I loved Peru, in a way

Though I was robbed and later sexually assaulted for the first time in my life, I will actually have very fond memories of Peru and it´s people. Now I´ve arrived in the Americanised country of Ecuador where the internet is lightning quick, the taxis cost a small fortune and for the first time in over three months, I´ve visited a mall.

My last moments in Peru however, began with one of the best days of my trip so far. Sadly for me, Kristi and Hannah, our tour of the jungle near Iquitos would not be run by Lito and Marlon as promised, as the unreliable Lito was too hungover from drinking the night before. Instead, we were met in the plaza by the very pleasant Pablo.

Soon we were aboard a motorboat chugging down the Amazon to our first port of call. There, in the middle of nowhere, we dropped by a small village to pick up our fishing rods, nibble on starfruit and refresh ourselves with a spit-fermented drink. Half an hours fishing later resulted in me catching one baby piranha and then a few mosquito bites as swarms of them attacked us possibly because they were insulted as to how useless we were.

After a good stroll through the jungle we docked beside an animal refuge where for the first time in South America, I was able to hang out with some monkeys. I was in my element especially as me and a wooly monkey called Julian got on extremely well. Also on site was a lazy sloth, a silky anaconda, parrots, tucans, a pre-historic turtle and a few shots of Siete Raices (a liquor containing extracts from seven plants).

Our next stop was at a lovely riverside lodge, where we snacked on sugar cane before enjoying a delicious combination of tuna, onions and yuca. With our stomachs filled and the rain beating down on us, we climbed aboard another boat and downstream were soon greeted by some local native Indians called the Yaguas. On arrival we were treated to some traditional dancing/walking and then we had a go on the blowgun whch involved blowing a thin spear down a huge pipe. I was pretty good at it and was tempted to buy one, but instead settled on a sloth made of balsa wood.

On the way back to the mothership, I disrupted things by going to take a penalty against one of the locals and instead of us continuing on our way, a full on game of five-a-side insued. Playing on slippery grass in wellies was hardly the perfect scenario for my return to the game after two years out with a knee injury but I walked away unscathed and managed to bag a lovely goal. Although there was nobody in net at the time, it was still a header Wayne Rooney would have been proud of, as I arched my back and planted it mercilessly in the top corner. I then fell over backwards.

With my return to the beatiful game a success, what better way to celebrate than with a dip in the Amazon at sunset. Me and the ladies showed no hestitation when the oportunity arose and with Pablo joining us, we threw ourselves into the gloriously refreshing water. On the way back to Iquitos, guided by Pablo´s wind-up torch, we wrote glowing references in his comments book, dried off and reflected on a magical day. I even got to spoon Kristi on the front of the boat.

On the following Friday morning, I was up early to stick my hammock up on a boat heading to Pantoja on the Ecuadorian border. My energy was quelled when the captain told me it wouldn´t be sailing until tomorrow. The rest of the day was spent wandering through the Belen markets once more and things finished off with a football match at the local stadium. The home team, C.N.I. were beaten comfortably by Universitario of Lima, 2-0, in a game seriously lacking in quality. The stadium was pretty good though with around eighteen thousand in attendance, of which many seemed happy to support both teams. Bit odd.

Saturday morning went the same as the day before. I arrived early at the port to throw my hammock aboard the San Martin, only to find that now it had been delayed until Tuesday. With no other options really available, I consulted my Footprints guide book and mapped out a different route which would enable me to leave later that day.

With my ticket sorted and my hammock hung serenely on the Eduardo V, me, Kristi and Hannah chose to visit one more labyrinth of nature in form of the Palpintuwasi animal refuge. On display were many butterflies, monkeys and a hot-looking Jaguar. It didn´t compare to our previous refuge visit though as most of the animals were caged.

At 6.22PM that evening, I finally left vibrant Iquitos and my lovely lady friends behind to start a new adventure, sailing for three days up the Amazon to the town of Yurimaguas.

That night I revelled in the space and tranquility offered by Eduardo V, a stark contrast from the claustrophobia and mayhem aboard the Henry II a few days earlier. With plenty of room to swing in my hammock on an open-sided deck, this was to be the Amazon boat trip I´d dreamed of. Adding to my delerium were the larger toilet/shower cubicles and my new 'Pert' shampoo and conditioner; a deviation from the bog standard soap I usually lather up in and great for the health of my much neglected hair.

On the Sunday, I was woken at 6AM by the most irritating baby I´ve ever known. Cries of ´Papi!´ will haunt me forever as will the beggars ability to turn his crying on and off like a tap. Throughout the day, I chatted with my hammock-homie, Carlos, a Peruvian very eager to learn English and in the evening I shared an Amazonian cigar or two with him. Amongst the international chit-chat, I managed to think plenty, write some creative notes and get deeply intimate with the odd book.

Monday was pretty similar to Sunday. Again the sunset was divine and I exerted myself very little. Though there were moments where I briefly arrived at something resembling boredom, the site of seeing the Amazon jungle pass before my eyes never grew tiresome. On this famous river, my mind unravelled and my thoughts turned to home. Meditation doesn´t get any better than this. In addition to the wonderful scenery, the in-journey snacks were second to none. As we stopped at riverside villages and hamlets, the locals brought aboard their produce ranging from coconuts, zapotes, manogoes, oranges and papaya to fresh fish and ready-cooked meat dishes.

We arrived in Yurimaguas the following morning at 6AM and along with Carlos and a Frenchman, we dropped by the local market to try and find me some authentic local cigars which I may use as a self-promotional design weapon when I arrive home. We found none and after some papaya juice, we climbed into a taxi and embarked on the windiest journey of my life. (Windy in terms of bends not air blowing in my face) In total, I calculated that between Yurimaguas and Tarapoto, some two and a half hours away, we took on something like eleven hundred bends. At peak time, we were hitting one bend every seven seconds. The driver didn´t make things easier either as he appeared to get a great thrill out of taking the corners at speed and hearing his tyres squeal.

Once in Tarapoto, me and Carlos gave Cyril a French sendoff then enjoyed the town to it´s fullest. In this I mean we went on the internet, had a few beers and visited a cigar factory. They were expensive so the big haul had to wait. Later I got my boots polished by a boy.

At 6.15PM, we snuggled up on a coach and fifteen hours later we were in Chiclayo, somewhere near the Peruvian coast. Thankfully there were no sexual advances from Carlos en route.

After a shower, Carlos took me to a cafe to try out the local speciality, ´conchas negras´, a black shellfish of sorts which was delicious and great to enjoy it with such a nowledgable (thats a joke) chap.

Fed and watered, we walked to the local market where I finally found a stall selling cheap cigars and in the end I finished up with 14 of the throat ticklers. Now they're safe in my water canister where they'll remain until I arrive back in Dolphinholme.

With the sun beaming down on us, Carlos suggested a visit to the seaside and after an ice lolly and a thirty minute minibus ride, we arrived on the shores of the Pacific. First to dazzle me were some reed boats called 'caballido tortoras' and then a slightly eccentric man approached us while we were sat drinking a beer on the beach. I called his bluff though as I bought some cookies off him then demanded a suggestive photo, much to the joy of the onlooking locals.

Amongst the misty seafront we wandered for some time before heading back for a shower and later a burger with fruit juice.

Thursday arrived and Carlos departed. I was off to Tumbes near the Ecuadorian border while he headed home to the town of Cajamarca. A wonderful bloke he was, who often marvelled at my apparent popularity amongst the local chicas who enjoyed giving me the odd smile and whistle.

That evening I landed on schedule, slightly shattered and spluttering with a cough. My hostel was overpriced but I had no energy to look elsewhere.

In the morning I finally left Peru, making the six hour journey to Guayaquil, Ecuador's biggest city. The bus journey istelf was bananas. For almost the entire route from the border (where we had to go through five checkpoints in total) to the city, the road was lined with millions upon millions of the curly yellow things.

After laying down my belongings in the hostel, I went for a walk to the very alien surroundings of a shopping centre where I enjoyed a fastfood meal and chuckled at the shop called 'PayLess ShoeSource'.

Tonight I'm off to see the local football team, Barcelona SC, take on Manta at the Estadio Monumental. If like me, you'd only ever heard of the Spanish equivalent of this team, then you'll also be surprised to hear that their stadium holds ninety thousand supporters, they're the best supported and most successful team in Ecuador, and are currently top of the league. They also have a near identical crest to the Catalan giants although the kit is a little different, what with it being bright yellow.

Tomorrow it's destination Baños, a little more further north where the possibility of a bridge bungee awaits. Having already done one at the university ball in Stoke, it will not be a new thing for me but it might be quite refreshing. I'm tempted to do it backwards.

Sunday will also mark my six month anniversary out here in the Americas, with only one month ahead before I make my flight home from Caracas. Right now, I feel my landing gear is on; still flying high but preparing to land. I loved Peru but then again, I've loved everywhere else as well.

Electric Ladyland

It came as no surprise to me to discover that dangerous animals exist out here in the Peruvian Amazon but I was literally brought to my knees in a severe state of shock to find that the women could be equally as terrifying.

Before this crippling experience began, I had to finish up in Lima last Wednesday. After the loss of my grand camera the day before, my misery was complete when on my day of departure for Pucallpa, its smaller, sand infested counterpart was left trapped inside a nearby repair shop which remained closed until my departure. Trailing by two cameras to nil after my meet-and-greet with the capital, I´d had more than enough and set off in search of pastures new.

My twenty hour bus ride towards the Amazon basin began at 1PM and was littered with movies, music, chicken and rice mini-meals, and miles of bumpy terrain. On reflection, this mattered little, as far more memorable incidents were to unfold.

After getting comfy in my spacious number twenty eight window seat, I was soon joined by a large and elaborately dressed woman who later I found out could be identified as a certain Carmine Herrera.

Fairly quickly, we established a friendly relationship whereby I spoke about simple things in broken Spanish while she prompted me and laughed to her hearts content. A little later I delved deeper (not physically) and she rewarded me by pulling out a music CD bearing her face, name, and the title, ´Star of Lima´. With an undetectable falseness in my voice, I excitedly ushered her to grab the bus hostess and request that she put it on. With little hesitation, she did, and then for the next thirty minutes or so, she serenaded me with a surreal live/karaoke session, singing over her own soft but haunting tones.

As night began to surround us, the conversations stemmed but our intimacy did not. Seeing her somewhat as a mother figure, I naively allowed her to gaze at the side of my head, while she marvelled at my hair and then softly ran her fingers through it. Then she became fascinated by my beard and again, I was more than happy for her to have a play. Our bond was growing and that night climaxed with her tickling me every time I reached up to turn on or off the overhead light.

Despite my openess, I was beginning to get a little worried by her affection. My fears were eased, or so I thought, when she let loose that her husband was in fact the driver of the bus and that she had two sons and a daughter all aged around thirty. This for me confirmed that she was of no threat and I had little to worry about.

How desperately wrong I was.



As day broke the following Thursday morning, we arrived in the jungle town of Pucallpa but unfortunately I had no spare change for a mototaxi into town. The ´Star of Lima´ stepped in and offered to share one with me into town and offered to help find a hostel. I accepted.

After refusing a couple due to cost, we eventually found a suitable place where I went upstairs to drop my bags and prepare for my day ahead. Carmine was still with me.

Knackered, cameraless and with an Amazon boat trip to plan, the last thing I wanted to see was a 56-year-old Peruvian lady, draped erotically across my bed, with no seeming intention to move. I tried to ignore this perception but when I moved towards her to say I was off out for the day, once within striking distance, she grabbed my wrists and called my name in a frightening attempt to pull me on top of her. With slightly hollow laughter, I called her crazy and repeated the word ´no´in both action and word. Suddenly, my memories of her lifting her bra towards her head on the bus were no longer visions of my paranoia, but those of an alarming and filthy reality. The stroking of my hairiness, the love songs in my face and eternal stares were as threatening if not more so, than I´d ever dared to believe.

With the struggle over, and me on the opposite side of the room, I hoped the battle was over, but it was not. I´d made it clear I would not surrender myself nor my hands to her but ignorantly I failed to protect my much loved hair. Despite her slight height, she rose to her feet, stomped towards me then leaned up to get a firm grib of my vulnerable and fearful locks. Again, she called my name, and now desperately tried to wrestle me over one last time. Again I refused to budge, terrified of this ladies capabilities and still, with my days agenda still ahead of me. Eventually, I pushed her away, labelled her crazy, then set about living my day as planned.

She was still with me.

At that moment, walking the gringo-less streets of Pucallpa, not knowing where to go and saddled with an elderly lady who I´d just had to do erotic battle with, I was feeling a little more than uncomfortable. Eventually I found an internet cafe, where I said I needed to be for at least an hour or two. At this point, I was at last able to be free of her loving and traumatic grasp. She said goodbye, blew me a kiss, then dejectedly set about finding her husband for the return home that evening.

Having lived through this and two forms of camera theft within the space of three days, I was crying out for solitude on the River Amazon.

Happily I found the port from where the boat was to depart the following day and then later, somewhat reluctantly, found myself a new camera on which to record my remaining days.

Later that night, I somewhat fittingly ate some skewered heart.

On Friday I rose early, and armed with an array of rations and a flowery hammock, I headed out to jump aboard the Henry II in the direction of Iquitos, some eight hundred kilometres and 3 days away. The boat was half public transportation and half cargo, although living conditions for both were similar. Although when I arrived, there were little over twenty people on deck, by the time we departed, it was closer to three hundred. This meant sleeping shoulder to shoulder at times and others, with whole families sleeping on the floor below me.



This wasn´t until the next day however as to my utter joy, the departure was delayed by an entire day, meaning I was waiting around twenty nine hours before I could see life beyond the port.

Beyond various highlights in this time such as guarding my bag, guarding my hammock space, showering in river water, not being able to move and taking a crap with dirty bog roll around your feet, was the sight of seeing an electric eel get chased, caught, and then beaten to death. The locals on the shore rejoiced in the act and seeing I had a camera on board the boat, was prompted to go down and photograph the event.



At 2PM on Saturday, all my problems ebbed away as the boat upped anchor and set sail up the Ucayali, Amazon bound.

The food that day was a white mushy substance for breakfast, garnished with a couple of buns, soup for lunch and chicken and rice for dinner. This pattern was repeated over the coming days but in truth, although it sounds appalling, it was actually all pretty good.

Throughout the day, I read a little, had a nap, went up on deck, read a little more, chatted to my neighbours, had another nap, read a little more, then eventually got ready to sleep. Before I did however, I got talking to another Peruvian woman, this time much prettier and younger, but still a mother.



Her name was Ingrid and after a day of banter and the like, the result was her asking when I was in Peru next, as if it´s something I consider in the same vein as a biweekly trip to the supermarket. Sadly for her, I said I didn´t know. As with my previous lady, things moved quickly after this and before I knew it, she was asking me if I´d consider dating a Peruvian and then what of the prospect of her coming to England in a few years so we can settle down and get married. She said my brother Peter could look after the rings. I smiled nervously and said maybe.

Sunday began a mess as I spilt my breakfast all over my groin and in my hammock. The rest of my morning was spent guarding my washed clothes up on deck while reading and getting unknowingly burnt in the sun.

I stayed under cover in the afternoon and in the evening met and hung out with a couple of more stable American girls called Hannah and Kristi.

On Monday, not much changed other than that I purchased a good supply of fruit from the venders who jumped on board when we arrived in certain ports. That day I ate a variety of fruit salads involving oranges, papaya, apples and another exotic fruit.

That afternoon, I got talking with a local called Salavador; a Manchester City fan of course and also a man passionate about his son, women and in particular, Hannah. He ws shunned by the latter however and therafter, was but a shade of his former self.



In the evning, I witnesed a beautiful sunset then chatted with the much travelled Kristi under a mesmirising star-filled sky.

Finally Tuesday was in front of us and so was our destination, Iquitos. Woken early as usual, I climbed on deck at 6AM to see a stunning sunrise as Kristi soon joined me to create various forms of yoga shapes.

By 5PM we had landed in Iquitos on the banks of the Amazon, a place famed for being the largest city in the world only accesible by boat and plane. As far as the guide books go it´s famed.

Me, Krisiti and Hannah were soon pursuaded by an enthusiastic taxi driver to go check out a hostel in the town and we duly obliged by agreeing to stay there a few nights.

Today we rose from our slumber to go investigate the suburb of Belen and it´s floating markets.



Though now mostly on stilts, the town is built solely to comply with the fluctuating levels of the river. Of the busy streets we walked today, many in a few months will be some two or three metres under the mirky brown waters of the Amazon.



After a brief stroll through the market, a couple of guides grabbed our attention and then led us to there boat on which we got a guided tour of the area.

The ´Peruvian Venice´as they call it, was an enchanting place, with houses, businesses, schools and churches all perched high up on stilts, while other establishments were merely floating rafts waiting to be lifted in the annual rains.





On the itnerary was a trip down the main strip, a visit to the homes of our two guides, Lito and Marlon (another Man City fan), and a walk around the more interesting parts of the market. There you can find anything from the meat of monkeys, jungle rats, aligators, turtles and piranhas to huge bottles of liquid viagra, cough medicine and sugar cane rum. We all managed to have a nibble on a skewered tree bug kebab.










Next we hopped across town to find out about ´lancha´ departures for the Ecuador border, and it seems my next boating adventure will be beginning on Friday. Hammock and mental strength at the ready.

Tomorrow, the three of us will be joining forces with Lito and Marlon once more, as we go on a budget-friendly day trip into the jungle in their boat. There I hope to see many other new weird and wonderful things but enough of the scary women already

A few more Nazca lines

And so here I am. The same person as before but one digital SLR camera lighter.

Some five days ago however, I was a little heavier and I arrived early in the desert town of Nazca. There was some alarm initially when the hostess aboard the bus informed me my bag was in the wrong luggage compartment, thus meaning that it´d be heading to Lima while I´d be getting off in Nazca. Luckily when we arrived in the latter town, a man with a metal stick intervened and forced open the relevant hatch. Me and my bag were together again.

After the usual recon mission around the town, I came across a hotel nearby which offered a pool and snack combo for a small fee. Within an hour of this discovery I was sleeping and swimming in equal measure as I wasted away my afternoon in the grounds of the Hotel Nazca Lines.

I returned to the same venue later that evening to visit the Maria Reiche Planetarium which is attached to the compound. Miss Reiche was a German lady who died over a decade ago but in her final forty years on the planet, she dedicated her time solely to trying to discover the true meaning behind the Nazca lines. In my eyes she failed but nevertheless, she gave it a good stab.

Around three hundred etchings in the Nazca Desert cover an area spanning over fifty miles and while on the ground the paths are clear, it is only from the air that you get a true picture. The lines consist of geometric shapes and animal outlines varying from a condor to a monkey, with an astronaut-like looking figure in between.

Young Maria believed these lines to be a pre-Inca astrological calendar and while many lines suggest this could have been part of the answer, there is little evidence to suggest the entirity of the phenomenon adheres to this.

At the planetarium, beside the hotel where she lived for over five years, me and some irritating Asians enjoyed a compelling presentation about the known history of the lines, dating back from as far back as 200BC and then later an illustration of what factors led Maria Reiche to drawing her suspicious conclusions.

Following on from this, the guide presided to point out a whole host of constellations in the sky with a remarkably powerful little laser pen, which made the sky seem like an artificial screen only a few feet away.

The next morning I was able to see what all the fuss (and confusion) was all about when I took a Cessna plane ride over them and back. In truth, it left me very impressed but equally confused. Quite what possesed any civilisation in history to concoct such an elaborately random form of artwork, I have no idea, but with the bumps unrelenting in the dinky little plane, I was ready to come down.

After a light lunch, I boarded a bus, Ica-bound, from where I then got a ten minute taxi to the desert oasis town of Huacachina. On arriving at my hostel, I immediately enquired about the dune buggie tours on offer and to my joy, was able to join one at that precise moment. So with my bags dropped in my room, I made it like a flash into the back off the buggie.

The next 2/3 hours was jaw-aching fun as we bounded around the desert like we were aboard a mechanical camel on speed. Interspersed with this, we were able to enjoy the benefits of sand boarding which amounted to lots more grinning, high doses of adrenaline, bouts of complete failure and many mouthfuls of sand.

With the sunset behind me, I ate a delicious pasta dish by the lagoon then wrote my diary entry in complete tranquility.

The following morning I climbed the huge dune behind the hotel where I got some great pictures overlooking the town but had to take them with my chunky (and now departed) SLR as my compact camera had gotten to much sand in its mouth the night before. Getting up the dune was difficult but coming down was torture. On several occasions I had to drop anchor as my flip-flop exposed feet were in real danger of either melting or cathing fire or both. I made a beeline for the lagoon and threw myself into its curative waters, where I simmered for some considerable time.

Refreshed and with socks and shoes on, I caught another bus in the direction of Pisco from where I did another taxi run to the coastal town of Paracas. Sitting handsomly beside the Pacific Ocean, I´d unfortunately rolled into town on the day of their annual festival. Good in some respects but I´d come to relax, so hundreds of steamed Peruvians and screaming kids were not a welcomed sight.

In the evening I did take to the open-air dancefloor with a few people I met and we enjoyed some Pisco sours, beer and mock-indigenous dance routines.

I was below par the following morning but galvanised myself sufficiently to board a tourist boat to the nearby Isla Ballestas where I enjoyed the company of penguins, sea lions, pelicans and other loud but friendly birds.

Again my afternoon involved a bus ride, this time to the eight-million-people strong capital of Lima. The rest of my day was nothing out of the ordinary, much like the city.

Yesterday I ventured into the city centre and as soon as I could, ventured back out. I have no energy for a place like this right now and with it taking me over two hours and five bus headquarters to find myself a bus to Pucallpa for Wednesday, my patience had run out. Last night I collapsed and watched Russel Crowe show more vigour in Cinderella Man.

Today, I started my blog then got robbed blind. Usually, I keep my guard up when with my bag in tow but today, I let it slip. After a few nice chats on Skype, the horror dawned on me as did the mental checklist of what was in my bag. Luckily, no cash, credit cards or identification were in there, but a digital SLR camera, three memory cards (of which many pictures weren´t backed up), a phrasebook and several gifts were enough to put me off my narrative and chirpy stride.

As for my other camera, this is in an overnight camera hospital where they´re charging the earth to get the sand of Huacachina out from between it´s eyes. If this fails, I´ll be heading to the Amazon for two weeks tomorrow with only eyes but my own.