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!