Yellow fever

Just over a week ago I wasn´t in the greatest health but football sorted me out.

Prior to kick-off in Guayaquil where I was due to watch the local favourites Barcelona take on the minnows of Manta, I was literally choking and feeling extremely slack at the back. Big match nerves I don´t know but I seriously contemplated sitting the game out. Blinded by my passion for the game and with the Black Eyed Peas´ I Gotta Feeling pumping out at me from a cafe, I regained my belief that tonight was in fact gonna be a great night. The taxi driver with a mysterious white glove only served to fuel my adrenaline.



My faith was rewarded on arrival at the Estadio El Monumental where this football pilgrim who stands before you was immediately healed amongst a sea of yellow and a fever of excitement. Caught up in the magic, I joined the masses and bought myself a home shirt for under a fiver. For the first ten minutes, I paid little attention to the game, instead absorbing the atmosphere and looking around in awe at what was a monster of a stadum. Football sure beats taking tablets.





When I did start paying attention to the game however, I soon realised this was definitely a different Barcelona from the one conquering earth over the pond. While the more commonly known Barca are known for their wonderfully sharp passing and ability to tear teams apart almost at will, this team appeared to do the opposite; hospital passes frequently littered their play, thus landing their own teammates in plenty of trouble and more often than not, providing the catalyst for the oppositions counter attacks. Their badge is very similar though.

After plenty of frustration, the home team did finally make the breakthrough midway through the second half, only to concede within another two minutes. Luckily with ten minutes to go, they did snatch a scrappy winner, much to the delight of me and my fellow yellow fanatics. Though the stadium was far from full, it was a good turnout by the Barca fans which is more than can be said for the travelling away fans. I made out a total of nine. Probably the most pathetic away support in Ecuadorian football history. At least they brought some instruments.



With the game over and my health restored, I flagged a cab, only to realise I didn´t know where my hostel was and neither did the driver. Instead, I made a pit-stop in the city centre to find an internet cafe and the address of my abode. I made it home and celebrated with a burger.

My six month anniversary came on Sunday as did my departure from Guayaquil. After staying cool in the air conditioned mall for much of the afternoon, at 4.30PM, I got my bus to the spa town of Baños. I landed around midnight and accepted the first invitation to stay at a nearby hostel. For $5 a night, I got an ensuite room, with TV and a double bed. Goal.

Though Baños is renowned for being a great place to take on a variety of activities such as rafting, ´puenting´ (bridge jumping), trekking and cycling, I chose to do nothing. Mainly as a means of saving money but also to do with my enthusiasm for such things now flagging having done so much already on my trip, I instead chose to spend the day walking the streets, taking a look at the thermal baths and enjoying some Spanish football in my room. The bridge jumping did tempt me but I didn´t see it as being worth $10 of my cash as the drop wasn´t big enough.







On the Tuesday I exerted a similar amount of energy; enjoying emapanadas and coffee for breakfast, followed by United v Bayern Munich in a cafe where I had a good set meal of soup and chicken. Feeling a little low after the defeat, I went to console myself at the local cemetery.



I then had a nap, a pizza and a screening of Jerry Maguire.

With Baños ticked off, the next morning I travelled to the capital Quito. Situated in the historical part of town, my hostel was very cheap but it came at a cost. For $3.50 a night, I had to endure many a dreadlocked hippie playing guitar, harmonica, flute and juggling bean bags. This medley, barring the bean bags which obviously don´t make a noise, was especially painful when used to replicate an alarm at 8AM in the morning. Or as a musical accompaniment to your dreams at 1AM.





Like in Baños, I spent my day wandering the quaint streets, spending money only on copied music CDs and the occasional bite to eat.

The next day was April Fools´ but I kid you not, I visited the equator. An hour or so away from the capital, this imaginary line is converted into a reality in the tourist town of Mitad del Mundo (Middle of the World).



Sadly, the line marked out at the site is actually two hundred metres shy of being correct but unfortunately the theme park didn´t have the benefit of GPS when it was constructed. Hindsight can be a bugger.

While I was there with a throng of giddy tourists, I took some pictures on this line of false promise, then had an afternoon nap while watching a film in the planetarium.



Back in Quito, I weighed up the option of staying in the city until Sunday for the clash between Barca and LDU Quito but as I couldn´t get tickets at the ground, I declined the idea. As it turned out, the game was 0-0, much to my delight.

On Friday, I left the freak circus behind and got a five hour bus to the Colombian border town of Tulcan. My journey was made all the more pleasurable by a young lady called Laurena who chatted with me almost the whole way and didn´t once touch my hair. Although she was a single mother, she didn´t propose but she did point me in the right direction for taxis when we arrived at our destination.

From there, I made it to the border where there were no guerillas or gun fights. Maybe it wasn´t Colombia after all.

Another taxi ride took me to the town of Ipales and waiting there for me was a twelve hour bus to the salsa capital of South America, Cali.

At 5AM I arrived a little dazed but looking not half as rough as the lady at the hostel who greated me.

I slept until nine then got up for a stroll round town. A little disorientated, I asked a man for directions and instead of merely pointing, he took me on a guided tour of the centre and finished with a stop at his cafe for a free coffee and breakfast.

In the afternoon, I got confirmation that my new team, Millonarios of Bogota, were playing America de Cali down the road. I say my team because in the space of a week, I should be able to see them play three times; first in Cali, then in Bogota on Wednesday, and finally, eight hundred kilometres away in Cartagena at the weekend.

This football trek sadly began with a 3-2 defeat. I enjoyed the game with a cockney called Kevin, who was supporting the home team and though the result hurt, the game itself was a cracker. Millonarios missed two penalties and had a man sent off while Cali were also reduced to ten men and their goalie scored a penalty to level the game at 2-2. The halftime cheerleaders also lifted my spirits.



Back at Hostal Jovita´s, I had a salsa class which went well and then later that evening, a group of us from the hostel and our dance teacher hit a salsa club. Tanked up with rum, I unleashed hell on the dancefloor and showed the Colombians how it´s done. That´s how I´d like to remember it.

Yesterday I rolled out of bed at midday then had a day of leisure, walking the deserted streets and longing for a Maltesers Easter egg. My evening was spent watching the Bob Marley tribute, I Am Legend and Evan Almighty.





And now today, on the eve of my birthday, I celebrate with an overnight journey to Bogota. I started things with another breakfast at Eduardo´s cafe then purchased a Millonarios shirt for a fiver. The yellow fever has gone, bring on the blues.

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