1,000 miles gone - Big Sur to Bear Country

A holiday within a holiday. Are we being greedy? Probably, but lifes not always going to be like this, so we're going to make the most of it. And so, our slightly longer than a month road trip along the west coast of the US starts with a flight out of Costa Rica, into LA. I don't see Family Back that often, and this being the second time I've come to visit in two months, feel spoilt at the opportunity to spend some time with them again. And Seren and Kai sort of seem to remember who I am, but have the added distraction of the far more interesting Becky to entertain them. Or is it the other way around, as Becky sets about putting makeup on Seren and laughing hysterically at her in her clothes, especially a very fashionable but slightly too large bikini which is worn on our first outing to the pool. Michael, Chloe's Dad is having his holiday crashed by us and babysits, allowing the four of us a rare venture out at night. Twice!

We pillage camping equipment and electronic devices generously offered to us, and we are soon on our way in our rental SUV. Or is it? I have no idea what kind of car it is as I know nothing about cars. But its big. And we can sleep in it if we get desperate.

We've chosen a corker of a weekend to start our travels on, Labour day weekend. The last big hurrah of the American holiday season, and as such everything is booked. But we manage to steal a last minute camping spot at the start of Big Sur, a splendid stretch of road running along the coast between Los Angeles and San Francisco. But can we get out of LA? No. Not without a slight argument with the GPS device, which leads us inland on route 101 instead of along the coastal highway 1. We do what every modern day person would do, and blindly follow every instruction the machine gives us. She does have a lovely computer voice after all.

Somehow we manage to make it onto route 1. I take over the driving and in blind panic, manage to swiftly reverse our progress by heading us back to LA. Its called a freeway for a reason. Everyone is free to overtake, undertake, ignore signalling amongst many other things. Turn offs can either be on the right hand side or on the left, and a road can very swiftly fork into two. Which is what takes me unawares. That and the automatic gearbox. Its like a dodgem car, especially on the brakes! The only thing they've got right over here are the pool lanes, which allow cars with 2 or more people to get ahead of the rest.

We drift along the coast, stopping for photographs of kite surfers jumping into the sky and sea lions basking in the late evening light. The scenery is stunning, rolling uphill and along cliff edge. We listen to Rolling Stone Magazine's Top 500 Rock Songs as a movie set backdrop slides by. Arriving late at the campsite, we soon realise that Americans 'Know how to camp', staying in a shielded-off camp surrounded by redwood trees. Pine fresh smells, and not from a 'shake n vac'. We park our newly borrowed double decker tent in-between trailers, winnebagos and SUVs with the crackle of campfires in our ears.

Hitting the road as we wake, we continue where we left off. Skateboard brand towns pass us by, Ventura, Santa Cruz, where we stop for an amazing bite to eat and a passing look at surf shops, making our way lazily up to San Francisco. The Sat Nav is now our friend and guides us skilfully to our hotel, The Red Victorian, owned by Sami Sunshine. I strongly suspect thats not her real name. We seem to have entered some kind of hippy paradise. Each room is originally decorated to reflect its name, such as 'The Summer of Love', 'The Peace Room, 'The Rainbow room'. You get the gist. We're in the Skylight Room. And yup, its got a skylight. Overlooking Haight, a main street that runs all the way into the centre of San Fran. Sami Sunshine's peace paintings line the walls of the hotel. One of them I quite liked.

We love the town. It feels creative, trendy, exciting and active. We visit Chinatown, the Golden Gate Bridge (Which the Sat Nav navigates us over twice!) and trek around the whole town. A trip to SFMoma gallery and a look at the 'Georgia O'Keefe/ Ansel Adams' exhibition finds us both agreeing on the genius of Ansel Adams and the extremely ordinary O'Keefe. I could paint a shell better than that! Ansel Adams provides a glimpse of the next stage of our trip with beautiful black and white photographs of nature, particularly Yosemite National Park which we will soon be visiting. Fisherman's Wharf is overrun with sealions, who swamp a floating pier. Becky buys me a shirt which feels equal parts lumberjack and equal parts Shoreditch chic. I luvs it.

Driving the car over the Golden Gate bridge, and then doing it again, we head for Napa and wine country. We've got the camping vibe which is easier after a tasting at a local vineyard in Calistoga. Then on to Guerneville. Nope, we didn't see anyone pulling faces, but a particularly mad bodybuilding barman provided some good entertainment. A Kayak down the serene river and a much needed shower-dip did us a world of good.

And next thing we know is, we're in bear country. Yosemite exchanges grape vines for ragged woods and looming pines. Winding our probably SUV along to White Wolf campsite, bear warnings are everywhere. Pictures of bears crossing the road, photos of bears invading people's campsites and prising the doors off the hinges of cars give us ample warning of who we could be sharing our tents with. This is warning enough to make putting all food and strongly scented cosmetic products into bear boxes the first job when we set up camp. Bear proofed bins are locked down with caribinas, red warning signs tell cars to slow down, a bear has been run over here recently. Apparantly bears can smell a sealed can of coke in a glove compartment of a locked car in a valley from the farthest cliff top. They also have a sense of smell ten times that of a bloodhound. Information such as this is the reason I am turning my head to survey the campsite as I write this. Bear shit near our tent this morning is another pretty damned fresh reason. So it is true!

John Muir, a naturalist who worked in these woods sums up how I am feeling right now. Sorry if its pretentious, but i'm going to quote him now, so hold on.

"Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you and the storms their energy. While cares will drop off like autumn leaves."

A thousand miles gone. How many more to go?

View '1,000 miles gone - Big Sur to Bear Country' photos here

Costa-ri-ka-ka-ka-ka!

Finally we arrive at our destination, and new home for a while. We have to spend a night in San Jose, and choose to spend our time here satisfying a shopping urge. Aaaaahhh… the sweet taste of consumerism. Actually, thats really all there is to do in San Jose, a city we are less than taken with.

With relief to our wallets, we take a 5am bus (theres only one a day!) out to the West coast. And, walking along Samara beach, we are transported to a tropical paradise. Lush palm trees and jungle loom onto a heat hazy, sandy shoreline, waves breaking breezily along the perimeter. We almost manage to miss our bus the next day the next morning, the only thing we have to do all day, as we are told four varying times of departure. Luckily our taxi driver knows the truth and screeches to a halt managing to catch the bus as it is about to leave. An old yellow ex-American school bus runs us into Nosara, two crates of tiny-weeny yellow chicks cheep all the way along a bumpy pot-holed dirt track.

And almost without realising it, we are walking through the door of Innocent Surf School, Becky's new place of work, meeting Gemma, who greets us with a squeal and a warm hug. The shop is funkily decorated with colourful beanbags, projector beaming surf movies all day long onto a crisp white wall. Ru, Gemma's other half, arrives soon after, returning from a surf lesson, along with Jack and Al, the team surf is complete.

Becky has a week off before she starts work and we settle into a tropical life of sand n surf. The very next morning, Gemma takes us out for a lesson. She's an amazing teacher. And after 10 years of pretend surf trips, we suddenly realise what it's all about. We are fully immersed in surf life. Everything is either 'sick' or 'awesome', and apparently someone surfing well is 'shredding'. Ru very very patiently explains the rules of the surf competition as Becky and I break concentration and laugh at the ridiculous names of the surfers - Taj, Clay, Koko Ho, and Wiggoley Dantes (who we call Wiggly Dance).

Gem and Ru are both so warm and generous and manage to make us feel at home within days of being here. Ru is a mac geek and is currently building a new website with a team who work for facebook. I suddenly go from feeling thousands of miles away from my old life as a web designer in London to feeling strangely close to it all, despite being in the middle of the jungle!

Costa Rica has the richest abundance of tropical wildlife in the world. I think. And we are witness to this on a daily basis… Howler monkeys scream at night, a man drives by trying to sell us a boa constrictor. Prodigy album cover style black and red one clawed crabs cover the surf drenched paths near the beach. Washed up baby turtles need rescuing by Innocent Gem, rays skim the surface as we bob on a board out at sea. And a turtle pops his head up to say hello as I am waiting for a wave. I find a baby boa writhing on our patio floor freshly-beheaded by a gardener, who we suspect doesn't want to meet its grown up self during his 9-5 job. Becky doesn't like it when I move it inside to the bathroom, rightly so as we are lately told that others boas smell them and come to find those in trouble. A recent road side sighting of a 9ft beauty confirms her fears.

Yan's big night out for Jack's leaving do rocks the boat as a normally lazy night life is turned into a shot slamming 2 am finish. A worried Becky is found pacing the floor of our new pad as I return, whistling after my big adventure.

Becky starts work and instantly settles into the Innocent lifestyle of early morning surfing, followed by hose shower, then a day at work. Early morning rises are followed by early bedtimes; a start contrast to our lives in England. I, however, have nothing to do bar prepare for Becky's 30th, sunbathe, and surf, and I struggle to find a rhythm. Am I on holiday? Or is this my life? I'm bored bored bored, poor me, and feel like a spare part. It's hard to meet people not attached to the surf school. I also feel a little detached from the real world; no phone connection, and very expensive internet connections.

So, to avoid the growing tension I am causing, get a bit of space, and buy a computer, I fly to LA. I mean, what else can I do? It's a great plan, and as I return from a lovely time visiting Graeme, Chloe and family, life starts to take off for me in Nosara. I get a job at the Beach Cafe, working for our new friends Joe and Chris, in my old career as a coffee shop Barista.

I feel plugged back into the real world, as I meet people left, right and centre, and even acquire some freelance design work with my newly purchased MacBook Pro. MMmmmmmm! Everyone in Nosara uses Macs! It's like a living Apple store. I even get some work fixing up machines and trying to resurrect dead hard drives.

We're actually getting quite good at surfing (Despite the above photo) . Becky is hardcore and bravely battles behemoth waves with 'I didn't even notice how big they were'. Our villa is amazing, a steal at the price we are paying. Our poor landlords wanted the burden off his hands after a string of bad luck that involved in the course of a week his father dying, losing his job, and crashing into the Hudson River after a flock of geese flew into the plane's engines. We're pretty much there to pay off his debt with his property manager, the manic but lovely Frenchie Agnes.

Everyone here either seems to be a surf instructor, yoga teacher or estate agent. And after a bit of a wobble, we reverse our decision to leave Nosara, and decide to come back for another season. Vanessa and Cottey pay us a visit, and it's great to be able to share some of these experiences with them. I hope to have more visitors over the next six months. We have a spare room, so come on over!

View 'Costa-ri-ka-ka-ka-ka!' photos here

Cotapaxi/ While I Blister On The Bum

We return to Quito, and can't wait to get the hell out of here again. So we head to the sister hostel of where we are staying 'The Secret Garden- Cotapaxi', a 2 hour bumpy ride from town and near a big old volcano. And we love it as soon as we get there. The hostel overlooks miles and miles of lush green countryside all the way up to the clear skies surrounding the volcano. The hostel itself is like a warm country house, log burning fire blazing away near two giant sofas, Dalmation dogs padding around making a nuisance of themselves, long communal table with board games stuffed on a shelf. All this... AND a compost toilet.

And the people are great too. Lazing about in hammocks and sofas, reading books and chatting. Jodi, the new manager hails from England and makes us feel comfortable straight away. Absolutely exhausted from our rainforest extravaganza, we can do little els the first night, barely able to muster the strength to play scrabble and drink a glass of wine. Meals are all inclusive and served up at a family style dining table, delicious food cooked from allotment grown produce. I try not to think of what kind of compost they thrived on.

The next day and somehow i've managed to find myself booked on a horse riding trip. Its something I never feel entirely comfortable with despite wanting to let the inner cowboy in me out. But my favoured option of fishing is no longer in season and I succomb to Becky's love of horse riding. Which starts really nicely, the sun shining as we able down a winding country lane. But ends in bitter cold misery as a sleet rain descends upon us. Hands barely able to function and bum feeling not just a little uncomfortable we dismount with immense relief.

[NB. Holly. You have complained about my blog containing too many graphical details as to the inner workings of my stomach and other unpleasant ramblings I may have innocently detailed in these here pages. So be warned, you may not want to read the next paragraph my sensitive little sis!]

Returning to the warm comforts of home, I immediately jump into the shower to bring some life back into my frost bitten skeleton. And as the blood starts pumping back into place, I shriek in horror as I feel what I believe to be two snake fangs sinking into my bum. Yelling in horror, Becky runs down stairs to see what all the fuss is about. 'Somethings bitten me, where the hell is it?'. But the culprit is nowhere to be found. The revelation slowly dawns on me that I actually have saddle sores on my bum as Becky points out that I have a perfectly mirrored blister on each bum cheek. Rather like a flesh Rorscarch test. Not being able to stretch to see it for myself, I get Becky to take a photo of the offending (In many, many ways) area and show it to me. Which she does with relative glee.

As a consequence of forgetting to delete these photos, two days later, a Dutch lady who is looking through our snaps gets a bit of a shock and politely hands it back to us looking rather embarassed. Any explanation as to what it is only make makes matters worse and us seem more perverted. And I now can't help singing 'While I Blister on the Bum' to the tune of The Violent Femmes 'Blister in the Sun'.

The next day we opt to climb up the initial stages of the Volcano. Glad to be on my feet instead of sitting down, we get dropped off by car at the foot of the Volcano and climb up to 5,000 meters. Which tests a few of the group, who struggle for breath at this height and have to take it slowly. A Snickers bar and a hot chocolate at the snowy refugio rewards our success. Before a group of kids enter, playing disturbingly mangled music through their mobile phones. So its doesn't just happen on the underground! Grrrrrrr.

At night we feed our new found hunger for Scrabble with anyone who will play. Jodi manages to win each and every game with ease as she organises kitchen staff and answers questions from dwellers mid turn. Our final game descends into rudeness as we spell out funny captions and take photographs of each other with such things as pieces stuck into our 'teef'.

We are sad to leave my second and Becky's top favourite hostel of the trip. But we've got a flight to catch!

View photos of 'Cotapaxi/ While I Blister On The Bum' here

An Amazon Adventure

The trip have dreamed of since reading Willard Price's Adventure series as a boy. The trip of a lifetime. And best of all, Becky's paying for it as my birthday present! We can't wait to leave Quito, a city we have approached hesitantly as each bartender and tour operator has warned us of being mugged at knife point. We're staying just off the neon strip in the new town prime targets for late night encounters with Ecuadorian dangers. Lou and Lee have joined us for our final trip together, before they head to the Galapagos and we head to Costa Rica for surf schooling.

We arrive at Lago Agrio, and despite being in the middle of town, evidence of Rainforest life is apparent, as we watch a boy walk past us on the way to school, a pet Sloth dangling to his shoulder. We are met by our guide... Is his name Lenin, Lennon or Lenny? As it turns out the Russian Dictator's name is popular amongst Ecuadorians, the current deputy Prime Minister sharing the same name.

Setting off in motorised canoe, we don't have to wait long to encounter wildlife, turning the first corner we see a group of Capuchin monkeys climbing through the trees (like Marcel the monkey from Friends). The boat drops us off at our lodge after a wonderous 2 hour whizz deep into the forest. But not so deep that the quality of accommodation is effected, our lodgings are wooden cabins positioned around a central square walkway. In the centre is a communal area where hammocks hang through 360°. Tarantulas are stationed on rooftops at military distance from one another, much to the dislike of Lou who has 'The Fear' of anything with 8 legs.

Our days pass packed with animal filled activity. They certainly keep us busy, with early morning bird watching, dolphin spotting, late night searches for Cayman and night time insect finding.

On the second day we go Piranha fishing, which is pretty much as grusome as it sounds. A crude fishing rod made of bamboo is loaded with well past its sell by date beef and planted in the water with lots of splashing to mimic a fish in distress. It takes quite a while to get a bite from the fish with deadliest teeth around, but once they do they keep on biting. A fish related competition ensues and I manage to even the scores between the German and English contingent by catching the second of the day. Lee manages to finally catch one on the second outing, and promptly kills it. But not before proudly posing for a picture with him beaming a prize winning smile as his catch bleeds it's last drop of life from its eye socket. His catch floats away as bait for the next batch of razor toothed biters.

And then we go for a swim... about 100m away from where we were fishing. A nervous paddle indeed, as the sun goes down on the horizon.

A day trip to the local community (calling it a village doesn't sound authentically Amazonian enough) finds me receiving a blessing from the Shaman, i'm now protected from Witchcraft, which is like a 'get out of jail free' card for the superstitious. I buy a black wooden ring for $1 and it lasts as long as you would expect it to at this price. Locals then make us Yukka bread, which we watch a local woman (Granddaughter to the Shamen) take from tree to edible pancake slices in half an hour. Luckily no lady spit is added to the recipe, as we have been warned of from fellow travellers.

Lenin, our guide, is half boy scout / half Tintin cartoon. He is obviously in a job he loves as he skillfully tracks down every bug or furry creature in the vicinity with a flash of his torch, looking for the red reflection of retina with every sweep, approaching each discovery with a slightly nerdy boyish enthusiasm which endears us to him. This approach is in stark contrast to another guide nicknamed 'Rambo' who, clad in a camoflage sleeveless top and far-too-short cut off denim shorts, baits crocodiles with chicken feet, climbs trees to manouveuer snakes towards cameras and fishes for Piranhas with a spear, wading in to knee height water to do so. But Lenin makes us laugh by the way he pronounces 'Rubber boots' - 'Wobbba Bwootz' and forgets the names of his 5 brothers and 3 sisters.

We have seen almost every animal the rainforest has to offer, except for the very shy Anaconda. Thoroughly happy, we set sail for the mainland and our next adventure. Willard Price, eat your heart out.

Play spot the monkey, spot the owl, spot the frog and spot the snake:-
View 'An Amazon Adventure' photos here

A Wobber

We're in Costa Rica. But you wouldn't have guessed it from this blog. I do have one very good excuse though- we got robbed. In the dead of night, someone crept into our house and explored each room for valuables, before noisily opening our bedroom door and stealing my beloved rucksack. Luckily our bedroom door scrapes on the floor in a way similar to scraping fingernails down a blackboard, so I woke up thinking it was Becky going to the loo, only to discover in a deep slumber that she was still lying next to me fast asleep. After a few hazy moments of particularly slow thinking I got up, thinking something was up and scared the guy off. How sexist to assume its was a guy. By the time I made it to the slightly ajar front door, the thief must have run off deep into the jungle. Just as well really, as I was scared shitless yet still shouting obscenities at nearby trees. Hope they didn't take it personally.

So, armed with a broom and frying pan (seriously) Becky and I scanned the area before attempting to warn neighbours that there was someone creeping about.

So the thief made off with my lovely rucksack, blue waterbottle, black notepad, security lock (ironic?), ipod cable, wallet with newly sent credit card and money, and most importantly... my notepad with 4 blog entries fully written up. It was almost as if the thief had read my blog entry on 'The top 5 things in my backpack' and targeted my most loved of posessions!

As a consequence, I have been unable to force myself to remember and rewrite these entries. Until now. So bear with me, I am about 3 months behind, but am slowly catching up with myself again. I'm 30, my memory isn't quite as good as it used to be.

Check back soon for new but very old rewritten blogs!

5 useless things I have sent packing

1. A second pair of jeans- Honestly, what was I thinking?
2. Aqua tabs from ebay- Ok, so how was I to know that they purified 25 litres at a time and no human can possibly carry that much water!
3. Skype travel headsets- The geek in me forced me to bring them. Becky took one look at them and ordered me to send them back. " All the internet cafes that have skype have them anyway".
4. Sports Sandals- I liked these until Becky started calling them "Sports Sandals". So far, have only been used when my flip flops broke halfway back from San Thelmo market.
5. My voice box. Perhaps only useless when asked to switch to 'Spanish' mode. Utterly useless so far.

Almost made it into this list- My 10 year old rucksack which ruined my back, Thick ski socks which are useless for walking and horrendously smelly once they have been used as such, malaria tablets when nowhere near malaria zones.

Machu Pichu With A Splash

Or as Neil likes to call it`Pikacu`. Not to be confused with the yellow coloured, rosy cheeked Japenese cartoon character, we are off to the historical Inka site of roughly the same name. Preserved from Spanish invasion and subsequent pillaging by- a) Being evacuated by its residents so as to mask attention to its existence b) Being deliberately overgrown by forestry (they burnt it down to make it grow faster and cover the city) and c) Being bloody high up at the top of a mountain.

We all arrive at Cusco, minus Lou`s bag which has been lost in confusion at Copacabana when a bus fault meant we had to change buses. Several people reassure her that it has been found but seemingly do nothing to organise its retrieval. The toad like drivers of our next bus try to subtly move the bus out with our bags but not us on board. The whole bus is waiting for us and when so much time passes that it seems that short of lying in front its wheels, theres nothing we can do to prevent its departure. So we hop on and the drive puts his flipper on the accelerator.

The bus journey is a sales free for all as ice cream sellers, beggars, book salesmen and their wives are all allowed on to flog us their wares throughout the night. Keeping us rather on edge. Arriving in Cusco tired and not just a little emotional we crash in front of the TV in our hotel room to compose ourselves. Much to her relief, Lou is reunited with her bag the next day.

Cusco continues as Peru started. People pester us to buy massages, paintings, finger puppets (I succumb to one very adult looking child seller who amusingly calls a ghost finger puppet `Michael Jackson`), wooden carvings and an inordinate amount of llama patterned woolen products. All this has recently been beaten by one guy trying to sell me a shelving unit in the Rainforest despite me carrying my backpack at the time!

The Inka trail needs to be booked way in advance, so we sign on to the lesser known Larez trek which will take us to Machu Pichu over 4 days. Crazily enough we are booked onto a trip with some friends we met on the Uyuni salt plains trip. Its a little strange when you are travelling hundreds of miles and still bump into people going in the same direction.

Our guide is called Juan and according to his friend he is a 'chick magnet'. But there doesn`t seem to be any real evidence to substantiate this claim. He walks us along our daily treks introducing us to local communities, telling us about the land history past and present. Always adding his trademark `pero but` in every sentence and merrily referring to us as `amigos`. We are spoilt by being waited on by 2 porters, a chef called Cesar and his younger brother/assistant chef called... `Mike`. I think their parents fell into a similar trap when choosing names as mine did. Our meals are amazing and the tents are already set up for us by the time we arrive at camp. This ludicrous pampering even extends to a breakfast cuppa in bed in the morning. Normally coca leaf tea, which is meant to help you adapt to the altitude, we`re over 4,000m here. Juan even shows us how to chew the coca leaves to stimulate your legs on a long walk, rolling them up and chewing them in the side of your mouth. Very wild west.

We are a group of 4 added to but kept very separate from a team of 12 we name `Team A`. The llama wool sellers can even sniff us out up a mountain, as we are amused to see them setting up shop outside our tents! They are however very welcome as they sell us beers and much needed night socks (llama patterned of course!). On the first night, Juan tells us ghostly stories of murders on the trek. Then proceeds to have a very loud nightmare from a neighbouring tent. His cries echo throughout the campsite.

Local children are cunningly positioned throughout our treks, well aware that we come bearing gifts of toy cars, balls and biscuits which we trade in return for photographs of them and stories. We are priviledged to be allowed into one elderly couple`s house to see how they live. Guinea pigs (a delicacy in this country. Not much meat on and quite expensive) roam freely under their beds, adding warmth at night. How do they sleep? On another occasion we join a group of farmers and help (for want of a better word) them harvesting their crop. Truly back breaking work! The treks are long, but as we plod through lush countryside I am reminded of Yorkshire, but with llamas.

All is going well, when we stop by a stream for lunch and a bask in the sun. As i`m crossing a rock bridge with two drinks in my hand, a huge rock collapses and sends me leg first into the water with a splash. Holding my camera under my arm! Two porters have to help me out from under the bridge, still clutching the cups and a flooded digital SLR. OUCH! It works for 12 hours and then gives up the will to live. Luckily insurance should have that covered. Unfortunately, now I have 2 broken cameras in my possession with one of the wonders of the world a day away. So no way of documenting my every minute. Strangely liberating as it turns out.

I board an old colonial feeling train to Aguas Calientes, finding it strange not to be looking at the world through a viewfinder. The town is labyrinthian, a huge sprawling market saturated in Chinese restaurants. Our hotel is a kitsch mix of silken materials, embroidered curtains with spangly trims, reminding me of huge boxer`s shorts.

A 4am wake up call and we`re winding our way up a precarious misty path to Machu Pichu. We enter and are whizzed along to the far side to book entrance to Waynu Pichu, the neighbouring taller mountain you can climb for an aerial view of Machu Pichu. We`re hardly allowed to stop to take stock of what we have come here to see! Juan has kicked into`info guide`mode and obviously shows he is keen to deliver his learnt- by- heart historical monologue to his first batch of students. Melting in the morning sun and wishing to roam free we grudgingly traipse after him. We (well, not me) continue to take photographs as he talks, much to his annoyance. An hour and a half later he asks if we have any questions. `Wheres the nearest toilet?`. We are all busting in his captivity.

The site is impressive, only 10% needing complete restoration from how it was rediscovered in the early 1900`s. Even Becky who thought it would be a touristy disappointment was impressed.

As we climb Waynu Pichu, 'How did they put stone steps ALL the way up here?`, we are taken back in time (not that long ago actually as it turns out) to when this hilltop was inhabited by 700 Inka residents. Surprisingly undisturbed by commercial needs, despite its protector`s casual attitude to its preservation- A film crew managed to crash a crane into the most important section when filming a television commercial.The city and surrounding area are remarkably free from human interference. On the way out we collect a special Machu Pichu stamp for our passports.

After a couple of months at high altitude we head for Lima, this time by air. With little time before we need to be in Costa Rica, we have turned into jet setting `flash`packers.

Onwards and downwards!