Ecuador Part 3: Quito

NADAL IS OUT OF ROLAND GARROS. ITS NOW OR NEVER FOR THE FED. My next blog entry will probably confirm which of the two it was to be. I had many ways to start this blog, but that leapt out at me from the pages of the bbc website. Thrilling stuff and all the more so, because I only had 10,000 pesos on me. Enough to pay for four hours of time wasting but no more. And Soderling took it to the tie break with three hours and fifty minutes on the clock. Could he beat Nadal and the machinations of Colombian bus station internet attendants. He did it with one minute to spare. Enough time even for the bbc to sluggishly confirm what the Roland Garros site had already confirmed. Hmm the Fed needs this, but its wide open and more interesting now. It will probably be some unknown from the remotest parts of clayland in Spain that will win it though. I know what you are thinking? Besides the earth shattering news that Nadal is not afterall Jesus on Clay, but what was I doing in an internet cafe for 4 hours. Funny story. Though not for me and not really for you either. Before I begin I just want to drop two things in. Dom is on a Galapagos Tour with a bunch of Dutch people and the youngest is 65. Makes for sprightly company. Also when I got into Hostel Sue yesterday, Larry and the Frenchman were playing table tennis, while the usual woman was on the desk. It was like Bogota had been frozen in time for a month. Well I asked for a ticket for 7am today. She gave me one for 6am. I did not look at it. Got up today after 2 hours sleep, missed the 6am bus by 10 minutes and the next one is at 3.30pm. So I am tired and bored. The perfect mood to write up Quito as nothing much happened there. Then this transition bit of Colombia will be short as well. Welcome rest for those subjected to the recent entries.

I used Quito mainly for writing so nothing spectacular happened here. Dom wanted a hostel for some alternative company in Quito, but we were so fucked from Cotopaxi that I said we should move to a hostel and just sleep in the old hotel for this night. It made sense. We passed some green alien statues, as you do and checked in. The guy did not remember us, but he did give us the same room as last time. I did remember the hot showers though. We were both mullered and turned in for a lot of sleep.

We got up late, mildly less fucked. In fact I felt quite good. I recover fast. I finished up 'Innocent's Abroad' and its a really good book. I bounded out of bed and destroyed my right calf muscle in the most innocuous of ways. I hate those injuries. They are a little serious, but its ridiculous when you tell people in all seriousness, that you injured it stepping over a sock. I have not mentioned this heinous Ecuador fact yet. I missed it from the rant. Their cashpoints don't let you draw more than $100. I mean seriously. Thats shit. And when you need to draw money for here and also about $900 for Venezuela its ridiculous. You have to use one cash machine more than once to get $300 and then inevitably your bank stops your card for fraud. I had to phone nationwide and tell them that my card was not stolen and no I am not mentally retarded or have a kind of cash machine tourettes where I must keep reinserting my card. Ecuador is just shit and Chavez is a bastard. The official exchange rate is 2:1 with the Bolivar, but on the black market you get 4-6:1. Fuck that fat bastard, even if he is quite funny at times. We set off that morning and within half an hour we were in possession of an embarssing secret. We took a taxi to McDonalds. Its like an alcoholic's anonymous confession. I had had a hankering for the shit stuff for some time. We told the taxi driver to take us there. Dom would not ask the question for shame. Luckily I have no shame. Even I was a little embarassed whn he plonked us down right in front of the door. Bollocks. Now everyone can see. Dom backed away. I went in. After we ate, God must have decided we needed some punishment for it, but in a half hearted way. We were privy to the shittest attempt at robbery I have ever seen. We are walking down the road and suddenly this liquid hits my hand. I look down. Its orangey in colour. A man rushes up with some tissues. I take them before he can wipe me and he explains it came from a bird. My first thought was 'what bird shits orange?'. I smelt it. It smelt like burger sauce. Dom had been caught as well. Someone must have sprayed us. The tissue man was persistant and some woman had my little rucksack. Bitch. I said thanks and took it off her. She mumbled something about the bird shit and left. I can only assume they figured we were stupid enough to let a stranger rub us down, unobservant enough to miss someone lifting a rucksack and ignorant enough to know birdshit is not orange. Maybe they planned to take the small rucksack and while I got it back, someone else would take the big one. I don't know what they planned. Dom was incredulous that they had sprayed him with burger sauce, I just felt sorry for the fuckwits. They are so stupid in this country that even the master criminals can come up with something as good as spraying orange burger sauce as shit. Then again the locals are so dense they would probably believe it and erect a cathedral to the 'Divine intervention of the orange shitting bird'. Pathetic. Did more writing. We moved into the hostel Crossroads. They have a lot of rooms, so they stick everyone in their own dorm. Kind of undermined our aim in getting a hostel room. We went to a weird Aladinesque bar for drinks. It was ok and then we gave up on Quito nightlife. The people are just not good looking enough and the bars not good enough to care. Dom decided to do the Galapagos and then fly to meet me in Caracas to do the east side of Venezuela. It seemed a simple enough plan. These things never are.

I wrote some more. Was quite far behind and Dom sorted out his stuff after a lot of hassle. He booked the Galapagos just before the final, but it was going to be moe difficult to do the flight as expedia were fucking him about. He did not sort that out until much later that day. I was in no hurry to do anything here as I could do the few things I wanted the next morning. We got down to watch the final. Would I be going to Rio or Salvador. I suspected Salvador. Four litres and two hours later (just like the semi final I made the right calls for substitutions) I was off to Rio in 2011. For those not paying attention or not caring, that means that Barcelona won. I phoned my nan for her birthday. Line was rubbish and I was a little merry. Seven pints in two hours (even of pisswater) is a little excessive. All the hassles with booking stuff took all the edge out of us for that night though. I just can't get motivated here. When Dom goes to the Galapagos he never has to set foot in Ecuador again. Sadly I am not so lucky. We managed to pick up some weird local bint in a hot dog place who followed Dom everywhere. It was hard to get rid of her. We met some Canadians who thought we were from Ecuador. That was a double stake through the heart for Dom. Then we gave up on Quito again.

We got up. I spent the morning investigating Pacific Island plane tickets and how to get to New Zealand. i had given up caring so much that I was starting to plan Vanuatu and Papua New Guinea if I could. We went down to the old town. It was very pretty. I resolved to leave at 2.30pm and bought a ticket. Old town Quito is so nice, you can almost stop hating Ecuador. Then the taxi driver tells you the fayre is $3 when the metre says $2.40 and scrambles to turn it off so you can't see it. I said "actually its $2.40" and he replied "ok $2.50". Fuck the lot of them. We went up Basilica Volo or some such. They say its a hair raising climb. Its not easy for a vertigo sufferer. They said there was a plank across the rafters. I imagined like a tightrope. It was not so bad as that. It ran over the inside roof and was reasonably harmless. It did howevere lead to some rickety metal stairs up the side of the building. These were genuinely scary and difficult for me. Dom had no problems. The basilica itself is stunning. Reminded both of us of Notre Dame and that's one of my favourite buildings. The main plaza is also stunning to look at. We were trying to find the monastery afterwards when a local girl and I caught each others eye. We smiled and laughed and then Dom got us to stop and exchange e-mails. It was 1.30pm. I was off in an hour. Ah bugger it, I went and changed my bus, after agreeing to meet her and her twin later. I changed it for 3.15am so I could still make Cali and booked into our old hotel next to the station. The idiot still did not remember me. "de donde eres?" "ingles." "ah holandia." Idiot. Only 3 days earlier he had thought I was from the States when I said Great Britain. We did not bother with the monastery in the end. Dom had been stung with a fake $10 note earlier. Really bad version as well. Some guy tried to sell him a stolen 16GB memory stick and so he paid for it with the fake note. He was concerned that the packet was open and it would only be 1GB. He cursed the bastard, while I reminded him he had done the guy for $10 anyway. The memory stick was actually legit.

The girl could not actually meet us in the end, but e-mailed me and may see her in August when I get back from the Galapagos on the way back to Bogota. My online test says my nationality is Spanish. Always suspected it. Noone over here believes I am English anyway. We played some pointless games of pool on a wonky table we had to try to even out with a broom. I lost 7-6. Dom ended up having his Galapagos trip changed. He got a boat upgrade, but ended up with the old Dutch people he has for company now. Oh well. See what Helen and I get given in August. The area near the station is quite intimidating at 2.30pm and I had 230,000 pesos and $900 on me. Way more than I want to carry. $125 should be my maximum. I dashed past the vagabonds and made it for the bus. I slept until the border, had no problems there. I was out of this shithole for a while. Back to Colombia for only a brief sojourn.

Ecuador Part 2: Riobamba, Latacunga and Cotopaxi

Fuck yeah. The good news over the last few weeks is that the pound has steadily been pounding that Yankee imposter of a currency into the ground. After being beaten from pillar to post by the dollar since september, the pound has started to play a little rope-a-dope Mohammed Ali style. It was pounded by Foreman's dollar for 8 rounds (months) and in january (round 4) it looked like it was hanging on for grim life at 1.36:1. The lowest it has ever been in history. Even lowert han when we rebuilt after World War II. Thanks Gordon Brown. I won't make the mistake of accidentally and unknowingly voting for you in the next election. Well in round 8 the Ali pound sensed a weakness in the Foreman dollar. He was tiring. The Foreman dollar was being devalued in the eys of the public. It was waning. Those ringmasters from the far east started to lose their faith in Formen dollar's ability. They started to see the old Ali pound wasn not dead yet. They were looking around for a new champion and the Marciano Euro was there for their backing. Back comes the Ali pound. Pound for pound he was becoming the better fighter. Could not resist that one. Now it is 1.6:1. Come on Ali. A few more rounds like this and the Galapagos Islands in August (round 11) will no loner pose the obstacle they were becoming. I am hoping for the Ali pound in 12 rounds, but I will settle for a points victory. Of course I am likely to get egg on my face when Foreman dollar catches the Ali pound with a knockout blow and we all join the Euro. Well at least my $700 for Venezuela are coming at a good rate. Bring it on. Seconds out, round nine.

We arrived in Riobamba that night and checked into a different hotel to last time. They wanted $10 a person, but settled for $5 when we said that was too steep. My god an Equadorean with business sense. We aught to stuff him and put him in the museum of commerce as an example to all the other entrepreneurs in this country. All two of them. I found out now that Raisa's birthday party was an all nighter in Bogota and on the only day I was in Bogota for my second visit. What timing eh. We rang the train guy up from wednesday. He ignored our telephone calls. Dom thought it strange. I did not as I believed he had sold our tickets and was too scared to answer the telephone. Dom thought that impossible. He has more faith in these hackneyed incompetents than I do. We kept trying. Eventually he answered. A heated phonecall ensued. He claimed we had told him we would arrive before half six. We insisted we had not. We put together a cast iron case. He had told us before 6am on friday was fine, that he gave us his mobile number specifically for this purpose etc etc. He repeated the same line for 10 minutes. He was lying through his teeth anyway. The shifty little bastards would have sold our tickets a long time before half six as his office shuts then and he is going to try and convince us that two random people rocked up for tickets right at that hour. They talk such bollocks in this country. i would love to see a lying competition between here and Guatemala. It would be a good bout to watch. My money is on Guatemala. They both lie so well, but the Guatemalans fool me more and have an iq slightly above an ant. Where as I think Ecuador's is slightly below. Eventually he discovered that there was more than one sentence in the repertoire of his vocabulary. He conceded he was in the shitter and given we were very angry, four times his size and within spitting distance of his workplace in the morning, he conceded we may be able to ride with the driver or on extra chairs. I did not believe him, but come hell or highwater I would be on that train in the morning. The sad thing, as this was in 'The Book', was that you could no longer ride on the roof. Two Japanese tourists had been killed when a cable lifted them off the roof. Not sure how that happened, but it took the edge off the trip. Dom had stored some pictures on the computer to update his couchsurfing profile and went back to delete them. They were in the cyber bin along with a whole collection of amateur porn. The internet guy was standing over his shoulder and this caused Dom no ends of embarassment. It amused me when he told me. Our hotel had but one flaw. The bell for the front door seemed to be wired to our room. I was not sure whether we were supposed to be responsible for letting people in as there was never anyone on the desk. We failed with a superb dereliction of duty anyway.

In the morning we strapped on the war paint and righteous indignation and sallied forth to meet Mr Bayran Silva. I shall immortalise this fuckwit in print. He deserves it. The fame of infamy. We started off with a good argument. Along with coffee, its always a good way to start the day. We were to receive no discount. He sold another ticket to a Chinese tourist. This infuriated Dom. We roasted this bastard. He gave me a plastic chair to stick at the back of the train. One seat was left spare so Dom got that and I stacked my movable chair behind the rest. These Americans asked if that was where I was going to sit. I confirmed it. Why not pay full price and get your own movable chair. i could walk it wherever the scenery was. Perfect. Sortof. One of the girls said "ya´ll". Fuck yeah. Southerners. It had been awhile. They were a university group from a Presbyterian college. They were all from South Carolina and Georgia. That imrpoved the journey no end. We talked a lot about the States and I missed the South a lot. Somehow I am going to have to work there for at least a year. This train line was being repaired. it used to go from Quito to Guayaquil and the other branch to Cuenca. They were trying to resurrect this route. The train car was just one box carriage with a padlocked ladder to the roof,. The roof was flat and still contained the plastic chairs you used to be able to sit on. Dom wanted to break out of the window and climb up, but it was not possible. The back door kept swinging open though and we got glorious vistas of the track. At one point we went over an old wooden rickety bridge with workman ambling around. The ground crumbled from under the train. I presume the workman's efforts and the train's destruction keep a healthy balance of disrepair on that bridge. You can't have it too perfect. Without the dangers of the roof, you have to have something to scare the tourists a little and collapsing bridges is a sound choice. At the first stop, where we had to pay for toilets again (amazingly you don't at the second stop so if you can hold it in, go for it) and got some lovely rice puddingesque soup thing with one of those great flat pastry things they eat in Belize. A good combination. The train ride was very bumpy and riding on the roof would have been awesome. The scenery was very reminiscent of Montana. I tend to compare all train trips now to the Copper Canyon and its not as good, but its still a very scenic route. All the way, the coach driver of the Yankees kept pace with the bus. It was renowed for breaking down see and he was always at hand on every level crossing. We stopped at Alausi for the second and final time. Dom held the train up and was late back. The train tried to move. I told them there was one more passenger. They carried on anyway, because Ecuadorians are bastards. Then they stopped and Dom made it. Two more passengers were not so fortunate and we left them behind. That would have given people a seat, but some locals rammed on so we gave the seats to the old people. Then came the highlight and feature of the trip. We went downt eh famous switchback of the Nariz del Diablo (Devil's Nose). The valley was too steep to go up normally, so they figured it would be better to place some switchbacks. This involves a train driving into a blind alley and instead of turning around, reversing back down the next stage and then it is repeated so they go forward for the third and final part. Apparently the church was so opposed to this project that they told the natives it was the devils work and they should not sully their hands and souls by working on it. Its truly spectacular and they claim its the toughest bit of engineering in history. I think that might be overegged, but it did look difficult. The train wobbled and many of the tourists were quite intimidated by the rocking train. We came through unscathed however and at the bottom we even got to mount the train and get a perspective from the roof, albeit when its not moving. I finally got a seat and we got back to Alausi where we disembarked to get a bus. There was a couple from Utah. The woman had the most stunningly dark eyes. She can't be a Salt Lake City native. Unless the Mormons have been doing some sterling breeding up there.

Now for a little rant. We took a bus to Riobamba. They packed so many people onboard that there was no room to move. Even in the corridors. Then four women got on. they wondered if there was a sate. Now bare in mind that 200 people were standing in the corridors of the bus. They walked all the way to the back and then came back and said they wanted to get off as there were no seats. That was the final straw. How thick can you be. They plum new depths everyday. There are 200 people in the corridor. Do theyb think they are standing for fun? Do they think they are incapable of walking to the back of the bus? Do they think they have piles and can't sit down? Do they even think? If they used their brains would they snap like Dom's bike from lack of care and practice. Fuck these people are so stupid, so unbelievably stupid. I had had enough of Ecuador and I gave it a double barrelled discharge in the book. Here it goes. I HATE THIS COUNTRY. Its like Guatemala. The people are so sutpid. They have no business sense, with the honourable exception of that one guy. They keep piling onto a full bus and complain when there are no seats left. If you want a fucking seat, get on an empty bus you retard. They fail to answer basic questions. Whatever you ask, they respond with the only sentence that has been programmed into their brain for that day. They are like those damn toys where you pull the chord and random phrases come out. They probably have around seven phrases for the week and then they visit the local doctor on a sunday and he changes them for seven new ones. After all you have to keep it fresh. Not one of these cretins can do any maths worthy of the name. They would embarass a dog. At least some of them can count to five if they are trained. Perhaps Ecuadorians are the missing link between that slime that crawled out of the first sea and amphibians. I think they are on the whole far inferior to Neanderthal man. At least neanderthal man had some concept of spatial awareness and could use basic tools without dribbling. All the time these fucking bastards lie and their incompetence knows no bounds. They are the only people who could take over British Rail and make it worse. Everything fucking breaks. Bikes, quad bikes, buses, people's brains when they have to respond to a question with no ready made answer on their chord. All meals take ages. They move like snails. You probably need to ring ahead three hours before you want to eat and even then it would be about an hour late. They don't have fast food in this country, they just have slightly less slow food. Prices miraculously change. Its remarkable how fast a price can change from the advertisement on the door to the menu and again to the bill. Inflation happens in the space of ten minutes in time or the space of one devious calculation in these liar's minds. Thank god they can't add up, otherwise we'd actually have to pay higher prices. the incorrect change balances out the inflation usually. What you need from shops is always hidden and always hidden behind the substitute product that is four times as expensive. Incompetence reigns. i have mentioned this before, but is so pronounced it needs reiterating. There are always bastards begging and hassling you everywhere. Fuck them. I hate their country. Let the bastards starve. It would be a Herculean task for any politician to turn this country around, but they can start with education. I can only assume from my experience with Guatemalans that they don't receive any education. If they do, the teachers need to be put out to pasture. Better yet, I have the perfect soluition. Ecuador should be erased and the Galapagos Islands ceded to Colombia. That would benefit everyone. Fuck Ecuador.

We switched buses at Riobamba for Latacunga. I am very tired at this point. that may excuse my hostility, but in the light of awakened sobriety I stand by all I have written above. I have found three or four Ecuadoreans that buck this trend. We should give them visas to somewhere else so they can escape this country. Otherwise their intelligence will skew the national average in favour of frogs and up from newts. On the bus a local woman was admiring herself in the mirror. Yes love, you are still ugly. Have no fear for the buis has not accidentally beautified you. We arrived in town. What a shithole. Banos is the only Ecuadorean town that has not looked like a shithole and its a tourists playground. Right this country is retarded. The stupid woman who runs this cafe has just checked on a plug ten minutes ago and told a customer no for something. She has just checked it again now for another customer. Nothing has changed in 10 minutes. Nothing has changed since the days of the colonial Spanish. Their memories must be wired for short term usage. We had been quoted $180 by Itay's Cotopaxi guide. this agency in town offered us it for $135 (money well spent), but we had to go sunday. Damn we wanted to see the Quilotoa Loop. they had another tour for $25 the next day (not worth it). We took the two as a combined package, although we only went to Lago Quilotoa instead of around the whole loop. The town is superbly lit at night. Credit where credit it due. It was a superbly lit shithole. Imagine what that hard working lighting guy could do with a beautiful city or even one of moderate attraction. We went to a dodgy pool hall where they had 10 ball pool. Never seen this before. They had nuimbers 6 to 15. Weird. We weren't sure how to play so we played it like 9 ball. I won 5-3 but only legitimately won one game on merit. My luck continued. I tried the one and only beer before Cotopaxi. It was like water and crappy. I believe it went by the name of Pilsener.

In the morning we joined the Swiss couple for the Quilotoa tour. On the way round the loop we saw the wreckage of a bus. It was from the line Cotopaxi. This company has a disastrous safety record. We swore to avoid them, though if we had gone independently maybe we would have been like the Germans here. The bus had swerved and hit a bank. Two Germans onboard had been thrown through the window and hit by a bus coming the other way. It was their last tour. The tour guide (one of those 3 or 4 people) told us it was the same company that had plunged over the cliff and killed those seven English girls a few years back. I remembered reading that story. You think its a tragedy, but it does not hit home until you set foot where something happens and if you witness another crash to reinforce it, it really sinks in. I am surprised this company gets to keep on operating. I hope I never have the misfortune of using them. We stopped at a market for breakfast. The scenery is quite fine in this part of the country. The Swiss wanted an hour. Dammit I hate shopping. So we went to try Guinea Pig. It was not bad. A little salty on the skin. The guide offered me a sheep's eyeball for accompaniment. I took that and ate it. That shcoked him as I was the first westerner to eat one. I will eat anything. The cook's joked the guinea pig was rat and I stated I would love to eat art if they had some. The people here were shocked that I had eaten bear. This fucking shift key is not working and all my sentences start with small letters. Sheep's eyeball is quite pleasant. the black bit at the back is impossible to chew, the other parts have a rubbery texture and the inside of the eyeball is a bit guey. It sticks to your teeth. Still it was better than it looked. We ended up travelling only obne third of the way round the Quilotoa Loop. Our guide laughs at everything. Its quite maniacal and infectious. His wife is really whiney though. We saw Quilotoa Volcano and the supreme lake it contains within its jagged peaks. Its very picturesque. Dom preferred it to Lago Atitlan. I still see Atitlan as my yardstick for lakes. The guide told us it was 11km in circumference and would take 6 hours to traverse. I called his bluff and reckoned three tops. We set off running round the crater at 4000m altitude. Whoever talks of altitude sickness. It was easy enough, but we forgot to get water for the journey. We got a third of the way round in 35 minutes. we believed we were only a quarter and turned back for lack of water. When we realised how far we had gone, we realised it was an error, but too late to do anything about it. Shame. First thing I had failed and my vertigo reared its ugly head again. did not bode well for Cotopaxi the next day. we almost crashed on the way back and there was a sheep on the roof of a bus. As you do. We were told we could get llama for dinner, but I was disappointed when this turned out not to be true. I was anticipating a fully exotic day of feasting. We got equipped for Cotopaxi and they did not have shoes big enough for me. I had anticipated this problem and they produced a sorry pair which did not look that resistant to the cold. I was not filled with confidence. As we turfed in my hip was troubling me and Dom felt sick. Excellent preparation for Cotopaxi.

Today was the day of judgment. Well the early hours of monday would be, but it began today. Everything was shut on the sunday as normal and it was difficult to get supplies. We dropped off our bags in the guides house and I had kept my passport and cards on me for security. Then on the mountain it was raining. My bag is not waterproof. Shit I left them in the refugio which was probably less secure than the house. We got to the refugio and instead of practicing ice climbing, we went to sleep. Both of us were in bad shape for this. We grabbed some food prepared by our guide. He looked in his 40s. It turned out later he climbed Cotopaxi for the first time when he was 15, was actually 69 years old, had climbed it thousands of times and absolutely destroyed us with his fitness. There were not many people in the Refugio and it was tough enough carrying the bags from the car parking lot to the building. There was a school trip on the mountain and the teacher stopped us to ask many questions about climbing Cotopaxi. We were learning now from our guide where the toughest parts etc would be. That night was a nightmare. They say it is difficult to sleep at 4800m. They are not wrong. People who know me, know I can sleep anywhere, but this was tough. it took an hour and a half to sleep. i tried every trick I knew. Different positions, the usual shoe in of imagining myself falling into a black hole. In the end I had to invent a new one. think so rapidly on various colours and patterns that i exhausted my brain into passing out. I got four and a half hours sleep. At midnight we were up and readying to go.

I had slept in my thermals, so only needed to add the outer layers. This took no time at all. We would carry our crampons and ice axes to the start of the glacier around 4900m. I needed the toilet before we left. It was a new moon so there was no moonlight. The light cast ghostly shadows around the outhouses. I joked with the guide that we were operating in the ghostly lights of the night. It was like some film. Like when you get the camera perspective in Aliens from behind the flashlights. It almost felt like a computer game. Only it was much more physically demanding. We strapped up. The night was calm. Apparently there was to be no wind. That was incorrect, but apparently this was mild. I would hate to be in the strong stuff. We got up to the ice and strapped on the crampons. What grip they give you. They mash up your toes, but you feel safe on the ice. The ice axe is also a gift, because you can put a lot of your weight onto your upper body and spread the burden. I asked how you walk in crampons and the guide said whichever way was more comfortable. Not too helpful. I settled on a slightly left sided lilt. It felt most comfortable even if I was twice as powerful on my right hand side. Lets do this. We set off with four other groups from the refuge and we were fourth. The Israeli guys never made it, the group in front of us turned back due to a lack of acclimitisation and another group feel apart around 5400m. Then there were just two of us and the others were way out front. This mountain was tougher than we imagined. Dom had asked if I had my little ball to play at the top like Chirippo. That was going to be the last of our thoughts. From about 5100m I needed the toilet and from 5300m I needed a shit. this was impossible on Cotopaxi, where it is below freezing, covered in biting wind and the three of us are strapped together by a rope line. I kept asking for updates in height. We never seemed to be progressing fast enough to keep pace with my fatigue. This was taking its toll. I needed a few breaks. We kept breaking behind very picturesque glacial figurines at every 100m of altitude climbing. The altitude was not taking its toll yet, but the fatigue was. There were several dangerous parts of the climb where we were walking on narrow ledges, getting slaughtered by the wind. It was knifing through us. The gloves were not good enough. I could not feel my fingers. My water had turned to ice. I needed to refresh. The next minute we are going on a 60 degree slope relying on our crampons to dig in for us. Dom slipped once and twisted my ankle from the rope tightening. I trod on my other boot sometimes with the crampons and that always upended me. Up, up and up we went. Still crawling in metres and still fading badly. My head started to hurt. Was it altitude sickness. Had my head just frozen. time to put the hood over the balaclava even though it restricted my mobility. Up more sheets of ice and round random paths. We have to scramble this bit. Need the ice axe. I love my ice axe. I want to keep it forever. Thank god this is in the dark or how would my vertigo suffer it. We reached 5650m. Getting there. What's that on the left? A dead man. Nope one of the Americans has collapsed and his head is taking its toll. The altitude must have had him. he is a casualty. Its the son. We leave his corpse on the side of the path. Its just us now. Last group standing. we scramble up a slippery slope and into a sort of dug out cave. it feels like a bunker in World War I before going over the top. Thats what it feels like. I need the toilet. I can't go. We hole up here. Whats this? The American is back from the dead. Well as good as. He falls over the rampart and its the five of us destroyed in the bunker. My head is killing me, my legs are destroyed and I am punch drunk from exertion. What next? The guide tells us the next part is the most difficult. Less than 200m to go. I look up at this near vertical ramp. Fuck this. I may die from this exertion. I decide to give up. It was not the easiest decision to make as I was so close. Dammit I would fail and so close, but I was really risking my body now. I would fail the first task from 'The Book' that I had attempted. The guide said i could wait and go back with the Americans. It sounded like a plan. Wait a second. Its only 200m. I am not dead yet. Fuck it lets do this. I will turn back if I faint or vomit and not before. Lets go. We started up the sheer wall. it was agony incarnate, but my iron willpower had decided this was the toughest bit and it would be conquered. 40m we had a problem. Dom was collapsing now from exhaustion and was crawling on his knees. We needed to make the top. We pushed for it and made it. 6800m. Dammit we were almost there and the hardest part was done. Nope, the guide lied. Now was the hardest part. What was it? A fucking ice wall. You have got to be kidding. A fucking ice wall. 30m high at an altitude of 5800m. How were we to get up? With our ixe axe and crampons. Oh go fuck yourself. My vertigo can't handle this. It was Cartagena castle all over again, but without the oxygen. Ok lets do it. Up we go. Fear and adrenaline fired me up that wall. I just swing the axe in (I love this axe. I want to marry it) and scramble with my feet. We get to the top after 10 minutes of exertion. We both collapse on the floor.l This sums up Cotopaxi and how much it was killing us. The guide said get up, there was half an hour to go. Oh goody. We were dead. We were dead men walking like the Yankee. Can he make it up here? We limped along, with a cruel downhill bit (It meant we had some uphill on the way back), we hung off the side of the volcano and then stumbling and fucked up we made the summit. The sun was up now. The views were superb. Dom was crying from joy at achieving it. My head hurt. I wanted to be sick and start off down again. Dom took some photos. I collapsed in the crater. Fuck this shit. We had made it. Thank god. Now we just had to get down. We passed the Dead Yankee Walking as we headed down. Those two made it as well. 5 of us from everyone who had started. That little uphill bit was ridiculously hard. Then the ice wall down. This was going to shit me up. We went down while the guide supported us. I dislodged an ice block with my axe that hit Dom square in the forehead and wounded him on the way down. Thenhe pulled the rope too tight and I was yanked clean off the wall, hanging on suspended in the air only by my ice axe. I love that thing. Thank god I rammed it in deep. The descent was a melancholy stumbling like that of a zombie film. I needed oxygen. My head was about to explode. Shit that took a lot out of me. We transversed the dangerous parts, only falling a few times until we eventually got down and removed the crampons. Then we could not stand up as we no longer had the spikes to help us. It was like a chuckle brothers moment descending the volcano. I got left behind, but did not care. I could barely walk. We got to the bottom and had the best shit I ever had. Then the guide helped me pack the luggage. My stuff was still there. My faculties were not. That fucking killed us. 'The Book' is going to kill me. Yet what an achievement. 5897m of fucking pain. We got in the car and I could barely walk straight, we picked up our bags and slept all the way to Quito on the bus.

Ecuador Part 1: Quito, Riobamba and Banos

We were in Ecuador. My first impressions and my lasting ones were that Ecuador is very much like a Central American country. Guatemala is the obvious comparison. Most of the people in the tourist industry are lying, incompetent shits. They are not quite as bad as Guatemala though. It has great public transport, the women are uglier though. Such a contrast coming from Colombia. Also everyone is here is noticeably stupid. Obviously so. They can't even do the most basic maths and are always making mistakes with change. Most people are very slow and dim. Its a bit like Honduras in that respect. I don't much like this country though we managed to pack a lot in to the time here. I am imagining that Peru and Bolivia are very similar. The only reason tourists would spend a long time here is because it is cheap and they get to feel like kings while apparently appreciating native culture. Ill educated backwardness. That's what it really is. Colombians would slaughter Ecuadorians in an iq test. No wonder these countries elect pals for Hugo Chavez to control like puppet rulers. I am not sure what is Venezuela's excuse. I will see in about 6 days I suppose. Anyway I will give a fair and accurate description of my travels and travails here and you can make up your own mind.

Immediately at the bus station we were hassled by peddlars and bundled onto a bus without much call for what we wanted or even a breath of air for some oxygen. Then we were assaulted by various peddlars of crap that noone in their right mind would want to by. Following this they loaded too many people onto the bus like sardines and we were off and running. So far, so backward. We got to watch 'Hotel for Dogs' and 'The Marine' on the bus. The usual shitty films you get in Mexico and hopefully I would get one cracker of a film as you often do there, but not on this ride. We arrived in Quito and it dawned on me that this was my first time in the Southern Hemisphere. It has taken 43 countries to reach that mark, but it could not help send a little shiver of excitement through my spine. We checked into a hotel right next to the bus station as we had a healthy appreciation of Quito's danger level. Dom was talking to some guy in Spanish and he was asking Dom if he spoke English. He is from Spain you retard. I said yes I do and then they asked me for my name in Spanish anyway. Then they gave us the wrong change in the restaurant for dinner, and almost gave Dom back more money than he paid. That's incompetence I won't complain about, but its incompetence nonetheless. The bus station was surrounded by crackhead tramps. That was our first impression of the country.

Last night my book was viciously kidnapped and Dom has defaced it with his handwriting. I shall leave it unmentioned, but it was something to do with me scratching my arse. If you happen upon the original book you will know which part is not my own. My alarm died in the night and so we were a little late getting up. It has tortured so many people on this trip that I was surprised noone finished it off when they had the chance earlier. The shower was freezing again. I left it running in vain hope while I went to fetch my forgotten towel. When I returned there was a strange sensation. The air was not cold and then it started steaming. Hot water. Scolding water in fact. It could have stripped your skin off. I believe it is the first time on this trip that I have had to apply cold water to moderate the shower. We went to drop our bags off in the station equipaje. The first guy we asked said they did not have one and then remembered they did and told us not to trust them. We had no choice. And anyway I did not trust him. I trust noone here. We got free internet that morning, because it broke down. You don't get so angry over crappy service when the people have the good grace not to charge you for it. We set off on a bus to Mittal Del Mundo. The bus dropped us closer to The Museo Solar Intio Nan though. We were told this was good by LP and I decided against my better judgment to trust them. They were right for once. This museum was quite cool. It started off by giving us some indigenous history and some parts of the Amazon which we cared not for. Then they showed us the process of shrinking a human head as a trophy. That was interesting. The big Mittal Del Mundo monument is supposedly on the Equator line according some old French astronomers. GPS has however proven it runs through this museum. Very fortunate for the museum. We then got to demonstrate some tricks of the equator. Water spirals one way on the north side and another on the south. On the equator it goes straight down as the forces collide. This means gravity is especially pronounced on the equator. This the guide demonstrated by showing how much easier it is to pull someones fingers apart on the equator (as the forces pull in two directions) and to push arms down (as the force nosedives). We did some egg balancing on a pin as well. I only took 4 seconds to balance mine. About half of the group managed it, but I was pleasantly surprised as tricksy, delicate processes are not my forte. We could get a certificate for achieving this but I did not take one as I would only have binned it like I did the coffee tour certificate. Dom thinks I have no respect for people's efforts. Personally I attach no sentimental significance to anything, I hate carrying things worth anything as you fear losing them, I hate shows of pomp and grandure, I have no time for history and only carry things while they have a practical usage. Dom bought two more wristband things from here as he wanetd two from the equator. He lost one at Mittal Del Mundo and had to buy a new one. He was devastated at first, because we had hunted high and low to no avail. Then he realised that the gift shops were on either side of the equator and now he had one from the south and the north. Mittal Del Mundo is a waste of money and completely shit. Its a theme park Disneyland complex with none of the rides and all of the gift shops. It has one colossal statue that's not even on the equator and you have to pay again for everything else. I would not even bother. I am sorry I wasted some of the light my eyes are allowed in their lifetime absorbing this pile of shit. Don't tell me I ddi not warn you. Just go to the museum which has the actual equator and is actually interesting. On the plus side Dom had only paid $1 to enter instead of $2 which I paid. The guy had no change. Noone in this country ever has change and this is despite the fact I had just paid him $2. So a major tourist attraction can't break a $5 note when he has $2 just handed to him and the fee is $2. He did not have $1. Fuck this country, but it was making things cheaper. We had to enter again later to search for the bracelet and the guy let us pass. Dom must be the only person in history to pay half the entrance price and yet get to enter it twice. Again I mentioned nobody in this country being able to do maths. Its very true. We got a bus back and the bint told us she would take us all the way to the university. We said we wanted the old town. She said, yes yes, we would go to the university. We want the old town. Oh yeah we can take you there. Can they bollocks. They dropped Dom off in the middle of nowhere and due to me being blocked by an old woman they dropped me off 200m further down the road. Bitch. We had to get a taxi as we needed to make the last bus to Riobamba. We said fixed fare and he said $4. Taxis should not be more than $2 apparently. We said by metre. He said it would be $0.50 more for the delay in deciding and then drove into the most traffic jammed road in Quito. We crawled along for ages arguing with him and then paid $1 and got out to walk. I hate these people. After millions of incorrect directions and massive differences in predictions of time and distance, some young school girls put us on the right bus. I asked the conductor where to get off. Dom said 'commander', but I heard 'recommendar' and thought I needed to get a recommendation. So I started asking the conductor. He can't speak properly and both Dom and him got into an argument over who's Spanish was shitter. I think it was the conductors. This is the only Latin American country where the Big Mac is not discounted. Here its the McFine. A second rate burger for a second rate country. We got a nightbus to Riobamba and had to pay $0.20 to enter the fucking platform and then they lock the bus toilets so I had to pay again to use the toilet. I am surprised they don't charge me for the oxygen. On the plus side they showed Scarface of all films on the bus, except they did not turn the volume up loudly enough and cut it off before the end. We were ion Riobamba. We got a good taxi driver to take us to the hotel around half eleven at night. Naturally all the hotels were shut. Who wanted business. We found one open and they wanted $10 per person a night. We said it was too much and they went ok. These fuckwits have no business sense. They may use American currency, but they have inherited none of their commercial savvy along with it. Any American hotel at midnight would know they could not fill the room and would charge whatever the prospective client would pay in order to secure some income. Not these idiots. We found one for $5 a person and bedded in.

We got up early and there were no train tickets left for that day. So we reserved them for friday. He only wrote our names on a bit of paper and told us to get there before 6pm the next day. We said we would not be back until later and he gave us his mobile number and said to ring him tomorrow to confirm it before midnight. You can guess what happened, but more on that later. Not really comforted by his methods, we decided to head off to Banos and return tomorrow night. We grabbed a bus to Banos. The first hostel was too expensive again. They call everything hostels here. Its confusing to us. It means hotel here. I think they realised backpackers like hostels and called them all hostels to rip off unsuspecting tourists. We went to one next door and the woman said she had an apartment for $6 each. This was more than an apartment. We had a room with 3 beds, another room with a double bed, a kitchen, a bathroom and a huge lounge with a dining room table and a lounge area. All this for $6 each. She said it was good value for money. That was the biggest understatement I had ever heard. This was a great place and Banos looked like a good town. Very touristy true and it did not seem to have anywhere to actually eat. Just tour agencies, hostels and internet cafes. It was useful for half the stuff and we got our washing done. His sign said $0.70 for a kg, which turned out to be $0.80. So naturally he calculated it in pounds at a rate of 2:1. I pointed out it said kilograms on the tour and the correct exchange value was 2.2:1. This saved us some money and slightly aggravated the laundry guy. Slight of hand can't fool a maths teacher. Not in a country of mathematics illiterates anyway. We had a great breakfast and admired the town. It was very much like Santa Elena/Monteverde in Costa Rica and so far its the only Ecuadorean town that does not look like a shithole, but I won't see Cuenca until august. We decided to hire some bicycles and take on the Banos to Puyo 60km cycle. It was the second thing from 'The Book' in South America and would be harder than it had any right to be. We should have tested the bikes thoroughly. We did not. We paid for it. Although not literally considering they had my passport details. We paid $5 for the full days rental and they had to be back for 7pm. Presumably if not they turned into pumpkins.

This deserves its own paragraph. We cycled the first 18km with limited incidence. It was tiring and I did not know why. I only realised after the waterfall that the front break pad was locked on the wheel and I had been peddling furiously against gravity. At one point you have to cycle through a tunnel in the mountains. Dom went ahead of a bus. I let it pass. Then it blocked off all light in the tunnel and I was cycling purely by aiming at its breaklights. There were many tunnels on the opening 18km, but most of the time there were pathways for the tourists round the outside. It was a picturesque cycle for the whole way and I will get a little scenic description out of the way before I get to the fun stuff. The road snakes for 60km from the Andean town of Banos all the way to the Amazonian town of Puyo. It is mostly downhill, but definitely not totally. All the way the road plunges to the right into the valley of the Rio Negro and waterfalls explode out of the rockface at regular intervals. The scenery is lush and if we had had more luck we could have appreciated it more. At 18km is the point where all the bike tours end and most people who tell you they have cycled this road have only come this far. They are liars, pussies or deluded. The huge waterfall is called Devils something or other. I am too lazy to check the correct name now. Its impressive though. It blasts from the rock and down a gulley much more pòwerfully than Chiflon in Mexico. That was the previous most powerful I have seen. You walk across a ropey bridge to view it. There was a local tour guide there who was chatting with us for a bit. You then pay to crawl up some caves behind it. This is a truly spectacular viewpoint and you have to duck and squirm while avoiding being blasted by the waterfall. There are staggered viewing points as well. We went down one and it was like being on a sailing ship in a huge sea storm. We were blasted and buffeted by tidal waves of water. I only just managed to salvage my passport from ruin. Dom's camera was not so lucky but recovered the next day. We got monsooned and were drenched at every part of the body. It was a rainy day. We had 42km more to cycle. It was not a smart move. The guide told us to go tomorrow. We said we had to go today. He said take a bus. He did not understand. 'The book' was compelling us to this madness. We bidded farewell to the guy and mounted the bikes. Then the fun began. Oh yeah someone conveniently left a towel in the bathroom. This took off some of the monsoon water and made me a little happier. About 2km from the waterfall is where I realised that my front break was locked up. Dom and I undid the front break while we checked for a spanner. Here we left the spare tyre and the pump behind but had not realised it. That was the first thing we would have to pay for. I was now riding mainly downhill, surrounded by Ecuadorean drivers and with one break that gave me a breaking distance of 300m. Very safe. This was causing some problems and I realised that I was having to take the downhills slowly and lose ground on Dom. Then after another 5km or so I realised the break seemed to be locked on. It turned out that my back break pad had now also locked to the wheel. I could not take it off however or I would be cycling with no breaks whatsoever. This then resulted in the back wheel buckling and for the last 25km I was travelling with a bike that had a buckled wheel and permanant break locked on. This made it very, very hard work. Worse was to come though. Dom was unable to switch his gears and eventually after about 30km the gear switching lever just came clean off and he was going to have to ride with one gear only, uphill or down. If mine switched gear it leapt like a bucking bronco and every third pedal slipped a disk and cost me energy. We were thinking this was not going well when disaster struck. On an innocuous bend about 15km from the end the cog on the wheel snapped clean off Dom's bike and he no longer had any chain. We picked up the scattered bits of his bike and put them in the bag. Here we realised the pump etc was missing but this was the least of our problems. Dom could not pedal now and could only go downhill with momentum. On the flats he had to push it with his feet like a scooter. I could not go uphill because the back wheel was locked on fully and would only revolve every third attempt without serious downhill velocity. Basically we found ourselves thus. Downhill we could both roll. Uphill we had to both walk and push. On flat ground Dom could punt his and with great exertion mine moved. We thought about giving up, but we were determined to finish this. Come hell nor highwater. Which would make a good chapter heading for this cycling and the monsoon waterfall. I thouht the only thing worse was if a wheel came off and mine was buckling so badly and ricocheting off the frame of the bike all the time downhill that Dom thought I would lose it. Misfortune was our bedfellow. How could two bikes as shitty as this exist. We were making very slow progress and every few miles was killing us. We then stumbled across an ingenious scheme. On the flats I would pedal with my breaklocked bike and Dom would cling to my elbow to be towed along. This was tough. Basically a bike with no pedals was being towed by a bike with permanent breaks on. Rough work. Then Dom's front break locked up and we had to take that off. Both of us had one break between us now. The police never stopped us for that infernal passport check. They probably took pity on the pitiful sight that crawled past them. There was no danger of us breaking the speed limit. We asked some locals how long to Puyo. They said 40 minutes by bicycle. I said not on these. 12km to go in this condition. It was tough. Please God give us some downhill. Anything to help us. Did he help us? Did he bollocks. He had more fun with us. We cycled into the town of Shell 6km from the finishing line. And the town had a parade on. They had a carnival like parade with dancers, floats etc. Into this revelry comes our sorry looking bike convoy. We had to cycle amongst the dancers and confused crowd, we became part of the parade and they probably assumed we had been laid on for comic relief. I started laughing. This could not get more ridiculous. Police and guards just looked at us in confused silence and initially the crowd refused to part to let us through. They probably thought we were going the wrong way with the carnival. We struggled and we vexed. We were even tortured by a sign for Puyo, but it was for Puyo county, not Puyo town. We were almost finished and then we saw it. A downhill roll brought us to Puyo. Dom punched the air like he had won the tour de france and fuck it felt like it. How we had ever got these lumps of shit over the finishing line, God only knows. It was a triumph for willpower, a thumb in the face of shoddy machinery and another task completed. We thought this would be the hardest. Yet only three days later we would have something harder still. Now we had to explain these bikes to the bike shop. When we took them they were bikes. Poor bikes, but bikes. Now they were piles of scrap metal. We knew we would have to pay for the pump etc. We were fucking angry at the shitty condition of the bikes. Dom reckoned they sold shit bikes to tourists in order to charge them money when they were brought back broken. Its possible. I wondered how much a new bike would cost in Ecuador. I thought in the dark I might be able to pass mine off as working. Most buses refused to give us a lift back, but eventually one stopped for us and we headed back to Banos. He was fast and we got back in time to drop off the bikes before they closed, but not quick enough to get our washing. I only had my drenched cycle clothes. The bike guy asked us what the matter was. We showed them the scrap metal. They said nothing and nothing about the missing equipment either. We were relieved. We were scared they would charge us, they were probably scared we would sue them for damages. What a pile of shit shop. What hard work. We met the tour guide from earlier by accident and went for dinner with him and an Israeli girl. Then we turfed in. Banos looked like a good party town, but we were knackered and had agreed not to drink since Colombia and before Cotopaxi because it would be a beast.

In the morning we got up late and had wanted to go to the thermal baths. Instead we picked up our washing from the swindler and went to rent a buggy. They were like dune buggies. Apparently they are weak though and can't go uphills. We opted for quad bikes instead. They said we could take them over the bridge. Fuck that. We were going to take them up the active volcano. We paid for an hour with an option to keep it longer if we were enjoying it. Mine and the other one they were going to give me had flooded engines, but the yellow one limped into action. Bloody yellow. I hate that colour. Nominally Dom's was weaker but it slaughtered my bike on the flat. Mine was curiously faster uphill. I thought Dom was actually taking the piss and not accelerating, but apparently it was genuine. Meanwhile he suggested I accelerate fully on the roads, which I was doing. Mine had no ooomph. Still at least it had not fallen to pieces. That was a plus already. We took it to the turnoff for the volcano. Some old man stopped us. The sign said it was prohibited to go up the volcano, because it had the bad habit of blowing up and destroying everything around it. There was a village 7km up the hill and we assured him we were only heading there. There and beyond. Prohibited my arse crack. We launched the quad bikes up into the clouds and it was up, up and away. It was going to be fun racing them down the hill afterwards. We climbed up to the village and carried on. We got as high as we could. I love quad bikes. I need to find out whether I need a driving licence or a bike licence to ride one. Then i will get one and ride all over Australia and Asia with one. i may even do it in Europe as well. They are awesome. Fast, stable and you can offroad them. Stability of a car with the open air thrill of a bike. Perfecty combination. We took it all the way to the destroyed trail to the Refugio. We did not have time to hike that sadly so we floored it to a mirador that looked out over all of the town. On the way down we let it go. I rode through some shit that sprayed all over the side of the bike, we hit through water patches and bumped over the grounds, cobble stones and smooth dust roads. I almost stacked it and went onto two wheels turning for the lake. This hill was steep. My bike and later Dom's stopped on the hill and with full acceleration stood still for 30 seconds before crawling over the hill. The lake was not worth it. It was a puddle. Then we took it full gas down the hill. I was too close to Dom as dust was spraying in my eyes, so I dropped back to gain a good run. Dom waited for me however as he thought I had a problem and that experiment failed. His bike had a good run on mine as well. The second bike can always go faster though as it can see when the bike in front brakes and what for. We flew into town and got bollocked by the police for breaking the speed limit. So we swung them around and crossed the bridge because we had half an hour left of the second hour. We went up the other hill and then my bike went all chug-a-boom as the engine started to flood. Shit. Dom had roared off ahead so I swung a u-turn just after some roadworks and made the guys move out of my way twice in 10 seconds. With Dom's u-turn as well they got no work done for 10 minutes. They probably loved it. My bike was dying under me, but it had enough oomph to get back to the garage. Dom's passport had fallen apart a bit at this point, with the sleeve falling off. I am not sure how that will effect his abilities to leave the country. Some guy enxt to me is complaining I am listening to Guns and Roses too loud. He can kiss my arse. We opted out of the thermal baths so we could get to Riobamba and confirm our train tickets (oooh this was going to be fun). Dom went shopping for a bit and was half an hour late in getting back. We grabbed a bus to Riobamba. Ecuador was stupidity incarnate, but it gratingly reminded me of those hippy bastards we keep meeting everywhere who talk firmly out of their arse crack. I postulate that I can tolerate stupidity, but I can't abide stupidity masquerading as wisdom. That is exactly what these hippies propagate. Bugger I got bugspray over all of my stuff and on my fingers. I then stupidly stuck my fingers in my mouth. Disgusting. At least if a fly lands in my soup it will leap out from the deet if it comes close to my mouth. What a shit joke to end on. Anyway we hit Riobamba again.

Colombia Part 10: Cali, Popayan and Ipiales

We arrived into Cali late and night and decided to book into a hotel by the bus station. We had two early buses to catch and we had a lot of people to meet up for drinks, so there was no need to go hunting for friends in hostels. After checking in, we grabbed a brief shower and headed out to Parque de los Perros (Park of the Dogs). This is in a swanky part of town, although the park itself is just your standard park with a statue of a dog that looks rather sorry for itself. We grabbed some canned beer while we waited for Paola at the statue and took in the scene before us. The women of Cali have a reputation as being the most stunning in Colombia. In my brief time in the city I would agree with that statement. They are stunning on the whole, but still not quite up to the level of San Juan. There they are just special. Cali seemed to have a buzz about it as a city. If it was possible to take the CELTA in Cali I would most likely have opted for there to live. In the space of three days we gathered together a very good friends group of locals and everyone seemed friendly and class. Who knows. If I could get a good flat and a job to teach English I could live there for two months and then go to Bogota to work for the other one. It seems impractical, but when has that ever stopped me before. Hmm I have one day in Cali and one day in Bogota as I head to Venezuela. Perhaps that will work the tie breaker for me. This is the first country since the US that I could comfortably live in three cities of. Bogota, Manizales and Cali. Anyway we met up with Paola and two of her friends. Neither of the girls spoke much English, so the whole night would be in Spanish. It was another test for me. Now that I have finished my last English book I can go back to working on my Spanish studying. I want to finish both of my study books before I get back to Bogota. Then I will have all the grammar and I can start reading in only Spanish to improve my vocabulary. I am setting myself some steep targets for when I leave Bogota. Quasi fluency and at least good enough to label myself as an intermediate speaker. We went to someone's birthday and has a good time with Paola and her friends. She would ring me each night we were there to do something, but we had so many invites to stuff we had to spread it around. We left the girls around 2am and we decided to head out to one of the suburbs and their salsa clubs. We did not go to Juanchito and indeed I still have not been there. I need to learn to salsa properly first. I have a passable merengue and one of Raisa's friends has offered to teach me salsa in Bogota. Perhaps I shall do that and then go to Cali with Kelvin for a weekend or just before I leave Colombia. I see Raisa for her birthday in Bogota on saturday and can check if the offer still stands then. We ended up going into a club called Praga. They were not going to let us in at first because we had no dance partners. Being European I thought it would have been clear we can't dance anyway. We ended up going in and watched a lot of people dancing skillfully. Everyone was partnered up so it was not that exciting. Still there was no charge and you did not have to mortgage your holiday for a drink. Therefore it was far superior to Mangos.

We did nothing much the next day. In fact I have written that we wandered around aimlessly. We saw some of the centre and then i met up with Libertad. She was a Venezuelan couchsurfer who had written to me to go for drinks. She taught English and we wandered around the downtown chatting in half English, half Spanish. Cali has a reputation as an ugly city, notwithstanding the women. Its as undeserved as the reputation for its women is well earned. Its a quite comely city in its own way. Its no Venice, but then it is definitely nice enough and has some very pretty churches in the centre. We stopped by one church and a group of university students were taking photos of each other. It looked like a model shoot. Seriously this city is hot. In more ways than one as well, because the temperature is always above 30 degress. We departed at a bus and it was a pleasant two hours. There are apparently no lavanderias in the town on a side note. Shitty as it meant we would have to wait to wash our clothes in Ecuador as we were never in one city long enough to get it done. We had been contacted by another couchsurfer called Richie and he wanted us to come to a party that night in a bar called Blues Brothers Bar. The bar looked cool online and it sounded like a good idea. I wanted to visit a bar with the name Kunaramakara or some such. Its a live music venue that has apparently the best looking women in Cali. I was curious to see what the best looking women of the best looking town, in the second best looking country would look like. It did not open until nine sadly though and we had to meet Richie at half eight. We headed back to Avenida Sexta, which has some really tacky bars on it, but looked like it might be fun. We asked a couple of girls for directions and they were law students who decided to join us for drinks instead. They took us to a bar called london, which played traditional rock music. We grabbed a beer and they ordered two knowing they had no money. I knew they had no money from the tentative way one of the girls did not want to order. Shit, we would get stumped with a bill. One girl took a liking to Dom and they were cozy with each other till we said goodbye. They swapped numbers, but scheduling clashes did not allow another meeting. I took the other girls number as she wanted to go for some salsa the next night, but I never used it. It was all in Spanish again and I was getting tired out by this point. We had to foot the bill and I was a little annoyed. People should not really order stuff they can't pay for. At least not without the good courtesy of warning the victims of their lack of funds. They showed us the bar and we said our goodbyes. There we met Richie and his brother. They had a large posse of people with them and it was a really good crowd. The bar was classy and laidback. Always a good combination. Then Dom's friends from France showed up and I spent the whole night chatting with one of the French girls in Spanish. All the time in Cali I was using almost exclusively Spanish. I need to become as funny and witty in Spanish as I can be in English. There was a rap band that played live and everyone was dancing and having a good time. We then played doubles pool with the French girls and a massacred older Colombian woman who could barely see the table, but still pulled off some impressive potting. Paola had rang us to join them, but we did not make it that night. We would next night. We had been in the city for less than 24 hours and had so many friends and invites to everything. Richie said we should come over and use his gym and swimming pool if we liked the next day and they had a big warehouse party on the outskirts of town. We planned on going, but in the end we joined Paola and her friends for some drinks. It was a good night and I think Cali has the best nightlife in Colombia. They need to relax that ridiculous law that means bars in Bogota have to shut by 3am. We got back to the hotel and asked for room key 328. They said 327. I said no 328. "What's your name?". "James Sharratt". "In room 327 its *insert other name her*" "Thats because we are in room 328. Now give me the key". Fuck sake.

We got up knackered and decided to set off for the fabled San Cipriano of guidebook fame. Most of the locals had told us it was beautiful as well. We had to take a long bus to Cordoba and pay almost for the full fee. This despite the fact we were jumping off only two thirds of the way. LP says its two hours. LP does not know its arse from its elbow. It took three and a half. Admittedly we broke down halfway and had to get a replacement bus, but this process only lasted for twenty minutes. We disembarked at Cordoba and were immediately assaulted by Colombians trying to take us to San Cipriano by motorbike thingy. We knew it was a rail cart pulled by a motorbike, but we did not know just what it was yet. Reminded me of the hassles from the hated motoconcho riders of Dominican Republic. And I hate people in my face. They were saying I walk fast. I do when i want to get away from them. They wanted 40,000 pesos for the two of us. We said no more than 20,000 return which was still a little steep. I also had to pay to use some old woman's bathroom. These bike things were something else. In front of us was a railtrack. Next to it was a motorbike attached to a wooden crate. Now its hard to describe so bare with me. You know those packing crates that they use to carry supermarket items that can be moved around by fork lift trucks. Well imagine one of them with some movable wooden benches on top. They are held down by your weight. Now on the side is strapped a motorbike. The wheels of the motorbike touch down on one of the railway track railings. Subsequently when it accelerates the wheel spins on the track and propels the crate down the track. On average there are between 3 and 5 passengers. Locals who can't afford motorbikes propel these crates with polls like a Venice gondola. There is only one track. So if crates come at each other, one party has to remove their crate from the track to allow the others to pass. These things reach frigtening speeds. There is no safety procedure. If you crashed it would be very unpleasant. It was fun but uneasy. The forest scenery is spectacular. They needed gas for their bike (these being the hoodlums from the bus). They needed 2000 pesos, but Dom paid them all 20,000. I thought this unwise. What did they have to wait for. We got off the other end and negotiated to come back in an hour. San Cipriano is a village but also a national park. We did not know that. Its very pretty. We had nowhere near enough time. After wandering for a bit we came to the river and one local kid wanted a dollar for skimming stones. He could skim it clear across the river. Dom said he could do five skims. This kid did sixteen by my count and was only stopped by it hitting the bank. Very impressive. We still did not give him a dollar. We stopped for a great home cooked lunch on the way back and were subsequently half an hour late for our rendezvous. Surprise, surprise they were not there. Dom was apoplectic. I was not surprised. I could give them the benefit of the doubt that they went home only because we were late, but I would be being too generous. Bastards. Dom asked two locals where they had gone and came back saying they were pissed. I enquired as to whether they were angry that the kids had gone. He said no pissed as in drunk. Ah the perils of the English language. Somen local guy took pity on us and took us back for 3,000 pesos each which I believe is the correct rate. Remember that if you go. Dom bumped into one of the guys while we waited for the bus and remonstrated with him. I did not see the point. He said he had gone back for dinner and the others had sworn they would stay for us. Sounds feasible. But then so does the parting of the red sea if you are of a simple disposition. The outcome was always going to be bad. We would get no money back and if we got too threatening we were completely outnumbered and the sympathies would lie with the kid. Luckily a bus arrived before we got pasted and we had a cramped journey back to Cali.

In the hotel room we were suffering from power cuts. Just like the city of eternal spring had been hit by thunderstorms, so now was the city of the eternal summer. I bring the rain everywhere with me. Really they should hire me out to Africa and other drought threatened regions. Dom realised he had lost his camera´s memory stick again in Manizales. Only this time it appears it was actually lost, including all of his photos from before America (Australia, New Zealand and Fiji). We tried to call the hostel in Manizales but they were incompetent. We used an Aussie we had met in Bogota to check it as he was there, but he had no luck. Dom started to search for it, but the power for the tv and the lights kept cutting out. It was impossible. Then he spilt water in the dark all over the stuff on the floor. We could not clean it up because we could not see and then the power flicked on. On the music channel came a modern version of 'You spin me right round'. This was too much for me. I started laughing. This was comical. And then the power failed again. Spurs had won that day and it looked like 8th for us. Indeed it was in the end. I have written Newcastle lost and could go down. Providence favoured me and they did, but then you know that already. On a good bit of Spurs news we have been linked with Gareth Barry. Hell yes. He would be the perfect foil to Wilson Palacios and make a great club captain. Richie rang me, but i let him know we were seeing Paola that night. We got some cheap drinks in a roadside bar. I like these places. Less than $0.60 a beer. Need to find some in Bogota. We ended up debating the merits of London v Sydney. Paola wants to study English in Sydney and her friend Melissa in London. Paola believes that all Australians speak Spanish and dance salsa. She must have met the most untraditional Aussies in history. They are worse at languages than almost every other nation. And dancing is unheard of. Hell I informed her there was more chance of finding latin music in London and than more Londoners than Sydneysiders can salsa, even if her specimens were loaded the other way. A general conclusion showed Sydney had better weather and beaches. London was superior in every other aspect. This pleased Melissa no end and I sent her a long list of the best bars and restaurants in London. Wonder how many will be left when i eventually set my feet back upon my home country's soil. Oh well it was a good night and they went back to Paola's house. I would have joined them, but Dom was knackered and we were leaving at 6am. Am seeing Paola for dinner this friday on my way through and promised Richie I would join him in August when I come back through. I really like Cali. Great bunch. Oh yeah it was all in Spanish again. I need to get cracking in the next three months.

One interesting fact I learnt in Manizales. I always said that the Dominican Republic was my black hole and my Bermuda Triangle were my luck did not exist. It turns out that the Dominican Republic is actually in the Bermuda Triangle. I knew it. I am never setting foot in that triangle again. Except when i have to complete the book task of sailing in it. But not before. We grabbed a morning bus to Popayan. Popayan is apparently a stunning colonial town. It is kindof, but again Mompos is better. It is also the most religious town in Colombia and we got there on a sunday. Everything was shut. We did not know this when we entered the bus station. We wanted to see San Agustin and Tierrodentro, but I had to ring my mum at 2pm for her birthday. The last bus was 1pm, so we abandoned the plan and decided to skip the ruins and booked a night ticket to Ipiales on the border. This bus left at midnight. I will do the ruins in August when i come back this way. Everything was shut. Shit. A little anecdote. The problem with spitting in the face of fate, is that most of the time fate stands upwind. Everything was shut. I can't emphasise this enough. I dashed all over town for an internet cafe and just as i was about to drop dead from the shrugs of locals I discovered one and was able to ring my mum for her birthday after all. While I was questing for the internet, Dom had fallen asleep on a park bench and was awakened by a man blowing a whistle and trying to be his friend. Oh yeah those girls in Cali had thought we were Argentine and when Paola met Dom and I, she thought I was the Spanish guy and Dom was the English guy as he was apparently less dark than me. I mention this in lieu of something later this night. As everything was closed we went and watched the new Star Trek film. Its surprisingly good and funny. Then we sat in the shopping centre where Superman Returns was on. Dom had not seen it. They shut it off part way through. It was showing in a bar part way to the bus station and again in the bus station. Jesus that film was much longer than I remembered it being. I hate superman anyway. DC was always much crapper than Marvel. We took the night bus and were stopped to be searched in the night. Dom said he was Spanish. The guard asked me what part of Spain I was from. I said I was English. He said 'Ah Irish, good'. Fucking hell. It seems I am destined never to be from my country. Even last night in Quito when we checked into a hotel I told him I was from the United Kingdom and he said ah from the United States. They will probably take me to one side in immigration when i get back to London and accuse me of fraudulently having a Uk passport. After all it was issued in Mexico City and they will probably ship me off to my home, in whichever country the immigration guard believes I am from. Oh the stupid guard also asked Dom if he spoke Spanish after he told him he was from Spain.

We rolled into Ipiales in the morning. I started to contact the couchsrfers in Venezuela in advance now as I would be there within two weeks. We dropped off the bags in a holding place and went to see the famous church Iglesia de las Lejos (I think. I can't read my handwriting properly). Its set in a gorge and arks across it from one side to the other. Its very pretty from a distance, its even prettier in the photos. in fact it gets less pretty the closer you get to it and the more real it is in your vision. I liked it, but it was not spectacular. We sat in on part of a service. My sister is reviving her Catholocism. Very strange. After we had seen it we dawdled to stay in Quito the night, rather than push onto Banos. This was so we could meet Dom's French friends. They never made it. We switched up the itinerary for Ecuador and decided we should see the centre of the world while we stayed the night there and then head to Riobamba for the famous train. At the border we were searched for drugs (understandable), searched very laxidaisically (spelling is not certain on that one) and then once we were sleeping on the other side I was assaulted by some bint who insisted on checking if I needed a doctor and had pig flu. She said that Colombia had it bad. I said I had not seen anything. She asked if I had pig flu. The only thing I was suffering from was insufferable bints who interrupt my sleep. I convinced her I was not dying and refused her leaflet. I had a bad vibe for Ecuador. It was country 43 and I already missed Colombia.

Colombia Part 9: Manizales and Zona Cafetera

Apologies if the quality of this may be a little lower, but still falling behind and just got down from climbing Cotopaxi, which has taken its toll on body and mind. For the first time arounf 5700m I think I began to suffer some effects of altitude sickness. Anyway, we had left Medellin by bus and we arrived late at night in Manizales. Our overly friendly taxi driver took us on a tour of ths sites of the city on the way to our hostel. We checked into Mountain House for what we thought would be two nights. The tour to Nevado Del Ruiz to get some altitude acclimitisation could not be run until wednesday however and so we ended up staying for three nights.

In the morning we got up and I had two bad nights sleep here. I was top bunk as usual and someone had decided to place a plank of wood under one side of my bed. This kept tipping me over to one side and I would constantly wake up staring over the abyss that was the left hand side of my bed. There was a Korean guy staying in our room who may come back to live in Colombia for a bit. He lived in California and we discussed some US politics for a while. Dom took the piss out of my tendency to collect everyone's facebook addresses by asking if I had got his. I said no, but upon re-entering the hostel later on, he said he was just off and could he have my facebook id. Funny how these things pan out. We decided to go for a walk around the town. Its very hilly with lots of ups and downs and winding roads. All the Zona Cafetera towns are built along mountainous ridges and subsequently all of them have been destroyed by earthquakes at one point or another. Lonely Planet takes no interest in any of them, following its usual obsession with pointless villages for a true 'cultural' (gringo rip off hangout) experience. Manizales reminds me of Switzerland a lot and its a veyr pleasant town. I could live there I think. Its about half a million (Along with Denver and San Juan this seems to be a preferred size for me). The people are very good looking here and supremely friendly and competent. They are just so incredibly nice. Like El Salvadoreans. Also, every person I asked for directions gave me correct and accurate instructions. I was taken aback. It took me awhile to shed my habit of asking five people in Latin America, because noone ever seems to know anything. This town is just pleasant in so many ways. It was a shame we were not there for a weekend, but I will have to go back and visit when I am in Bogota. I´ve written 'Lonely Planet is shit', but thats hardly news and could relate to anything. I ended up weaving all over the roads to get to the town centre. Because of the ridiculous dips and sweeps of the city you don't need a map, because far out in front of you, you can see anything you want to visit and just set off in that direction. And if you get lost a local will always be able to steer you right again. I went looking for tour agencies, but none were to be found. Hence the LP comment probably. The cathedral is nice and they have a birdlike image of Bolivar in the main square. Quite odd. Every Colombian town has to have a Bolivar statue in the main plaza. When I eventually turn this into a book I will have to add interesting stories and history that I am too lazy to add now and I can research later, as well as elaborating more on the overall impressions of places etc. I was supposed to meet Dom at the thermal baths of Otono. I took a bus out there. It was scorching hot in the town, there was a thunderstorm mid way there and in Otono it was cool and drizzly. Hmm weird weather. The public baths were shut and I had to use the private ones, which were basically a hotel swimming pool with some plunge pools and showers. The water was nice and hot, the water was full of some sort of sulphurous substance that made your mouth taste strange and it was pleasant if a little overpriced and sterile. Dom was not there so I assumed he had gone back (He had not actually gone). Damn lack of credit.

Kelvin confirmed he was definitely coming at this point. Well assuming he is granted holiday. Should be class. Some random couchsurfer contacted me to go for drinks and I thought why not for tomorrow night. Newcastle won which was shitty as I want them relegated. Luckily my wish was granted and yesterday they were. Who's the bigger club now eh? Although we did not make Europe. Only consolation is that we can concentrate on the league next year now and maybe Ledley King can play every game. I went to the cinema that night to watch Wolverine. The town was a little dead on mondays. The film was a bit crap, but they had Gambit in it, so naturally New Orleans was in the film. They keep making me miss that city. Every film seems to be set there at some point. It also had a subplot about the genuineness of feelings and emotions. It made me think what my feelings in general are. How real are they. Am I tired and wanting to settle somewhere, hence Bogota. Is it because it reminds me of my home city. Or is Critstina right in saying my breaks have been applied over a girl. I think not, but maybe. Then again I heard nothing from Mayra since she went to the States so shall see. I have then written 'you always have a choice'. Not sure what that meant. Sounds like a suicide note, so I can only assume I was in a melancholy mood. Perhaps a little wistful for the South. At least I got my Southerner fix in Ecuador. It comes so rarely now. I need to get back there, but it looks like it won't be for carnival now. Maybe afterwards. I think I will do carnival in Brazil after Argentina. I have a bet on with Dom. If Barcelona win wednesday it will be Rio and if Man United win it will be Salvador. Lets see eh.

The next day I went and got a haircut. It needed doing. I thought about growing it long. Have though about that many times, but it just looks shit so did not bother. We took a trip out to a town nearby to go and visit a coffee Hacienda. It took fucking ages and the people in that town (I can't remember the name) are the rudest and least likeable in all of the Zona Cafetera. People pushing in front of each other in buses, one guy right up in my face as soon as I stepped off the bus. Another called Dom a monkey, but apparently I found out later thats not an insult. They call each other 'mono' or 'gordo' all the time as pet names for strangers. The tour was all in Spanish and some of the technical stuff I missed. We got some free food and straight off the production line, home grown, high quality coffee. My mum would be jealous. It was actually drinkable for once. There were a couple of Yankees on the tour and we traded up information on Colombia for some in Ecuador. All round the tour were crazy dogs that followed us and one of them even hung off the tour guides leg for the whole tour. I learnt some interesting coffee facts. A worker busting his arse for a whole day will earn around 28,000 pesos which is around 11.5 dollars. No wonder people emigrate. This was hard labour and if they made mistakes with the picking they were not paid. They also had an insect that was killing the coffee beans. They could not use insecticides and so they genetically engineered an army of other insects that hunt the bad ones and kill them inside the coffee beans. In the evening we went for drinks with Monica and her friends. There was a cool Argentine guy I chatted with for a while and a very wimpy American. After the drinks he wanted to take a taxi for 5 blocks or so because it was dangerous. This is Manizales. Oxford is probably more dangerous. It was also foggy so he walked with us a bit and complained how he could not see more than 20 metres. I wrote 'could not see' in the book and ironically as I wrote that the lights went off in the bus. Ah as usual the irony is lost on people. Dom suggested if he walks 10 metres he will be able to see a bit further. He got a bit distraught and asked if we could walk him home. I said ok. Dom complained afterwards that we had walked him home. He said fair enough if it was a woman, but he is a man. I answered 'barely'. He was an odd annoying American and possibly one of the weakest spined men I have ever met. Dom said I should tear into him as I write, but the above should be sufficient to understand his character. The guy was from LA of course. So Manizales was naturally more dangerous than the biggest cesspit in the world.

The next day we had to get up early for the tour. It was $40 and we had been told it was not worht it. Dom did not think it was necessary, but I believed we needed some acclimitisation above 5000m for Cotopaxi. After the brutally of today I think it was the correct decision. We met up with the tour guide and he asked me "de donde eres?" (where are you from?). "London", "Italy?", "London", "Italy?", "London. Fuck sake. I would have thought London was famous enough. Some other guy yesterday asked me the same question and when i said London, they said Italy. I must have started to look Itlalian along with my fifteen other nationalities. Either that or there is a town of London in Italy that is more famous than my own. But then again I have never heard of it. Perhaps only South Americans visit. Even the rest of the bus laughed and then a Turkish guy who is now living in Australia insisted that I did not look English. Jesus, can I even go back to my home country. I am going to start answering that I am from nowhere. That should satisfy some people. I know I am not typically English (either in looks or accent or attitude) or so I am always told, but that no excuse for deafness. Our guide sounds like Arnie. A Colombian Arnie. Quality. "Dey mey av told you dis is de biggest mountaain, but it is not. Colombia has more National Parks dan any otver country." Which is wrong. Costa Rica has at least 20 more. I lost faith in him after that. But he was amusing. We climbed up the last 300m to a height of 5050m. Just above the snowline. No altitude sickness. Good, it boded well for Cotopaxi. We had an interesting bunch on the group. As normal I will only give the highlights. There was an English guy who had lived part time in Barcelona and was fluent in Catalan which was good for Dom. There was another English guy who strode off like a rocket up the mountain. It turns out he had spent 5 months living in Xela in Guatemala. One of his friends was a tour guide. There is an active volcano in Xela that erupts every two hours. You are not supposed to visit it, but they did. They had to wait for it to erupt and then sprint up and back agin within a two hour window. This is at around 4000m altitude. No wonder he can move so fast. I have even written that the guide talks crap. Finally there was a Swiss guy on the tour. He had lived in Colombia when he was 23 for 9 months in Cali and Ibague. He has since been back 7 times in 8 years. I have written about him and prostitutes, but I don't remember the details. I think its in Cartagena when he had a girlfriend who was a semi professional salsa dancer. He is a salsa teacher. He met her when walking on the promenade. Its the prostitute hangout and many women there will accept money for one night, even if they are not prostitutes, to pay for their surgery. Which brings me to a girlfriend he had in Ibague. They had been going out for a while, when they were in a bar and he went to the toilet. Some old guy approcahed his girlfriend and said if she would sleep with him for one night he would pay for her breast surgery. She told him when he came back from the toilet. He was disgusted and angry. She said its only one night and the operation is expensive. His response was that firstly she was his girlfriend, secondly she was stunning and didn't need it and thirdly that was the last night they were together. Apparently this is very common in Colombia. Makes you kind of sick to think about it. How low must your self esteem and self respect be to seel yourself into prostitution for one night in order to pay for surgery. Damn it. Most of the women in this country don't need surgery anyway. The guide was explaining stuff in Spanish and then doing it again in English. On all the basic stuff. Dom and I glanced at each other and started laughing, because his Arnie stories were amusing. We ended up at some thermal baths afterwards, which were colder than Otono and the guide had to leave midway through the tour. It was not worth the money for what it was, but the acclimitisation was priceless. He even forgot to take payment from two of us. I had noticed this as he was leaving, but then he asked if everyone had paid. Bugger, a direct question. My honesty came through and I said I had not and paid him. Then the English/Barcelona guy paid as well. Probably could have avoided paying for the tour. Then it would have been money well spent if it cost nothing. In the thermals there was one solitary pipe of hot water and then Dom found the cold hose and blasted everyone. Noone could get near him to stop him and so I decided to find the pipe and pull it out of his hands that way. It was a good group and we had a lot of fun pissing around on the pointless trip. That night we missed the free barbecue as we had to get a bus to Armenia. I have always wanted to go to Armenia since I went to Russia. Just not this one. 'Many ecosystems'. What the hell was I talking about? We took a late bus to Armenia and arrived in time to grab a hotel near the bus station. The guy who runs it was ultra friendly (usual Paisa) and completely unintelligable. I undertsood nothing, but then neither did Dom. The other guy at the desk asked me how many countries I had been to and was impressed with the 42. Its 43 now. I also did not understand when he asked me what I did and I effectively told him I work on the buses in Colombia. This amused Dom.

We had stayed in Armenia because we needed to get an early bus to the Valle de Cocora. We failed, because I was lazy. We went anyway. I had had a nightmare that night (not sure what. I really should make more detailed notes), we had left the tv on some football game from Germany and there was a massive argument outside. These are my excuses for not getting up. None of them are valid. We dropped our bags with the unintelligable man and got a bus to Salento. Lonely Planet loves this town. Its small and there is nothing to do. There usual favourites. People like these because you get to see 'the real culture and the way people live'. Bullshit. Most people live in the cities. Bogota, Medellin and Cali represent how most people live. This poxy shithole of a town does not. If you want to find how Britain operates now you go to London, you don't go to some village in Cornwall. We had breakfast and had missed the bus. Rather than paying for our own private jeep or waiting for the 11.30am public jeep (we should have done as it passed us anyway), we walked 2 hours uphill. This valley is apparently awesome with some palm trees that are very tall. Lonely Planet says its like going to another planet. Its not. Unless the other planet looks like ours, only with slightly taller trees. It was a little underwhelming. Pretty definitely, but worht the trek? Maybe. We only had one hour to see the valleys before we had to get back to get to Cali that night. We wanted the whole weekend in Cali as the nightlife is apparently legendary. We got back to the jeep point. We had negotiated $5 a person to go back. Dom said oh look its your friend. I saw an English guy from Manizales. Nice guy. But next to him was the wet blanket American from Manizales. Bollocks. How did we bump into him again. In 10 months of travelling he is the only person I have not liked that I have bumped into again. They were paying $3 to go down the hill. So we told the driver we would pay $3. He said he had negotiated $5 with us. Fucking idiot. He must have known we would talk. He thought he could pick up an extra $6, but ended up only making $2 more for two passangers. His expensive two tier pricing system had cost him. He should have charged the other two $5 each. Idiot. We went to Lucys for the infamous trout. It was good fish and a large portionm of food for the price. We ended up eating with the Yankee (English guy did not make it in time) and he asked Dom "What do they eat where you come from?" I think he is the wettest, annoyingest (new word) person I ahve met for some time. I fucking hate Californians. We got back and grabbed a bus to Cali.

Colombia Part 8: Medellin

Hmm have not written on here for a while. I think I mentioned the bus driving straight past Rio Claro. Bastards. They suggested we hike back. We suggested they take a hike and took the now very cheap bus to Medellin (as we only paid for halfway). Apparently in between my sleeping (travel narcolepsy having struck in) there was some beautiful scenery. Will probably try and visit these places with Kelvin when he gets over here, so maybe will stay awake and comment more on this scenery. Then again I will most likely take a night bus or sleep anyway. Such is the way I travel. Nothing much seems to have happened this day. I remember we took the tube (sky train) in Medellin. Its the best bit of publci transport in Colombia. Other cities should take note, especially Bogota and its fabled Metrobus. That thing makes London buses look quick and efficient. It is a lovely colour of red though. We got lost in the posh neighbourhood near the hostel and someone eventualy directed us to the correct place. There appears to be something at my left elbow that is preventing me typing. Also I went for a run at 4000m altitude today so am a little woosey. I had some messages to attend to when I got into Medellin and then both Dom and I passed out from the excesses of Bogota. It was going to be fast paced from now on and so we had to rest.

Well I thought it was going to be fast paced, but we seem to have slumped back into our old habits. Ah first person, when I am writing nearly a month later. Tricky eh. We went to the supermarket in the morning and I decided to blow some pesos refitting my retrograde wardrobe that had not had any new additions (aside from free t-shirts) since New York City. I bought some jeans to replace the ones I left in San Gil, some socks (always badly needed with my corrosive feet) and a rain coat. Well it was not really a rain coat. It was more a chav shell suit with free trousers. Despite the Liverpudlian connotations I have become fond of these trousers. Tehy are very comfortable. I hated them at first. I probably would not wear them in England (and I don't even mind what people say), but fuck me are they comfortable. I could probably wear them until the day of judgment. This new found love was only tempered by the fact that they were the self same pair of trousers being worn by a tramp that night on the streets of Medellin. Derelicte fashion indeed. We then came back and watched the second leg of Chelsea v Barcelona. Man Chelsea were robbed and unlucky, but Dom was ecstatic with the last minute equaliser (de facto winner). Then it pissed down with rain. The sky was evidently a Chelsea fan and felt the need to weep. This was the last time I wrote anything and I believe it was both parts of Bogota. Apparently trying to listen to I'm on Fire by Bruce Springsteen is an infraction of this computers terms. Well it is a riskee song, but seriously. And someone has a giant microphone outside trying to sell Orange Juice. I hate Ecuador, but more on that later. We went out into Zona Rosa that night when the rain eased off and it was dead so we played pool. I flukily won 5-4. This will become a trend. We also looked up the weather forecasts for the next 5 days. Hmm complete thunderstorms. Awesome for paragliding we thought. It seems the city of eternal spring, was imitating England and that's not a great spring to aspire to. As you see, that day was full guns blazing.

The next morning we got up and there was a glimmer of sunshine. We dashed to the paragliding location. The closer we got the more I shit myself. Dammit this is in 'The Book' (Not the Bible but the Lonely Planet Adventure Travel Book), but my vertigo was not going to let it go easily. The girl at the paragliding place was stunning (as was the starter on the hill) and they made us fill in a disclaimer in advance. This described the various ways you can die from paragliding and seemed to give the impression that death was all but imminent. To those who knew I was going and had noticed I had written nothing since, perhaps they believed death had occured. Anyway this document was more scary than anything I have actually 'done' and helped my mood no end. We ascended with a sort of parachute and two grinning Colombian guys to the top of a very high hill. I was to go first. Bugger. My vertigo had improved to the point where I believe I can do anything I see someone else do and not die (this excepts base jumping which is insane and every famous basejumper has died. Still its in the book, but will be last when I am grey and almost dead. As will be walking the Darien Gap). Yet I was to go first. What was my instruction. See that huge cliff edge. Just run towards that. Como? Are you serious? Are you nuts? Can I back out of this? The instruction came 'And run'. Bollocks. Ok to hell with it. If its my time, its my time. I tried not to think of the various different ways the chute can collapse from air currents and the fifteen different ways to die and I ran. And I stopped. Parachute was dragging. We ran again. At this point I would like to say that you sit in a chair in front of the pilot on his chair. They are made of canvass like an old grannies shopping back. Strapped to this is a large parachute laid out like a deflated bouncy castle. This is what I put my faith in. I wondered if we fall off the cliff before it takes hold. Still we ran. I wondered if it always opened. Still we ran. I figured the first thing in 'The Book' in South America may kill me. Still we ran. This took place over the space of around 3 seconds. Still we ran. And then we lifted off. I sat down on the grannies shopping basket and it held. We soared off the cliff and the parachute held. Hmm actually this stuff is quite easy. Then you have no choice, but to trust the pilot and we yapped in Spanish while we soared over Medellin. Once the fear is passed, the area beyond holds no fear. That is usually the case for most things. FDR was very right when he said 'The only thing we have to fear is fear itself'. That and heights of course. Hmm this was much easier than I anticipated and we soared like a bird amongst the birds. I am using soared a lot. Perhaps I should use glide because we were paragliding, but then again you never really glide. You float, swoop up and swoop down again as you go from side to side amongst the thermals. Yes swoop is the word. It is a fitting word. The flight was very relaxing and you could almost fall asleep on that grannies bag attached to a bouncy castle. The views of Medellin were short and I was told the flight would be shorter than normal (fifteen minutes as opposed to twenty five) because the thunderstorm had rendered the thermals cold. When it comes to landing you end up doing spiral after spiral as you plunge to the ground like a falling pirate ship from a theme park. You could get quite dizzy. Indeed Dom got motion sickness from his one. I was told to lift up my legs. How exactly do you land one of these things? My Spanish was not good enough. It seems you swoop in fast and land on your arse with your legs in the air. Then you skid along. Its kind of like the stop at the bottom of those spiral slides when you are a kid and whizz down them on sackcloths. In fact it is identical to that. The spirals, the sackcloth/gtrannies bag and the arse grinding landing. And just like those slides, the first thing you wanted to do was go back up again. Will definitely do this again. I have even more respect for Yankee Chris though and his ability to climb a mountain and then hurl himself off into unknown thermals that have never been tested before. Maybe he can do it because he does not have to sign one of those disclaimers and is unaware of the fifteen ways his parachute can collapse. We chatted with the guys for bit about the best bars in the city etc and then got the sky train back to town.

Dom stayed in and I decided I wanted to see some of the town. He was feeling sick you see. So I took the sky train back in. Medellin had seemed awfully stale and clean cut in the suburbs. The centre was a bit edgier. Kind of like the city level of edgy equivalent to a boy band member getting a piercing. Its a start. I went to the Museo De Antioquia. Outside are battalions of fat things in statue form. These are Boteros famous statues. He still only makes fat versions of normal things. He is still very famous. He is still very cack. I got a ticket for the museum (there were some strange gringos doing techno yoga outside, but I thought it best not to inquire further) and was informed Botero's stuff was on the top floor. Oh great. I knew which floor was least important and would be visited last. While I looked at some weird exhibitions of contemporary South American art in the basement, two in the afternoonm struck and like clockwork the heavens opened. When I entered the sun was blistering, when I left I needed a boat. With the exception of Botero's fat rubbish, the rest of the gallery was really good (best I have seen for a while) and the mural in the top floor was class. It was by a Colombian I forget the name of. It seems there are many talented Colombian artists. Yet none of them represent fat things so they are not famous. I have been reading Twain's 'Innocents Abroad' and he talks about how the Renaissance paintings appeared better than the old masters to him, but he was rubbished for it. He said there are only so many religious paintings of monks looking pensive, sorrowful, elated and many other emotions that one can bear. I agree. I hate those paintings too and I am sure he would be in complete agreement with me that one fat painting is more than enough. Afterwards I went to the modern art gallery in the rain. Rain coat works. Was good to know. They had a funky exhibition with photographs of people being killed by various things like cakes, sweets of some kind and all other sickly addictions. Was funnier than I can describe, because I did not take good notes and its been too long since writing. It seemed a cool student hangout place and I made a note to come back to the bar for drinks. Then I walked through a campus, over a bridge with apparently 'burning tramps'. I don't remember any tramps on fire, so I assume they were burning something. A vile smell assaults my nose from memory and now the picture is more complete. I walked all over the city to get a better idea and then headed back to organise a pub crawl of the student district. This did not happen. Fellow travellers were gypos and they were all English, so naturally like Bocas Del Toro we bought rum and coke from a supermarket and got hammered in the hostel. Well I was not hammered then, but the second bottle in the first bar pushed me over the edge. I have put 'Cultural Exchange?'. No idea what the hell I meant there. Probably wrote it after the second bottle of rum. I finished Mark Twain's 'Roughin It' then as well. Great book. If I could only write travel writing half as good as that man. Some of the English young kids had thought the restaurants had been selling dog, because they saw 'perro' on a menu. Now hot dog in Spanish is 'perro caliente' and they shorten it sometimes. They started barking at the woman to check if it was dog. Their bark was definitely stronger than their brain. It was fun to get hammered with some English people and Predator was on in the film room as well. Fuck yeah. Predator. That confirmed Colombia's status as a class country. Was just a shame the usual crew was not there. My jokes were lost on this crowd though, which was a disappointment amongst the English. They were either too slow in the head or too coked up to appreciate them. After the second bottle of rum, I believe we went to a bar called Blu, where some locals wanted to dance with us and take us on to some club, but I was way too hammered and found my own way back to find the other English smoking joints in the garden. When in Rome. Ah I have just turned the page and realised that was not all. I was dancing in the club with a poel. Not the kind for pole dancing nor our friends from Eastern Europe, but the kind that keep the roof on. I believe soem Colombian girl asked me what I was doing and I said dancing with a pole. She said come dance with me I think. I said she had a boyfriend and carried on dancing with the pole. We also had to cancel some taxis because we were going to go to a club called Vinecure. Its apparently an odd place with a clothing optional room and we never did make it there. Have to go with Kelvin. Hmm I think that just about wraps that up. Oh yeah we cancelled them beacuse some people were too gypo for entrance fees.

The next day I got up late. Wonder why. We were too late to go to El Penol. Though we would not have been I think, having been there since. I decided to cook my patented Chinese Pork and Cabbage Soup. We needed soy. We had none. English girl said we could use some of hers if she copuld have some food. I only remembered too laet I needed all the soy bottle and we could not find her once it was cooked. Not as good as home, but good enough. We replaced the soy with a new bottle and an apology. Seemingly we did not much that day and then Dom and I went to drink at the Modern Art Gallery. The bar is awesome, the staff are fine in all respects and the students just mill about on the streets drinking. I almost wrote sidewalk there. Dammit I can't speak real English anymore. Every English person insists I don't have an English accent anymore. Quite a few people recently thought I was Irish mainly, Russian or German. The Spanish girl in our hostel thought I was American. And when Dom rang up Manizales hospital after this they said to him 'Ah yeah you were with the Irish guy'. And they have my damn passport on record. Oh well. Maybe I will just answer I am from nowhere now. The thunderstorm struck again and scattered the students away from the bar they did not want to pay to drink in. Shame. We were pinned in so drank many rounds in the good company. Good soundtrack as well. They were playing Amelie when I was in there first. Writing about Colombian nightlife makes me sad a little, because I am in Ecuador and there is none to write home about. We decided to get a taxi to the legendary Medellin nightspot Mangos. Fuck I hate Lonely Planet. The taxi driver and the subsequent one know nothing about their city and can't find the destinations. Luckily we double check. Mangos is a monstrosity. Its like Midnight Rodeo without the fun. Its a wild west theme, everything is decked out kitsch and tacky. There specialty is there dwarf waiters and dancers apparently. I believe its the ability to strip a man of his money at three bar bills. You pay $6 to enter and a beer is $4.40. Dom found that out to his cost. Normally in Colombia they are $0.80 more or less. We sat at a table and watched all the young women/prostitutes (they weer too surgically enhanced to tell for certain) with their old, fat men. I am assuming the good looking young girl in front of us with the fat, grey haired gringo in front of us was attracted to him for his rolling flab. Then the waiter informed us that to sit at a table you have to buy a bottle of spirits. Ah ok how much? 290,000 pesos. Again HOW MUCH? but with a different intonation. Thats around $120. Hmm not bad. You pay to enter, but unless you mortgage your holiday you can't sit down. You must sit at the bar in the middle. I assume this is like a public stocks in Medellin. It puts the poor people in their place (front of view for the amusement of the house) and lets the women/prostitutes know who is not worth their time. This is a salsa club. No one dance. Noone. They just stare at people from their tables. Mind you if I paid that much for a table I would not want to leave it either, in case it got stolen. That bottle of whisky was the price of three prostitutes by the way. No wonder most of the old men were outnumbered. Apparently this is where the best looking women in Medellin go. Not quite. Its where the ones with the best bodies money can buy and the most mangled faces money can destroy go. Why on earth stunning Colombian girls have surgery done to them to effectively make them look like groptesque walking dolls is anyones idea, but its done. We missed the student and art district. That was real. This was pabntomime. Exhorbitantly priced pantomime. I think it is the reason why we skipped Viencure even though we wanted to go. Its a poser joint and makes no apologies. They do have very sexy dancers for the music on the bars though. I will give them that, but only that. We went to Blu. I could not be certain that was where I was the night before, but the pole looked familiar. We danced there till close, Dom got accosted by some whale of a local who would not let him go. I grabbed some Mexican food, some random man followed us into our room to use the bathroom and we got some sleep knowing we had to rise early the next day.

We limped out of bed and headed for Santa Fe De Antioquia. We went on a very long walk in the blistering sun. It was shorter than Lonely Planet suggested though and they warned against walking in the midday sun. But I am an Englishman and I have a lot of affinity for mad dogs. First though we had the shittest lunch ever. One mangy bit of chicken. He must have been hard to kill given he was all bone and that's tough. Also some manky boiled potatoes posing as chips. We had to pay for this. Dom wanted to refuse, but I knew the guy would take his fee from my note. The bridge is impressive and spans over the river a few kilometres outside of town. Apparently I lie like a dog and Dom reckons thats why they all like me. Maybe. Had not thought about it that way. Still had nothing from Liliana and would not do so I can cut that one off. aybe when I am back in Medellin. I put Spurs drew with Everton so no Europe. Though as I write this we still have an outside chance. Might be better if we miss it. I will be almost 6000m up in the air tomorrow so finding the news will be difficult. We hitched a pick up truck back from the bridge which was cool. They were stoned, but their driving did not show it. I thought the town was pretty, but not as nice as Mompos. Dom cooked spaghetti for dinner in exhcnage for my soup and as he does not like picante stuff it came out good. There was a Swiss guy in our room. We got chatting with him and the Spanish girl. She declined to join us so we headed to a rock bar near Zona Rosa that always seemed to be full of people. Never did get my pub crawl. He was a really nice guy and may come and live in Bogota. If he does I have another flatmate. He did tell us of all the times he had pulled other girls on his travels before meeting his girlfriend in Peru. He told her. There relationship is nonexistant at the moment. Hmm not really surprised, but then I always frowned upon cheating. At least he was honest though. He did have an amusing story about a Dutch girl with whom he had just spent all night playing with her hands. She had a boyfriend as well and although nothing happened he considered it a special night and thought of it fondly. After Costa Rica and his story I believe this may be a Dutch speciality. This rock bar was really cool and played all sorts of rock and old English stuff. Clientele was cute and they do hunt gringos in this city, but seemingly every local girl has herself a much older gringo or local. Some of the age gaps are a little sick. If you hair turned grey before your girlfriend was born you need to look at yourself in a mirror. 'You spin me right round' came on the speakers and the others butchered it until I taught them to nail it. We ended up belting this song out in a mangled way and was so much fun that song will always remind me of Medellin. With no better options we again ended up in Blu. Three nights in a row was a little excessive. This was becoming like Pepes. It was a good place though. We got a Mexican afterwards and then this random guy came in. He was so drunk/drugged he could not speak and just gesticulated wildly. They tried to fulfil his order, but a medium space of air, with a side of a drunken grin was not on the menu. He then turned to us got on his knees, bowed and left. Interesting. I said to the guys behind the counter in Spanish 'He´s a little drunk, no?' The response was an incredulous smiling 'A little?' I love this country. We went to bed.

Again we had no sleep as we were up and off to El Penol. Trying to go abck to American style heavy partying and sightseeing was taking its toll. Then again Colombia along with the States and Puerto Rico are the only places I have been on this trip that I would live in. I decided the Kiwi guy who runs our hostel is a knob apparently. Harsh maybe. But he was. Penol is a weird place. Its in the middle of millions of artificial lakes. They have small villages. From the top of Penol it looks like Hobbitville. Google the pictures. It won't do the place justice. Penol itself is a 200m high granite rock that sticks out of the ground in the middle of all this. Its like either God or the engineer designed these lakes and was very impressed with their work. They decided what they needed was a huge rock that you can look down upon these lakes from and admire the handiwork of this stunning creation. You couldn't design a better scenario if you had all the creative talent in Hollywood. Then again maybe I should pick a place with some creatiove talent for that observation. Its sheer rock on all sides, some peasant once climbed it first and so naturally they built hideous concrete staircases all the way up the side. I say staircases, because there appears to be two proper ones intermingled with the remnants of about seven hundred historical ones. Nowhere else gives you options or how to go up and down and nowhere else can you get lost on a staircase. The views from the summit are sensational. Unfortunately there was a dickhead from Miami up there but he only spoilt it slightly. We descended and walked round Hobbitville to the town of Guatavite. This is like an English beachside tourist resort on a lake in Colombia. Imagine that. It would probably be quite good fun. We hung around here for a bit and got a bus back. Dom got chatting with a local girl and picked up her number. She had never heard of Barcelona. Thats a bad sign. She thought he was Ecuadorean. We are now in Ecuador. We have seen the men. This makes Dom upset. I don't blame him. Mind you most of the people here would not know Barcelona if it hit them between the eyes, but that is for later. We were going to have problems with the National Park. We ended up getting a very laet bus out of town to Manizales. Dom had spent 1 million pesos in 8 days. This did however include backdated pay for the 1,001 nights we spent in Bogota. Mark Twain's journal commentary was quite funny. He said everyone starts one, but only the strongest willed complete them. I'm hanging in there, though its tough. He also says a completed one is worth a fortune. Lets hope, eh. When we were on the bus Dom stated 'This light is killing me' and all the lights came on. Careful what you wish for or state. That seems a fitting end to the chapter.