzy drink is called Inca Kola!

Other than Bolivia, South America hasn’t been as cheap as I’d expected (hoped!). It’s still not particularly expensive, but that’s one thing Asia has the upper hand on. I mentioned Machu Picchu was way overly priced, and another complete waste of money was the Nascar Lines – a series of drawings in the ground (some are a couple of hundred metres in length) that the Nascar people (pre Inca I think) drew for God in the hope that he’d give them rain. Funnily enough this didn’t work – this part of Peru is pretty much all desert and they get 2 hours of rain a year! Infact a week before I was there, there were riots over the drought which led to 20 deaths! To see the lines you take a $70, 30 minute flight in the tiniest scariest tin can with wings you’ll ever see! It really wasn’t worth the money, the postcards are clearly photoshopped to make the drawings stand out, and you may as well just look at them. It’s by far the safer option as well, especially given there was a recent crash. The orange pilot didn’t seem all that confident is his flying ability either, and it was all so rushed through by the wanker salesman that you didn’t even have a moment to take it in. Another very bizarre Nascar thing I saw was an old cemetry with mummified bodies! Apparently grave robbers have stolen everything of value in the graves, so you’re just left with these pretty funny looking mummified men, women, kids or parrots!

The capital, Lima, is a right shithole. Everyone I know who’s been there before has told me, and I can confirm it’s a dump! There’s also nothing to do! Even the bars all seemed to be closed. That said, I quite liked it. It’s a likeable shithole. Miraflores was a nice area, and fun chilling out in. And going bowling. When in Lima, bowl, apparently. I’m definitely a big city guy, that’s why I loved China so much. They’re easier to lose yourself in, and get away from the tourist trap, and get to know the local culture. However, Lima isn’t one that I’ll be recommending to people. Unlike Quito, which I’ll talk about in a bit. I’ve been really slack with photographs in South America as well, I think it’s because I’ve had less time to myself. I didn’t take a single photo in Lima.

I’ve definitely preferred doing the active things in Peru, rather than the towns. And one that I loved was in Huaccachina, a tiny town situated on an oasis (that appears on a 50 soles note), surrounded by miles and miles of massive sand dunes. Firstly we went dune buggying, which was unbelievable fun. It’s like being on a rollercoaster at times, especially when the buggy is going down dunes vertically. Then in the dunes we went sandboarding. Which was fun except for the fact that I’m shit at it. It ended with a punch party in a really secluded beach with seals around. Where every couple there appeared to have fights and break up! Very bizarre.

And that was Peru, a country I had a great time in, yet struggled to really get to know it. If there was a bit of modern history to empathise with then perhaps it would have been different. But it’s such a tourism focused country that none of it seems very genuine, which was a shame. I was happy to get to Ecuador, a country I really love. Instantly I knew I was going to enjoy it. The scenery is so diverse, it has beach, rainforest, cloud forest, mountains, a whole host of animals, fruit, and some great cities. The people also seem a lot mote genuine as the emphasis isn’t so much on tourism than Peru.

First stop was Cuenca on the South. By far the wealthiest part of the country. It’s also a lot whiter, particularly in comparison to Peru, and the rest of Ecuador. Which isn’t such a great thing as I’ll explain in a minute. Some of the houses on the outskirts of the city could have been in Beverly Hills!

Cuenca is anotger very attractive Spanish colonial town. It’s also the home of Panama hats! Did you know that they aren’t made in Panama, but Ecuador? No, neither did I. They’re called Panama hats because originally they were exported down the Panama canal, and the workers there wore them. Which seems stupid to me, if you want to promote one of your countries exports, why not name it after your own country? I went on a tour of a Panama hat factory adamant I wouldn’t get one so I wouldn’t look like one of those tossers you see around Camden or Shoreditch wearing trilbies. But I bought one, and now I look like a tosser. I doubt I’ll be wearing it back home though.

The highlight of Cuenca though was going to my second South American football match. It was very different to the first! It was also very insightful. Deportivo Cuenca v Barcelona (unfortunately not the real ones from Catalunya, but a fake version from Guayaquil, with the same badge but much shitter). Barca are currently top, and Cuenca 4th. The atmosphere was electric, it was a sold out night game, which meant we had to get tickets from a tout outside, so paid way over the odds. But we certainly got our moneys worth! Firstly there was a reserve game before between the 2 teams, then there was bikini clad women promoting the beer company that sponsors both teams, and this all before the game which was actually pretty entertaining. Both sets of fans were setting off fireworks (and stranger Chinese candles), who were really mixed together in most stands, including the one I was in. I also picked up a few new Spanish phrases from the many chants as the fans sung about “sons of bitches” and mothers being “whores”. There was a real dark side though, everytime a black Barca player had the ball, all the Cuenca fans (including those around me) made a series of monkey noises, despite their own team being 50% black. The racism along with the fenced in enclosures made it seem like watching a game in 80s England. It was a highly entertaining end-to-end game though. Cuenca took the lead in the first half with a spectacular lob over the goalie that I missed, after a series of 5 yellow cards in 5 minutes. Then at the start of the second half, Barca’s big black centre half had to wait a couple of minutes to take a free kick right by us. The whole tine he was subjected to monkey chants. Clearly upset and wound up, 2 minutes later and again infront of us, he booted one of the Cuenca players who was lying on the ground and got sent off. I’m not sure if it’s seen as just a way of wi ding up the opposition rather than racism (there were black people in the crowd too) – if so it worked! Then one of the Cuenca players rounded the keeper and scored 5 seconds after being flagged for offside, and got his second yellow and a red. Barca equalised with a great solo effort and long range finish and it ended 1-1. The game was also notable for the fact that if large amounts of people chant “Cuenca” repeatedly, it sounds very much like everyone chanting “wanker”.

One of my favourite places in Ecuador was when we camped in an eco hostel type place situated in a cloud forest, near Rio Verde, which was near the town of Banos (Spanish for toilets). It was a beautiful setting, with one of the top ten waterfalls in the world near by, and one of the best hostels I’ve ever stayed in the weather was pretty schitzo as well, turning from sunshine to rain every 15 minutes. It was also the location for a several outdoor activities. First up, I went canyoning, which involved abseiling down waterfalls and generally getting very wet whilst making your way down a river wearing a wet suit, life jacket, helmet, and pair of converse. I enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would, but preferred white water rafting more! The rapids on the river we went on are classed 5+, which is the highest available commercially. It was awesome fun, as one of the “men” in our boat I was on the front, which made it difficult to understand the instructions of our captain at the back. After 2 minutes, and before we even hit any rapids I nearly fell in. But you really get a buzz when you going straight through them, water splashing all over you, and in my case, swallowing half the river. I found myself thrown across the boat several times, and over the edge being kept in by my feet clinging on, but our boat never flipped over despite our best efforts. I saw a couple flip over in heavy rapids, and whilst it looked pretty scary, especially with rocks everywhere, I kinda wished ours had!

Next up was the jungle! And probably what I’d been looking forward to the most in this part of South America. I’ve spoken to people who went into the Amazon at different parts – it sounds particularly good in Rurrenbaque in Bolivia – which got me even more excited, and I wasn’t disappointed. I don’t think I went to it in the best location possible, but still got to see and do everything I hoped for. The lodge we stayed in was at a higher altitude to the majority of the jungle, which left a stunning view that seemed to be different everytime I saw it. And it meant less of those bastard malaria carrying mosquitoes. Although it didn’t mean less of the other insects – I was particularly shocked to see a fucking massive hairy tarantula walking on the rack with everyone’s room keys, a scorpion just chilling out on the stairs, and a 15cm long cockroach having a snooze in my room.

The first day in the jungle we trekked through an area at higher altitude, climbing through bat filled caves, and learning about the different trees and plants (which is pretty boring). It was entertaining though for the bat that went straight for my forehead, and then his mate who got tangled up in my camera strap. There was also a bizarre but evil looking yellow spider. The next day started with a boat trip that brought back memories of that mid nineties classic film, ‘Anaconda’, as I was expecting a 3 mile long, 30m wide snake to jump out of the water and attack me. Instead we saw a tiny little snake on a rock. Speaking of Anacondas, the animal sanctuary had a pretty massive one (not as big as the one in the film though), and it was only a baby. It came out to see us, slowly slithering along the edge, when it fell back in the water causing everyone watching to jump back in comedy fashion. The sanctuary was cool, even if the animals weren’t in the “wild”. The more dangerous ones were in cages, and the others like the monkeys and this bizarre bird thing that followed us around everywhere were allowed to roam free. That afternoon we went tubing down the river, which was fun, minus the boozing/drug intake that happens in Laos. The final day was a big trek through a denser part of the jungle which was awesome – as well as the customary climbing up waterfalls with ropes, and jumping into water fully dressed, we got to see animals in their natural environment. A whole host of insects, as well as 2 snakes (one looked a right evil fucker), and monkeys (one of which had a tiny head and massive arse). The trek was finished with a swim in a tropical lagoon at the foot of a waterfall, giving me the opportunity to get my beautiful t-shirt tan out.

I also went to Otavalo and got most of my present shopping done. Otavalo market has been dubbed “South America’s best market”, and it’s easy to see why. Stalls galore selling clothing, jewelley, hammocks, knives, hooves, wallets….and a load more. All made from Llama wool, Alpaca wool, leather etc etc. It’s a pretty vibrant place, although the rain meant that the market was covered up, so pictures look pretty lame. Otavalo was also interesting because it’s the first place I have come across where the local men wear traditional dress. In Bolivia and Peru they’re lazy bastards who wear t-shirts and fake Adidas trousers. But in Otavalo they wore long poncho’s and had their long hair in plaits.

And finally (at last) I ended up in Quito, the capital of Ecuador. A city I loved! It’s pretty edgy, gangs on every corner waiting to pounce. Infact in one weekend I knew 4 people who were mugged, 2 of them twice! I found my wn technique t avoid mugging was to run everywhere you go at night, they tend to leave you alone then. Apparently they all carry guns or knives, so if you are approached it’s best to give them all the money you have. Quito has a really vibrant nightlife, with bars and restaurants everywhere in the new town. And is set within the mountains similar to La Paz. I tok absolutely no photos there either!

And that’s that. I’m now in Paraty in Brazil, after a few days in Rio. But that’s for the next blog.

After saying goodbye to my family (and incessant rain) in Australia, I flew from Brisbane to Auckland. I can now claim to say I have been to Iceland and New Zealand, 2 of the most stunning countries in the world, and not stepped out of the airport in each! I need to rectify this. The view flying into New Zealand was incredible.

Anyhow, luckily my flight to Santiago was one of the few flights still going after the earthquake a week before. In fact it made it a rather bizarre introduction to South America as a continent, as the main terminal had collapsed. Apparently buildings in Chile are built to withstand earthquakes. Apart from the airport terminal that is, which was made of glass, and just shattered into pieces. Upon landing we were forced to stay in the plane for a further 30 minutes as our bags were unloaded. It turned out this was because baggage reclaim was on the runway! After a brief scare where I didn´t think my bag was in the mound of suitcases, I made my way to passport control. Passport control also happened to be on the runway, in a tent!

Since I’ve been away, I’ve found here has been several moments where I’ve thought “shit, I spent way too much here”. And then think “it’s ok, it’s only once”. Only for it to happen again. And again. And again. Anyhow, after leaving the tent, I found myself on a road surrounded by mountains and about 3 million taxi drivers. Of course I chose to take the youngest, most expensive and only non English speaking driver. A driver who decided to ignore the police, who were allowing only one car at a time cross over a bridge, that essentially had 2 massive cracks through it from the earthquake, turning it into 3 bridges. Not only was I worried about falling into the river below (as the middle of the bridge was pretty much suspended in mid air), but also we now had a police car tailing us! Somehow, and I don´t have a clue what he said to them, he got away with it. And, so, 2 hours, and £30, yes £30 later, I was at a hostel in Santiago. Only to find out I was the only traveller there!

I’d only really decided to visit Chile as it’s the most accesible (and cheapest) place to get to from Australia, hence why my stay was so short. It took me a while to like Santiago. The food was crap (it seemed like fried chicken is all they ate), it’s incredibly polluted to the point where you can barely see the impressive mountaneous surroundings (perhaps it was the heat, but it seemed worse than China), and (sob sob, get the violins out) at first I was a right loner. The earthquake had obviously put people off from visiting, despite the fact Santiago was relatively unharmed. I guess I was considering not visiting, as there was a period of uncertainty as to whether my insurance would have been valid.

Still, it’s a city I grew to like a lot. Chile’s economy is one of the strongest in South America, and it shows in Santiago. If you didn’t know you were in South America, you’d have sworn it was in Spain. It had that chilled out siesta vibe, where things don’t really get going ’til the afternoon, and the architecture is very Spanish. It was also as expensive as Spain.

The Chileans are a right friendly bunch as well, particularly in the “Bohemian” part of town, where there is a positive correlation between grafitti, tattoos, dreadlocks and bars. In fact I just sat in one bar all night as they played Animal Collective albums one after the other. And made friends with a man who had a tattoo of Ivan Zamorano on one arm, and Marcelo Salas on the other. They’re about the only 2 Chileans I know, so it seemed kind of fitting. And I recalled my days of playing Zamorano up front alongside Robbie Fowler on Championship Manager. His favourite English team is United, and he described Fowler as a “cunt”. We departed on bad terms!

The folk of Santiago didn’t really seem shaken up by the ‘quake, and in fact I just sensed that even though this one was far worse than usual, they were used to it. The only evidence was several cordoned off buildings, with crumbled rock beside them. I gave a fair amount of money to help those in Concepcion only to find out some bastards were conning the public. I was warned about pick pockets who had come from Concepcion, but these guys were actually conning people by blatantly lying about having family down there. I only found out after giving money.

During the 3 days I was there, more travellers arrived at the hostel, and I met a sound bunch. The hostel put on an awesome BBQ, and we drunk Pisco sours and ate a whole cow each as I was told about how I’d made a big mistake in booking Loki hostel to stay in, in La Paz. More to come on that soon though.

Other observations I made about Santiago include the fact that I noticed a hell of a lot of blind people. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s an easy place to live if you can’t see. But every where I looked there were people with white sticks. If anyone knows why, I’d be interested to find out! I also noticed how many couples there were not afraid of public displays of affection! Everywhere. At one point I was walking through a park and it was like a mass orgy was about to start. I quickly cleared off.

And so, after a very brief 3 day stop in Chile’s capital, it was time for me to move onto (what was for me) the far more appealing country of Bolivia. So, I took a much quicker, and much cheaper taxi in the ealy hours of the morning to the airport. Which proved to be far more entertaining than I could ever have imagined! The driver was a rather butch, yet extremely camp, Chris Kamara meets Lionel Richie lookalike, who asked me if I liked Right Said Fred. I didn’t want to offend him, so naturally said yes. He then put on their “greatest hits” for us to “enjoy and sing along to”. And so, at 4 o’clock in the morning we were cruising the streets of Santiago singing about how we’re “too sexy” for our “shirts”, among many other things..

At the airport, the arrival tent was still there. And there was even a tent for departures check in. Despite the botched and rather rushed nature of the whole operation, it went pretty smoothly. I was recommended to check in 3 and a half hours before, however, it took 20 minutes. They took my bag, and finally I entered an inside area of Santiago airport.

Now, looking at a map of South America, you´d expect a flight there to take perhaps 3 – 4 hours? Well mine took 12! I´ve never been on a flight before that stops off to pick up passengers, let alone twice! But this one went into Peru to Lima, stayed there for a couple of hours, and then went past (!) La Paz to Santa Cruz, stayed there for a bit, before fying to La Paz. I guess it was worth the wait though.

When driving into La Paz, the views are stunning! I’ve heard differing stories that La Paz is the highest capital city in the world – infact it’s only the administrative and de facto capital of Bolivia. Still, it’s a long long way up, with the centre of the city set in a valley, as the outskirts rise up the mountains.

My first 3 nights in La Paz were spent in Loki hostel. Bad mistake. Loki is a chain of hostels in Bolivia and Peru, with a reputation for party times. To me, it really was horrendous! Perhaps I’m just a boring (and getting old) bastard, but it did nothing for me. I had a full on headache for 3 days, I’m not sure if this was coincedence or not. The hostel is about 24/7 drinking, cocaine and incessant noise. To be fair, the hundreds of people staying there were enjoying themselves! I prefer the more chilled hostels, where you generally meet a more interesting type of traveller, where partying still inevitably takes place, but with more stimulating conversation. But this place seemed like a production line of kids with no interest in culture, it had no atmosphere or friendliness. And in my room was a right bunch of cunts. 7 guys, all friends (from Israel, it seems the continent is full of ‘em as they have just come out of their compulsory military service, infact there are hostels here for Israeli’s only), who made it their mission (get the violins out again) to ensure I had no sleep at all. Their particular favourite technique was to jump on each other in the middle of the room, farting in the other person’s face, at 6am in the morning with the light on. Or an alternative technique if the fart wouldn’t come out, was to slap each other in the face with their cocks. On my final night there, I was actually having a fairly decent night sleep, until one of them broke the unwritten rule of hostels and brought a girl back to the room at 5am-ish. They turned the light on, and the girl said rather loudly so I could hear (and I think she was very right with what she said) “what sort of retard comes to this hostel and sleeps”. Amen, love. Fuck you. To be fair to the Israeli’s in South America, if I was forced to do military service for 2-3 years when I was 18, I’d want to go on holiday and let loose as well. I’d also just like to add I have nothing against Israeli’s, I’ve met plenty of sound ones, as you’ll find out later. Just these guys were cunts. And this hostel actually seemed to be dominated by English public school boys and girls who all had big hair and rugger shirts on (even the girls, strangely).

Back to La Paz. I love it here. It’s so hectic, yet chilled, dirty, yet beautiful, grey, yet colourful and vibrant. I had been warned that the Bolivians don’t take kindly to tourists, yet I’ve had nothing but friendliness from them, in the now 2 weeks I have been here. In every street corner there is a market, every road you’re inevitably walking up a steep incline, and everywhere there is a policeman/woman or 2 with his or her gun on standby (and people dressed as zebras directing the traffic). I haven’t found the altitude has affected me, other than being out of breath, but that’s probably more down to my general lack of fitness! I decided it’d be a good base to take some Spanish lessons, and live with a Bolivian family for a bit. There are many other towns I could have chosen in Bolivia, but I kind of feel you really need to spend a good amount of time in one city to really get to know it, so I was happy to stay here and forfeight visiting somewhere else (say Sucre, or Potosi).

After I’d signed up, I was told I’d be living with the Herrera’s. Gaby and her 4 daughters, aged 19 to 26. Needless to say, I was pretty daunted by that prospect! Living with 5 woman with limited English, combined with my limited Spanish. Their house is in the North of the city, pretty much up another mountain (at least it feels that way walking home). My Spanish teacher took me there, and as we were walking up he took no time in warning me of the dangers of the area. “Watch out for fake policeman who rob you of all your belongings” and “be aware of people gassing you in the face and robbing you of all your belongings.” Great! Cheers mate. As it turns out, I have seen no such thing.

I have seen some trouble, and in fact have been gassed in the face, but that was my own fault. There are many demonstrations and protests in La Paz, pretty much on a daily basis, and some can get violent. I was intrigued, so I walked up to one and a policeman in riot gear sprayed tear gas in my face. This after the day before, a sound guy I met whilst I was watching Liverpool destroy bottom of the table Portsmouth, told me the same thing had happened to him. So I had myself to blame. In fact whilst we were watching that game, 2 policeman came in and randomly took away some guy who was watching the game. As he asked why, they just battered him with their truncheons! I have no idea what it was all about. I have been in La Paz at a time of mayoral elections, and the city is dominated by campaign posters, parades, people dressed up, and inevitably some conflict. Earlier on I walked past a voting station with a line of riot police outside. If I was a voter I’d definitely vote for “Lucho”, who’s cheesy grin in his “Lucho por La Paz” posters sets him apart from the other candidates. They’ve even Photoshopped on a wonderful glint to his marble white teeth.

Anyway, back to the homestay. Once I was introduced to Gaby, I was given another warning. The shower in the bathroom gets heated as it comes out, by a live wire literally just above your head. At this point my Spanish wasn’t great, but the warning was something along the lines of “if you don’t turn the electrics on after you turn the shower on, you will get electrocuted.” Shower time proved to be risky! In fact, after about 3 minutes of showering you can smell it burning up. Living with the family was a really enjoyable experience though, that has helped my Spanish no end. I’ve found I’ve had to mainly speak Spanish, and have helped them to set up a website for their homestay after a falling out with my Spanish teacher (something I got caught in the middle of, but shouldn’t talk about online!).

It was kinda weird going back to school, given (1) I graduated almost 4 years ago, and (2) I’ve been travelling for 3 months. But it was fun! I had a routine of getting up at 6:45 every day, 2 hours of lessons early on, a break, and then another 2 finishing at 1:30pm. In the afternoon I did my homework in a cafe, and went to bed at 10pm (after trekking up the mountain back home trying to avoid corrupt policemen, or gassing locals)! I have found the classes really useful, and am finding myself communicating in Spanish in most situations with locals I find myself in. I am by no means an expert, but have a good understanding for the rest of my time over here in everyday situations such as ordering food, changing money, asking directions, buying tickets, or just general chit chat etc. In fact, I wish I had enough time for a second week of lessons, as it would hone what I already know from “pigeon Spanish” into more refined Spanish.

It’s made me realise (well actually, I already knew) how badly languages are taught in Britain. We are quite frankly shit at languages. Admittedly, we speak English and the necessity to learn a language is far less, however, the emphasis placed on learning languages is all wrong. In, say, Scandinavia for example, languages are taught as a life skill from an early age. But for us they are taught as a qualification. There should be an overhaul on how they are taught, by starting off conversationally without worrying about getting grades for perfect grammar. We don’t know how English grammar works as we pick the language up as a kid from those around us. I think it should be taught this way, honing our speaking and communication skills and then learning the intricacies in writing the language, once we can have a conversation!

As it happens, there’s a big chance I’m moving to Germany when I finish my travels. So no doubt I’ll confuse Spanish with German, and form some hybrid language. I already found myself saying “gracias” when I was in Vienna in November. And am constantly referring to my girlfriend as my boyfriend (novia = girlfriend, novio = boyfriend, must remember).

Back to La Paz. Sometimes it’s like being stuck in a time warp here. When I was in Cambodia and Laos, some of there technologies (especially internet connections) were very good, despite being 3rd world countries. Mainly because they’ve just skipped generations of technologies, and gone straight for the best. Whereas here, it’s almost like it could be the 70′s or 80′s sometimes. Particularly with the traffic. Real old school cars and buses clog up the streets spewing out thick black plumes of smoke. Everyone seems to have things to photocopy, as if it’s a new technology, and there are photocopy shops everywhere. And pay phones come in the form of old school phones in street stalls. Finding decent internet is a real challenge. It all adds to the charm of the place though!

It’s also another place where couples aren’t afraid of the old PDA. Again, like Santiago, couples snogging everywhere. Except in this case, they’re all youngsters! School kids. I didn’t even know what girls were at their age! Yet often it’s verging on “get a room” territory. La Paz could also claim (and I know this is rich coming from me) to be the capital of hair gel. Every bloke here must use a pot a day to slick back their jet black hair. All of a sudden I don’t feel quite so bad about putting wax in my hair to prevent the inevitable frizziness and curls.

After my final Spanish lesson, I walked past the stadium and noticed they were getting ready for a game. So I thought I’d get a ticket and take in my first South American football game. Bolivar v Oriente, the top 2 teams in the league. Current champions Bolivar from poorer La Paz at home, against big rivals Oriente from richer Santa Cruz. Bolivar are the most successful Bolivian team ever, and Oriente the 5th. It was the equivalent of Liverpool (yes, at the moment we are still the most successful English team) v Aston Villa (the 5th most successful English team). In the national stadium where Bolivia destroyed Maradona’s Argentina last season 6-1 after he campaigned for them to have international football reinstated there despite the altitude issues. It was all set up to be a classic. It was shit. A terrible game, made entertaining by Bolivar’s one footed left winger who wore the number 1 shirt, who tried his best to set the record for the highest football in the world. He hit it out the stadium twice, and it’s not a small stadium. Still it was fun, 99% Bolivar fans meaning we were staring at empty seats most the game, but in amongst a fun atmosphere. There was an unbelievable amount of people selling refreshments throughout. Bolivar won with a last minute strike to stretch their lead at the top of the table to 4 points.

I had a few days to spare. So I booked a trip to the South of Bolivia to Salar de Uyuni, the world’s largest salt flat at 10,582 square kilometers (4,086 sq mi)  – thanks Wiki. The Herrera’s very kindly allowed me to keep most of my luggage in their house for the 3 days I was away. After a 12 hour overnight bus, of incessant bumpiness that was worse than in Laos, I found the travel agents I had booked with, and found out I was in a jeep for 3 days with 5 (3 girls, 2 blokes), yes you’ve guessed it, Israeli’s! Despite them speaking Hebrew amongst each other for the majority of the 3 days, they were all really cool. And with interests that stemmed further than booze and cocaine. Infact I really liked them (despite their interests in the salt flats being about taking perspective defying photos rather than taking in the breathtaking scenery, although it was fun).

The town of  Uyuni itself was a bizarre little place in the middle of nowhere set up primarily for tourists, with locals that clearly hate the tourists. Don’t blame them to be honest. We were introduced to our guide, wearing a retro Brazil shirt and named after Chelsea’s reserve goalkeeper, Hilario. He was a bit of a character who didn’t speak a word of English, and who looks like he’s about to suffer from a heart attack at any moment. His regular jokes involved driving off just as you’re about to get in the car, turning the music off just as you turn it on, and my favourite, shouting “vamos” (let’s go) just as we started eating dinner/lunch, or just as we started having a piss behind a bush. They never grew old, honest. He provided an entertaining trip, and I found communication with him, and also between him and the Israeli’s, great practice for the Spanish. He was clearly a pro at the driving though, as most of it was completely off road, with unsecure ground beneath.

Day 1 involved us waiting around for Hilario to eat. Then for Hilario to get some more food. Then for Hilario to get some coca leaves (he really suffered from the altitude). Then for Hilario to chat to his friends. And finally, 3 hours late, and after visiting a “train graveyard” we hit the salt flats. They were worth the wait. A flat white layer of salt for as far as you can see, until it meets the sky (unless there were mountains in the horizon). And then we saw some cactuses, and one of the girls had her camera stolen. Which wasn’t so impressive or fun. That night, we drove through the narrow winding and rocky roads in the mountains trying to find somewhere to stay, knocking on the doors of homes and guesthouses to no avail (I thought this was already booked, but apparently not). Until we came across a great hotel made of salt, with hot showers, chicken and soup and everything.

What I didn’t like was the early starts! 5am on day 2, and 4am on day 3. Although the scenery was worth it, as we drove higher and higher up the mountains to a volcano, and many lagoons full of flamingos. And on the 3rd day we went straight to some hot springs, heated by the volcano, which was perfect at that time of the morning. Although fucking freezing when you get out, and your wet hair freezes up!

Another observation I made during the trip, is how really stupid Llamas are. They rival gold fish for brains. They stand in the middle of the road, stare at you with a confused look on their face, until you are 2 feet away and then sprint off with sudden realisation they’re about to get run over.

After the 3 days were up, I took another bumpy overnight bus back to La Paz, where I am again staying with the family. For these 3 days I am doing my good deed for the trip by setting up 2 websites. One for the family I am staying with, promoting their homestay, and the other for a restaurant in town that is part of a charity that aims to provide jobs for local Bolivians. After having my 4 course lunch in there every day for a week for £1.80, I felt I should give something back! It’s an exiting project, and I have met several cool Germans who are volunteering there (it’s a German run charity). The wonders of WordPress have meant it’s been a pretty painless process, and both organisations have websites they can now fully update whenever they want.

And here I am, with my time in Bolivia coming to an end. Ready to head off to Copacobana and Laga Titicaca on Monday, with 6 weeks in Peru and Ecuador coming up.

Ok, so I’ll get the customary beard observations out of the way from the start. Firstly, I’ve noticed the more exposure to sun it gets, the more ginger it becomes. Secondly, apparently along with my hair style (which is in desperate need of a trim), and dress sense, I look like “Caleb”. The lead singer from Kings of Leon. The observation has come from 4 different people in 3 different countries now, and whilst I don’t see it myself, he’s a good looking man (albeit by becoming a complete sell out!), so I’m happy. When my brother saw the beard he looked at me oddly and said “stop trying to be a real traveller”, and then proceeded to assure all his mates I don’t usually look this hairy. My Auntie felt the need to ring ahead and warn my Grandparents about what has become of me before I visited them. My Grandad already calls me Hitler because of the apparent likeness with mine and Adolf’s hairstyle. He now calls me “trendy Hitler”, although did mention at dinner that actually I “look quite good”. My brother is forever getting told off for his shaven head look, which I find quite funny.

It seems like ages ago I last wrote a post, so I’m glad I’ve been making notes. It hasn’t been a very prolific time photography wise, so the photos are quite lame I’m afraid (although bizarrely I’ve put far more photos in than any other post). I have so many photos that I think I’m just gonna save them and whack ‘em on Flickr when I’m back home. After leaving Phnom Penh, Jon and I took a coach to the South of Cambodia, to an under-developed beach resort called Sihanoukville. We had an amazingly chilled out, party time there, and met some really sound people. In fact I was gutted to leave, and could have spent a lot longer there.

The first night we arrived there, we made the mistake of going to the area of town the guide book recommended as “budget”, and “sociable”, called Weather Station Hill. As it turns out, these terms are some secret code aimed at what we grew to call, BSTs (blatant sex tourists). These dirty, sick bastards were all over the place – deluded, fat, bald, old (and young) men (the majority probably with wives back home), going out in their packs to find young Cambodian prostitutes, mainly female but with the odd LB (ladyboy) around. Apparently prostitutes are better in Asia, because “they seem to really like me, they stay the whole night”. Anyhow, lots more on BSTs to come in this predominently ranty post!

After the disaster of the first night, we quickly got out and stayed in a place called Monkey Republic, which had small bungalows to share, along with an awesome bar/restaurant. It’s the perfect traveller hangout, run by people who know exactly what travellers want. It was also one of the more ethical places, where you knew the Cambodian staff were treated fairly and with respect.

It was by the main tourist beach which was a fun place to hang day and night. The days entertainment included enjoying the sun, swimming in the clear water, eating grilled fish from the ladies on the beach, being told you’re too hairy and need all body hair plucking and buying pointless bracelets from the kids selling stuff, amongst many other things. In fact it was a great place to get to know the friendly locals, as well as the monkey on a lead. The kids were regularly challenging us to games of “Rock, paper, scissors” – whereby if they won, we’d have to buy something, and if we won we’d get something for free, but would inevitably pay anyway through guilt! There were also beggars on the beach, all amputee land-mine/torture victims, or mothers with young children. We kept a reserve of small notes and took it in turns to give them something as each one passed. It’s really heartwarming seeing little kids take your money straight to buy some food.

By night, the bars on the beach came to life, and it became a fun party resort. Nothing Ibiza esque, just a general bunch of sound people having fun in some chilled wooden shacks (with hammocks!), and some really strong buckets of whiskey from the not so appropriately named “Nap bar”. One night involved us watching the horrendous Arsenal v Liverpool game in a convenience store after a drinking sesh (which we made some poor Canadians sit through – poor bastards).

The highlight though was probably the day we hired scooters (automatics this time, even easier to ride!), and went to remote beaches where the sand seemed whiter, the water clearer and barely a person was in sight. The winding coastal roads were great for riding along, and you get a real buzz when you feel the sea wind rushing past you. I can only imagine what a real motor bike is like! (although I’m a bit scared to try).

Anyhow, we were disappointed to leave, but a few days in Bangkok and a flight back to China were calling. The journey to Bangkok took an extra 3 or so hours, after one of the bald tyres finally gave in, and blew after probably years of overuse. It was right under our seats, and produced a bit of a bang that left people speculating all sorts of stupid possible reasons. It happened around midday in the middle of nowhere on one of the hottest days yet. It would have been pretty horrendous wait, if we weren’t kept busy by our new favourite hobby – BST spotting. We worked out our bus was full of approximately 80% BSTs, all on their way to their sex tourist Mecca – Bangkok. One very desperate German BST forgot that we were all stranded there in the same situation together, and proceeded to barge everyone out of the way, throw everyone’s luggage everywhere before ensuring he would get the one free spot on a coach that had stopped to help us. Anyhow, the equally bald spare tyre was placed on by the 3 small boys operating our bus, and we were eventually on our way.

Onto Bangkok, somewhere I didn’t have a great desire to go to previously, and somewhere I left with mixed emotions. It’s an incredibly vibrant, colourful and hectic city (something I loved being a city man myself), almost a microcosm of Asia and it’s many different sides. The bright pink, blue, orange and green taxis fit the city perfectly.

We met up with a guy who lives there that Jon knew, who is a self confessed BST and proud of it! Although he’s not fat, bald or old, I guess he just enjoys paying money for sex (each to their own). On our first night he showed us the grim side to Bangkok, which I guess is the side he loves. We started off at a pool hall, where essentially girls who are very good at pool hussle you, make you lose a lot of money, and then try and shag you (for money of course). It was pricey and shit, so we left. Jon and I asked him to just take us to a normal bar, so he said he’d take us to a “tame bar”. It was on this horrendous complex of brothels/bars with prostitutes and LBs everywhere. It’s the first time I’ve ever had a ladyboy grab my cock, and hopefully the last. The bar had a few rather old BSTs drinking inside, whilst watching 30 or so naked or near naked girls (all known by a number glued to their waists) dance in the middle. Some looked decidedly awkward, some actually quite confident. It was all horrendously seedy! Amsterdam has nothing on Bangkok for seediness. We left almost immediately, and ended up in a club with a live band, which was prostitute free, although still had a sinister side, which is where my next rant comes in – Western guys who feel like it’s their divine right to shag as many Asian girls as possible – but more on this in a bit. The band did a great cover of “Killing In The Name”, to bring to an end a very insightful, and pretty awkward night. It’s kind of what I’d expected, these types of things happen across Europe (Prague for example), but just far more magnified and horrendous in Bangkok.

When in another bar on a different night, we found ourselves in the smoking room (it must be the only bar in Asia with a smoking ban). Guys would start talking to us, and start the conversation along the lines of “so…how many have you banged so far?”, or “I’ve fucked 6 of them in the last 3 nights”. As if it’s the only reason you’d visit Bangkok, and every Western guy must be the same. It really was pretty horrendous.

So, an interlude for a(nother) rant! It’s something that I’ve felt the need to rant about since I first arrived in China over 2 months ago. There are a lot of Western guys living in Asia, and inevitably guys end up meeting girls, particularly Western guys and Asian girls, which is something I absolutely have no problem with – a lot of Asian girls find Western guys attractive and vice versa. For me, if you’re living in a foreign country, you should respect that culture, and try to learn more about that culture, and inevitably learn the language. But actually there are guys out there who have been there for years and not made any effort to learn the language, instead it’s their aim to fuck, and fuck over (ie cheat on their Asian girlfriends repeatedly) as many local girls as possible. They don’t care about the girls themselves, they don’t have a clue about their backgrounds or culture. It obviously makes them feel good about themselves, perhaps they have some form of power that they don’t get back home (possibly because on the whole they’re ugly bastards and don’t stand a chance back home!). But their deluded arrogance towards their stature in Asia is something that really got to me, particularly in China where Chinese people, mainly girls, are largely very innocent/naive people that they completely take advantage of.

On the flip side to this, there are those like Jon and his close mates, who speak really impressive Mandarin. Through practice – practice predominantly with people in shops, taxi drivers, and girls! Girls who they are interested in, because they have a huge interest in Chinese history and culture – and building relationships with them. One guy told me Jon is a lucky bastard because he “has blond hair which helps him meet the hot ones”- errr, the blond hair may have something to do with it, but it’s probably more because he speaks the language, shows interest in them, and more importantly isn’t out for a quick fuck! Anyway, enough of a rant on that subject, at the end of the day it’s usually a mutual thing.

Back to the journey. The next day in Bangkok was kind of bizarre. It was near Chinese new year, and a day known as “The day of the Buddah”. Which to us just appeared to be some sort of strange scam run by the government. Thailand is known for it’s gem scams, where taxi or tuk tuk drivers take you to their “gem” shop, and encourage you to pay lots of money for fakes (one such time we refused to go, and the driver got pretty angry and left us in a random street). On “The day of the Buddah”, tourists get very cheap tuk tuk journeys to all major religious sites in Bangkok – which seemed like a good deal, tick all the tourist boxes in a couple of hours. But what do the tuk tuk drivers get from it? Well, they get their petrol paid for by the government, IF they take you to several Thai export shops along the way – namely gem shops and tailored suit shops. Seemed a bit sus’ to me, even if the shops weren’t fake. Clearly we weren’t interested in buying a gem or a suit, as we left each shop after 30 seconds, so on the 4th shop the driver pleaded with us to stay in there for 5 minutes, which we did (to the second!), so that he’d hget his petrol money. When we were visiting the next tourist site, the driver just left us there without us paying him, as clearly we weren’t going to buy a suit or gem so it didn’t benefit him carrying us around. All very strange. That night we found a local Thai club, with a great reggae/ska/punk band playing, and not a single BST (or Westerner, in fact) in sight.

I also had a couple of incidents of losing stuff, before getting them back and looking like a complete fool. I thought I’d lost my camera after a night out, and even pinpointed in my hungover mind the bastard I’d thought stolen it. As it turned out I was the bastard for thinking bad of him, as I actually found it the next night hidden in my pillow case – ahh the drunken logic. And on our final morning in Bangkok, I managed to leave my bank card in the machine…I went back to the guesthouse, got all the Barclays details to cancel it, and then thought “why don’t I just go back to the bank and see if they can open the machine and get my card?”. And when I did, the lovely staff opened it and gave it back. And the woman just looked at me like the dumb foreigner I am.

So our SE Asia jaunt came to an end, and we got a flight back to Southern China, to Cantonese speaking Guangzhou, which essentially we used as the location for our grand pool finale. It was pretty much completely dead in Guangzhou as the Chinese were with their families for new years celebrations. Before the pool sesh we spent our time trying to find an open shop that sells USB sticks so that Jon could get a copy of the pictures from my camera. It proved an entertaining (and very time consuming way) to see the city which was pretty much a ghost town. So, to the pool finale, a truely gutting experience on my part. Coming into the Bangkok leg of the tour I had myself a 3 frame lead (equaling the biggest lead to date), and feeling pretty confident in my chances. But I bottled it, cracking under the intense pressure, and Jon carried the lead into Guangzhou, and then destroyed me in the final sesh to win a mighty 50 frames to 42. Given we were pretty much neck and neck the whole way, it was a gut wrenching way to end, but Jon’s extra class told in the end. I’ve never played so much pool in my life!

And so we departed emotionally for a second time on my trip, as I went to Shanghai, and he went back to work in Beijing. My flight was pretty entertaining. The English safety instructions were given by the queen (most audio translations in China have yank accents), and the Chinese girl next to me just stared at me intensely for the whole 2 hour flight, whilst Titanic style pan pipe music played around the plane. And my pen exploded everywhere which caused great excitement and laughter amongst the rest of the people.

I know I’ve mentioned before, but Shanghai really is an awesome city, a city that it’d be very easy to live in. This time round I spent a week there, did nothing touristy and in fact hardly left the hostel other than to go to the pub, or to take photos of residential areas (unfortunately all my touristy photos of Shanghai aren’t with me – I couldn’t upload them on my previous China blog). But it’s got such a great vibe to it, chilled yet so massively big. Upon arrival, Chinese new year had just ended, which meant it sounded and looked like a warzone! Friends getting together after spending new year with families, and setting off their many remaining fireworks, from any free space they could find (mainly along pavements, roads, or right outside my bedroom window) all night long. It was mental, but spectacular. Apparently in Beijing they managed to burn down 2 bars with their antics!

If anyone finds themselves in Shanghai, City Central Hostel is the place to stay! Lovely, friendly staff, chilled atmosphere, 750ml beer for 50p, and a great bunch of people to hang around with, who predominently live in Shanghai. The highlight of the week was an all you can drink for 4pound night, where I discovered my new friend Tom Collins. Tom is my new favourite alternative to beer (check out Wikipedia for an explanation – particularly read about “The great Tom Collins hoax of 1874″ – fascinating stuff…well, it’s funny when you’re drunk). I also had a taxi driver that had the longest finger nails I’ve ever seen in my life, as he held the steering wheels they curled all the way round. And I heard one of the best jokes ever, I still crack up at it now (apparently a guy’s Dad made it up):

Q: How do you turn a duck into a soul singer?
A: Put it in the microwave until it’s Bill Withers.

And so my limited time in Asia came to an end. I was only there for 2 months, and saw 3 and a bit countries, so am in no way qualified to give a full analysis. Asia’s never been somewhere that I’ve placed a huge emphasis on seeing (not sure why, I guess South America has appealed more), but I took the opportunity to visit a mate, and can’t wait to come back. It’s such a massive continent, with many many places to see, of great variety in terms of culture and scenery. I’d love to go to Vietnam, Japan, do the island hopping thing in Philippines, Mongolia, Nepal, Tibet, India (curry tour), etc etc and to see more of China, which is such a massive country that I have only scratched the surface of. On the whole, I’d say I’m surprised at how much I loved it over there, particularly China – a country that doesn’t need tourism due to it’s large economy, that allows tourists to get on with their own thing without forever being hassled, and therefore fully immerse themselves in the culture, and more importantly, it’s a country that hardly has a single Brit in sight!

I’m aware this is getting very long now, so will try to keep the Australia part to a minimum. The flight to Sydney was pretty uneventful, although I did notice that all the Qantas cabin crew were older than 50, which is unusual, and a Chinese man (and Chinese people have very little facial hair) spent a good couple of hours shaving with his electric shaver. Upon arrival I headed straight to the Opera House/harbour area where my bro’ works, so ticked the tourist boxes within my first hour! Was great to see him, and see how his life is out here…it’s fair to say the relaxed, hot way of life suits him, although I’m sure he misses us all!

I’ve never had a massive desire to visit Australia, it’s always struck me as a cross between Britain and the States, but with some different scenery. And I was right, but it’s still a very pleasant and beautiful country, and I can totally see the appeal to a lot of Brits. And of course I’ve seen about 1% of it, so am hardly qualified to comment. It’s also a fucking expensive country, given the strong state of the Aussie dollar and the terrible state of the British pound. In fact in 4 nights in Sydney, I spent more money than I did in 4 weeks in Laos, Cambodia and Bangkok. Still, I have free accomodation here, and am yet to spend more than 4pound a night on accomodation my whole trip. I’m amazed people can afford to travel here for 6 months to a year, it’d be like living in London without a job!

My bro’ lives in a big house with 5 others, overlooking a beach that begins with ‘k’ (cannot for the life of me remember it’s name!), which is the next one south from Bondai. In my time there I was gutted to miss a shark sighting, which meant the whole beach was closed. However, excitement soon came along when we were put on tsunami alert after the earthquake in Chile had hit, but that never materialised (despite us staying up the whole night in anticipation).

On the sunniest day, we did the coastal walk along to Coogee…where I realised once more what a small world it can be (albeit Australia is more likely than China). He wanted some water, and so went into a random shop (he could have chosen any shop along the road), and up popped the shop assistant from behind the counter, and to my surprise it was one of my former colleagues from (ahem) McDonalds back in the day. We were both as shocked as each other! It was also the annual Mardis Gras celebrations whilst I was there. I have a habbit of stumbling across these events after being in Amsterdam during gay pride one year (coincedence, honest). The last night in Sydney was when a massive storm came along, and the rest of my time in Australia has been shit weather ever since. Apparently these storms are the norm, but to me it just sounded like the house was going to fall down all night.

And on I went to Brisbane, to stay with my Auntie. Despite it not stopping raining the whole time I was there, I liked Brisbane (which a lot of travellers don’t). It reminded me of my youth, and particularly my student days. I’ve never lived in Australia, never even been before now. But I did used to religiously watch Neighbours, twice a day when at uni! The residential areas really reminded me of Erinsborough, and Ramsey Street, I was half expecting to see Harold or Lou bumbling about (even though it’s actually set near Melbourne). So I had fun. The city’s also pretty cool, most public transport involves getting the ferry around. It was great to see my Aunt, and hear about her job in research for animal conservation, and to meet Libby the dog, who is a legend!

Now I am chilling in Noosa with my grandparents, which is a town that very much reminds me of somewhere along the coast in Florida. The architecture, the large areas of water, and the types of shops/restaurants really remind me of when I went there as a kid. It’s great to finally make my way here after years of not coming, although it still hasn’t stopped raining! (we’re onto record rainfall now, with major flooding in the inland Queensland areas). I’m also very disappointed to have not seen a single kangaroo, koala or snake in my time in Australia,let alone no Harold Bishop. I thought that’s what Australia is all about! I do find the concept of drive through bottle shops (off licences) quite funny, as well as the fact that the greasy fried chicken fast food chain KFC sponsor all levels of cricket in Australia and New Zealand. And that there’s a place here called Wollongong (have you ever heard a more Australian name?).

Tomorrow my Grandad is taking me to his local barbers to get my barnet chopped, and on Monday I’m heading to earthquake hit Chile, which should be an interesting experience, before hopefully learning some Spanish in Bolivia.

Update: I wrote this monstrous post last night, but couldn’t upload it because my Grandparents are the only people in the world to have dial-up internet still. I have now had my hair chopped, which means the beard will need a trim so that it’s proportionally as long with my hair. It does like quite ridiculous now. It’s also currently not raining for the first time since Sunday.

So after arriving back in Beijing I had a few spare days to kill before Jon and I headed down South, so I went to Qingdao for what I had hoped to be a chilled few days by the sea. As it turned out the sea breeze was freezing, and the booze was well a truly flowing. Qingdao is a quaint seaside resort, with a heavy German influence, which makes it somewhat bizarre given it’s full of Chinese people. Chinese people who absolutely love the sea, despite the ridiculous temperatures! I stayed in a hostel based in an old observatory on top of a hill, with wonderful views of the town and the bay, and a hibernating turtle in a plastic washing up bowl in the common room.

Anyhow, my last night turned into one of the most bizarre nights of my life. Accompanied by an Aussie from the hostel, I had a quick dinner in a rat infested restaurant, before hitting an extremely local bar which had no customers and about 8 non English speaking staff. Somehow we all managed to communicate, and the beer and Baijiu (an horrendous Chinese spirit) was flowing. A rather gay man was singing and dancing his way round. After a couple of hours, the front door abruptly opened, the place fell silent, a Chinese midget closely followed by the tallest Chinese man ever walked through the door, and each staff member walked out of their bar. Now, the midget was dressed in casual sports wear (with shit loads of jewelery on his hands and round his neck), whilst the big guy had a smart suit, long hair tied back and some trendy facial hair. He also looked mean as fuck, and I imagined there to be a gun in his pocket. They insisted they sat down with us, and insisted we kept on drinking at their ridiculous Chinese drinking rate. The midget was a Chinese gangster, and the big guy was his minder, and I’m guessing they’d caught wind of these foreigners in town, and felt it their duty to make sure we had a good time. After an hour or so, they finally left, and we relaxed. I cannot for the life of me remember what we talked about. Then the rather scared looking staff members came back in, and promptly closed the bar and we went home.

I then made the journey back to Beijing, and Jon and I flew down South to a city that stays sunny all year round, Kunming. I had a fun time there, and again it’s a city that left an impression on me as somewhere that would be great to live in. It has a modern feel to it, and also seemed to be the most open minded place I’ve been in, in China – with regards to foreigners and how they are treated (which was with nothing but friendliness – not that the rest of China is unfriendly, but it had a vibe).

Whilst in Kunming, we met an American fella called Friday (his surname) who was making the long journey down to Laos, so he came with us. We affectionately called him “Frido” in a scouse accent for the next week he spent traveling with us, and tried to teach him how to play pool (currently Jon is leading me 22 frames to 21). He was a good lad and certainly added to the fun we had in Laos.

The journey from Kunming to Luang Prabang was a beast, and didn’t get off to the best of starts. Before we had even got on the bus 2 things happened that confirmed my suspicions of Chinese people! (1) Their inability to successfully estimate how long something will take to do – the girls in the hostel said a taxi would take 30 minutes to get to the bus station, it actually took 1 hour. (2) When you ask directions and the person doesn’t know the direction they will just point in any direction – when we arrived at the bus station late (and luckily the bus hadn’t left) the first person we asked pointed the completely wrong direction, we asked someone else and they pointed back to where we had run from, so we went back and asked someone else and they pointed again back in the other direction! After several backwards and forwards, we found it in a completely different location.

And then the bus journey. We each had a “bed” (well, half a bed for someone of my height) as it was going to be overnight to the border town in China, arriving at 4.30am. The journey was made even more pleasant by the woman behind me, who highlighted another common Chinese trait, their love of spitting. But she was the most impressive I’ve come across in a month though, by far. A nice long, loud yak as she gathers as much phlegm as possible, then a little (but very loud) swish in the mouth, before launching the full load onto the floor (and occasionally bin) next to me. This is a process she repeated every 5 minutes or so for the next 12 hours. I thought the men on the trains were bad, but she beat them all.

Anyhow, we made our way onto another bus with beds, and crossed the border entering first the massive modern “hey we’re China” structure on the Chinese side, through to the wooden hut on the Laos side, paid our money, got our visa, and in Laos we were. Little did we realise that for the next 16 or so hours we would be clinging onto any handle going in an effort not to get battered a bruised from the ridiculously bumpy and insecure roads of Northern Laos. Still, the scenery was beautiful, and it really highlighted the fact we were entering a third world country, occasionally going through small clusters of straw huts on sticks, with little kids waving us as we went by.

Upon arriving at Luang Prabang, we soon realised what Laos is all about – tourism! Having only been open to tourists for 10 years or so, they’re still learning, and it’s certainly crushing chances of really experiencing what Laos culture is all about (admittedly, I can only speak for the more tourist focused places we went). Having now spent time in Cambodia, it has shown that the fact they have been exposed to tourism for longer (and perhaps because it’s a more interesting country!), the locals aren’t so gung-ho with their approach. Luang Probang, whilst being picturesque was quite boring. There are organised adventure activities to be done, but other than that not much else! The highlight apparently of the nightlife is to head to the bowling alley, which was gash, and full of dicks on their booze cruise tour of Thailand and Australasia (I’m not generalising, honest!). We had fun wandering round the local areas though, seeing the massively positive effect tourism has had on the Laos people.

Next stop was Vang Vieng, a place that is pretty much all about getting fucked up. It’s famous for it’s “tubing”. A process where you hire an inner tube, get a tuk tuk several km away, and float down a river buying drinks along the way, and arriving a wreck back in town (and unable to handle a night out), with random illuminous insults painted on you, and strangely, bits of clothing ripped up and wrapped round your head. I’m sure it was fun, but what was more fun is hiring a motorbike (well, scooter) for the day and riding off road into the impressive countryside. It’s the first time I’ve ever done it, and I can’t wait to do it again. Given the high density of landmines in Laos, I think we probably went as far as we should have, but we found lagoons and caves in amongst the stunning landscape.

The evenings in Vang Vieng were spent generally doing what the tubers do during the day (minus the tube, body paint and ripped clothes), and getting intoxicated. It’s fair to say it’s a fairly liberal place when it comes to intoxication and ways of doing it! The bars were pretty cool as well, especially with their hammocks for end of night chilling. I vaguely remember us watching Liverpool v Bolton one night.

One thing that really got to me was the shit Western music they were playing! Constantly! (And apologies if I offend anyone’s music tastes here). Whether it’s chillout boring crap like Jack Johnson or Jason Mraz, or indie pop wank like Kings of Leon (stadium rock version) or Killers (if i find myself asking life’s eternal question “are we humans, or are we dancers?” one more time, I’m going to go insane!), they just had the same playlists on repeat. Even the most hardened Killers fans must have been getting pissed off. That said, “Rock Bar” had some right tunes on, “Limbo Bar” played some great electro, and even the most popular “Bucket Bar” ended it’s night on Pixies “Where is my mind?”.

Laos was fun, but we were eager to get to Cambodia, which as it turns out has the mix of culture and intoxication pretty much perfect (not to mention, in general, a better kind of traveler to meet). So we left Vang Vieng at 13:30pm and arrived 36 hours, 4 buses, and 0 hours sleep later in Siem Reap.

Siem Reap is probably the most touristy place in Cambodia, simply due to it’s proximity to Angkar Wat and the surrounding temples. Arriving late, we stayed in the first place we came across, which also happened to have 2 massive crocodile farms just out the back, with a total of may be 60 crocodiles between them. Anyhow, we spent most of the time in “Happy Guesthouse” which lived up to it’s name with the lovliest staff you will meet. And as it happens, this is just replicated across the country, a really friendly bunch of people who aren’t too “in your face” with the tourism thing. Given the atrocities that have happened so recently in this country (more on that to come later), it makes it even nicer to see. The kids in particular are so sweet and friendly, and tourism is clearly benefiting them with their excellent grasps of English, even the younger ones.

So, Angkar Wat. I’d really had this built up in my head, and whilst I wouldn’t say it was a disappointment, I’ve just realised I really can’t get too excited about temples. The temples are magnificent (particularly the more wrecked ones), but you just don’t get any sort of experience from them. Perhaps if there were no other tourists around it’d have been more fun! It was a fun day though, which involved lots of cycling round to each temple through wonderful countryside. The most entertaining moment was when we found a group of cheeky monkeys, one of which tried to steal our lunch from our bikes! One of them had clearly had too much tourist lunches, as he was a right fat bastard. And the kids along the way were great, so happy and friendly, I even found myself buying a flute (!) off one of them. It’s also amazing how many Cambodian girls are called Spider Girl…

I’m glad I’ve been to see the temples, but they don’t match up to what we’ve seen since in terms of culture, and modern history you can really empathise with.

The next day in Siem Reap we went with our friend Tay from Happy Guesthouse (pronounced Tea – although we affectionately named him Teyo in a scouse accent), to a floating village. When we got out of the tuk tuk, I wrongly thought we’d arrived. I’m not afraid to say that what happened next made me fear for my life (well, a limb or 2!). A little boy (who claimed to be 14, which I seriously doubt, perhaps 12 at the most) pulled up on his motorised scooter, and with no helmet for either of us asked me to get on the back and off we went, for what I thought was a short distance, but turned out to be a good 15ish minutes of off road bumpiness. He liked to go fucking fast, and has also mastered the zig zag technique along the extremely bumpy roads. The spedo on the bike was broken, but I imagine it was probably going at about 3 million km/h. Given I’d never been a passenger on a motorbike before, this was a bit of a shock! Still, I survived, and fair play to the kid, he knew what he was doing.

He then proceeded to drive our motorised narrow boat around the village (another thing he was apparently very skilled at). It was a really special moment going around this village, barely a tourist in sight, watching the locals go about their every day life – fishing, cleaning, talking, smiling, laughing, playing. Everyone there seemed in really high spirits. The tide was low at this time of year, so the buildings just appeared to be on sticks, but during rainy season the tide gets another 3m higher covering the whole area, meaning boats or swimming are the only way to get from building to building. At the end of the village the river goes out onto a vast lake (where most of the fishing takes place), which must look spectacular at sunset, that stretches over a large area of the country to the capital Phnom Penh. Apparently it’d take 6 hours to sail there. Anyhow, it was time to leave, and realised I had to get on the back of that damn bike again! This time, the little fella decided he wanted to go about 6 million km/h, and we arrived back at the tuk tuk a full 5 minutes before Jon and Tay. Scary, but once you relax, a lot of fun!

The next day, we took a leisurely 6 hour bus to Phnom Penh, for what we knew would be difficult and highly educational time (as well as very chilled out), as we learnt more and more about the recent history of Cambodia. I won’t turn this into a history lesson, but I think it’s well worth reading up about the atrocities that took place here led by Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge only 35 years ago. I guess it’s close proximity to all that happened in Vietnam around the same time, means that we rarely get exposed to what happened.

On the day of our arrival in Phnom Penh, we went to the Tuol Sleng Genocidal Museum, located in the former Phnom Penh High School that was turned into an interrogation centre for city people, educated people, those that wore glasses, spoke languages, women, kids etc etc to be tortured before being taken to the killing fields for mass execution. I have previously visited Auschwitz, a particularly harrowing place – but this somehow seemed worse, perhaps it was because of the shocking images of torture there. As well as seeing all the torture equipment (old physical education bars) and torture rooms, there were mugshots of all the men, women and children who were taken there. There were fear in some of their eyes, yet the majority of them were naively smiling, as if they didn’t know what was in store for them. When the Khmer Rouge took Phnom Penh, the public were celebrating. Within days, the educated people were taken to interrogation and ultimately execution, and the peasants were taken to the countryside to farm (where a large amount of them died through overworking and starvation).

And to yesterday, where we went to the Choeung Ek Genocidal Centre – the killing fields where those tortured at Tuol Sleng were taken to be murdered. I don’t think I was really prepared for it – the Cambodian people want to make sure people know that everything the Khmer Rouge did was bad, and the best way of doing that is to be completely transparent with what happened. An approach I admire. Upon arrival, there is a monument to those that died. A tall but narrow see through building, displaying skull after skull, bone after bone and clothing of those bodies dug up from the mass graves. Immediately we both choked, seeing so many human skulls piled up, right in front of you, looking at you, you just can’t help but have tears in your eyes. Unless you’re a fat American cunt (apologies for the language, but I can’t think of a more suitable word!) doing your tick-box tourism coach tours of course. 3 ladies, approximately 60 years of age, walking around this monument laughing and taking pictures. It was absolutely disrespectful. They didn’t remove their shoes or hats, they didn’t have respect for those clearly shaken up by it, and above all they had absolutely no respect for the thousands of dead bodies a foot away from them. Needless to say I was shaking with anger for the rest of the time I was there!

Anyhow, that’s not the point, idiots like that will appear in all walks of life. Walking around the small ditches where the graves were, you could see bones sticking out of the ground still, and even weapons left by the side. I couldn’t really bring myself to photograph it, it was all so real I don’t think those mental images will leave me! I think visiting things like this is something people have to do – it’s all very well doing the booze cruise tour of Thailand, or visiting temples like Ankar Wat, but this is just so recent, and happened to everyday people, that we just have to be aware of it. Knowing what has happened, makes it even more heartwarming to see how happy the majority of the Cambodians seem. It’s like they’ve come to terms with what happened, and are now enjoying life to the max!

Anyway, that’s enough depressing stuff! Phnom Penh is a great city, I imagine it’s a smaller scale Bangkok. Very chilled out, yet with the buzz of a capital city. And lots and lots of bikes. We’re staying in another “Happy Guesthouse” literally on a lake. It’s a backpacker area, but so chilled and nothing like the antics of Vang Vieng! Our Cambodian friend here, called Robin (or Robbo as we’ve affectionately named him in a scouse accent), has been taking us to see all the sites. But now has returned to his village to see his wife and kids.

Tomorrow we’re heading to a place called Sihanoukville, on the South coast, for some chilled out, motorbiking, sandy beach action! Before heading into Thailand to Bangkok for a few days, and then flying to Guangzhou in Southern China.

Unfortunately, it looks like this may be a photo free blog because Flickr appears to not be working. Those bastard Chinese officials have meant I haven’t checked Facebook properly in 3 weeks (apologies if there are any messages waiting for me to reply to), have only intermittently updated Twitter, and now can’t upload photos (apparently my pictures are too big to upload directly to my hosting, so I’ve been using Flickr to resize). Although it’s actually quite refreshing to not be relying on social media for my entertainment!

A quick beard update: it got it’s first trim of the trip this morning, as I decided it was looking a bit too fluffy and a bit too ginger for my liking. The extra insulation on my face is helping against the cold, and perhaps finally I won’t feel quite so inferior to Alan and James in the facial hair department.

So, after my last post I spent a few more days hanging around Shanghai, and I have to admit it’s a city that I love, and could very easily see me living in at some point if I were to move abroad. After Chad (“I’d rather shit in a Western shitter”) and Brad (“you can be my new British best friend”) – Chad ‘n’ Brad, perhaps the American Chaz ‘n’ Dave? – left my room, I had my own dorm for 4 nights for a bargain price of approximately 3 pound a night, in what was a really cool hostel, with a bunch of sound people. One of them was a a guy called Reed, who has a sister called Paige, who’s Mum is a librarian, and Dad a writer. Which I found pretty funny.

Shanghai involved a couple of really boozy nights at some of the city’s underground bars, hanging around with people from all over the globe. Most of the people I met were actually living in Shanghai, rather than travelling like myself. A lot of teachers, but also a lot of people setting up business there, hoping to capitalise on China’s rapid economical growth. Infact in my short time there I was offered a couple of jobs, which if I wasn’t just travelling through would have been hugely tempting. The 2010 expo is being hosted by Shanghai, which you are constantly reminded of by this horrendous blue mascot throughout the city, which I can only describe as a blob of toothpaste, with a face and limbs!

One of my favourite moments was when I was sitting in a park one day, drinking coffee and reading my book, when I was approached by 3 Chinese girls. I automatically thought they were going to try and scam me by taking me to their tea house or art gallery (a common scam in China that several people I have met have fallen for!). Anyhow, they just wanted to practice their English (which was really good). They started the conversation off by asking me if I was a model, because I have “the sweepy hair” and facial hair (a prime example of the beard coming into it’s own). I had to disappoint them, but told them I was a designer, which they assumed to be a fashion designer. I let them believe that as it sounds cooler! It was really interesting spending time chatting to them and finding out about living in Shanghai from a local’s perspective.

Another comical trait of the Chinese is their love of photographing (or literally just staring at) Westerners. Whilst up at the top of the Shanghai World Financial Centre (3rd highest building in the world?), I spent most of the time photographing a man who’d made it his mission to photograph me rather than look at the amazing views. It was pretty funny, and we shook hands at the end, and he spoke to me in Chinese. Fuck knows what he was saying, but I imagined it to be somnething along the lines of “you bastard, you kept running away from my photos”.

The highlight of Shanghai though was a visit to Moganshan Road. The art district that started out underground, and is now at the forefront of the Chinese modern art culture. I knew I was approaching the area because all of a sudden I saw the first graffiti I’d seen in China (which was pretty impressive in itself). At M50, there were dozens of small studios and galleries that belonged to each artist based in the area, which each have their own unique style. There was the odd crap artist, but the rest of it was really inspiring stuff, particularly one of the photographers who had some amazing shots of Shanghai, and one of the painters who mixed Western icons with a distictly Oriental style. I’ll definitely be heading back there when I return to Shanghai in a month.

So, anyway, back to the point of the blog. In the last week I’ve gone from generally bumming around a city to going hardcore on the touristy stuff. And I have to say, there is only so much sightseeing you can do before it gets boring. I wouldn’t be disappointed if I didn’t see anymore Chinese temples that’s for sure! As beautiful as they are, they all look the same. The designs did not change at all through time, and the insides of them are really boring.

The worst touristy moment came in the last night of Shanghai, where I went to see the Shanghai acrobatics. The acrobatics themselves were really impressive, however they were wrapped in the cheesiest choreography you will ever see. The highlight of this being when a man and woman were swinging about on some ribbons to Celine Dion’s classic “My Heart Will Go On”. However, it didn’t stop there. On the large screens they were playing clips from every Chinese persons favourite film, Titanic. I just wanted to vomit right there. Horrendous stuff.

I joined up with a tour group to Xi’an and back to Beijing, which at first I was sceptical about because there were several older people. However, as it turned out I had a great time, and made some great mates in the week, of all ages. Before getting to Xi’an, we went to a traditional Chinese water town (I have forgotten the name). It wasn’t quite the “Venice of the East”, but it was cool seeing a more traditional town, although the locals there seem more interested in the fact that Tom Cruise filmed some of Mission Impossible 3 there, rather than it’s heritage. I also had the best tea I’ve had in China there.

The highlight of Xi’an for me was cycling the city walls (the only city in China with it’s entire walls intact), and wandering around the lively Muslim district. Whilst there I had to go and see the Teracotta Warriors as well, which are certainly an impressive discovery (with a load more still to be discovered when Chinese technology improves), but nowhere near as interesting as just sampling the everyday Chinese culture, and learning more about the people. I feel sorry for the bloke who discovered them, who was given next to nothing by the government at the time, and now just sits at the museum looking like a right miserable bastard as tourists ask him to sign their books. Apparently he did meet Bill Clinton once though, lucky man.

The tour also took in the phenomenom of Chinese overnight trains. I took 2 of them, and surprisingly, they weren’t too bad! We were on hard sleepers, which meant 3 bed bunkbeds. Each time I was on the top, and despite regularly banging my head on the roof of the train, and lying on planks of wood, the sleep wasn’t too bad. The long journeys were made easier by playing cards, which were made more entertaining by the large crowds of Chinese people we would get watching us.

And finally, I arrived back in Beijing 3 days ago, and promptly went to Tianamen Square and the Forbidden Palace. Tianamen Square is massive (the largest public square in the world). Whilst there, I went to see Chairman Mau’s preserved body, which to be honest just felt wrong. There were hundreds of Chinese people there with the once in a lifetime opportunity to see the body of one of their heroes, and us tourists doing it just because we were there. It was also quite freaky, his face was lit up to a bright orange, and he wouldn’t have looked out of place in Maddam Taussaud’s!

By far the best touristy thing to do in China is the great wall. It really was incredible being there, on a day when the wall was nearly empty, covered in snow, but with the sun out. I walked pretty much the whole distance of the part we were on, and enjoyed a celebratory beer before taking the toboggon back down (which was great fun in itself!). I imagine in the height of summer, when it’s full of tourists and very hot, the moment wouldn’t have been quite so fun.

All this sightseeing has confirmed something that I already knew though. That to really get to know somewhere you need to spend extended time there, and immerse yourself in everyday life. As fascinating as it is to see famous landmarks, essentially you’re just ticking them off the list, you don’t learn too much about the locals, and how they live (and there are a hell of a lot of locals in China!).

Last night I did the ultra touristy thing of eating snake, scorpion and octopus amongst other things. Which was good fun! I can confirm that scorpion tastes of seasoned twig, and snake is actually quite nice. I passed at eating sheep penis and bollocks, it seemed unecessary. Although I swear the penis was far too long for it to have actually been a penis. But they insisted it was.

This appears to have turned into another long essay, apologies! I hope to be able to add pictures to it soon as well. Tomorrow morning I am taking an early train to Qingdao for a couple of days. It’s a small coastal town, with a huge German influence, and home of the famous Tsingtao beer, so I’ll have the inevitable tour of the brewerey. It’ll be nice to get some sea air and get away from the pollution of the cities (which really is as bad as they say).