One month in

It's hard to believe that I have been back a month but at least for the majority of that time, the weather has been glorious and the job market seems to be more buoyant that it was a year ago. Recruitment consultants (on my 'necessary evil' list along with estate agents and bankers) are actually ringing me back when I apply for roles and I've had two interviews as a result.

Sadly, I didn't get the role with the American law firm but to be honest, I was a little bit pleased since the guy who interviewed me wasn't very receptive and asked me the two biggest 'no no' interview questions: how old I was and whether I was married. Clearly my martial status has some bearing on my ability to do my job as a lawyer and silly singleton me for not remembering that. Surprisingly, the role went to a younger male lawyer but, hey, I am not bitter! I am contemplating a discrimination case as we speak.....

I cheered myself up by joining a photographic club and went along to the first social group where we were sent on a task of photographing the area around Brick Lane and Shoreditch. It was all rather cleverly done and we had to pick 7 letters from the game Scrabble, create 10 words out of the letters and then head off to take photos of the words we had formed (i.e. heel, line, nerd etc). I thoroughly enjoyed it and the group comprised mostly of creatives in their 20s and 30s and whilst our group didn't win the competition overall but we did win the best group name: 'Snap my bitch up' (those into urbanite music will see what we did there)

Round Two (see what I did there?!) of cheering myself up comprised of going to see some tennis at the Wimbledon championships and it was much easier to get in than I expected. I queued for about 1.5 hours, paid £20 and had access to all the courts (except centre, no.1 and no2) and the practice courts. There was a mixed bunch in the crowd and it did crack me up that people get dressed up in their tennis whites to go and watch the tennis! Are they hoping that someone will say 'Oh, I see you play tennis? Well, come and have a knock about on the centre court then!'

I do not follow the tennis as much as I did when I was younger and since my unrequited crush on the Swedish tennis player Mats Wilande,r so I wasn't fussed about who I saw although Federer was due to play court no.1 late afternoon. The system at Wimbledon is egalitarian and after 3pm in the afternoon they sell any spare tickets for courts 1 & 2 and centre for a fiver and the money is donated to charity. I got myself a decent spot in the queue and waited for the tickets to be doled out but as to be expected, most people in the queue were hoping for a Fed ticket and it was estimated that the wait was going to be another 2 and a half hours so I opted for a ticket for court no.2 and watched some great tennis and boiled in the hot English sun (that is not a sentence that I thought I would ever write!). As recommended, I went back to join the queue to see if I could get any tickets for court no.1 but by then, Fed's game had started and it was probably going to be finished by the time any tickets were released and besides, no one was going to leave now and give up their tickets. I watched a bit of the epic battle between Isner and Mahut and then headed home, feeling very cheered up indeed!

Last week I had an interview for a Swiss role (boom, boom) based in Zurich and I think it went well and I am waiting to hear whether I am through to the next round, so finger's crossed as I really, really want this job and the opportunity to move to mainland Europe and be surrounded by clean air, mountains and lakes, chocolate and Rolexes (not necessarily in that order)

I am taking part in a medical research study tomorrow called 'Rubber Hand Illusion experiment' and I'm hoping that it isn't some fetish club in disguise! (although it would liven things up a bit) I am looking forward to getting to the hospital and saying 'I am here for the rubber hand experiment', if nothing else!!

Back to reality

My two and a half months of peace, happiness and serenity were eradicated by British Gas within half an hour. Unfortunately, it took them 5 days to fix the boiler but it's now up and running and I could have a shower for my birthday! A friend came over for dinner to help celebrate my being able to bath and I went to Oxford for the weekend and the weather couldn't have been more perfect and it was warm enough for us to sit outside until midnight.

I caught up with M for lunch and we took his narrow boat out for a quick spin and I then got the train back to London. The train was already running 20 minutes late but no sooner had we got 10 minutes out of Oxford, we ran into trouble. I was engrossed in my book but the train started to sound its horn and the driver began dabbing on the brakes and then it came: the thud. The collective look of horror on everyone's faces could only mean one thing - we had hit something or worse, someone. Everyone sat there in silence and the train came to a standstill and then the announcement came that there had been a track side fatality. Again, gasps resonated around the carriage and some people looked very shocked.

We had to wait for the emergency services to arrive and one insensitive woman saw the police collect a shoe from underneath the train and proceeded to ring her friend to tell them and also said '..I think they are looking for body parts.' I am pleased to say that someone told her off and pointed out to her that there were children on the train and neither them or anyone else wanted to her what she had to say on the matter.

Eventually, the train started again and I got in London feeling a bit worse for wear but I haven't managed to find anything on the incident on the net. Whoever it was, my thoughts are with their family.

A dade in Miami 28/05 - 31/05

My final days in PC do not alter that much from the beginning of the week: more reading, eating and chilling out. We do, however, head off to the unspoilt beach of Macao for some surfing on the Saturday. To get there we drive through some small villages with colourful facades but unfortunately there is a lot of litter around but somehow this doesn't ruin the scene too much and there is an abundance of mango and avocado trees.

When we get there, the sea is as flat as a pancake and apparently this is the first time that it has ever been like this! I guess that I am just not meant to have a surfing lessons and whilst the waves do pick up a bit to allow Ig's son to surf, we sit in the clear blue warm water and it's just like being in a bath (but with other people and some surf boards). We all underestimate the strength of the sun and I get very burnt, despite having suncream on.

My flight the next day is at 7am and it's a 5am start to the day and it is already humid at that time of the morning. The airport is packed and full of fellow sun burnt travellers, so it's not just me that's been an idiot. I arrive in Miami, put my bags in storage and get a shuttle to the Art Deco Museum, Ocean Drive to go on the art deco walking tour. It's Memorial Day weekend and the beach is packed with mostly black Americans and big, black Americans at that. There are all sorts of shapes and sizes parading around in next to nothing and I feel very thin! The area surrounding the beach oozes sex and groups of girls wander around and get cat called by the boys cruising around in cars blasting loud music: it's an assault on all senses and the most bizarre place I have ever seen and makes Las Vegas look tame.

Unfortunately, the Art Deco Museum is closed for the afternoon but I walk around and do my own walking tour and save myself $20. The buildings are beautiful and I have to stop myself from taking too many photos and then I manage to get the local bus back to the airport and save myself a further $20. Alrighty. I check in for my flight to Londres and the big bottle of Punta Cana honey that Ig bought me causes great consternation going through security and my bag get checked and the honey is unwrapped and swabbed for illegal substances. The security officer tells me that 'it was over wrapped for honey' but I don't really know what his moronic statement is supposed to mean because it's better to be over wrapped than get honey leaking all over my clothes.

My flight to Londres experiences some turbulence: I definitely think that this has increased in the last 20 years since I have been flying and there were some moments that I was holding on to my seat like I was just about to experience the dentist's drill. A bit terrifying at times, I have to admit.

Londres is cool (13 degrees), grey and a bit miserable but I get home fairly quickly and the worst thing that has happened is that my boiler doesn't work but at least the flat hasn't been burgled and is still there!

I have thoroughly enjoyed my trip and thanks again to everyone who let me stay and showed me around: I hope that I can reciprocate the favour when you all come and visit me when I move to my Tuscan farmhouse!

Watch this space for the next one.....

23/05 – 30/05 Dreadlock holiday/Island Style

My flight from Lima to Miami is uneventful apart from me having a stinking cold, experiencing a bit of turbulence and getting a grilling at US immigration and being asked how I felt about the new Conservative government. Miami has to have the dullest airport that I have ever been in and if I liked shopping, I would be incredibly disappointed and it didn’t help that my flight to Punta Cana was delayed.

The humidity hits as soon as I get out of the aeroplane and the airport itself is just a big grass hut, but a rather nice one at that. The luggage takes ages to arrive (island time) but Ig was there to meet me and I was whisked off to her lovely flat not far from the airport. By this time I was feeling decidedly ropy and I head off to bed and I didn’t get up until 11am the next morning.

The DR shares the island of Hispaniola with the Republic of Haiti. Its 48,734 square kilometres encompasses tropical rainforests, soaring mountain ranges, mangrove swamps and several hundred kilometres of Caribbean coast. It has close to 9 million residents and the population is a mix of African and European ancestry and there is also a sizable Russian mob here. Literally.

Punta Cana is situated on the east coast of the DR and boasts a 40 km stretch of hotels and beach resorts and it is known as an honeymooners island so I hope that I didn’t pass on my cold to the couple sitting next to me on the ‘plane. Although this would be the worst of their worries as it is now Wednesday and it has virtually rained non-stop since I got here (not that they will be venturing out the of the hotel room, I’d imagine) but I cannot say that I am that bothered as it is nice to be in one place for a while, catch up on my reading and get rid of my cold. I managed to have a dip in the sea yesterday whilst swigging a beer, so life isn’t that bad. We also went to see Ig’s husband’s photography exhibition which was very good and has given me inspiration to do something with my photography. Ig’s son is dying to take me surfing at the weekend, so that is something to look forward to as I didn’t have time to do it in Oz or NZ.

The next day and in-between rain showers, we visit the local market and I buy some nice colourful paintings and we also stop off at an organic food stall run by the Foundation which also houses some bee hives and two of them belong to Julio Iglesias and Oscar de la Renta as they both have private mansions on the island (‘celebeeties’). This is not known as an agricultural region due to its dry temperature and lack of soil but the Ecological Foundation is taking advantage of organic waste produced in gardens and in the local kitchens to make compost to grow organic vegetables. The Foundation has initiated worm composting to increase compost production, as well as the producing the honey.

There are some lovely colourful road side shops and small eateries but unfortunately because of the weather, I am unable to take some photos. Ig’s husband stops off at one of the stalls and we buy some beers to have on the balcony of the flat and watch the ‘planes go by: it’s all quite fascinating as you can see them coast down the runway just above the trees and they look like shark fins.

It’s Thursday and I had thought about heading down to the capital, Santo Domingo, but since I am still trying to shift my cold and the weather was looking grim, I might as well hang put. Besides, after being on the go for the two and a half months, I really feel like some down time and as it happens, it is a nice sunny day and it means I can see a bit of more this area in the sun! I cannot believe that my world trip has nearly come to an end and I have to go back to Londres and ensconce myself into reality but before I have to think of that, I take a dip in the complex pool and see a ‘sundog’ and it’s the first one I have seen and it’s quite incredible. I see it as a good sign and when I get a chance to check my emails, I find that I have an interview with an American firm for a law job, so finger’s crossed.

16/05 – 22/05 The Picchu

The road to Cusco is filled with cars and buses spewing out large black clouds of engine fumes and any efforts to save the planet are well and truly over in Peru. The bus that we are travelling on is ironically called ‘Inca Class’ and whilst it is relatively comfortable seat and leg room wise, the temperature in the bus reaches 30 degrees Celsius and there’s nothing we can do about it. The driver also seems to be competing in the Peruvian grand prix and I have the unenviable position of sitting directly behind him and having first hand sight of any looming mishaps (of which there are many)

Despite a few brown trouser moments, we arrive in Cusco after our 7 hour journey and head to the hotel, which is situated off the main square. The region’s flag is curiously exactly like the gay pride rainbow flag and this amuses me as it is flown right in front of the main Catholic Cathedral in the square. Inca’s revenge, perhaps.

Myself and the Kiwi lot have a sun dower overlooking the square where we see someone dressed as Paddington Bear, so he is in deepest, darkest Peru after all. The Kiwi boys attract a lone travelling Dutch girl, who joins us for dinner and some beers in restaurant that serves the biggest portions I have seen ( in fact, most of the meals in Peru have been more than generous in size)

We have a walking tour the next day and some of the Inca walls can still be seen but as you all know, the Spanish conquistadors pretty much destroyed all Inca temples and buildings and replaced them with Catholic churches. Cusco is a city in south-eastern Peru, near the Urubamba Valley of the Andes mountain range and it is the capital of the Cusco Region as well as the Cusco Province and the city has a population of 358,935 which is triple the figure of 20 years ago. Located on the eastern end of the Knot of Cusco, its altitude is around 3,400 m (11,200 ft). Cusco is the historic capital of the Inca Empire and was declared a World Heritage Site in 1983 by UNESCO and it is a major tourist destination and receives almost a million visitors a year.

Our walking tour takes us through the local market, which is vibrant but I cannot bring myself to walk through the identifiable and unidentifiable meat section. We also visit The Coca Shop which was founded by an Italian doctor to promote the ‘legal’ health benefits of the coca leaf. It is now run by an Italian/Peruvian guy who is completely bonkers and has obviously been sampling too much of the coca leaf himself. We have some coca tea and listen to him rant and rave about the evils of capitalism and I couldn’t but help notice his nice trousers and shoes and I suspect that he comes from a wealthy family so it is very easy for him to denounce the trappings. The rest of the day is free time and I sit in the square, read and catch up on writing my journal after we go up the hill to see the view of the city and the statute of the Christo Blanco which was placed on the hill as it was the Inca’s scared site and the Spanish wanted to make another point.

We are edging closer and closer to MP and our drive to Ollantaytambo (or Oliver Tambo as I like to call it) takes us through the Scared Valley that was hit badly by the flash floods at the beginning of the year and many people are still living in temporary accommodation and roads and bridges are currently being rebuilt (a Swiss aid agency and Oxfam have a strong presence). We stop off at a community project to see how the locals make the colourful garments you can find everywhere and they show us the process from shearing the sheep (one of the Kiwi bros has a go and funnily enough, he’s a natural) to then trying to sell us the goods at exorbitant prices. Before arriving in Oliver Tambo, we visit a community watering hole and taste the local beer made from corn (chicha) and it’s not very pleasant (you can recognise places that sell it (to avoid it?!) by looking for a stick with a red plastic bag placed outside the building). Apparently the locals who work in the fields drink loads of the stuff but it is only 1% alcohol and the women’s version is sweetened with strawberries to make it even less palatable.

Oliver Tambo is a smallish place but is on the way to the Inca Trail so it massively caters for tourists and our guide gives us a tour of the Inca archaeological site the next day. The Incas liked to build things high up on mountains and this site is no exception (especially the Inca storage site on the opposite mountain, which I climb half way up and then am reminded of my fear of heights but the Kiwi boys conquer it). The town itself isn’t very pretty but the location is beautiful: surrounded by snow capped mountains and clouds peeping over the edges of them. After the boys have been tramps for the afternoon, we lounge about in the hotel grounds before catching the train to take us to Aguas Calientes town. We have to get a bus for part of the journey that would have ordinarily been taken by train but the tracks were washed away in the recent floods and they are in the process of rebuilding it. It is almost getting dark so we don’t see much on the journey but we do manage to see the remnants of the destruction that the floods have caused and it must have been terrifying to witness the torrents of water coming down the valley.

Finally, the day that we have all been waiting for has arrived and we get up at 5am to join the other 800 people on ‘The Picchu’ as it has become affectionately known as amongst the group. Since the floods, they have limited the amount of people from 2,000 per day to 800 and selfishly I think this is a much better idea. We have been forewarned by our guide that we may not see anything as ‘The Picchu’ is renowned for mist and cloud and apparently a group a couple of weeks ago didn’t see anything because it was shrouded in cloud. Still, I remain optimistic and thank god it pays off because we manage to witness the most amazing sunrise over the site and when the clouds have cleared, our guide takes us on a tour of the site. This is the only site that the Spanish didn’t find and destroy but they still don’t know why the Incas abandoned it: one theory is that it was struck by lightning and they saw this as an indication that the gods were angry and the site was doomed. The sun has come out and it’s nice to sit on the grass and take in the view and watch the world go by before we tackle the trek up to the Sun Temple which takes us an hour there and back. We make the most of being in the site and have a look at the Inca bridge but this isn’t very spectacular and I cannot make the last part of it because the path is situated too close to the edge and there is only a rope to help you along.

We were hoping to catch sunset but the clouds being to form and the early mornings have begun to catch up with everyone, so we get the bus back to the town and have some lunch and a few beers. It has also begun to rain and we decide against going to the hot springs and head for the hotel for a rest and then out for dinner.

The next day there is a sombre atmosphere amongst the group and this is because the highlight of the trip has come and gone and the thought of the holiday ending and reality kicking in becomes all too existent. We make our way back to Cusco by train part way, bus to Ollantaytambo and then private bus to Cusco. The rain clouds have started to form and it provides for some lovely scenery as the light is a mixture of dark greys and the bright yellowy light of the fields and we experience some heavy showers when we arrive in Cusco but it soon clears up. I wander back to the local market to buy a few things and then head sit in the hotel and catch up with my book and the all important blog.

We have our last supper and the starter comprises of the local delicacy which is cuy: guinea pig! I was expecting it to be served on a plate with its name collar and bell still attached but no, it was worse than that. It came with a little helmet fashioned from a tomato with a sprig of mint sticking out of the top like a Roman legionnaire. I couldn’t bring myself to eat a lot of it especially since its teeth and head was still attached but I did sample a tiny bit and to be honest, it tasted like chicken with a strong aftertaste. Poor little Fluffy.

After dinner we joined some other tour groups for a quiz night to help raise money for the victims of the floods and the rebuilding of the local school. We came a close second but the winners shared their bottle of rum with us and I later joined the tour guide, his wife and some others in a local club for a Peruvian boogie.

It’s Saturday and it must be Lima. Our flight is only takes an hour from Cusco to Lima and I am feeling a bit delicate this morning due to my late night gallivanting (at my age!) but it doesn’t help that the pollution in Lima is so bad that I can hardly breathe. I take it easy for the rest of the day and I can feel my sore throat getting worse. Everyone is feeling exhausted but we go to a local sports bar for some drinks and some dinner before saying goodbye as we all leave tomorrow at different times and I am leaving the earliest at 6am for my flight to Punta Carna, Dominican Republic, via Miami. It has been a great trip around Peru even though it felt a little rushed at times and there was a lack of free time for us to just sit and chill out but it has whetted my appetite for further travel in South America!

15/05 Mierda

Puno is located at the edge of Lake Titicaca, the world's highest commercially navigable lake, at 3,860 m (12,421 ft) above sea level, on the Peruvian Altiplano and it will also be remembered by me because this is where I committed the traveller’s cardinal error and leave my cash card in the machine when I was drawing out cash. I blame the altitude, weariness and being a complete feckwit but at least no dodgy transactions have been made (although I am not sure how to explain that purchase of 3 kgs of Bolivia’s finest....) and I managed to cancel it fairly quickly after the event. Hopefully, I will manage with the cash I have otherwise I will have to make my bank work for the exorbitant fees that it charges me everytime I draw out money abroad and get them to meet me with some dosh.

It was another early start to the day and our first stop is Isla de los Uros. The island is man made with reeds and is home to around 2,000 people and they can boast solar panelling and chemical toilets. They are all very brightly dressed and we have a look around their houses and markets before heading further into the lake to the next island, Isls Taquile, which is 3 hours away by boat.

Taquile is an island on the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca 45 km offshore from the city of Puno. About 1,700 people live on the island with an area of 5.72 km². The highest point of the island is 4050 meters above sea level and the main village is at 3950 m. The inhabitants, known as Taquileños, are southern Quechua speakers.

We are in for a bit of a treat as they are celebrating San Isidro in hope of a good harvest for the coming months. It seems like they know how to celebrate as most marriages etc go on for a week and involve a lot of beer and home brewed spirit at a mere 100% proof. This celebration is no exception and we watch the procession before getting our boat back to Puno.

Tomorrow we head off to Cuzco and ever closer to the place we have all come to see, Machu Picchu.

14/05 Al packing a lot in

We continue our climb towards Puno and scenery is altogether different from the deserts and the coast. It is now more volcanic and the landscape is covered in Indian grass, almas and alpacas. There are a lot of road works and police checkpoints as an election is coming up and the present government are trying to spend money on improving services to get the crucial votes. Politics is no different wherever you are in the world.

I am pleased to see that there is a lot less plastic in the countryside and this may have something to do with the fact that we are no longer following the Pan American Highway. Before we reach Puno, we stop off to see the Sillustani funeral towers and it’s freezing, which apparently is unusual for this time of year.

Sillustani is about 13,500 ft above sea level and is only one of many sites in the Puno area that hold mysterious burial towers, called chullpas. We see the enigmatic chullpas, which were built by the Collas, an Aymara speaking tribe that dominated the Titicaca region before the Incas. Here they would bury the remains of Colla nobility, accompanied by their riches but grave robbers have long since removed their contents, even using dynamite, although the towers are still well preserved (some are over 36 feet tall).

The engineering involved in their construction is far more complex than anything the Incas ever built. Two of the towers are unfinished: one with a ramp still in place to raise blocks; the other with cut stones ready to place on a very large dome.

The towers were constructed in the general form of a woman’s uterus. The Collas believed it to be Mother Earth which created life and therefore the dead were mummified in a foetal position and placed into the tower in the same position as when they entered the world. The doors of the tombs faced east since that is the direction from which the Sun is born.

We pass a number of small villages coming into Puno and all the houses have ornaments of bulls on their roofs coupled with a Christian cross and the bulls are a pagan symbol to ward off bad luck.

We arrive at our hotel in Puno and the weather is notably cooler. The city was eastablished in 1668 and is located on the shores of Lake Titicaca.

12/05 - 13/05 Plastic Peru

After breakfast and a quick look at some Inca ruins near the resort, we begin our 7 hour journey along the Pan American Highway to Arequipa. The highway goes along the coast for the most part and it’s quite stunning. It’s a barren desert to the one side and then a rugged coastline to the other. The beaches are littered with small fishermen’s huts and they make a living off the sea and drying seaweed.

Unfortunately, there are also a number of petroleum plants along the way and, of course, plastic which is thrown out of the windows of truckers as the average Peruvian does not own a car and does not travel. We also come across green irrigated valleys where rice is grown and we stop off in Camana for lunch.

We arrive at our hotel in Arequipa early evening and after having dinner in a restaurant that used to be a colonial home, we head to bed. Arequipa is the capital city of the Arequipa Region in southern Peru, with a population of 904,931 it is the second most populous city of the country. Arequipa lies in the Andes mountains, at an altitude of 2,380 meters (7,800 feet) above sea level; the snow-capped volcano El Misti overlooks the city.

The city has many colonial-era Spanish buildings built of sillar, a pearly white volcanic rock, from which it gets the nickname La Ciudad Blanca ("The White City"). Reportedly, it first acquired this nickname in the colonial era, because most of its inhabitants were Creole of peninsular (Spanish) descent. The historic centre of Arequipa was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2000, in recognition of its architecture and historic integrity.

The next day we have a walking tour of the city and this includes a trip to the local market. Peru grows an astonishing 3,000 varieties of potatoes and the market has some to prove it. The highlight is a visit to the Monasterio de Santa Catalina. It is a cloistered convent located in Arequipa, Peru and was built in 1580 and was enlarged in the 17th century. The over 20,000-square-metre monastery is predominantly of the Mudéjar style, and is characterised by the vividly painted walls. There are approximately 20 nuns currently living in the northern corner of the complex; the rest of the monastery is open to the public.

The founder of the monastery was a rich widow, Maria de Guzman. The tradition of the time indicated that the second son or daughter of a family would enter religious service, and the convent accepted only women from high-class Spanish families. Each nun at Santa Catalina had between one and four servants or slaves, and the nuns invited musicians to perform in the convent, gave parties and generally lived a lavish lifestyle. Each family paid a dowry at their daughter's entrance to the convent, and the dowry owed to gain the highest status, indicated by wearing a black veil, was 2,400 silver coins, equivalent to US$50,000 today. The nuns were also required to bring 25 listed items, including a statue, a painting, a lamp and clothes. The wealthiest nuns may have brought fine English china and silk curtains and rugs. Although it was possible for poorer nuns to enter the convent without paying a dowry, it can be seen from the cells that most of the nuns were very wealthy.

We also visit the museum and see an exhibition about the Ice Maiden, which is a frozen body of an Inca girl of about 12 years old and she was scarified to the gods sometime between 1450 and 1480. She was found in 1995 during an ascent of Mt. Ampato (20,700 ft) inside the crater a bundle that had fallen from an Inca site on the summit. Owing to melting caused by volcanic ash from the nearby erupting volcano of Sabancaya, most of the Inca burial site had collapsed down a gully that led into the crater.

Arequipa is a lovely town and I will be sad to leave it.

10/05 – 11/05 Piscoed in Peru

Our departure at 4am wasn’t a pleasant one, especially since I had been woken up at 1.30am by some drunken idiot trying to get into my room. The NZ lot had had the same problem the night before but the guy repeated the deed completely sober the next day! I don’t think it was the same guy, but there’s no accounting for intelligence.

We pass a lot of people scavenging through bins as we leave Lima and as the sun begins to rise, it highlights grey sand beaches and an extraordinary amount of litter adorning the countryside and the roadside. They are mining a lot of the sand from the beaches and I think this has had a large impact on the state of them and it is possible that they were nice at some point. Apparently, a lot of natural gas is also being piped through this region and then exported out to Mexico. We drive through a lot of dusty towns full of stray dogs (but they all look well looked after), more plastic but the people are all dressed very colourfully. Our guide tells us that there is an African community living here and they are descended from the slaves that the Spanish first brought over in the 16^th century.

Our next stop is the Ballastas on the Paracas peninsula to take a trip to the islands by speedboat to see the sea lions, cormorants, Peruvian ‘bobbies’ and penguins. The islands are reached from the town of Pisco, which was founded in 1640 by the Spanish but the town suffered extensive damage and loss of life in the 2007 earthquake. I have never seen so many birds before and think this is where Hitchcock must have got his inspiration from (R – you would have hated it!). As you can imagine, the place honks and apparently they collect 10,000 tons of guano annually and then sell it for $1 per kilo (some lucky sods come and stay on the island for a month to collect the Peruvian poo and in my mind, this has to rate as one of the crappiest jobs in world)

The sun comes out and it’s quite warm and we continue our journey to the small oasis town of Ica to take a buggy ride over the dunes (again, littered with plastic) and to do some ‘sand’ boarding down the dunes – it’s great fun. After lunch, we visit a small Pisco factory and sample of their produce, including one that is 46% proof. It is Peruvian liquor that is distilled from grapes and was brought to Peru by the Spanish settlers in the 16^th century.

Our next stop is just outside the town of Nazca to see the sunset over two of the Nazca lines and once we check into our hotel, we head off to the local planetarium to see a documentary on the Nazca lines and the German woman who dedicated her life to solving them, Maria Reiche. It’s all very interesting but most of us are exhausted by this point and after a quick dinner, it’s off to bed.

Tuesday starts off with a light aircraft flight over the Nazca lines and it makes me feel very ill because of the sharp turns and small space. Still, the lines are fascinating (although the cynic in me thinks they may be more modern!) The Nazca Lines are a series of ancient geoglyphs located in the Nazca Desert of Peru. They have been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The high, arid plateau stretches more than 80 kilometres (50 mi) between the towns of Nazca and Palpa on the Pampas de Jumana. Although some local geoglyphs resemble Paracas motifs, scholars believe the Nazca Lines were created by the Nazca culture between 200 BCE and 700 CE. The hundreds of individual figures range in complexity from simple lines to stylized hummingbirds (97 m), spiders (46 m), monkeys (90 m), fish, sharks or orcas (65 m), llamas, and lizards.

It takes me a while to regain my composure in time for our 3.5 hour drive to Puerto on the Pan American Highway via the Chauchilla cemetery. For many years the Chauchilla cemetery was looted by treasure hunters, who destroyed the place completely, taking away all the treasures the mummies kept in their tombs for centuries. Grave robbers just left behind the corpses, which can be seen today all over the ground. In addition to skulls and bones, you can see several tombs centuries’ old, as well as long human hairs, ceramic fragments and others remains scattered on the dessert surface. It is the only archaeological site in Peru, in which ancient mummies are seen in their original graves, along with ancient artefacts, dating back to 1000 AD. Sadly, it is not being looked after properly and the mummies are open to the elements and will probably all disintegrate over the couple of decades or so.

We continue our journey along the litter lined Pan American Highway to our overnight stop of Puerto Inca, a beach resort. Along the way we pass villages were people are drying out seaweed and this area is also rich in copper and gold. We have a pleasant night sitting around the fire, watching the stars and drinking beers and myself and the Kiwis stay up until 1.30am and drink too much Pisco....

08/05 – 09/05 Deepest, darkest Peru

My flight to Miami from LA is uneventful, although I won’t be flying American Airlines in a hurry as I don’t think they have updated their ‘planes since the 1950s. Miami airport is huge and full of disgruntled people as AA have cancelled most of their flights into Europe due to the second volcanic eruption in Iceland.

I soon become disgruntled myself because my flight to Peru is delayed by two hours and when we land, we sit on the tarmac for a further hour because air traffic control were not expecting us. My evening gets worse when my driver from Intrepid (from here on in to be called ‘Insipid’) says that I’m in a different hotel from the rest of the group and someone will call me tomorrow morning to let me know what time we are meeting.

I’m pretty fed up by now but head to bed and await a call the next morning. The call doesn’t come and I have to get a taxi to the other hotel where I eventually meet the rest of the group and we go on a walking tour of the colonial part of Lima. The group is small: me, a retired Australian couple, two brothers and a sister from NZ and the group leader.

Lima is very polluted and overcast but there are some pretty buildings in the colonial part and we visit the beautiful Franciscan Monastery and Museum, founded in the XVI century. Lima is situated right at the coast, 133 m above sea level. On 18 January 1535 the emperor Francisco Pizarro founded the city with the name Ciudad de los Reyes. The "City of Kings and Vice kings" apart from Mexico was one of the most important cities on the American colonies only a few decades after its foundation. In 1551 some Benedictian monks joined the Universidad San Marcos in founding South America's first university.

This Franciscan monastery is located in Lima's centre. After being destroyed by an earthquake in 1646, it was replaced by a smaller complex. Inside some interesting paintings as well as a tremendous library containing 15,000 books and old manuscripts dating back to the 15th century but they housed in direct sunlight and not temperature controlled and I fear will all be ruined in the next 10 years or so. The placed is covered with tiles from Seville the catacombs were used in colonial times to house the bodies of Lima's dead (estimated at 25,000)

I have an early night as we are leaving at 4am tomorrow for Paracas (a 4 hour drive) and to v visit the Ballestas Islands, before heading for our hotel in Nazca (a further 3 hour drive)

07/05 Leaving Las Vegas

Fortunately for me, the Dutch guy from my tour was driving back to LA today and I elect to get a lift with him instead of getting my ridiculously early flight and although it meant that I didn’t have time to see a little bit of LA, it meant that I could have a tiny all American road trip instead. The road from Vegas to LA is straight, long and the landscape is peppered with Joshua Trees, some shopping centres and not much else. The terrain is also green and the closer you get to LA, the landscape changes completely to snow capped mountains and then smog. There were an extraordinary number of blown out tires on the road, broken down vehicles and cop cars as they are Nazi-like in their approach to speeding (but not to car safety it would seem)

The traffic coming in LA was horrendous (on the way from Vegas, the traffic was all coming the other way) and we eventually found the Radisson hotel near LAX which was my hotel for the ‘night’. I met up with my friend’s brother and his wife for a quick drink in the hotel bar and it was nice to catch up with them and I have an early night as I really do need to get up at 4am tomorrow for my flight to Lima via Miami.

02/05 – 06/05 Is that the real Caesar’s Palace?

R dropped me off at the airport and the flight to LA goes surprisingly quickly despite a cock up with my seat as I was told that I had an emergency exit one but it’s a normal ‘sit with your knees around your head whilst we allocate the seats with leg room to the vertically challenged’ seat. I manage to move to the bulk head before takeoff and at least that gives me some more legroom. A black mark for Air New Zealand!

LAX is a confusing airport and once I have got through the vigorous passport control (digital finger print scanning and unflattering webcam photos) and transfer to the domestic terminal, it is nearly time to catch my connecting flight to Las Vegas.

The turbulence coming into LV airport is almost enough to make me want to become religious and I fear that I am about to become a genuine CSI Las Vegas case story. Still, I make it through and get a shuttle to the hotel (once I’ve walked past the numerous slot machines that appear just as you step off the ‘plane into the airport: I guess there’s no time to waste when you have a gambling habit)

My room is positively palatial and I wander off to take some photos and grab some food. On my way out of my room I come across a couple getting married in the hotel grounds and despite it being ‘the happiest day of their lives’, the bride looks a bit glum. Maybe getting married in an Elvis suit wasn’t quite what she had in mind for her big day. Las Vegas is, well, everything that you would expect: it’s an assault on the senses from all directions and its brash, loud, ostentatious, dazzling, bigger and ‘better’ than anything you’ve ever seen coupled with large dollops of insincerity, debauchery, excess and I have to confess, a little excitement and curiosity. I find a shopping centre near the hotel and it reminds me of The Valaggio in Doha, Qatar (or ‘The Vag’, as my brother likes to call it): it has blue skies painted on the ceiling and a Venetian-style gondola in the middle of it but I don’t hang around for long and get an early night as I am meeting my tour group at 7.30am tomorrow.

There are 11 of us in the group and 6 of us are Brits and the rest of made up of Poles, Dutch and Koreans. They are a nice bunch and our leader is American/Pilipino and is very easy going. Our first stop is the Hoover Dam and it’s an impressive engineering feat. It was completed in 1935 and is currently the world’s 34^th largest hydroelectric generating station and the 17 turbine-generators generate a maximum of 2,074 megawatts of hydroelectric power.

We get our kicks in a burger bar in Seligman, Arizona on the historic Route 66 which prides itself on its wacky sense of humour (‘home of the cheeseburger with cheese’, ‘dead chicken’ and ‘prices are subject to change according to customer’s attitude’) and it was established in 1953 and the original owner was ‘cherished’ by tourists for the antics that he pulled on them whilst they were trying to order their food.

The journey thus far had taken us through large expanses of greenery and juniper trees as there has been a lot of rain recently (and snow as we learn when we later reach the Grand Canyon). We have lunch in a small town called Williams and then set up camp in Tusayan, which is located 20 minutes from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. Our camp site is basic and since I am not a camping sort of girl, I am pleased that I only have to spend one night in a tent. We head off to the South Rim to see the sun setting over the Canyon and to say that it is an ‘awesome’ sight is somewhat of an understatement.

It was formed by the Colorado River and averages 91 m in width, 30 m in depth and flows an average speed of 6.4 km per hour. The Canyon itself covers an area of 4,921 sq. km is 306 km long and is populated by 5 Native American tribes (the Hopi, Navajo, Havasupai, Paiute and the Hualapai). A few more facts: it is a chasm 446 km long and up to 29 km wide and took 3-6 million years to form.

We watch the incredible differing shades of light alter over the Canyon as the sun sets and because the South Rim has an elevation of 2,134 m, the temperature drops considerably once the sun has set. This is our indication to go back to the camp site for dinner and beers. I wish I could say that we had beers around the campfire whilst watching the stars but we were not allowed to have a fire. The temperature during the night was enough to freeze a brass minkey and at one stage I was tempted to set fire to myself in order to keep warm as my ‘summer’ sleeping bag that I had bought in NZ was not really doing the trick. Nevertheless, I just about survived the night and a hot shower and some breakfast in the morning soon reinstated the blood supply to my extremities before the frost bite set in.

After a little financial deliberation, I decided to do the optional helicopter ride over the Canyon with the rest of the group as it is difficult to appreciate the scale and enormity of the Canyon from the Rim. As it happens, it was the right decision and 50 minutes later aboard our ‘Maverick’ helicopter, I had taken enough photographs to publish a book as I was fortunate enough to have a seat in the front. I was quite surprised to see snow on the highest points of the mountain and apparently they had had snow as little as three days ago (actually, I don’t know why I was surprised given that I had nearly frozen to death the night before).

It was sad to say good bye to the Canyon but we had to continue to our next natural wonder, Monument Valley, situated in the Navajo Indian Reservation, which also straddles the two states of Utah and Arizona. Of course, the Native Americans do not like to be called Indians and according to our guide, Tim (not his real name), they prefer to be called Dinè, as this is the tribe that dominates this area.

Monument Valley is a Navajo Nation tribal park, straddling the border of North Eastern Arizona and South Eastern Utah of the Colorado Plateau. It preserves the Navajo way of life and some of the most striking and recognizable landscapes of sandstone buttes, mesas and spires in the entire South West.

Tim gave us a guided tour of the Valley and after watching the sun set whilst listening to some melodies on Tim’s flute, we went in search of our hogan and dinner. Unfortunately, a cock up with the preparation of dinner meant that we had to drive around for nearly another hour and listen to some more flute tunes before we tucked in to some traditional NA food (this was just like a big taco and didn’t seem very traditional to me) and a nice cup of tea as all alcohol is banned in the Reservation as there has been a major problem with alcoholism. Next we had what I hate the most about visiting indigenous peoples: the mandatory dancing & singing show and dragging in members of the group to participate to make them look even more like idiots than the people running the show. Yes, you guessed it: we had a pow wow around the camp fire lead by a NA (but it cracked me up to see him later when he had changed from his colourful headdress and satin costume into an ACDC t-shirt and jeans!) And to think I had my reservations about it all.

Our sleeping arrangements were much better and we slept in a traditional hogan, which is essentially a mud hut. Actually, there is no essentially about it: it is a mud hut but it was a warm and dry mud hut and I was grateful not to have to experience the arctic conditions of the night before.

It was an early start to the morning to see the sun rise over the Valley and another drive around the sites, with some more commentary from Tim (‘Mission Impossible was filmed there’, ‘John Wayne walked there’ etc etc) but luckily we were not subjected to any more flute playing.

After a quick breakfast, we set off on the road towards Lake Powell and the Carl Hayden Visitors Centre. Lake Powell is America’s second largest manmade lake , spans from Utah to Arizona and has 2,000 miles of shore line. Our route dipped in and out of the states of Utah and Arizona and differing time zones (all very confusing) and we reached our last night’s accommodation in Paria Plateau, Utah in the late afternoon. This was another camp site but we had the bunk house and the entire place was clean and comfortable. Some people went for a horse trek whilst the rest of us took advantage of the hot showers and a few sun downers on the veranda of the bunkhouse.

We are allowed a bit of a lie in on the final day of the tour which is just as well as some of us played drinking games until the early hours and are feeling a bit jaded but after some breakfast and a shower, we begin to feel human again and we go for a short hike to see some rock formations shaped like toadstools.

We proceeded back to Vegas via Colorado City, Hurricane and Mesquite and arrive late afternoon. A few of us meet for dinner and see the sights along The Strip: including a fake Eiffel Tower and a casino which is a replica of Paris, France (why?!) and I lose $20 on the blackjack and decide to call it a night as I have to be up at 4am for my flight back to LA in the morning.

I was surprised how much I liked the small part of America that I saw and found the Americans to be very friendly and helpful (this considering the recent threats to security in Neu Jork) but the blatant excess and disregard for the environment really got to me: huge gas guzzling cars, huge food guzzling people, wasting of water and electricity (the fountains along The Strip give a display every half an hour to music and the ‘show’ lasts about 15 minutes each time), massive portions of food. Ultimately: consumption, consumption and more consumption!

City of Sales 25/04 – 02/05

I leave Wellington on Sunday morning on the 7.25 am on the ‘Overlander’ train to Auckland and the journey takes 12 hours taking in 681 km, 352 bridges and 14 tunnels. The train is much smaller than the Transalpine and is reasonably full, which unfortunately includes a small whiney Italian child and a man with BO (luckily the latter doesn’t stay on the train for very long but the former does)

It’s also Anzac Day and I hear the guy sitting behind me telling his girlfriend that there has been a helicopter crash outside Wellington killing three service men on their way to the Anzac parade (it’s widely reported in the press the next day, all very sad and bitterly ironic)

Our first leg of the journey takes us through the Tararua Ranges, created by the same uplifting process that formed the Southern Alps: it stretches 100 km from the sprawling Manawatu Plain to the Rimutakas in the south and forms the backbone of the North Island.

Before we stop at Taihape, we are told to look out for ‘Mad Kevin’, an elderly gentleman who stands by the side of the tracks on a daily basis and waves a red flag at the train. He is not described by the purser as ‘mad’ but I am supposing that a daily flag waving routine is bound to send the sanest of people around the bend (or should that be track?). Taihape is famous for its annual gum boot throwing contest and displays a proud statue in the centre of the town to prove it. It is also home to a sheep dog contest which, ironically, starts off with a barking competition.

We now enter the National Park and get a glimpse of the North Island volcanoes of Mt Taranaki (2,518 m), Mt Tongariro (1,967 m), Mt Ngauruhoe (2,287 m) and Mt Ruapehu (2,979 m). Mt Ngauruhoe has erupted 45 times in the 20^th century , most recently in 1977 and Mt Ruapehu is nearly half a million years old, has the highest peak and is the only one with glaciers.

This leads on to the Raurimu Spiral, built in 1898, and is a feat of civil engineering that allows the train to conquer the 132 metre height difference between the Whanganui River valley and the Volcanic Plateau. The train travels 6.8 km that, in a straight line, is just 2 km and it takes us a matter of minutes to reach the plateau.

We pass the Waikato River and it’s the longest river in NZ, running for 425 km and we also pass the graveyard of the Maori kings and queens situated on a very steep hill and very close to the train line. I am sure that this is not what they had in mind for their resting in peace.

After witnessing a beautiful sunset, we arrive into Auckland at 19.25 and the train trip has gone surprisingly quickly, all this despite a 40 minute stop for lunch in Ohakune (although the cafe was closed due to Anzac Day). R is there to meet me and we head off to her lovely 1920s Californian bungalow style home , home cooked meals, some sparkling wine and her colossal cats, Murphy and Zorro (her goddaughter, G, is also staying before heading back to med school in Hamilton)

R kindly takes me for a trip around Auckland the next day: Auckland is nestled between two harbours and 48 volcanic cones and by the 19^th century, with European settlement in full swing, it was already a great trading port and a place of international significance. We have a wander along Mt Eden and have a look at a panoramic view of the city, its harbours (Manukau) and the Gulf, including the Hauraki Gulf Islands. You can also see One Tree Hill from there and on closer inspection, it shows evidence of earlier Maori occupancy.

I was going to spend a few days in Rotorua but I have decided not to on the account that I am a little weary with being on the move all the time and I need to save a few pennies, so it will be nice to be in one place for a bit (and R’s home is a lovely place to spend some downtime). Besides, I need to conserve my energy for my ‘cowboys and indians’ camping trip to Arizona next week!

The weather forecast for the week is mixed but the heavy rains come intermittently on Tuesday but this is the day that we have planned to visit to the art galleries and it holds off long enough for us to walk into the CBD (Auckland has an average of 245 days of sunshine annually). Moreover, there has been drought for a while, so the rain is welcome (although there have been heavy downpours and floods in the South Island near Te Anau and 793 mm fell in Fiordland National Park where I was two weeks ago)

Auckland is full of bespoke clothes shops and I ‘look but don’t touch’ in some of the lovely shops along the Ponsonby Road which was known as ‘The Cappuccino Mile’ in the 80s. The architecture of Auckland is very attractive as the houses are either San Franciscan bay villas or bungalow style and the old Settlers’ cottages all have beautiful balconies with ornate trellises (perfect for sitting on for those sparkling sundowners!) Unfortunately, the Auckland Art Gallery is closed for a major renovation project but we see some of the smaller galleries and I resist the temptation to purchase anything.

The next day we head for a drive to the ‘Wild West’ coast, through the Waitakere Ranges with its 17,000 hectares of forest and more 250 km of walking trails, where the Tasman Sea’s surf pounds onto the black volcanic Whatipu beach and it’s a sight to behold. We mooch along the beach and it’s an unusually still day (R is convinced that a tsumani is on its way and when we drive back to Auckland we notice that it is tsunami area with warning signs for potential tsunamis). The beach stretches on for miles and one of the beaches there is Karekare, made famous by the film ‘The Piano’. We follow the track to the caves and in the 1920s, they used to hold dance parties in the largest one and apparently of the wooden dance floor is still buried under the sand floor of the cave.

Thursday is a beautiful and unusually warm day for this time of year and we walk into town to visit the Auckland Museum. It is NZ’s first museum, established in 1852, and is one of the most famous heritage buildings in Auckland and home to the world’s largest collection of Maori taonga (treasures), including rare carvings and one of the last great Maori war canoe used in battle. I inadvertently bump into the lovely Dutch couple that were on my Ayer’s Rock tour and they arrived in New Zealand yesterday – it’s a small world.

The Auckland Museum sits in the Auckland Domain on the edge of one of Auckland’s oldest volcanic cones, Pukekawa. It is thought to have erupted between 100,000 and 150,000 years ago and the early Maori cleared the slopes to create food gardens and later generations built terraces for homes, storage pits and garden sites. It was later drained by the European settlers and turned into playing fields and the present day fernery.

The Auckland Volcanic Field has about 48 volcanoes within an area of 360 square kilometres, from Pupuke in the north to Wiri in the south but it is unlikely that any of Auckland’s existing volcanoes will become active again, however, new volcanoes could be created at any time.

Again, Friday is another sunny day and we decide to go on a dolphin and whale watching safari - they boast over 90% dolphin and 70% whale sighting success but just not today! Sadly, we do not see any Big Nicks or dolphins and it’s more a case of big nicking. Still, it’s a lovely day and we sit on the deck of the boat and take in the beautiful surroundings of Hauraki Gulf and some of its islands of Waiheke and the Coromandel Peninsula. Luckily I don’t feel sea sick at all as it’s much calmer than the sea around Kaikoura and although they don’t give any refunds, we are presented with a chance to go on another trip which is valid for a lifetime, so I’ll take up the offer next time I’m in Auckland!

My penultimate day is spent driving up the North East Coast to the ‘world famous’ Matakana Famers’ Market (along with the town’s gourmet shops and boutique cinema) which is held every Saturday and has the most wonderful locally produced fresh delicacies. The area around Warkworth has a conservation park full of massive, native kauri trees and around Matakana is wine country, with close to 20 wineries offering a range of red and white varieties. It is also a gastronomic treat, growing everything from limes to persimmons, chestnuts to olives and venison to oysters.

The rain is intermittent but it doesn’t dampened our spirits (in fact the cheese lady was telling me that they desperately need the rain, so it has been most welcome in this area) and shopping ability and we then head to the 7km long Omaha beach, as I have seen a photo of some Maori statutes that I would like to see. Unfortunately, they are modern ones and I don’t find the one of the picture that I have seen in the Lonely Planet but we do find a smaller one and it is nice to have a quick walk on the beach before the showers catch up with us.

After a quick stop at Morris & James Pottery (the pottery is crafted from the iron-rich clays sourced from the banks of the Matakana River) for a pot of tea and some cake, we head back into Auckland via the coastal road and over the famous Auckland Harbour Bridge.

Tomorrow I am off to the States and my tour of the Grand Canyon and whilst I will be sad to leave NZ and the wonderful hospitality of all my Kiwi friends, I am also looking forward to the next chapter in my travels (I also only have one month left before I have to head back to Londres. Yikes)