cc_world_tour's TravelStream™ — Recent TravelPod.com entries TravelStream™ news feed for member cc_world_tour on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/cc_world_tour en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Tue, 18 Aug 2009 17:57:22 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com HONDURASTAFARIANS — Utila, Bay Islands, Honduras http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1249965418/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1249965418/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1249965418/tpod.html Tue, 18 Aug 2009 17:57:22 -0400 CHRIS & CAROLINE'S WORLD TOUR 2008-2009
Utila, Bay Islands, Honduras

Hola amigos, When we last left you, we were about to embark on the four-hour overland journey across the border between Antigua, Guatemala and La Ceiba, Honduras, our jumping off point for the Bay Islands where we would learn to scuba dive.As we mentioned in our last update, our camera disappeared, along with Caroline's iPod, on this last section of our Central American adventure, so we have little photograpahic evidence of our time here. The photos you see below are courtesy of our good friend and fellow scuba diver Steve - plus a few we took on an underwater camera during a dive on Utila and a couple we nabbed from the internet. Back to the story....We were picked up by shuttle at 4am on May 27, immediately gobbled a couple of sleeping tablets and the next thing we knew, it was 10am and we were stopped at customs on the Guatemalan/Honduran border. Border security in Central American countries is very different to that of the first world. Usually its just a matter of getting stamped out of one country at a little wooden shack, walking 10 metres along a dusty road, and then getting stamped into the next country at another wooden shack. Bored teenagers with machine guns monitor the entire process and exit and entry "fees" (read: tips for the government) are applicable at both stops.It was no different this time, with the exception of a mandatory Swine Flu Check. Curious, we shuffled towards a third wooden shack, impressed that such a high level of security was actually being enforced. We were hardly surprised when we arrived to find the door locked and a handwritten note on the door saying the medic had taken "a few days off". Back on the bus, we travelled another half an hour to a Honduran town called Copan Ruinas, most famous for it's Mayan ruins. However, we were there for just a three hour stopover to change buses – enough time to grab a couple of beers and catch the first half of the Champions League Final between Man U and Barcelona. At 2pm, in swealtering heat we were very unused to after three months in the Guatemalan highlands, we boarded another bus bound for San Pedro Sula, where we changed again for a bus to La Ceiba on the northern coast of Honduras. We arrived at about 8pm, checked into the Banana Republic Hostel and by midnight, after refreshingly cold showers, promptly crashed out. At 2.30am we awoke to the familiar feeling of the bed shaking, though this time much more intense than any earthquake we had felt before. We both jumped out of bed and ran to the nearest doorway (again, we’re not sure if this is the right thing to do, it’s just what they always do in the movies. With our track record, we should probably look into that sometime). We were on the second floor of a very rickety, two-storey wooden building and as we stood there, huddled in the doorway, the whole thing swayed back and forth, groaning against the weight. Plates and glass on shelves in the kitchen next door crashed to the floor and the lightshades overhead swung violently. We looked out the window and saw power poles exploding like fantastic fireworks and then the power went out across the city. It only lasted about 30 seconds, but the aftershocks continued for at least an hour afterwards – alternating between dull vibrations and short bursts of violent tremors. It was easily one of the most terrifying of all our earthquake experiences so far. We were due to catch a ferry across to Utila, one of the Bay Islands just off the coast of Honduras at 9am the next morning, but when we awoke, we heard there was a tsunami warning and all ferries had been cancelled. We hung about the hostel all day, trawling the internet for reports of the earthquake, which, at a massive 7.3 on the Richter scale, had killed six people and collapsed the bridge in San Pedro Sula, which we had crossed in the bus just a few hours before. Every now and then during the day, we could still feel the low rumble of aftershocks. At 4pm, the tsunami warning was lifted and we made the one-hour ferry crossing on rough seas. As we disembarked the ferry on Utila, we were accosted by representatives from all of the dive schools on the island, handing out fliers and trying to entice us to their establishment with various offers and deals. In the end we chose a place called Alton’s Dive Centre, mainly because there was a ute that would transport us and our bags (we not only had our overloaded big packs and day packs but also two extra bags of stuff we’d collected in Mexico and Guatemala but were too scared to send home by post after our experience with Caroline’s missing birthday presents and the stolen laptop computer cord) to the dive school. Turns out we made the perfect choice. Alton’s is the only dive school located right on the water. The accommodation, simple double or dorm rooms with a fan, are right at the waters edge. The dive boats dock at a long jetty and at the end is a thatched-roof cabana strung with hammocks. A little bar, the Snack Shack, right on the water serves food, cold beers and rum. It was at this bar we discovered Ollie and Phil – two English blokes we had become friends with in San Pedro (you may remember them from such Dodgy 80s Night photos as "The Mustachio Boys" in our first entry from San Pedro, Guatemala). We hadn’t planned to meet up and although we knew they were going to Utila, we thought they’d be long gone when we finally turned up. Both were in Utila long term, doing their Divemaster training. We’d chosen well.We spent the first four days in Utila relaxing. Much time was spent lounging in aforementioned hammocks, reading, drinking beer and watching spectacular sunsets. We sustained ourselves with baleadas (soft souvlaki-type bread folded over and jam-packed with refried beans, onions, spicy mince, lettuce, tomato, chili sauce and cheese…as close to a kebab as we were going to get in the Caribbean) for 30 Limperas ($2). It was super hot (around 35-40 degrees every day), so much of our time was spent swimming and snorkelling looking for seahorses and barracuda in the crystal blue water around the jetty. You could literally step out of your room and into the water, or dive the 10m off he very top of the cabana (though this was a feat Caroline was too scared to attempt until her last day on the island).At night, when it was still warm, we would party with other divers at the Snack Shack or head out for dinner and rumonades at RJs Grill or Dave’s, where for 100 Limperas (around $6) you could get a ginormous plate of fish (like barracuda, snapper, tuna or wahoo), chicken, ribs, steak or pork chops with heapings of salads, rice and garlic bread. Night’s out would be at CocoLocos or Tranquilla, two bars on the water with their own jetties and cabanas.Sometimes we'd go to Treetanic, a Dali or Gaudi-esque garden bar with a mad assortment of hidden alcoves, bridges and exotic tropical flora. Everything is made out of recycled bottles, glass and colourful bits of crockery collected and put together to make the most amazing outdoor bar we'd ever seen. It was like a magical fairy garden summed up best by Lonely Planet, which says "who needs LSD when you can go to Treetanic?"Saturdays were reserved for the weekly Alton’s Booze Cruise. Come 5pm, one of the dive boats was loaded with huge speakers, eskis packed with ice and beer and enough rum to last several hours on the water. A few laps around the bay as the sun set, a cold beer in our hands and music pumping – it was hard to imagine that life could get any better than this.And the island itself was beautiful, very small, lots of cool bars and restaurants, an abundance of cheap seafood and lovely people. The only complaints we’d have would be the sweltering heat and the Jamaican-esque accents from the locals. As Chris put it, “They just sound dumb”.But of course, we were there for the diving and, on Monday, June 1, our PADI Open Water Course began. It was just us, and two others in our group with Louis, a fun Brit, as our instructor and Dom, a Canadian doing his Divemaster course, as our assistant.We had timed our visit to the island to coincide with the seasonal migration of the Whale Sharks and we'd heard as soon as we arrived that there had been plenty of sightings the previous week. First up, however, learning how to breath underwater. Day 1 was quite boring, lots of videos and a few tests from our text books. Day 2 was much more interesting as we had our Contained Water Classes. This is where we were fitted out with our wetsuits, fins, masks, tanks, weight belts and BCD (Buoyancy Control Device) vests. It was a strange sensation being weighed down by all the equipment, but even stranger taking that first breath underwater. It’s something we’ll never forget. Our Contained Water Classes were held in an area next to the jetty reserved for such a purpose and Day 2 was spent learning skills we would need for our open dives, such as clearing our masks underwater, equalising our ears, removing and then getting back into all our equipment underwater and what to do if we or someone else runs out of air. We learned all the important sign language signals and how to control our buoyancy using both our BCDs and the pressure in our lungs. We were quite surprised at how much physics and biology is involved with scuba diving. After class, we learned how to properly wash and store our equipment. Day 3 was our first two Open Water Dives. There is a morning boat and an afternoon boat that goes out every day at Alton’s, a mix of people doing their Open Water Courses like us, people assisting as part of their Divemaster Course or people doing fun dives. We were on the morning boat meaning we had to be out on the deck at 7.15am to collect, check and set up our equipment. It wasn’t that much of an effort as it was usually light by 5am and too hot to sleep by 6am. At 8am we departed and arrived at our first dive site, on the south side of the island, not long after.Despite having had several hours in the Contained Water Class the day before, it was an entirely new experience in open water. The sea was rougher and obviously a lot deeper. Descending on that first open water dive was another experience we’ll never forget – but possibly for two very different reasons. Chris had no problem descending or equalising his ears and was on the sea bed, 10m below, in no time. Caroline, on the other hand, had a mild panic attack when she thought she wasn’t getting enough air through her regulator (mouthpiece). One of the most important rules in scuba diving is not to shoot to the surface as it's dangerous for your lungs. Of course, when you are several metres underwater and not able to breathe, your first instinct is to shoot up to the surface and take a big gulp of air, so you start to feel trapped and claustrophobic. Knowing that she couldn’t go to the surface, Caroline started to panic and tried to explain as best she could to Louis and Dom that she couldn’t breathe. It was quite a terrifying experience - breathing underwater is so unnatural, especially when all the usual instincts of survival have to be repressed. She did her best to keep her cool and managed to convince herself to trust her equipment and within a few minutes she was on the sea bed with everyone else. It was touch and go for the next 10 minutes or so, as she had to focus in her breathing so as not to have another panic attack. The best way to describe it is like coming home after a big night on the booze and going to bed and having to concentrate on not being sick. It can go either way, but as long as you focus, everything will be ok.On the first dive, we practiced more of the skills we learned in our Contained Water Classes and spent some time exploring. We had about 40 minutes underwater before heading back up to the boat for a break (you need to have 'Surface Time' to eliminate some of the nitrogen you breathe in from the tanks from your body). We moved to another dive site and went back in for our second Open Water Dive. This time, neither of us had any problems and, as well as hundreds of colourful fish and coral, we were lucky enough to spot a giant turtle bobbing about in the water.Day 4 was the final two open water dives as part of our course. Again on the south side of the island, we descended to 18m, which is the limit for divers with our certification. Unfortunately we didn’t spot any whale sharks, but we did see two more giant turtles, a manta ray, several strange-looking flounder…erm…floundering on the sea bed and lots of colourful fish and coral.Back on dry land, we washed and stored our equipment, then headed in for the last part of our course – the Final Exam. We both passed with flying colours, Caroline scoring 100 per cent.We were now official certified Open Water Divers. And we have the certificate to prove it.That night we celebrated with the rest of the Alton’s crew at a Bando party – with the biggest pot of fish stew we had ever seen, slow cooked all day by local Utilans.The next day, Friday, June 5, we had our two Fun Dives, included by Alton’s as part of the course. Water conditions had been bad ever since the big earthquake so trips to the north side of the island – where Whale Sharks had been spotted on dive trips the week before – had been postponed. This day, however, conditions were deemed acceptable, and we headed north in search of the Whale Shark.With our course officially over, the two dives on this day were all about having fun. Unfortunately we didn’t spot any Whale Sharks, but we did spot all sorts of weird and wonderful marine life as we glided through tunnels and along sea shelves.We also helped retrieve a huge piece of wood from the ocean floor which we like to think was part of a small plane carrying cocaine that had crashed in the area not long before. We had enjoyed diving so much, and made so many good new friends at Alton’s (not to mention how utterly relaxing it was just hanging out in hammocks all day), we spent the next few days considering doing our Divemaster training, which would enable us to work at a dive school in the future. As certified Open Water Divers, we would have to do a Rescue Course, and then start our two-month training. We’d need to rack up 60 dives, assist on courses as Dom had done with us and go to more classes, but it meant we could dive as much as we want for free and, more importantly, extend our stay at Alton’s.During that time we had earthquake number eight (or was it nine?). Ever since the big earthquake a couple of weeks before, which has been felt in Utila just as strongly as we had experienced in La Ceiba, there had been daily tremors, often up to three times a day. Then, on the evening of Sunday, June 7, as we watched TV at Dom’s house, the room started shaking and groaning. Still a bit shaken up after our last experience, we instinctively jumped up to flee outside, but this one was much tamer than the last and after 15 seconds or so, peace returned and we went back to the TV.We spent a week pondering our decision from the hammocks, but in the end we decided that, after 16 months on the road, it was time to settle for a bit and earn some money.We spent the very last of our holiday savings on one-way tickets to Vancouver, Canada, flying from Cancun, in Mexico. Then, on Saturday, June 13, we big a fond farewell to Alton’s, Utila and those delicious baleadas, and caught the 6am ferry back to La Ceiba to begin our overland journey to Cancun. It was a hellish three days in transit. From La Ceiba, we caught a bus to San Pedro Sula (passing the bridge destroyed by the earthquake a few weeks earlier), then another bus to Puerto Cortes (at which point we discovered that our camera had gone missing somewhere on the bus from La Ceiba to San Pedro Sula. It was our third camera casualty for this trip. We lost all our photos from Antigua, including the cooking-sausages-on-molten-lava pictures, as well as everything from the past few weeks in Utila).In Puerto Cortes, we boarded a chicken bus bound for the Honduras/Guatemala border, arriving at customs at dusk. There was an awkward few minutes when the teenagers with machine guns at Honduras customs inspected our passports and debated whether or not they’d let us through as the border was officially closed for the day.We passed through just as the sun dipped below the horizon and we must have looked a sight, lugging all our excess baggage in the dark across the border. It’s moments like these, we’ll always remember.We were stamped back into Guatemala and then faced our next problem – getting from the border to a town where we could sleep for the night. We tracked down a man with a van who, seeing our desperate situation proceeded to do exactly what Guatemalans usually do when they see an opportunity to rip off a gringo – he tried to rip us off. He said it would cost us 200 Q ($40) for a lift to the nearest town, which was well overpriced according to a local who was also trying to get a lift. This guy said we should pay no more than 20 Q ($4) each. And so there, in the dark, being eaten alive by mosquitoes, we found ourselves in a Mexican (Guatemalan?) standoff, the man with the van waiting to go and us trying to negotiate a new price with him in our best Spanglish while preparing ourselves for the possibility we would be sleeping at the border until the first bus came through in the morning. In the end, we came to an agreement that for 120 Q ($24) he would take us all the way to Puerto Barrios, the town we had hoped to make it to that night, and drop us off right at our hotel of choice. We arrived at about 10pm, after 17 hours of travelling, located some street tacos, showered, then crashed. The next day, we were up early to go to immigration to get stamped out of Guatemala as we were going to catch a boat from Puerto Barrios to Punta Gorda in Belize. We’d only been in the country 12 hours, but the stamp cost us 160 Q ($32) - thanks for coming.The boat across to Punta Gorda took an hour and we quickly cleared customs with just enough time to make the chicken bus to Belize City. It was a seven-hour trip running almost the full length of the country and we were surprised at how void of people Belize is. For the most part, we passed though open fields or tropical jungles, driving through the odd small town only every hour or so.We had planned to stay in Belize City overnight, but we discovered upon arriving we could take another bus to Corozal, the last town before the border with Mexico. So, another three-hour bus ride later and we arrived. It had been another long day – 13 hours or boats and buses - so we crashed immediately (even sleeping through the huge party that went on all night, music at full volume, at the house across the road from our hotel).The next morning, in pouring rain, we lugged our bags to the bus station and bought a bus ticket to Chetamul, Mexico. We had to pass through customs (more forms to fill in, more payments to the government) and the bus was supposed to wait for us on the other side of the border to take us all the way to Chetamul bus station where we would catch another bus six hours to Cancun. It didn’t. Stranded, we had to beg a lift from another bus that wasn’t going to the bus station but would drop us off on the highway and we could walk. So we did. By this stage we were dirty and exhausted. We finally made it to the bus station, bought a ticket to Cancun and enjoyed the comfort of our first air-conditioned bus in six months.Arriving in Cancun at 4pm, we checked into Hostel Quetzal, the same hostel we had stayed at when we first arrived in Central America in January. It felt like coming home. After three days of stressful travelling we had made it. We spent two nights resting, recouperating and eating our final fill of quesadillas, before heading to the airport on the morning of Wednesday, June 17 to catch our flight to Vancouver.Of course, it couldn’t be that easy.Our 4pm plane was delayed by three hours, which meant we missed our connecting flight in Phoenix, Arizona in the US. Of course, US Airway were not responsible and would not put us up in a hotel for the night, so we slept in the airport, finding a cosy spot on carpet underneath the escalators and had a surprisingly decent night’s sleep. At 10am the next day, we boarded our flight direct to Vancouver.We arrived a few hours later, made our way from the airport to the American Backpackers Hostel in Downtown Vancouver and promptly headed to the pub for a cold beer and our first poutine – a Quebecan delicacy of hot chips covered in gravy and cheese curds. So, now we’re in Vancouver, Canada, figuring out where to from here. It’s a lovely city, much like Melbourne though with much less people (just 500,000), or perhaps a bigger Hobart. There’s a wonderful harbour and snow-capped mountains looming in the distance.At this stage our plan is to find a job, find a place to live and keep the dream alive as long as possible.We’ll let you know what happens next.Until then, Chris and Caroline xxP.S.Congratulations to Laura and Glyn on your great baby news!HIGHLIGHTS:Learning to scuba dive – breathing underwater for the first time and discovering an entire unknown world lies beneath the surface.The major earthquake in La Ceiba. Terrifying, but pretty cool in hindsight.Lazy days in hammocks, drinking Flor De Cana rum and watching amazing Caribbean sunsets. The tropical paradise we have been searching for our whole trip.SPECIAL SHOUT OUT: To all the Utila gang – especially Ollie, Steve, Dom, Phil, Marlo, Kim and Louis. Thanks for the good times. Hopefully it won’t be too long before we see you again.
]]> HOLY GUATEMALA — Antigua Guatemala, Western Highlands, Guatemala http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1248683653/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1248683653/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1248683653/tpod.html Tue, 18 Aug 2009 17:55:31 -0400 CHRIS & CAROLINE'S WORLD TOUR 2008-2009
Antigua Guatemala, Western Highlands, Guatemala

Hola amigos!See, we told the next one would follow shortly.Where were we? Oh yes, Holy Week...<i>Semana Santa (Holy Week) was a great time to be in Guatemala, with Easter celebrations a major event for the overwhelmingly Catholic community. Not a single chocolate egg in sight, the town instead was awash with parades, creative costumes and colourful hand painted chicks (baby chickens, not girls).On April 10, Good Friday, an eerie night parade around the streets surrounding the local church near our <i>casa (house) took place. Three huge, heavy wooden floats, featuring Mary, Jesus and the Cross, were lugged about by all the children of the town. With the candles, incense, chanting in <i>Tzotzil (the native Mayan language from the San Pedro region) and the slow, gentle swaying of the children carrying the floats, the entire scene was memerising.The next day, Easter Saturday, there was a repeat of the parade from the night before, with the older men and women of the town carrying the floats - but the main event came on Sunday.All throughout Saturday night, local families worked tirelessly on beautiful <i>alfombras (carpets) for the Sunday morning parade. The <i>alfombras were made of flowers, fruit, vegetables, hand-dyed woodchips and even eggs, shaped into patterns on the cobbled streets for the entire path of the parade. Colourful and intricate, it really did look like spectacular carpets had been spread out especially for the event. At 8am on Easter Sunday, the streets came alive. The families, having been awake all night, were putting the final touches to their <i>alfombras in the morning sun, while children were running around with pump-action water packs hosing the carpets down so they wouldn’t blow away. The three floats reappeared, this time carried by young men and veiled teenage girls. It took them a good four hours to shuffle slowly on the <i>alfombras in the heat and cloud of incense around the entire block surrounding the church.All the hard work of the night before was now just a mess of colour and vegetation, with the local kids running along behind salvaging flowers and vegetables that were still intact and pilfering them away in their pockets or bags, presumably a yearly tradition.Here's some more photos from <i>Semana Santa: On April 27, Caroline celebrated a rather unique 31st birthday. Chris had been to work during the night, filling the bedroom with balloons, and the morning was spent unwrapping presents, which included, among other things, a replica chicken bus and a pair of rainbow coloured hippy pants.&nbsp; At lunchtime, we headed to the thermal baths where Caroline had a massage before we spent the afternoon soaking in baths overlooking the lake and feasting on champagne and imported salamis, cheese and olives procured by Chris from Panajchel, the town across the lake.Birthday dinner was seafood at D’Noz Restaurant followed by cake, then back home for more drinking, dancing and piñata popping. All in all an excellent day, coordinated beautifully by Chris (though the same couldnt be said for the next morning when we awoke, stunned, to the sound of a random brass band belting out tunes outside our front door. Soooo not something you want to deal with when you have a hangover, but a classic example of the randomness of San Pedro).Two days after Caroline's birthday, the rainy season began. One minute the skies were an endless blue, the next, it was as if the heavens exploded like a burst dam. For about four hours every day, it poured and poured, turning the streets into white water rapids and sending the entire town's debris rushing down the hill to the lake.It must have been Mother Nature's time for revenge, because on May 2, we lived through earthquake number five and, at 6.1 on the Richter Scale, probably our biggest for the trip at that point. We were woken in the late morning by our bed and room shaking and dashed out to the foyer area where our sheet metal roof began twisting and shuddering. We briefly contemplated evacuating, considering the dilapidated nature of our <i>casa - and the fact we were now perched on the side of a volcano - but we stood our ground, faced our fears and, once again, survived.Like with any small town, gossip was a favourite pastime in San Pedro and you couldn’t sneeze without everyone else hearing about it within the hour. We began calling San Pedro 'The SP' as in the TV show 'The OC', and enjoyed daily catch ups on the latest dramas and ongoing storylines. At one stage we even considered starting a weekly gossip rag featuring all the regular town 'celebs' - just because we could. Though, as with most great ideas one has in San Pedro, we never quite found the time to do anything about it – way to much 'doing nothing' to do.News of the Swine Flu scare broke worldwide in April (though reports were considerably slow to arrive to San Pedro, just two hours from the Mexican border where the virus apparently originated). Stories kept flooding in from friends and family in other countries, particularly Australia which seems to have gone waaaaaay overboard in it’s preventative measures (Face masks? Stocking up on tinned goods? A week self-imposed quarantine after interstate holidays? Seriously?), but life continued in it’s slow, laid back manner in San Pedro. As we watched the rest of the world implode on itself and rifled through email travel alerts from the Australian government to “be alert, not alarmed”, we barely spared a thought for the epidemic that had closed down all major tourist sites in Mexico and restricted many flights in and out of the region we were currently in.And then, just a week before we were due to leave San Pedro, we got sick. And not just a sniffle or tickling cough, we got real sick. Sweats, chills, hallucinations, headaches, bone aches, muscles aches, nausea, vomiting. Good times. Whether or not we had succumbed to the dreaded Swine Flu is still unclear, but during our last week in San Pedro, we shivered and sweated our way through four days in bed.Leaving San Pedro is one of those things you have to plan well in advance and thoroughly commit to. That means buying the most expensive bus ticket possible so there is no way of 'accidentally' missing your ride, and it means ignoring everyone you have made friends with who will inevitably try and convince you to stay, “just for one more day”. We can’t even count the number of times we had farewell parties and drinks for new friends who then popped up the next day, having decided it wasn’t quite time to leave after all.So, on Monday, May 18, we left San Pedro. We had our own farewell party, and a final roast, at The Alegre the night before, then the next morning, hungover as hell, we caught an early-morning shuttle, bound for Antigua, four hours away. We spent three months living in San Pedro, Guatemala. It’s not at all what we expected to do, but it’s what happened. It was a strange, frozen moment in time, where we discovered that life can be that simple.ANTIGUAWe had three reasons for this pit-stop.1. To break up the journey to Utila, Honduras, where we were going to learn to scuba dive.2. To climb Volcan Pacaya, an active volcano that actually spews lava and everything and,3. To renew our now-expired three-month visa that covers Guatemala, Honduras, El Salvador and Nicaragua.After, a hellish four-hour journey nursing hangovers, we arrived in Antigua, population 45,000, but a virtual metropolis after the tiny town of San Pedro.(Now remember, we lost our camera - and all our photos from Antigua - somewhere on the overland trip between Honduras and Mexico, just after we left Guatemala, so you'll just have to make do with some leftover ones from San Pedro and a few we stole from the internet instead). We checked into a private room at a <i>posada (inn) for 30Q ($6) a night and the day after we arrived, made a 'visa run' to Guatemala City, an hour away by chicken bus. After much faffing about and being sent on a wild goose chase from one government building to another, we finally found the <i>Departamento de Extranjeria (Foreigners’ Office) where we managed to convince the government officials to express process our visas that day.As we had overstayed our 90 day visa by three days, we had to pay a small fine, as well as a fee for another 90-days that would then allow us to proceed safely into Honduras. As we waited for our visas, we wandered around the city, spotting a random herd of goats at a major intersection and enjoying a fun afternoon of beers, free tapas and football in El Portal, a bar once frequented by Che Guevera.Back in Antigua, we spent our remaining days checking out the town and the enormous local markets where Caroline was simultaneously both overwhelmed and delighted at the expansive second hard clothes markets that put San Pedro’s trucks to shame. Many a day was wasted trawling through the racks, munching on boiled corn coated in chilli and cheese, to the cries of <i>“Ropa, ropa, ropa, cinco, cinco, cinco” ("clothes, clothes, clothes, five, five, five").As we said, one of the main reasons for stopping in Antigua was to climb Volcan Pacaya, a one hour drive out of town and then a hefty two-hour trek up its side. Pacaya stands at an imposing 2,552 metres above sea level and has erupted almost continuously since 1965. It was a hot day, but we could really feel the heat from the lava bubbling away underground through the porous volcanic rock beneath our feet.The first glimpse of a lava stream was quite surreal. It actually flows quite fast, like a thick, molten toffee, and is accompanied by a crackling noise, kind of like a campfire. And it’s hot, really hot. Like 1077 degrees Celcius (1970 degrees Fahrenheit) hot. Standing a couple of metres away is enough to singe the hairs on your arms and feel your skin start to bake.Of course, being Aussies, the situation required some reckless behaviour so, armed with <i>salchichas (sausages), we used sticks to cook the most awesome BBQ ever over the molten lava. It only took a few seconds before the meat combusted, which was lucky because holding the sticks so close to the lava almost gave us third degree burns. We had some great photos of the experience, but they’re gone, along with the camera. Yeah…We are ashamed to admit it, but our first trip to McDonald's was perhaps one of the highlights of Antigua. Deprived of any sort of fast food for nearly five months, we hadn’t been in town long when we demolished our first large McChicken Meal. The experience only added to by the actual McDonald's building itself. Like all buildings in Antigua, the façade is largely colonial looking, but inside, it was the McDonalds of the future. The biggest, most awesome looking McDonalds we have ever seen with super-chilled air con, free internet and a huge outdoor landscaped garden restaurant complete with ornate colonial paving, sculptures and fountain (yes, we know we're sad).And of course, our pit stop in Antigua wouldn’t be complete without yet another earthquake. Our sixth one for the trip shook us in bed, but we barely even looked up, them having become something we thought we were now used to.Then, on Wednesday, May 27, we made the horrendous 14-hour overland journey to La Ceiba, in Honduras, our jumping off point for the Bay Islands where we would learn to scuba dive and where we would discover that earthquakes are something you never really get used to after all.Those stories, up next.Until then, Chris and Caroline xxHIGHLIGHTS:Sitting atop the 64m high, 1200-year-old Temple IV at Tikal, gazing over the canopy of trees and watching the sun sink low in the sky to the sound of unseen howler monkeys. Very special.The quintessential San Pedro things we’ll never forget, like: the local ladies in their traditional dress, the welcoming <i>“Hola” everywhere you went, the incessant call of “<i>Pan de Banana?” ("banana bread?") from Rosaria, Tyranasaurus Rex and the other banana bread ladies...and......the terrifying tuk tuk rides, the 5Q ($1) clothes trucks, the constant smell of fermenting coffee, the magical fireflies at night, the rain, the 4Q (80c) Cuba Libres, litro bottles of Gallo and Bravha, <i>vodka y naranja (vodka and orange) with freshly squeezed <i>jugo de naranja (orange juice), the pirated movies...and......the chickens, the pigs, the dogs, 3 x 10 tacos, the <i>“bolsos de agua” (bags of water), street stalls selling 8Q ($1.50) chicken dinners and mouth-watering tortas (with seven kinds of processed meat) cooked right there in front of you, Bob Marley on repeat over and over and over...and......cheap Termidor and Clos cask wine, the heady, scented markets, the old man who sat on the corner and shook everyone's hands as they walked past, the ATMs that never worked, Eliseo, the lake, the volcano, The Alegre…Time spent with all our new San Pedro friends, especially Steve, Simon, Carmen, Martin, Amanda, Alex, the La Playa boys, Juan, Mandy, John, Smokin’ Joe and Rosaria – we miss you guys.Climbing Volcan Pacaya and seeing real lava for the first time.The random herd of goats we saw wandering through a major intersection in Guatemala City. <i>Casa Banana (aka 'The Shanty') – the fleas, the jungle kitchen with our little electric cooktop, the leaks, the roosters, the blackouts, the tacuasil. Living in Guatemala – what an experience!&nbsp;P.S.Congratulations to Pam and Dwayne on the birth of little Griffin Neville and to Jen and Shane who recently welcomed baby Matilda Lena into the world. Well done guys!&nbsp; And good luck to Julia and Kris and Jules and James who will soon have new additions to their families as well. Photos please!Special hugs: Auntie Ange. Thinking about you and sending you lots of love from Canada. We hope you have a lovely birthday next week and are very spoiled.Belated birthday wished to: Auntie Ki, Laura, Dad/John, Mum/Josey, Dad/Michael, Ben P, Christie, Soph, Bel, Maddie, Mitch, Hank, Larry, Nat, Julia, Ian, Johnny and anyone else who has celebrated their special day since we last wrote.And a belated thanks to everyone for their well wishes for Chris' birthday recently and Caroline’s birthday back in April.Sol: Wish I was there to be watching Carlton’s impressive season with you. Top six, wicked. Finals for sure. (Caroline) WHAT WE LEARNED IN…GUATEMALA:Life doesn’t have to be serious - you just need to make space for little adventures and detours.Spanglish.
]]> TIKAL-ED PINK IN GUATEMALA — San Pedro La Laguna, Western Highlands, Guatemala http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1248677289/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1248677289/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1248677289/tpod.html Tue, 11 Aug 2009 00:06:10 -0400 CHRIS & CAROLINE'S WORLD TOUR 2008-2009
San Pedro La Laguna, Western Highlands, Guatemala

Hola amigos! No doubt you have been wondering what the hell has happened to us during the past six months since our last update? No?Not even the tiniest bit curious? Had we been torn apart by vicious howler monkeys in the jungles of Guatemala? Perhaps an unfortunate drowning incident while scuba diving in Honduras? Or maybe we’d been kissing sniffling pigs in Mexico without wearing a face mask?Actually, the truth is far less exciting. We were living in Guatemala for three months (more on that later) and in that time the power cord for the laptop (which holds all our photos) broke. We ordered a new one but thanks to the thieving bastards who work for the Guatemalan postal system, it never arrived. Nor did several of Caroline’s birthday presents. One parcel did make it through to us, though it had been opened, some of the contents stolen and then sent on it’s merry way. Joy. But enough of that.Now that we have finally arrived in Canada, we have bought a new cord and now must fill you all in on what’s been going on in the past half year. Don’t worry, we’ve split it up into a few parts so as not to completely bore you silly. Oh, and we also lost our camera (the third for this trip) somewhere on our recent overland journey between Honduras and Mexico so some parts of this blog are distinctly lacking in picture evidence. You’ll just have to take our word for it.And so begins part one of Guatemala.When we last caught up, waaaaay back in February, we were just about to slip across the Mexican-Guatemalan border (if you need a refresher, check our last update out here). After one more night sleeping in a cabana in the jungle at El Panchan in Palenque, we took a dawn shuttle to Frontera Corozal where we were officially stamped out of Mexico.From here, we hopped on a long boat up the Rio Usumacinta river to Bethel, where we took another shuttle bus to Guatemalan immigration. Then it was another few hours to Flores in the northern part of the country. FLORES AND TIKALFlores is a small town on an island on the Lago de Peten Itza, connected to the lakeshore town of Santa Elena by a 500m long causeway. It was to be a whirlwind visit however, as our only reason for being there was to see the nearby ruins of Tikal – reputedly the granddaddy of all Mayan sites in Central America.We stayed in a little hostel overlooking the lake and briefly inspected the busy town of Santa Elena – stocking up on fruit and vegetables at the local markets and munching on grilled corn with salt and orange from roadside stalls.We also stopped by a little pet shop, where Caroline (who still hadn’t learned her lesson after the “Squirrel Incident in New York”), was entranced by a pen of baby chickens. Encouraged to hold one by the little Guatemalan man cleaning the cage, she was horrified when the chick did a poo on her hand. “Perhaps now,” said Chris, “you have learned your lesson with all these creatures,” Perhaps.The next morning, we took another shuttle 1½ hours to the Parque Nacional Tikal. First settled in around 700 BC, Tikal had become one of the Mayan’s most important commercial and religious centres by about AD 250. It eventually collapsed (along with the rest of Mayan civilisation) in AD 900. These days, the parque covers 500 sq km, but only 16 sq km – comprising the central area of the ancient city with more than 4000 structures – is open to the public.It was a super hot day when we visited, but thanks to the protection of the dense jungle, we weren’t too uncomfortable as we explored the site.It was very different to the Garden of Eden we found at Palenque in Mexico. For a start, it was much more spread out, and there were a lot more temples. We began at the Acropolis del Norte (North Acropolis) for another unique picnic lunch overlooking the ruins.Afterwards, we headed down to the Great Plaza and relaxed on the soft grass in between the almost symmetrical Templos I and II. You cannot climb Templo I (rising to 44m and built above the tomb of King Moon Double Comb) as several people have tumbled to the death from the steep stairs, but we were able to make the ascent up the 38m Templo II, via a series of wooden ladders.The view from the top over the Great Plaza, the Acropolis del Norte and across to Templo I was awesome.From here we headed through the jungle to Templo V, 58m high and built in AD 700, it has a small room at the very top that is less than a metre deep, yet it is surrounded by walls 4.5m thick.The ascent to the top of Templo V was quite a terrifying experience – climbing an almost sheer vertical rickety wooden ladder (with no surrounding cage should we lean back too far and plummet to our deaths) to the very top ledge (which itself was only around 40cm wide with nothing preventing us from plummeting to our deaths). But the view from the top was well worth it – a canopy of trees with just the tops of surrounding temples poking through. We stopped up here for a while, taking in the serenity before making the doubly scary descent back down the ladder.Back on solid ground, we once again trekked through the jungle, making our way through the Plaza de las Siete Templos (Plaza of the Seven Temples) towards Temple IV.Along the way we encountered beautiful ocellated turkeys (which resemble peacocks) and many yet-to-be-uncovered temples and ruins – their location given away by the telltale pyramid-shaped mound of plants and vines.At 64m, Temple IV is Tikal’s highest building. Although steeper, the ascent was simplified by a series of ladders rather than just a single vertical ladder, yet the view was just as worth it.Sitting atop the 1200-year-old ruin ranks as one of the most memorable experiences of our trip. A canopy of green as far as the eye could see, randomly pierced by the tips of other temples. It was so quiet, so peaceful up there, with the silence perforated only by the throaty growl of unseen howler monkeys. It was yet another magical memory we wished we could bottle and keep.With the sun hanging low in the sky, we made the hour-long hike back to the parque entrance and caught a shuttle back to Flores, where we hopped on an overnight bus to Guatemala City.Now, we have caught dozens of overnight buses in the past year. They have been freezing cold, boiling hot, smelly, stuffy, nauseating and – as with the bus from La Paz to Uyuni in Bolivia – spine-shattering. But possibly this bus took the cake. Flicking aside the cockroach that had taken up residence in our seats, we settled in for the 10-hour trip. The bus took off – and then the music started.&nbsp; Not the tranquil symphonies you might expect on an overnight coach, but a mix of early 90s rock songs (think ‘All That She Wants’ by Ace of Base and ‘Sweat’ by Inner Circle) with early 90s disco hits (Vanilla Ice’s classic Ice Ice Baby and MC Hammer’s Can’t Touch This) – played at full volume. We didn’t know it at the time, but these ‘hits’ would make up the extent of all music we heard played in Guatemalan bars for the next three months.Despite our protests at 1am, and then again at 2am and 3am, the music continued to blare, with the chubby bus driver explaining that without the music at full volume, he couldn’t concentrate on the road.At 5.30am, we arrived – music still blaring – in bustling Guatemala City. It was still dark but the hawkers were in full force – accosting us before we’d even stepped from the bus, trying to sell everything from taxi rides and tours to last night’s batch of <i>tamales. We settled on a fare to a bus station on the other side of town, where we hoped to get a quick connection to Panajchel in the Guatemalan highlands. We negotiated what we thought was a fare the entire four-hour journey to Panajchel, where we would catch a <i>lancha (boat) across Lago de Atilan to the lakeside town of San Pedro La Laguna – our base from where we would study Spanish.We were squashed into a minivan with locals on their way to work, and all was going well until, about an hour into our trip, everyone was ordered out and dumped on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Fortunately, we’d made friends with a lovely local named John who explained we needed to change to a chicken bus (former US school bus, pimped out and used for public transport, so named because passengers are often accompanied by their chickens) that would take us to a tiny town called Solala, where we would change again for a bus to Panajchel. So after our fourth bus for the day, we arrived at Panajchel dock and negotiated a fare with a boat captain across the lake to San Pedro.SAN PEDROOur initial plan had be to enrol in Spanish school, stay for a week and then move on, but we immediately found ourselves wanting to stay forever.San Pedro (population 10,000) is a little lakeside town with just a few roads, lined with cafes, great little restaurants and roadside stalls selling everything from handmade jewellery to cheap tacos. The lake itself is magnificent, crystal blue and ringed by mountains and volcanos.As soon as we arrived, we set about finding accommodation – rushing from hotel to hotel trying to secure a room ahead of the other backpackers who had shared our boat. In the end, we stumbled upon Hotel Toliman, a ramshackle establishment that appeared deserted apart from it’s owner, a slightly-neurotic Guatemalan named Eliseo. We were shown the 'penthouse', a room - with ensuite - on the roof of the tiny hotel, with it’s own huge rooftop balcony, little outdoor kitchen and what was undoubtedly the best view of the lake in town. There was even a private jetty from which we could swim. Sure, it was a bit dusty and there was reinforced steel poking out in several dangerous locations. And yes, the place stunk thanks to the huge pile of fermenting coffee beans at the open-air processing plant next door and the electric shower had two temperatures – freezing or boiling – and only produced a trickle of water that spurted in every direction but down, but it was home.We took it immediately and negotiated a weekly rate of 66 Quetzals ($13) a night. With every other place in town asking 150 Quetzals ($30) a night, we felt we were the luckiest people on earth.We spent four nights relaxing before starting classes, enrolling in a Spanish school and doing a reconnaissance mission through town, We discovered a pub, The Alegre, just metres from our hotel that did Sunday roasts, 5 Quetzal ($1) vodka and oranges (with real, freshly squeezed orange juice), Cuba Libres for 4Q (80c) and a big English breakfast fry-up (with bacon and eggs, baked beans and tea – proper, English breakfast tea!). Plus, just a few days after we arrived, they were screening the Oscars – in English.Even more importantly, they showed all the English football games (as well as all other sports from around the world, though sadly, no AFL). The Alegre, and at least half a dozen other pubs in town screened nightly new release movies for free, you could buy a litre of beer for 16 Quetzals ($3.20) and surrounding street food included BBQ chicken and steaks with beans and guacamole for 8 Quetzals ($1.50)......the most delicious Japanese-style veggie burgers 10 Quetzals ($2)...&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; ...several taco stand options......and daily baked loaves of <i>pan de banana (banana bread), we bought for 3Q (60c) from the little ladies who carried their wares around in baskets on their heads. We had found paradise.Waking up on the morning after our first night in San Pedro, was one of the most magnificent feelings ever. Opening our eyes and looking straight out our full-length window to the picture-postcard view of the lake and mountains is something you usually only dream of. We soon became well acquainted with Eliseo, our bumbling landlord who, despite owning prime real estate in San Pedro, had no idea about running a business. His property was a shambles – dirty and dangerous – and he never quite grasped the concept of negotiation. One morning, he decided to change the nightly rate, despite us already having made a deal. He regularly breached the landlord/tenant boundary, often wandering into our room to recline on our bed or appearing out of nowhere on our way in our out to enquire about where we were going, or where we’d been, or who we’d been with and why. Sometimes he would knock on our door at 4am to tell us he needed to fix a pipe and to warn us he might wake us when he climbed on the roof.We very quickly grew accustomed to his favourite phrase, “Si, my friend”, uttered at every given moment and in answer to every question. He also favoured <i>"tarde" as in “later” – the default response whenever we asked when the toilet paper/clean sheets/portable kitchen/change from our weekly rent payment would arrive. Perhaps a better answer would have been <i>“nunca”, never.&nbsp; He also had a habit of never being around when you needed him and hanging around in awkward silence, long after the usual pleasantries had expired whenever you didn’t. One night, during a rooftop sausage sizzle with some of new friends, he seemed to suddenly apparate from nowhere, the minute the sausages hit the grill. “Ah, si, you are cooking my friend,” he drooled as he hovered in the kitchen, oblivious to the private party that was in progress. <i>“Si, Eliseo, tu quieres una salchicha en pan,” we offered politely, expecting he would take one sausage in bread and leave. “Si, my friend,” he replied, leaping for the bread and tomato sauce, taking not one, but eight sausages in all and polishing off all the onion to boot. The rest of us, forced to be content with just three snags apiece, were flabbergasted.We briefly contemplated moving and even inspected some considerably cheaper and better decked out digs. But in the end we couldn’t tear ourselves away from the magic view. We used a pin to prick some extra holes in the shower head to create a more even flow of water and we even grew used to the smell of fermenting coffee beans, though no doubt whenever we visit a Starbucks, we will forever be reminded of our lakeside penthouse in San Pedro.For two weeks we studied at San Pedro Spanish School with our affable maestro Lucas. It was, to say the very least, a unique experience. Walking to school down dusty dirt track, through vegetable gardens, passing farmers, horses, chickens and dogs along the way, the huge Volcán San Pedro looming in one direction and the lake glistening in the morning sun in the other. Then sitting down to our lesson in our 'classroom' – a little thatched roof <i>palapa (open-sided, thatched-roof hut) by the lake.During this fortnight, our days consisted of waking up to the glorious vista, trotting off to Spanish school for four hours, coming home to do homework during the hottest part of the day, then either relaxing on our rooftop balcony with litro bottles of ice-cold Gallo cervezas taking in the view or heading to The Alegre for an afternoon of football and litro bottles of ice-cold Gallo cervezas.Each morning the sunrise turned the mountains a stunning gold, while the stillness of the sparkling lake would be broken only by a lone fisherman in a wooden boat hoping to snare dinner for his family.Throughout the day, to the soundtrack of water gently lapping the shore outside our window, we'd see kayakers glide past and <i>lanchas would pass regularly, delivering the next batch of unwitting gringos from nearby towns. “Don’t do it,” we’d shout, “if you get off that boat you will never leave”.Our evenings would be spent cooking up something in our little outdoor kitchen or grabbing a quick bite from a street vendor before heading to one of the local pubs for a free flick. In our first month in San Pedro, we pretty much caught up on every film we were either too poor to go and see while we were saving for this trip back home in Australia, or missed while we were in any of the non-English speaking countries we’d been to in the past 12 months. The movies, all pirated would often have the backs of heads or chairs from the cinema they were illegally filmed in, or cut out 10 minutes before the end. We’re still yet to discover if Jennifer Aniston and Owen Wilson got a new dog in 'Marley &amp; Me' and Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman and the little Aboriginal boy lived happily ever after in 'Australia'. We settled in quickly in San Pedro, soon becoming regulars at our two locals – the bartenders knowing our names and our drinks of choice within days. Within week of arriving in San Pedro, the owner of the local store was asking whether we wanted anything special bought back from his monthly trip to procure stock in Guatemala City and we’d been given the <i>reservado sign to put on the front row table for the nightly movie at The Alegre. We soon formed a close friendship with Steve, a crazy Pom who now calls San Pedro home and the three of us became inseparable.We couldn’t walk down the street without stopping to say hello to at least half a dozen people we’d become friends with – locals and travellers alike. We even developed a social life – hosting BBQs on our rooftop balcony, trotting off to weekend BBQs at the homes of others or heading off with a big group and a crate full of beer to watch the local football grand final, played on a dusty pitch, with 5000 other screaming fans. During this first month we lived through not one, but another two earthquakes, bringing our total to four for this trip (the first two being in Fethiye, Turkey and Lima, Peru). There was also much excitement one night when one local shot another local dead just metres from where we were staying. It’s not a dangerous place per say, but the locals are Mayans, who are used to dealing with things the traditional way. Apparently the murder had something to do with drugs – someone thought someone else needed to be taught a lessonWe’re not sure what it is about San Pedro but we quickly became inflicted with the same condition suffered by many a traveller before us – we just couldn’t leave. Time and time again we spoke to expats from every nation who had intended on staying three days and ended up staying six months. Many had returned several times for long stays after briefly going home to sort out their personal affairs. Others obtained low-paying jobs at the local bars and restaurants, just to stay as long as they could. And time and time again, no one could really explain why, they were drawn to San Pedro. In Spanish, it’s best summed up by <i>porque si - "just because".Our one-week stay had turned into two, now four. We had already rearranged our travel plans to cater for extra time in San Pedro, deciding to skip our jaunt south all the way to Costa Rica and Panama and instead do a quick loop into Honduras to learn to scuba dive, then return to Mexico, via Belize, to fly to Canada. We’d be in Vancouver by early April, at the latest, for sure.But by mid-April, a month-and-a-half into our stint in San Pedro, we realised that we had no intention of leaving San Pedro just yet and began thinking how we could stick around and stretch our holiday just that little bit longer.And that is how we came to be temporary residents of Guatemala.After some searching, we found a house to move into with a new friend, a girl from England called Sophia. Perhaps it’s because our standards have dropped considerably since we left Australia, perhaps it’s because there isn’t a real estate agent to speak of in San Pedro and pickings were slim, or perhaps (and most likely) in San Pedro, things like how impressive you house is doesn’t seem to matter – but our new <i>casa (aka 'Casa Banana', aka 'The Shanty') was…unique.It was a primitive home, so to give you a better image of the place:Walking up the hill from the main dock where we had arrived in February, you hit the markets where locals are selling everything from chickens and cowboy hats to beans and blankets.Just around the corner, you walk off a main street busy with tuk tuks and women in traditional Mayan dress, or <i>traje, of long skirts, blouses and aprons carrying huge baskets of corn on their heads, down a little alleyway to four little houses, all very ramshackle. Ours was one of them (another one was inhabited by Simon, the Scottish owner of The Alegre, his Guatemalan wife and their little girl Melody). You walk in the front door and you are standing in a big foyer area. To the right is our makeshift kitchen and the loungeroom. Directly in front is our room on the right and Sophia’s room on the left. To the left is the bathroom/toilet with flushing toilet (a luxury) and hot water electric shower which will electrocute you if you touch it. Next to that is a concrete trough, common in all Guatemalan homes, where you wash your dishes and scrub your clothes. All in cold water. (Though we always used a local laundry to wash our clothes and boiled water whenever we wanted to wash up). Next to that are stairs leading up to a big balcony that is the roof of our bedrooms.If you stand at the front door and look at the bedrooms, with the stairs to the left, you can actually see the balcony and sky as there was no wall in that part of the house. It was a bit weird, but rain couldn’t get in and it was kind of nice having an indoor/outdoor feel to the place. Most of the homes in San Pedro were like that and although anyone could have walked from next door, across our balcony and down the stairs into our house, they never did as we lived in the local area so everyone looked out for everyone else. (Though we did often have cats come and make themselves comfortable during our stay, along with a few late-night visits from a Tacuasil, a nocturnal Guatemalan mammal that looks like a cross between a possum and a bilby, which would be kind of cute if it didn’t also screech like a rat).Also, the 'wall' in our 'kitchen' (decorated in jungle theme) was just a few wooden beams with big gaps in them so you can see straight into the neighbour’s kitchen. It was ok though, they were a lovely Guatemalan family and it was sort of nice when the smell of their incense and the sound of them chanting prayers on a Sunday drifted into our house.Like most homes in San Pedro, there was no fridge or even a kitchen to speak of so we bought a little electric stove and rented a fridge from one of the cafes in town, which we delivered to the house by negotiating a fair price with a local who owned a ute.And that’s where we spent the next two months, the three of us paying just 300 Quetzals each ($60) a month for our own piece of paradise.Sure, it was no luxury harbourside apartment, but with a bit of a tidy and lots of disinfecting and some creative decorating, we made it our home.Each morning, we woke to the sound of roosters and the smell of wood smoke from locals cooking <i>frijoles (black beans) and <i>tortillas on outdoor fires was always in the air.Every hour the church around the corner would fire two cannons and despite living there for three months, we never got used to the sound, jumping every time the loud booms rocked the house. Once a week, another church in the street came alive with the most horrendous singing – a mix between yodeling, Guatemalan country and western and a cat being strangled.We shopped at the local markets, picking up a bag of vegetables that would last a week, for 20Q ($4). We slept late, we read a lot and, of course, we spent a lot of time watching football and movies at The Alegre.The place was infested with fleas, so we always looked like we had a severe case of chicken pox and when rainy season kicked off with a spectacular downpour at the end of April, the house would flood. Sometimes the water or electricity – or both – would be off for days. And the flies. Dear god, the flies.On Saturdays, we would rummage through the 'trucks' at the markets, piles of second-hand clothes, often of the designer label variety, shipped from the US and sold to Guatemalans for 5Q ($1) each. To the cries of <i>“Ropa, ropa, ropa, cinco, cinco, cinco” (“Clothes, clothes, five, five, five”), we replenished out tattered travel duds three times over.There was no such things as weekends. In San Pedro, every night is Saturday night and the usual course of events would take us from lunch beers by the lake in the beergarden at La Playa (The Beach) Bar, to afternoon beers at Zuula, to Happy Hour at Buddha Bar, to “lets get the party started 4Q (80c) Cuba Libres" at The Alegre, finishing up, always, at Freedom Bar – the closest thing the tiny lakeside town had to a dance/trance nightclub. A hippy haven, evenings there would generally feature at least one fire-twirling show by some unwashed, dreadlocked gypsy. “This”, we thought, “is where all those Theatre Media students from Charles Sturt University ended up”.Then, once everything had closed at 1am, we'd join the other revellers in an area fondly referred to as 'The Vortex' - the main intersection in town where everyone would meet to continue the party. We'd buy beer from a tiny <i>tienda (shop) that was closed but would sell you alcohol if you knocked on a little window and asked politely in Spanish for <i>"un litro de Gallo frío por favor<i>" (one litre of cold Gallo beer, please), then we'd all sit and chat and some people would play music, often until dawn.Actual weekends were reserved for BBQs courtesy of Smokin’ Joe (aka Nester), an all-America ex-marine (and one who still dressed the part) who took his meat as seriously as any action he saw in ‘Nam. For 50Q ($10), you were give a humungous plate of five different salads and the best steak wrapped in bacon/half chicken/dinosaur ribs you have ever tasted. Cooked to perfection and topped with one of Smokin’ Joes own home-made signature sauces, the regular Sunday events were usually held at La Piscina (The Pool).St Pat's Day in March was spent in traditional fashion, drinking Irish Coffees in the the closest thing San Pedro had to an Irish pub and taking advantage of the cheap drink specials in town.We only left San Pedro (which often felt like an island because we were so isolated) a few times, once to take a day trip to Quetzaltenango (locally known as 'Xela)', a terrifying four-hour chicken bus ride through the mountains and twice to Panajchel ('Pana'), a slightly bigger town across the lake, for shopping.It was on one of these trips to Pana that we came up with the grand idea of starting a vodka jelly shot business. Because San Pedro is so relaxed, you can pretty much start any business you want, hence the number of hippies selling everything from jewellery to crystals to chakra realignments on the side of the road. Wanting a piece of the action, we originally considered The Great Australian BBQ (a plan involving a BBQ, cold beers, snags in bread with tomato sauce and one of those aprons with plastic boobs on the front), but, not wanting to upset Smokin’ Joe, we then thought about a sushi business. However, after some research, we discovered seaweed, sushi rice and, in fact, most of the ingredients needed for sushi were unavailable in Guatemala, we continued our brainstorming. This is when we came upon vodka jelly shots, a long time party favourite and Kelly family Christmas tradition.Our grand opening coincided with Dodgy 80s night at The Alegre. We had earlier riffled through the trucks for the perfect costumes (Chris – a fluorescent blue and pink cactus t-shirt, teamed with blue jeans, white sneakers, a porn-star moustache, slicked back hair and a ponytail; Caroline – bright pink short shorts over black leggings paired with an 80s style jumper, sweat bands, a side ponytail and bright blue eyeshadow - a la Jane Fonda). After preparing our first batch, we proceeded to sell them to punters as they danced to Starship’s 'The Final Countdown' and The Buggless classic 'Video Killed the Radio Star'.&nbsp;We sold them for 5Q ($1) each and our on our debut night, we recouped all our costs. Four successive sales and we had covered our rent for the month. It was never going to be a long-term business plan, but we had found a way to keep the dream alive…for another few months at least.TO BE CONTINUED...(very soon, promise)
]]> HAVANA GOOD TIME — Havana, Cuba http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1233456600/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1233456600/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1233456600/tpod.html Sun, 09 Aug 2009 18:11:04 -0400 CHRIS & CAROLINE'S WORLD TOUR 2008-2009
Havana, Cuba

Hola everyone, This top-secret correspondence comes to you from Havana Airport, Cuba. Apparently laptop computers are forbidden here and if you get caught with one it will be confiscated. So, we're in hiding, settled beneath a thick plume of cigar smoke, as we spend another night in an airport awaiting our flight back to Mexico.After a last-minute decision to dash to Cuba, we spent nine nights in heady Havana, soaking up the sun and the sights and grooving to the seemingly endless beat that fills the air here.It was a good time to be in town too, with the recent 50th anniversary celebrations of the Cuban Revolution.Viva la revolucion!We arrived on the afternoon of January 23 after a short flight from Cancun, Mexico.Our first priority was to find a place to sleep and when in Havana that place is a casa particular - a private room in someone's house. We caught a cab from the airport to Habana Veija (the old town) and began scouting the area. The first one we tried was full but they put us in touch with another one around the corner and we secured four nights there in a private room with an ensuite bathroom.Accommodation in Havana is quite expensive, considering, with most casas charging 30 Convertible Pesos (CUCs, roughly $50) per room per night.Actually, this is probably a good time to mention Cuba's unusual monetary system. CUBA'S UNUSUAL MONETARY SYSTEMJust to make things extra confusing, there are two currencies in circulation, the CUC (1 CUC = $1.60) and the Moneda Nacional, or Cuban Peso (1 Peso = $0.06). Restaurants and shops use one or the other (though most CUC places are aimed at tourists, while the Cuban Pesos are used in places frequented by locals) and it is much better to pay for things in Cuban Pesos (though some things, like taxis and accommodation, only take CUCs). For example, a beer in a CUC bar costs 1 CUC ($1.60), while a beer in a bar that uses Moneda Nacional costs 18 Cuban Pesos ($1.03). You can get a pizza at CUC restaurant for 10 CUC ($16) or at a local eatery for 25 Cuban pesos ($1.43). You can only get Cuban Pesos when you are actually in Cuba by swapping some CUCs. And you can only get CUCs by changing Euros or Canadian dollars. It's quite the process.So, back to the story.We checked into Casa Luis Batista for four nights as we were unsure as to whether we would stay in Havana during our entire time in Cuba.It was a nice enough place, but the people were a bit grumpy and extremely unhelpful, so we spent as little time there as possible, instead spending our days exploring Havana Veija.Havana is a strange place - almost trapped in time with its glorious, albeit dilapidated, buildings and classic America cars cruising the streets. With a bit of spit and polish, it would be a spectacular city, rivalling places like Spain and Italy, but many years of neglect have left Havana's glory days in the past.We presumed it has a little to do with Cuba's lack of financial injection from the US and a lot to do with the government's spending on other things instead of improving the city.A ration card, or libereta, for example was introduced in 1962 as a safety net for the community. It includes around 30 basic food items, like rice, sugar, salt and pasta that are sold at subsidised prices, while babies, the elderly and pregnant women also receive special help. On top of this, there are huge subsidises for cultural and sporting events like cinema, theatre and baseball, the country's favourite pastime. Apparently all this is a huge drain on the government finances, but the poverty that would exist without it would be an even bigger problem.So Havana with it's beautiful but decaying facades and ramshackle homes, comes across as looking much like a third world city, or to be more precise, a first world city that was once bombed and is yet to be rebuilt. Much of the disrepair also comes from hurricane damage. Hurricanes rip through Cuba each year (last year there were two in one week!)But despite all this, we hear that Cubans are among the healthiest people in the world (Cuba is at the forefront of medical research). And we read in Lonely Planet that "more than 400 million women are illiterate worldwide, but not one of them is Cuban".And then of course there are the cars. Classic American beauties that were imported prior to the US trade embargo against Cuba and are still being driven be pretty much everyone on the road. Sure, the odd modern Peugeot rolls past, but it looks completely out of place.So for our first few days, we simply explored the old town, strolling along the Malecon (the waterfront boulevard) watching the locals fish and swim.Not surprisingly, we also spend much of out time drinking with locals in some of the dodgiest little dives we have ever been in.We discovered quickly that shopping for bread at <i>panaderias (bakeries) and tomatoes and cheese at <i>agropecuarios (farmers market selling fresh fruit and vegetables) was the cheapest way to procure breakfast, while for other meals, we ate at street stalls or local restaurants. On January 25, when it was January 26 - Australia Day - back home, we celebrated with Havana Club rum in the park and several rounds of <i>ostiones, around a dozen small oysters served in a glass with tomato sauce and lime juice (for 29c). We know it sounds completely rotten, but they are super delicious and super cheap.Viva la revolucion!Then on January 26 we had our own Australia Day celebration. We hung the flag in our room, compiled our own Triple J (Cuba) Hottest 10 (extremely hard considering we've been out of the musical loop for almost 12 months and only have a few new albums on our iPods) and drank Havana Club while we counted down. The wining song (which we later we discovered we had predicted correctly) was hardly the edge-of-your-seat surprise it usually is on Australia Day but it was fun to pretend nonetheless.By this stage we'd decided we were having way too much fun in Havana and would skip travelling elsewhere in Cuba, but with no more nights free at our current casa particular, we had to move. We spent one afternoon pounding the pavement and knocking on doors to try and find a place to stay for our four remaining nights. After several attempts, we came across Casa Jesus y Maria, where we were given our own little room, with ensuite, on a rooftop balcony - complete with deckchairs - overlooking a busy Havana Veijo street. For the next four days we checked out the Museo de la Revolucion (the inside was apparently decorated by Tiffany's of New York) with it's great photo collection and virtual army of tanks, planes and boats that have played crucial roles in Cuba's history, including the Granma, on which Fidel Castro sailed from Mexico to Cuba in 1856. There was also a hilarious mural painted inside cartoonising American presidents Gerorge Bush Snr and Ronald Reagan and Cuban President Fulgencio Batista) who was run out of town by Fidel and his revolutionaries). 'Rincon de los Cretinos' the mural pronouced, 'Corner of the Cretins'.We visited the Plaza de la Revolucion, where Fidel has addressed up to 1.2 million supporters, strolled the Prado and checked out the local markets lining the Malecon.We marvelled at the futuristic coco taxis as they transported tourists around and watched the local kids play baseball with a stick and a bottle top.We admired the Capitolio Nacional building, an almost exact replica of the Capitol Building in Washington DC, but apparently more detailed (if that's not an up-yours to America, what is?)And we sat and watched the Cuban men debate baseball at <i>La Esquina Caliente (The Hot Corner) in the leafy Parque Central. For decades men of all ages have come to argue - loudly - about the nation's favourite sport from dawn until dusk.Apparently the state-controlled news agencies don't report on the major leagues and neither of the TV channels broadcast it. You can see it on cable, but only in tourist hotels and Fidel's own home.We also went to Coppelia for ice cream, a cultural experience in itself. The ice cream parlour has several entrances where hundreds of Cubans queue daily for up to an hour to sample the treats inside. For each queue there is a noticeboard posting the flavours available at that particular entrance. You choose what flavours you like, join the appropriate queue and wait. About 20 people are seated at a time, a waiter takes your order and you pay when you're done. We weren't entirely sure what we were doing, but managed to order a huge bowl of delicious chocolate ice cream for 5 Cuban Pesos (29c) each.Afterwards we walked 3km down San Rafael back into Havana Veijo, stopping by Pizza Celina's where you walk across the road, shout your order to a man on the roof five storeys up. He sends your pizza down in a basket on a rope, and you drop in 10 Cuban Pesos (57c).On our final night we celebrated with a proper meal at a proper Chinese restaurant, where we enjoyed our first bit of red meat in nine days. Slaughtering cows is actually illegal in Cuba as the government uses them for state-run restaurants and rations.And so here we are, sitting in the smoke-filled Havana Airport, drinking rum with all the other passengers trying to keep warm from the air-conditioning, which appears to be stuck on 'Artcic' and sharing the few shreds of valuable toilet paper we have left.It's a tough life...but someone's got to do it.Today we fly to Mexico, where we plan to do little else than eat tacos and relax in hammocks while we look at beautiful white sand beaches with crystal-blue waters. From there it's south onto Guatemala, Honduras, Costa Rica and Panama.Not sure when our next update will be but...Until then, Chris and Caroline xxP.S. We hope everyone back home had a great Australia Day and we're sorry we missed the party at Simmo's. Really, we were totally bummed we couldn't celebrate with you all. We tried to call, email, Skype, send smoke signals etc., but Cuba is well behind on the technology front. We couldn't get a phone card that worked for Australia and the internet cost more than $10 an hour and is as slow as buggery. We were thinking of you all on the day though!HIGHLIGHTS:Sucking back <i>ostiones and having "Ostiones momentos" as they caught dangerously in our throat.Being in a place that isn't a slave to America - no Coca Cola advertising, no McDonalds and no Cuban homeboys. Refreshing.The music - for all its repetition and annoying addiction.The feeling we were stuck in a time warp. The cars, the colonial facades - the general lack of any progress past 1963.Getting back into the swing of the Spanish self-schooling. It'samazing what we've already picked up and we look forward to beginningproper classes in Guatemala.Our random meeting with Bismal - a young Cuban - at the local bar. We gave him an American $1 note, and he took us home to meet his lovely family (despite Caroline initially fearing he was going to steal our kidneys).WHAT WE LEARNED IN...CUBA:So much about the country's extremely interesting history - a history that goes well beyond those infamous Che Guevera t-shirts.All the dogs in Havana are exceptionally long. We believe this is due to the freakishly high number of Daschunds (sausage dogs) in Havana. Ham (<i>jamon) is Cuba's national delicacy. It's in and on EVERYTHING. Pizzas, rolls, pasta and rice. Even the tap beer at our local (30c a glass) tasted hammy. Eat it or starve.After the keys to your room, the three most important things to make sure you have with you when you leave for the day are: toilet paper, forks (for the cheap street food served in <i>cajitas - little takeaway boxes) and plastic bags (you are always stumbling across a little panaderia or agropecuario, where they don't supply bags).There are always random queues for everything - banks, fruit and veggie markets and ice cream parlours. As courteous travellers, we always asked for <i>ultimo (the end of the line), but we quickly learned not to be surprised when middle-aged women simply pushed to the front.Music in Cuba consists of the one beat (a "boom badum boom" that sounds much like someone hitting a pipe with a wrench), played over and over and over and over again. Sometimes, for variation, the beat is sped up or slowed down or another rhythm is played over the top.Havana is a very, very noisy place. Possibly the noisiest place on Earth. Aside from the aforementioned beat, which you fall asleep and wake up to and hear all day long, other commonly heard noises are ducks and roosters (kept on balconies), dogs (in the streets), engines being revved (a classic car is being tinkered with in every street) and lots of yelling. Lots. There's also this horrible hissing noise, almost like a loud "psst" that men use to get the attention of women. Often it feels like you are walking through a snake sanctuary.FYI:THAT famous picture of Che Guevera that appears on t-shirts, posters and keyrings all over the world, was taken by Alberto Korda while Che was at a memorial service for the victims of the French ship La Coubre, which exploded while unloading munitions in Havana. The image is known as Guerrillero Heroico.Viva la revolucion!
]]> OUR ITINERARY — Sydney, Australia http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1201868820/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1201868820/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1201868820/tpod.html Thu, 06 Aug 2009 04:08:44 -0400 CHRIS & CAROLINE'S WORLD TOUR 2008-2009
Sydney, Australia

Hi everyone, Here's a copy of our itinerary in case any of you are traveling this year and we might be crossing paths. It's a pretty flexible schedule, so even if you'll be in our general area, let us know and we'll do our best to find you.Hope to see you...somewhere!C&amp;COUR ITINERARY2008FEB 11-16: Phuket, ThailandFEB 16-March 1: ChinaMAR 2-25: IndiaMAR 25-APR 2: JapanAPR 2-22: EgyptAPR 22-MAY 1: LondonMAY 1-7: Paris and French wine countryMAY 8-9: San Sebastian, SpainMAY 10-13 Barcelona, SpainMAY 14: Toledo, SpainMAY 15: Salamanca, SpainMAY 16-18: Lisbon, PortugalMAY 19-21: Lagos, PortugalMAY 22: Seville, SpainMAY 23-25: Chefchouen, MoroccoMAY 26: Fez, MoroccoMAY 27-30: Marrakesh, MoroccoMAY 31-JUNE 2: Venice, ItalyJUNE 3-7: Ljubljana, SloveniaJUNE 8-9 Bled, SloveniaJUNE 10-12: Split, CroatiaJUNE 13-14: Hvar, CroatiaJUNE 15-18: Korcula, CroatiaJUNE 20-22: Florence, ItalyJUNE 23-25: Tuscany, ItalyJUNE 26-28: Cinque Terre, ItalyJUNE 29-JULY 2: Sorrento, ItalyJULY 3-9: Rome, ItalyJULY 10-13: Santorini, Greek IslandsJULY 14-AUG 2: Turkey (Fethiye, Olympos, Cappadocia, Istanbul)AUG 3-7: Dublin, IrelandAUG 8-9: Cork, IrelandAUG 10-11: Galway, IrelandAUG 12-15: Edinburgh (for the Edinburgh Festival), ScotlandAUG 16-25: England (Southport and Liverpool for the Beatles Festival)AUG 26-SEPT 9: London (Chemical Brothers on August 30!)SEPT 10-18: Amsterdam, The NetherlandsSEPT 19-24: Munich, Germany (for Oktoberfest)SEPT 25-28: Innsbruck, AustriaSEPT 29-October 6: Berlin, GermanyOCT 7-9: Prague, Czech RepublicOCT 10-11: Cesky Krumlov, Czech RepublicOCT 13-15: Krakow, PolandOCT 16-21: Budapest, HungaryOCT 22-23: Vienna, AustriaOCT 25-29: Amsterdam, The NetherlandsOCT 30-NOV 5: London, EnglandNOV 6-8: Rio de Janeiro, BrazilNOV 9-12: Ilha Grande, BrazilNOV 13-14: Paratay, BrazilNOV 16-17: Puerto Iguazu, ArgentinaNOV 19-20: Buenos Aires, ArgentinaNOV 21: Lima, PeruNOV 23: Nazca, PeruNOV 25-27: Puno, PeruNOV 29-30: Cuzco, PeruDEC 1-4:&nbsp;Machu PicchuDEC 6: La Paz, BoliviaDEC 7-11: Amazon, BoliviaDEC 13-16: Uyuni, BoliviaDEC 18-19: La Paz, BoliviaDEC 21-JAN 3: New York, USA2009JAN 7-10: San Francisco, USAJAN 11-15: Las Vegas, USAJAN 16-21: Los Angeles, USAJAN 22-31: Havana, CubaFEB 1-2: Cancun, MexicoFEB 3-4: Isla Mujeres, MexicoFEB 5-6: Tulum, MexicoFEB 6-12: Palenque, MexicoFEB 13-16: San Cristobal de las Casas, MexicoFEB 17-18: Flores, GuatemalaFEB 19-MAY 17: San Pedro de Atitlan, GuatemalaMAY 18-26: Antigua, GuatemalaMAY 27: La Ceiba, HondurasMAY 28-JUNE 12: Utila, HondurasJUNE 13: Puerto Barrios, GuatemalaJUNE 14: Corozal, MexicoJUNE 15-17: Cancun, MexicoJUNE 18-JUL 27: Vancouver, CanadaJULY 28-AUG 1: Las Vegas, USAAUG 1-??? Vancouver, Canada
]]> PHUKET, LET'S TAKE A HOLIDAY! — Bangkok, Thailand http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1203190200/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1203190200/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1203190200/tpod.html Mon, 03 Aug 2009 04:18:09 -0400 CHRIS & CAROLINE'S WORLD TOUR 2008-2009
Bangkok, Thailand

CCWT Day 6, Bangkok airportSawasdee everyone! Well, here we are, six days into our world trip and today we farewell Thailand.But let's backtrack a bit... We departed Sydney on Monday afternoon and had a nine-hour flight to Bangkok. Caroline, the virgin traveller that she is, was highly impressed with the tiny TV screens on the back of each chair and took full advantage of the movie channel. Chris, meanwhile, took full advantage of the free booze. We arrived in Bangkok just before midnight and spent the night in a dodgy hotel before flying to sweaty Phuket the next morning, checking into the lavish Duangjitt Resort, complete with three giant pools, two pool bars and enormous gardens. Quickly learning the linguistic essentials, "sawasdee" (hello), "kawp khun ka" (thank you) and Singh sawng ("two beers please"), we got to work doing what we do best - eating, drinking and lounging by the pool. The day of our two-year anniversary (which also happens to be Valentine's Day - Chris, the cornstar apparently planned it that way), we took a boat trip out to Phi Phi Island and went snorkeling. We also visited Maya Bay, the famous beach from The Beach. No sign of Leo Di Caprio, but we were able to share in the serenity with at least 1000 other people, who, like us, were all trying to get the money photo but couldn't see the water for the boats. Kind of ironic considering everyone there was part of a tour organised around visiting the scene of a movie that was all about trying to keep paradise a secret... So, after tut-tutting the immorality of the tourist trade, we took a few happy snaps and had a little paddle in the bay, with Caroline secretly wondering whether it was wrong to hope that Leo had peed right where she was swimming. The rest of the time we spent, pounding the main drags of Patong, and politely refusing offers of custom made suits/pirated DVDs/tuk tuk rides/ping pong shows. Though, we do give the hawkers credit for knowing their customers. After greeting us with the familiar "G'day mate", Mr Krish, the eager proprietor of "David Jones Fashions" on the infamous Bangla Road, quizzed us on our knowledge of Australia and we hate to say it, but he would have done far better in a citizenship test that we. Last night, our final in Phuket, we cracked the bottle of Moet we had carefully transported from Sydney, applied aloe vera to our sunburn and shared war stories from our time on the island fondly referred to as the "Pearl of the Andaman Sea". Like, "remember that time Mr Krish quizzed us about Australia? Man, that was a blast." Currently we are sitting at Bangkok airport awaiting our flight to Hong Kong. We've booked two nights at the Kowloon New Hostel for a slightly worrying $8.30 each a night. We'll let you know how that pans out...Talk soon, Chris and Caroline xxTHINGS WE LEARNED IN...THAILAND:1. Men don't look good in Speedos, no matter what nationality they are. And no, oiling up your wrinkled, sagging European skin doesn't make you look any hotter, aiiit.2. A LOT of women forgot to pack the top half of their bikinis. At least 90 per cent of them were over 50. Symptom of dementia?3. There is only one traffic rule in Phuket - "Drive fast".4. When it's hot, you can drink all day and not get drunk. And it's good for you.5. Zac Efron is still a ponce, even when he's dubbed in Thai.THIS WEEK'S TRAVEL TIP:If you want to avoid having someone sitting next to you on cheap domestic flights that don't allocate seating, try to appear as fat as possible and look as though you are on the verge of vomiting any minute. Works every time.P.S. Thanks to everyone who came to our farewell pub run, everyone who saw us off at the airport and for the thoughtful gifts and last minute goodbyes. A special thanks to our parents, Josey, John and Joyce. For everything.Simon: Happy Birthday for next week dude!Antonina: Not sure exactly where you are currently (perhaps already here in Bangkok?) but we just wanted to wish you all the best for your trip. You are going absolutely to love Patong and all it's tackiness. Oh, and we hope you gave the breakfast buffets at your resort as good a working out as I did - Caroline.Bel: Hope our little baby has settled in and isn't giving Boonie too much grief.Ness: Got your email. Excited to hear you are returning to Australia but bummed we won't be able to have a proper catch up for a couple of years! Enjoy the last rays of sunshine and we'll see you soon-ish. We probably won't have a telephonic device until we reach London in late April but we'll still have email and will regularly update this blog - which is also Fakebook compatible, for those that care, meaning your news feed will let you know every time we've updated!
]]> MEXICAN WAVE — Palenque, Central Mexico and Gulf Coast, Mexico http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1234831920/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1234831920/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1234831920/tpod.html Fri, 27 Feb 2009 15:29:54 -0500 CHRIS & CAROLINE'S WORLD TOUR 2008-2009
Palenque, Central Mexico and Gulf Coast, Mexico

Hola everyone, This update comes from Mexico home of tequila, sombreros and the 50c taco. We spent two weeks in Mexico, flying from Havana, Cuba and touching down in Cancun after quite a hairy flight with Mexicana Airlines. The minute we took off on February 1, we felt something wasn't quite right. The plane was shuddering quite violently (though we initially put this down to our positioning above the wing in cattle class) and the aircraft seemed to be flying slower and lower than usual. We both began feeling uneasy. We glanced around. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then suddenly, a high-pitched whistling, as if a section of the plane had been ripped away and air was gushing into the cabin. One of the cabin crew briskly walked to the back of the plane and picked up the telephone, which was presumably linked to the cockpit. She said a few words, then took a seat. We were both paralysed with fear. Not a word passed between us. Later, Caroline would recall how at that moment she felt that sometime, in the near future, she was going to die. That the plane was about to crash and there would come a time soon that she would need to stay calm while she came to terms with her impending death and say goodbye to Chris. Despite fearing what we would see, we both snuck glances at the cabin crew seated at the rear of the plane. They were silent, but there was no indication of panic in their faces. We waited. Other passengers shifted uncomfortably in their seats. A baby started crying. The plane ascended, seemed to increase its speed, but the screeching sound continued. After what seemed like an eternity, the air hostesses unbuckled their seatbelts and began making preparations for the in-flight service. Perhaps we weren't going to crash after all. Nevertheless, we spent the remainder of the hour-long flight seated silently in terror, neither of us daring to tempt fate by assuming we would land safely. We know it's impossible but it felt that when we finally touched down in Cancun, Mexico, we drew our first breath since that wretched sound began just after take-off. So...obviously from the existence of this update the story had a happy ending, but we're not ashamed to admit the experience rattled us. Having taken 20 flights in the past 12 months, we'd never succumbed to a proper fear of flying past the usual uneasiness during particularly bad turbulence or a rough landing, but we've agreed that the next take-off - probably the one that takes us from Central America to our new temporary home in Canada - might have us on edge. We'll see how we go. Anyway, onto more pleasant topics. We had initially planned to stay in Cancun just the one night. Known for little more than its hideous overdeveloped 'Zona Hotelera' strip where mass gatherings of middle-aged Americans sleep, feed and bake, we were anxious to make the quickest transit possible to the beach town of Isla Mujeres just off the coast. However, checking into the Quetzal Hostel, in Centro Cancun and far from the tacky tourist trappings, we felt like we had come home. The minute we walked in the door, we hear a raucous cheer from the common room. We peeked in. Liverpool was playing Chelsea in the English Premier League. We dropped our packs and found a spot on one of the comfy couches. No one cared we hadn't checked in. For the next 90 minutes, it was all about football. And Liverpool won in a crushing 2-0 victory. Of course. That night, the Superbowl was on. Pittsburgh Steelers versus the Arizona Cardinals in the biggest event in America's sporting calendar. In celebration, the guys running the hostel put on the best BBQ we'd laid eyes on in almost a year. Mexican style with all the trimmings, plus a giant bottle of tequila and an esky of cold Pacifico beers. And it was free. We decided immediately we would stay - at least for another night. During our time in Cancun, we ventured no further than the nearby Parque Las Palapas where we sat with locals and feasted on cheap tacos, quasedillas and burritos. It's true what they say, that Mexican food in Mexico is different than what you get back home in Australia. For a start, there's no sour cream or cheese and tacos are dished up in small round soft flat bread, much like miniature Old El Paso fajita wraps. There's this thing called <i>mole, a kind of thick brown paste made from chocolate that is usually served as a sauce for <i>pollo (chicken), guacamole is really runny and everything is served with a wedge of lime. And we should know. In those few days in Cancun we sampled nearly everything on the menu from the little stalls in Parque Las Palapas, enthused by the dirt-cheap prices and the wave of new flavour sensations. On February 3 we farewelled Cancun and made our way south along the Caribbean coast to Isla Mujeres (literally 'Island of the Women'), a 12km long mass and long-time backpacker haunt. We spent two nights here, drinking beers on the beach, watching awesome sunsets and stuffing our faces with <i>pescadillas (fish tacos - sounds gross but totally delish). We also discovered entire shops dedicated to selling some of the most awesome <i>piñatas we've ever seen - everything from Batman and Spiderman to Barney and Bob the Builder. On February 5, we continued our journey south to the beach town of Tulum. At any other time, this place would be paradise. Sand floor huts, long stretches of near-deserted white sand beaches and sparkling azure water - all of which just screamed tropical hideaway.&nbsp; Problem was, the Caribbean coast was temporarily under siege from unseasonable extreme winds. We'd encountered them in Isla Mujeres and now, in Tulum, they were almost threatening to swoop us up and hurl us across the Caribbean to Jamaica. It was quite disappointing as we had heard about, and longed for, this tropical paradise for months. We'd envisaged wasting several weeks here, swinging in hammocks and doing nothing much at all. Instead, we just stayed one night, spending a day wandering around, and picnicking in, the famous ruins. It was one of the last Mayan sites to be abandoned and you can see why the ancient people where reluctant to leave. Perched upon the surf-splashed cliffs, they occupied prime real estate and no doubt, when it wasn't as windy, many an alcoholic beverage was consumed and a chicken sacrificed in celebration of the superb vista. And then, ever-so-slightly disheartened, we took an overnight bus south-west across Mexico to the jungle town of Palenque. The town itself is nothing to write home about, but the drawcard is El Panchan, a little commune about 4km from the town centre. Set in the jungle, El Panchan is basically a whole heap of thatched-roof cabanas surrounding a big thatched-roof restaurant and bar called Don Mucho and several smaller bars. Right next door is the entrance to the famous Mayan ruins. We spent six sweaty nights here in our own little cabana, being woken up at dawn by the deafening roar of howler monkeys (which sounds much like a jaguar or a cheetah or some other very, scary animal the first time you hear it in the dark). We drank Pina Coladas, feasted on guacamole, briefly adopted a stray cat and caught <i>collectivos (little shuttle buses mainly used by the locals) into town and back to buy fruit and vegetables from the local markets.&nbsp; We also discovered the joy of the enormous bakery sections in Mexcian supermarkets. Grab a huge silver tray and some tongs then simply browse, aisle after aisle of carb-loaded goodness. We dedicated one day - in fact, the day of our one-year anniversary since leaving Sydney - to the ruins, first occupied in around 100 BC and reputedly one of the best Mayan sites in Central America. We're not sure if it was the spectacular jungle setting, the constant growl of the howler monkeys and warble of native birds or the profound serenity, but this place was magic. Hallowed ground. Other-earthly. We spent the entire day relaxing in the soft grass under the shade of a tree, watching tourists clamber over the ruins. Those who weren't too concerned with exploring did as we did and frolicked in the grass. Yes, frolicked. We commented several times that we felt we had stumbled across the Garden of Eden. Then before we knew it, six days had passed and it was time to move on. Our general plan was to head into Guatemala to visit Tikal (the granddaddy of Mayan sites) and enrol in Spanish school, though we decided to take a brief detour to San Cristobal de la Casas, a little colonial town five hours south of Palenque. We had been unsure as to whether the detour was worth it, as we've seen so many colonial towns on this trip that we're quite immune to their charm, but Caroline was keen to check out a weird church she'd heard about in the nearby village of San Juan Chamula. The bus trip from Palenque through the mountains to San Cristobal was a stomach-churning experience. Incredibly windy roads and a driver hell-bent on breaking all previous trip records (or our necks, whichever came first), meant we spent the entire five hours resiting the urge to vomit our breakfast tacos all over the Mexican family seated in front of us. Even after we had arrived in San Cristobal (at 2100m above sea level it was much cooler than the stickiness of the jungle), it took us several hours before the feeling of nausea left completely. To be honest, while the town was pretty, it was very similar to (though not quite as spectacular as) towns like Cuzco we had seen in South America - cobbled streets, café-lined plazas and cathedrals.&nbsp; In 1994, it was briefly occupied by the Zapatistas, a left-wing peasant group who fight for indigenous rights, particularly land rights, in Mexico's poorest states. But we spent a couple of nice days there - strolling through the colourful markets, sampling the excellent coffee produced in the area and chowing down on hot corn coated in salt, cheese and chilli from street vendors. We also celebrated Valentines Day with cocktails and delicious dinner at a restaurant that offered the odd combination of Middle Eastern, Thai and Indian cuisine - and taking a day trip to San Juan Chamula to see the church. The tiny village is home to a community of Tzotzil people and on the day we visited they were all gathered in the main plaza peddling their wares in the weekly market. Farmers chatted in sheep fur vests, while the women wandered around in cute multicoloured tunics and thick black wool skirts. We shopped for fruit and vegetables and some home-made cheese, all purchased for a pittance. We stopped by the church which, although Catholic, is unlike the regular varieties you see at home. From the outside it looks pretty standard, but as soon as you enter you realise there is something a bit different going on.&nbsp; The first thing you notice is the overwhelming smell of pine - the entire floor is covered with pine needles, the same as you would find shed from a Christmas tree. The next thing you notice is the candles - hundreds of thousands of them all around the church, on altars in front of statues of saints and lined up, quite dangerously, amid all the pine needles on the floor. There are no pews or chairs - all the worshippers sit on the floor on the pine needles, lighting row after row of candles, while muttering inaudible incantations. Beside them are bottles of cola and lemonade (they believe sipping soda usurps evil spirits). Walking quietly though the church, we carefully stepped over candles and freshly sacrificed chickens and sat down amongst the pine needles and local families, to watch their strange rituals.&nbsp; And we observed in horror as a herd of rowdy American tourists blundered their way through the gathered worshippers, knocking over lit candles and leaving a trail of day-tripped destruction in their wake. &nbsp; At one point, there is a flurry in the corner, a still-live chicken squawking and flapping about as a woman waves it by the feet through the candles as the rest of her family chants. We decide it's time to leave. Just as we are about to walk out the door, we hear the chicken let out a final, throaty screech and we try not to imagine that we were witness to the fowl's death-throes. On February 16, we made the hellish five-hour bus journey back through the mountains, where we spent one more night in a thatched-roof cabana in the jungle (having to shoo out a giant, spiky, poisonous-looking toad from the bathroom before we could go to bed) prior to an early morning border crossing into Guatemala. That story up soon. Until then, Chris and Caroline P.S. Julia and Kris and Ben and Sara: Congratulations on your wonderful baby news. Leah and Jerry: We hope your Big Fat Greek Wedding was wonderful - can't wait to see the pictures, and Richard and Mel: Congratulations on your recent nuptials. Jack: Well done on getting into music academy. Don't forget your big sister when you're working on Beyonce's next album, ok. Mum/Joyce, John/Dad, Auntie Ange and Ian: Thank you all again so much for taking care of the move for us. We don't know what we would have done without you. And also a big thank you to Jo for babysitting all our furniture while we're away, you are a lifesaver!Hank and Natty: Well done on your massive achievement guys, we wish you all the very best. Simon: Happy birthday for the other day, dude and Pen: Happy 30th for next&nbsp; week - you old thing, you. HIGHLIGHTS: Frolicking in the ruins in Palenque. Complete unadulterated bliss. Sleeping in the jungle in our cabana in El Panchan - even with the howler monkeys, toads and chirping bats that lived in the thatched-roof. The food, glorious, food. Burritos, quasedillas, chalupas and 50c tacos. Heaven. Valentina spicy sauce - henceforth referred to as Chris' "other woman". The amazing Superbowl BBQ and beers put on by the good boys at Quetzal Hostel in Cancun. We're still wondering if you're serious about Vegemite and beer as the new Mexican Flavour Sensation. WHAT WE LEARNED IN...MEXICO: We're proud to be Australians. We haven't once felt homesick on this trip but reading all about the terrible fires in Victoria, our hearts really ached for home. Though we felt a strange feeling of detachment and helplessness, we were really stoked to hear about the mammoth fundraising event. Well done Aussies! 'Picante' really means <i>picante (hot) in Mexico - finally a country that knows how to spice things up. Mexicans don't wear sombreros. Tourists wear sombreros. But, generally, Mexicans do wear cowboy hats and boots and sport dirty sanchez moustaches. Chihuahuas in Mexico are for some reason funnier than those anywhere else in the world. (sorry Tad!) What is feels like to be truly free. &nbsp; WHAT WE HAVE NOTICED: It has only been a hunch until now, but it seems disasters really following us around the world, with a swag of nasty incidents befalling places either just before we arrive or just after we leave. The terrorist bombings in Istanbul they day before we got into town, the floods in England and the plane crash in New York days after we left. More recently a horrible train crash in Cuba not long after we flew out. Thankfully though our passage has been a safe one. ON A PERSONAL NOTE: We have both been suffering mild panic attacks as our finances start to dwindle and we realise that Normal Life must begin again soon. For more than 12 months we have lived a nomadic lifestyle and been free to go where we want and do whatever we want. Soon we must settle down again, and (gasp!) find work. Travelling has re-inspired us both and, while we have several possible plans in the pipeline, for now we have decided to experience life in Canada and will move there for at least six months in April (if we don't run out of money beforehand). After that, who knows?
]]> CALIFORNIA DREAMIN' — Los Angeles, California, United States http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1231706280/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1231706280/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1231706280/tpod.html Mon, 02 Feb 2009 21:12:01 -0500 CHRIS & CAROLINE'S WORLD TOUR 2008-2009
Los Angeles, California, United States

Hi everyone, See - we told you the next update wouldn't be too far away!We last left you at the end of our two weeks in New York, on the eve of flying to the West Coast. As we mentioned, we had a slight hiccup with our original flight to Seattle on January 5 with American Airlines. We had arrived at JFK with plenty of time to spare - lucky considering the huge lines at check in. However, with our departure time drawing closer, we asked a rather uptight AA staff member whether we should perhaps move to the front of the line. Treating us with the same ferociousness we had earlier seen her use on other customers, she told us baggage boarding had closed and we wouldn't be allowed on the flight. "How could that be," we asked, "why wasn't there an announcement." But this woman was a real piece of work. She yelled at us saying she had moved everyone out of the line who needed to check in immediately and it was our fault for not listening. Turns out though, we weren't the only ones who "hadn't listened". Other people who had missed their flight were starting to emerge and soon there was a near riot at the check in counter. Tempers reached boiling point and there was much screaming and name-calling (mostly from this out-of-control AA woman who simply wouldn't accept she was an incompetent git with bad hair). At one point she threatened to call the "Port Authority" on Caroline after a particularly heated exchange ("Do you think I'm scared of you," the woman bellowed at her). We complained to her manager but it was no use, we had missed our flight - as had others - and we were forced to spend the night in a dodgy airport hotel.We were rebooked on the first available flight the next day, one that went via San Francisco, and in a last-minute decision, we decided to skip Seattle and disembark in San Fran, rationalising we could do a quick hop across the border and see Seattle when we are settled in Canada later this year. IF YOU'RE GOING TO SAN FRANCISCO...We arrived in San Fran on January 6 and spent four nights checking out the sights. There isn't a heap to do in San Fran, but it really is a very lovely city and after New York, the weather was divine. We caught a cable car from downtown up the tremendous hill and down the other side to Pier 39, where we watched the sea lions play on the jetty. We had proper clam chowder (and Caroline narrowly escaped an eye-gouging from an albatross that landed on her head - what is it with her and wild animals?) at Fisherman's Wharf. We caught the bus out to the lookout at Fort Point for the picture-postcard view of the Golden Gate Bridge... ... and we inspected Lombard Street, the "world's crookedest street" (interesting enough but, as Chris put it, "still just a street"). We went to the Castro area, the gay capital of America and perhaps the world.  It was also the setting of the new Harvey Milk biopic, <i>Milk.   <i>Milk is the story of the first openly gay man elected to public office in San Francisco, played by Sean Penn, who was murdered along with the mayor in 1978.  The film was actually shot in the Castro last year and we happened to come across an antique store, run by a gay couple, who actually appeared in the film.  Having already been to San Francisco twice before, Chris skipped the tour of Alcatraz, sitting and drinking beer while Caroline took the ferry across the harbour to the former island prison and one-time home of hard crims like Al Capone and George "Machine Gun" Kelly. Used a jail between 1933-1963, "The Rock" was meant to be escape-proof as, although the island is only 2.4km from shore, the water is freezing and there are huge currents and the occasional shark.  However, in 1962, four prisoners literally dug their way out of prison with spoons, putting fake heads in the beds to confuse the wardens . They sailed away on a home-made raft and were never seen again. The feat was immortalised in the Clint Eastwood flick, <i>Escape From Alcatraz. After the prison was shut in 1963, it was forgotten about for six years when the Native Indians tried to claim it as their own stating a law that says any indigenous land that isn't being used can be claimed. The government fought the claim, saying that a lighthouse on the island was still in use. But perhaps our most enjoyable time in San Francisco was spent in the hippified Haight-Ashbury area - the scene of the 1967 Summer of Love. Up to 100,000 hippies would gather in the streets every day for two years, playing music, smoking whacky tabaccy and "peacing out". These days the streets are lined with great vintage clothing stores, record shops and authorised smoke shops (which sell all sorts of drug smoking paraphernalia, yet the staff always look horrified if anyone should ask them where they could buy some weed). And at the centre of it all is Golden Gate Park. The huge green space is where 70-year-old hippies gather daily to dance topless and have bongo jam sessions in an effort to continue spreading the love. Sitting with them on the grassy hill as they swayed and chanted and pranced about, we had no doubt that many of them still think they are living in the 60s. What a trip!We spent much of our time in Haight-Ashbury, taking in the chilled-out ambience and perusing the funky shops. One day we stopped by Amoeba Music - a virtual airplane hanger lined with row upon row of CDs, records and DVDs. It was like JB HiFi on speed. If heaven were a music store, this would be it. We also browsed the many vintage stores, so unlike the jumble sale thrift stores back in Australia - these places were like works of art, beautifully decorated and selling some of the most exquisite clothes we had ever seen.We were on the hunt for Vegas Outfits, something we could have a bit of fun with when we headed to Sin City in a few days time. After much searching - debating whether 'denim-on-denim Florida retiree' or the 'jilted bride and womanising cowboy' look would go down best - we stumbled across a great store, run by a stunning ageing hippy and her little bowler-hat-and-waistcoat-wearing stylist. We spent hours in the store, playing dress ups with their clothes and being styled for the perfect Vegas outfit.  In the end we spent way more than we could afford on a couple of outfits each. Chris picked up two excellent retro shirts and a pair of cowboy boots, while Caroline managed two dresses (one psychedelic, one leopard skin), a leopard-skin beret, a cream swing-coat and cream Saks Fifth Avenue vintage heels. As the ageing hippy bagged up our purchases, she told us stories about the Summer of Love when she was only a teenager and was hanging out with Janis Joplin and The Grateful Dead and Jimi Hendrix would play free gigs in the pub around the corner.Oh, to have been there.And then it was time to leave, On January 10 we caught an overnight but south to Los Angeles where we picked up our hire car for out roadtrip to Vegas, baby, yeah! FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGASWe were only in LA for a few hours to collect our hire car and snacks and supplies for our five-hour roadtrip across state lines into the Nevada Desert.  It was about 8pm when we arrived in Sin City and for Caroline, who had never been before, it was a quick initiation into the most bizarre place on the planet.  What greeted us as we cruised down The Strip was a world of dazzling neon and the ultimate in tackiness. A life-size Eiffel Tower protectively guarding the entrance to the Paris casino... ...alongside a stunning Arc de Triomphe. A realistic Rialto Bridge welcoming visitors to the beautiful Venetian... ...and the towering turrets of the fairytale Exaclibur. A breathtaking fountain display dazzling spectators in front of the enormous Bellagio... ...and the huge pyramid-shaped Luxor and the glowing green of the famous MGM Grand. And then we stopped in front of the casino we had booked into for five nights (a relative steal as we were visiting Sunday through to Thursday) - the New York, New York.  The massive casino directly opposite the MGM Grand was built to resemble the Manhattan skyline. It had the Empire State and Chrysler buildings and a giant Statue of Liberty... ...a well as a rollercoaster that twisted through - and even into - the buildings. And inside, past the pokie machines, were realistic New York streets with cafes, bars and shops. We quickly settled into our hotel hideaway and prepared for the five-day party to follow. We had an awesome time in Vegas - mainly walking The Strip, sipping frozen daiquiris from giant cups shaped like the Eiffel Tower and exploring the whacky world of the casinos.   Like, the lions in the MGM Grand, pacing a glass enclosure just metres from where cashed-up pensioners were dropping coins into slots. The replica Venice in the Venetian - complete with a café-lined Piazza San Marco... ...its trademark bridges... ...and real canals you could float down on a gondola. The spectacular Volcano show at the Mirage that almost had us thinking we were at a tribal council on<i>Survivor.  Frozen daiquiri bars with lethal concoctions. The quaint streets of  'Paris'. The Romanesque interiors of stunning Caesar's Palace... ...where the sky changes from day to night to day again over the course of an hour... ...and a spiral elevator winds it's way through the shopping area. The classic casinos of yesteryear... ...and modern-day mammoths like the Bellagio. Things you would only see in Vegas... ...and all sorts of unusual characters. It was quite bizarre seeing all these tacky duplicates having seen the real things in the flesh in the past 12 months. But it was loads of fun to travel through this mini-world and see just how much money is pumped into these casinos. We dressed up in our fancy vintage Vegas Outfits and hovered over the high-rollers tables... ...before sneaking off for a quick flutter of our own on something that was more in our fiscal sphere. We slept late, played all day and stayed up all night drinking cocktails and watching cable TV. We rarely saw daylight, never once opening our heavy hotel curtains and using The Strip's set of purpose built tunnels and walkways to transport ourselves from casino to casino. And we ate. Oh god, did we eat.The truth is, we only had three meals in five days, but they were some pretty hefty meals thanks to Vegas' second-biggest drawcard - the buffets. And when we say buffets, we don't mean a few wilted salads and some dried-out prawns. No, the buffets at Vegas are food heaven, ginormous, all-you-can-eat, smorgas-mic-boards of culinary delights.  Imagine the best food court in the world - with everything from Mexican, to Italian, Japanese, Chinese, seafood, made-to-order burgers and hot dogs, spit roasts and deserts to die-for - and then make it the size of an average football field, and then you can start to picture the Vegas buffet.We were like pigs in the proverbial...well...let's just say it was really, really good. On our final night in Vegas, we scored tickets to the Cirque del Soleil show, <i>Love, which is set to the music of The Beatles.  Needless to say, it was excellent - a surreal acrobatics performance, with trippy costumes that felt very much like being on our own Magical Mystery Tour. (And just to reassure our parents, no, we weren't married in a Vegas chapel by Elvis ). All in all, it was quite the debaucherous adventure. But hey, what else would you expect?  It was, after all, Vegas, baby, yeah! And then on January 16, it was time to knock back a couple of Asprin, adjust the sunglasses and head back through the desert to LA.  LA STORYWe'd given ourselves six nights to see LA, a sprawling city linked by a complex system of intertwining highways, basing ourselves in the trendy beachside town of Santa Monica. For anyone that has never been to LA, we should begin by saying that the whole "Hollywood" thing is a bit of an illusion. Sure, there are studios, but they're about as glamorous as Fox Studios in Sydney.  And yes, it's home to lots of celebs, but they live in the hills in houses surrounded by massive fences that you can't see past. Rodeo Drive and Sunset Boulevard and Melrose Avenue are all just normal streets.  And the famous "Hollywood" sign? Well, you're not allowed anywhere near it so from a distance, it actually looks tiny. In saying all that, we had a great time playing the quintessential tourists, checking out all the holiday-maker haunts and, of course, trying to spot a celeb or two. After the freezing temperatures of New York, the sunshine, blue skies and warm days that LA turned out were a welcome surprise and we had to keep reminding ourselves that it was still Winter in America. Making the most of the glorious weather, we spent our first full day in LA walking the famous boulevard between Santa Monica and Venice Beach. The beach itself is a vast expanse of sand, stretching from the boulevard about 500m to the flat North Pacific Ocean, but the real treat is the excellent show of freaks and oddities that cruise past on every kind of wheeled device. Peroxide blonde girls with orange-tinted skin roller-skating in bikinis, men with obscenely bulging muscles roller-blading in nothing but super-tight shorts, a gold necklace and a pair of Ray Bans, kids manoeuvring all sorts of pimped-out billycarts and entire posses of wanna-be gangsters on low-rider bikes with thumping boomboxes strapped to the handlebars.Oh yes, this was LA. Sharing the boulevard with the circus, it took us an hour to get to Venice Beach, where even more outrageous specimens of the human race were gathered.  There's steroid crew pumping iron on Muscle Beach - the outdoor gym where you can literally watch men's muscles grow bigger by the minute. The white boys doing their best to keep up with their black counterparts on the basketball courts and the ageing hippies selling everything from crystals to aura reading. And then there were the marijuana 'doctors' - hawking on the street and handing out flyers for their services. For $90 you could have a "real, practising doctor" write you a prescription for medical marijuana. We supposed the man dancing in just his underpants outside one "surgery" was advertising as to how good the "treatment" really was. We had a picnic in the park, listened to random jam sessions on the beach and watched the most magnificent sunset we'd ever seen - before scurrying home to avoid the bag-snatchers and crack dealers that roam the boulevard after dark.Another day we took our hire can out and explored Hollywood and the surrounding hills.  We cruised down Rodeo Drive and Sunset Boulevard (once a dusty road that linked the movie studios to the star's homes). We stopped to get the obligatory photos outside the Chateau Marmont (no sign of Lindsay) and the Viper Room. Next up was Hollywood Boulevard, where we strolled the Walk of Fame and checked out the stars (including Cate Blanchet's which had been added not long before we arrived). We visited the Kodak Theatre, home of the Oscars, and saw the handprints out the front of Grumman's Theatre. We also spied Wonder Woman, Batgirl and Superman chatting over lunch and a couple of Batman's comparing notes. Then it was off for a drive through Hollywood Hills - supposedly home to stars like Jack Nicholson, Steven Spielberg, Clint Eastwood and David Hassellhoff.  Unfortunately we saw no one famous, but we did catch a good view of the Hollywood sign as we cruised down Mullholland Drive. At night, we drank at Chez Jay, a famous little seaside bar frequented by celebs like Frank Sinatra, Judy Garland, Marlon Brando, Clint Eastwood, Mel Gibson, Sean Penn, Warren Beatty and Jack Nicholson (Chris was in heaven).   The late owner, Jay, started the tradition of handing out free peanuts to customers to nibble with their drinks. Once, astronaut Alan Shepherd stopped by the bar and ended up taking a peanut with him on the Apollo 14 mission to the moon in 1971. Another time, James Cameron visited just before he started filming <i>Titanic and there's now a peanut in a little glass box in the wreck of the real-life ship. One of the highlights during our stay in LA was the inauguration of new US President, Barrack Obama. Ever since we arrived in New York, we realised how big a deal Obama's election had been to the American people. There were posters in the windows of homes coast-to-coast and people everywhere wore t-shirts and badges declaring their support.  In the days leading up to the swearing in, our hostel in Santa Monica turned into Inauguration HQ, with political speakers, inauguration breakfasts and red, white and blue adorning every available surface. The 24-hour CNN telecast was broadcast on the TV for three days straight, answering the big questions like, "What would Obama say in his opening speech?" and "What will Obama do about the war in Iraq?" and "What will Mrs Obama be wearing on Inauguration Day?" We woke early on the morning of the Inauguration, being telecast live from Washington, and sat in a packed TV room watching the newest US President give what we thought was a very honest and impassioned speech.  The other travellers, most of whom were American, clapped and cheered and cried. It was strange to see such a response to the election of a new leader. Like, c'mon, hands up who shed a tear when King Kevin took the throne? Sure, you might have been thrilled he got in there - hell, some of you may even own a Kevin '07 t-shirt, but most of us Aussies were just happy we had a Prime Minister called Kev who bears a striking resemblance to Tintin.So yes, it was great we were n the US for the Inauguration (we even bought a badge to prove it!)And that was our time in LA. So did we spot any celebs? You betcha. Aside from Chris spying Roseanne Barr driving her Mustang on Santa Monica Boulevard, we managed to see, in all his moustached flesh, Dr Phil - when we went to the taping of one of his shows.  We'd been given free tickets by a guy down at Venice Beach who ensured us we'd have no trouble getting in because "they often have to pay homeless people to fill the audience." So, on our last full day in town, we arrived at Paramount Studios...and were shocked to see a throng of middle-aged people in line before us.  The assistant director of the show came out and said there was an "unusually large amount of people" wanting to be in the studio audience (no homeless people need apply) and "probably the last 12 people won't get in". We were last in line. So we waited, and waited as everyone before us filed in. Then it came down to the final 12. Some extra seats were found. The final eight. Then the final six. The assistant director came back out. There were four final seats left. Caroline almost started crying. And then a miracle.We had been waiting for so long one couple had to go and we were the last two let in. Hurrah! We took our seats and found out the topic of the show was "Crazy Teen Trends" - all about teenagers doing really crazy things like sending 45,000 text messages a month, punching each other in the face for fun Jackass-style or "sexting" (yes, a new word for us too), which apparently involves sending lewd messages or pictures to each others. See? Totally crazy. So then Dr Phil came out and it was awesome. He grilled little kids and yelled at parents. One dad started crying as Dr Phil asked in his southern drawl "Now what the heck?" Brilliant.And that was the perfect end to our time in the US.  On January 22, we were up at 3am to drop the hire car off and check in for our early flight to Mexico. We had made the last-minute decision to head to Cuba and three flights and one overnight stay in a Mexican airport later and we were landing in Havana. That story up next.Until then, Chris and Caroline xx P.S.The dates and lineup have been announced for the Coachella Music Festival in California in April this year. We've already been in touch with those of you who have expressed interest in joining us so, for anyone thinking about it, you have until April 17 to save your pennies! Come play with us!!!! HIGHLIGHTS:Our Fear and Loathing week in Vegas, baby, yeah!Hanging with the hippies in Haight-Ashbury, San Francisco.Seeing Dr Phil. 'Nuf said. Watching the most brilliant sunset over Venice Beach.People watching in Santa Monica.Cruising down the LA freeways with 'Californication' by the Red Hot Chili Peppers blaring on the radio. WHAT WE LEARNED IN...CALIFORNIA:We'll never, ever fly with America Airlines ever again.They say Disneyland is the "most magical place on earth". We reckon, without a doubt, it's Vegas.There are more homeless people in San Francisco than we've seen anywhere else in the world.Everybody in LA looks the same - a kind of mix between Paris Hilton and Ashlee Simpson pre-nose job. Men included.There is a heaven, and it is the Vegas buffet.   
]]> WE WERE A PART OF IT, NEW YORK, NEW YORK — New York City, New York, United States http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1231020420/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1231020420/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1231020420/tpod.html Sun, 01 Feb 2009 23:06:30 -0500 CHRIS & CAROLINE'S WORLD TOUR 2008-2009
New York City, New York, United States

Yellow cabs, greasy fry-ups in corner diners, celeb-spotting in Central Park, snow, squirrel-related injuries...yes, New York had it all.Hey everyone, We hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and enjoyed some time off over the New Year. As you know, we spent ours in New York City being thoroughly spoiled by Chris' parents after living it pretty rough in South America for the previous seven weeks.We were greeted by freezing temperatures and a snow-covered city when we touched down on our overnight flight from Peru on the morning of December 21 - definitely a shock to the system.It took us three hours to clear customs, but eventually we were on our way - after a quick change out of our thongs and shorts into jackets, scarves, gloves and beanies. That afternoon we were to meet Chris' parents, John and Joyce, and his sister Laura who were all flying in from the UK, but with a few hours to kill and a Liverpool match about to start, we headed straight to a pub on the upper east side of Manhattan.Unfortunately, New York bars aren't allowed to serve alcohol until noon ("No, sir, not even Bloody Marys"), so we had to settle for orange juices until we could upgrade to something stronger at half time. By 1pm, the match was over (victory to Liverpool!) and with several hours until the reunion (and not much enticing us to go outside in the cold), we spent the next four hours "researching" the local beers and trying to make sense of America Football (which, if it all possible, seems like an even more stupid sport than rugby - Caroline).Later that day, we headed to the apartment Chris' parents had generously rented for our two-week stay. Set in a beautiful building on East 80th Street, just one block down from a Narnia-esque Central Park, we wondered if we had the wrong address. And, as we sat there on our dirty packs in the foyer, being closely monitored by the smartly dressed concierge and waiting for hours for the others to show up, we began to suspect we had indeed gotten our wires crossed.As it turns out, their plane was delayed in England and with no way to contact us, we were left to fear the worst. But, by 7pm we were all together, Chris' parents seeing us for the first time in 11 months (and not altogether impressed with Chris' wild hair and overgrown beard).Before we arrived, we had assumed that with most New York apartments resembling an ant's shoebox, our stay would be a rather cramped one with five of us (which wouldn't have been a problem at all considering the many, many, crowded hostels we have stayed in over the past 11 months). You can imagine our shock, then, to discover the luxury that awaited us when we entered our temporary new home that night. A massive space, huge lounge and dining, separate kitchen, two enormous bedrooms (one with ensuite), sperate bathroom (with a bath - a bath!) and cable TV in every room. We were in heaven.With all of us together in New York, we certainly had something to celebrate. And celebrate we did, with beers and Chinese.For the next few days leading up to Christmas (and with Chris once again resembling a member of the human, rather than ape, race), we explored the city, rugging up in layers and slipping and sliding on the icy footpath as we hurried from shop to shop to bar to shop.We quickly learned to navigate NYC's complex underground system (though we did briefly lose Chris on day when he simply "forgot" to disembark with the rest of us).In minus temperatures, we inspected Grand Central Station and wandered through the Christmas Markets in Bryant Park.We went to Radio City to check out a show by the high-kicking Rockettes - an all-singing, all-dancing, Christmas spectacular (in 3D!).We stopped by the neon-jungle that is Times Square and gazed up at the familiar giant moving billboards and glowing skyscrapers.We checked out Ground Zero and the chasm left by the Twin Towers after September 11.There's still much construction going on, but there are grand plans for a huge memorial dedicated to the victims.We also waited in line for three hours to ascend to the top of the Empire State Building. But it was definitely worth the wait. The view from the top was magnificient and we were just in time to catch the last rays of a glorious sunset that sunk below the horizon as the lights of the sprawling city began to flicker on. Of course, we also made the ultimate New York tourist pilgrimage, taking the free Staten Island Ferry across the harbour for a close-up view of the Statue of Liberty and the expanse of the Manhattan city skyline.Afterwards we strolled through the finiancial district where we inspected the New York Stock Exchange and Wall Street.And we shopped, Boy did we shop. From the stores in trendy Greenwich, SoHo and the Meatpacking District to the big name outlets at Woodbury Common, to the consumer chaos at Century 21, our credit cards definitely got a workout.Christmas Day was a grand affair, with a table booked at the ritzy Tavern on the Green restaurant in Central Park. We woke early, unwrapped the presents engulfing the tiny tree Chris' parents had bought from Australia and scoffed chocolates until it was time to don our finery and head across the snow-covered park.Seated in the shadow of a giant Christmas tree, lunch was amazing - crab cakes and seafood cocktails for entrée, roast turkey and lobster for mains and a selection of naughty treats for dessert.Afterwards, while waiting to claim our checked coats, we had our first celebrity sighting. "Check out that John Lennon try-hard behind us in line," Caroline whispered to Chris indicating a man with round-rimmed glassed standing behind."Um, yeah, that's actually Liam Gallagher," replied Chris.Suddenly we were all in a flurry (Liam is the lead singer of the band Oasis for anyone who doesn't know). We waited until we were outside and then we pounced. Liam was unfazed, concerned more with finding a McDonalds to have a "proper feed". Apparently lobster isn't good enough for this rock god. Afterwards we walked through Central Park to have a look at the "Imagine" plaque in Strawberry Fields commemorating the untimely demise of John Lennon.Across the road is the Dakota building where John lived with Yoko. The Beatle was shot in the entrance of the building&nbsp; by Mark David Chapman on December 8, 1980.In between Christmas and New Year's Eve, we covered more ground, waiting in line for three-hours to scale the Empire State Building and watched ice-skaters glide on the rink in front of the huge tree at Rockerfeller Center.And we ate and drank. Boy, did we eat and drink.We did the dodgy tourist thing - stopping by the <i>Friends apartment......and of course, Carries's apartment from <i>Sex and the City.We had another brush with fame, running into comedian Dave Chappelle in Greenwich (he refused our photo request) and one near-brush, just missing Katie Holmes in Starbucks.A couple of days before New Year's Eve, Chris, Caroline and Laura took a helicopter flight over New York City (a Christmas gift from John and Joyce). Departing from the lower west side, on the edge of the Hudson River, we had a spectacular view of the Manhattan skyline as we hovered over the Statue of Liberty and cut across Central Park.New Year's Eve in New York City was definitely one to be remembered. Our plan was to take a leisurely walk through Central Park followed by an afternoon of culture at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (the "Met") and the Guggenheim Museum, before "Happy Hour" officially began at 6pm back at the apartment. However about five minutes into our stroll, there was an...er...incident.The Squirrel Incident:Caroline, an animal lover from way back, decided to feed a squirrel in the park a piece of pecan pie (on this trip she had fed many squirrels, patted stray dogs and cats and stroked an alligator on the nose, so she wasn't too concerned for her personal safety). The squirrel, feasted eagerly - perhaps too eagerly, as at one point it actually nibbled straight through her finger. In all fairness to the squirrel, it was an accident, with Caroline's index finger looking very much like one of the pecans adorning the top of the pie. Blood was drawn and everyone was in a bit of a flutter about what should happen next. Can you get rabies from a squirrel? No one seemed to know so it was decided that Caroline should visit the emergency ward to find out. So, while everyone else headed off to the Guggenheim, Caroline took a cab to the Upper East Side to Sinai Hospital via the apartment where she quickly Googled "squirrel" and "rabies". Her fears were confirmed. Squirrels could indeed transmit the fatal disease.Thankfully, the waiting room was near-empty, though in a strange twist of fate, the one person sitting next to her turned out to be the former Head of Wildlife of Central Park. "What! You were bitten by a squirrel?" "Yes"He laughed for at least a minute. Then he became serious."Oh yeah, those squirrels are dangerous critters. We used to trap them and tag them and at least one in every ten was rabid."Caroline suddenly felt a searing pain shoot through her head and thought that surely this must be the onset of rabies. Fortunately, it was time to be seen and, after having her temperature and pulse taken, a young doctor sat her down in an examination room."So, I hear you've been playing with our squirrels?" he laughed.Caroline was horrified. The pain in her head was throbbing now. Couldn't he see the froth forming at the edges of her mouth? Any second now she might actually howl and try to bite him on the neck. And he was actually laughing."So what do you think we should do?" he continued. What did she think he should do? What did she think he should do? Um, wasn't he the doctor? "Um, I Googled "squirrel" and rabies" and it said that squirrels do carry rabies so I thought, um, that I might need, um, a rabies shot." Caroline explained."Well, we better go and find out," said the doctor and walked out chuckling. Caroline heard him tell the other doctors that there was a "young Australian lady in the examination room who has been bitten by a squirrel." More laughter.Caroline couldn't believe it. Should could be dying, she thought, and her life was in the hands of these clowns. But her thoughts were interrupted by two giggling nurses at the door."Excuse me," said one of them, "but we just wanted to see you for ourselves. Are you the Australian who was bitten by a squirrel?""Yes."They left and their giggling trailed down the hallway. Meanwhile Doctor Dumbo was on the phone to a colleague."...yes, a squirrel. Do you know if that requires a rabies shot? She Googled it and it said she did...right...right....ok. Well I'll call them." He dialled Infectious Diseases."...yes, a squirrel. Do you know if that requires a rabies shot? She Googled it and it said she did..."Caroline couldn't believe it. This was New York. The hospital was right on Central Park - surely she wasn't the very first person in the history of the world to be bitten by a squirrel? Finally Doctor Dumbo reappeared. His face was grim."I'm afraid we still don't know. We're just waiting on a fax from Infectious Diseases to see what to do."It was an agonising ten minutes as Caroline waited in the examination room starting down at the hospital band on her wrist while Doctor Dumbo regaled the story of the "Australian who was bitten by a squirrel" to anyone who would listen. Much laughter.Eventually Infectious Diseases replied. Yes, squirrels carry rabies but no, there hadn't been a reported case of a squirrel to human infection. Caroline was in the clear. Celebration all round. Doctor Dumbo put a band-aid on the wound and patted her on the hand. "No more playing with our squirrels, eh." Laughter. So, after all that, all Caroline got was a bandaid, a crushed ego and a huge bill making it's way to Australia as we speak.And that was the Squirrel Incident of New Year's Eve 2008.It was snowing heavily when Caroline joined the rest of the family (who had already been to the Guggenheim) at the Met. They inspected her bandaid, laughed at the Doctor Dumbo story and gave her the nickname "Squirrel Girl". It has stuck ever since.With Happy Hour fast approaching, we breezed through the Met then hurried home to prepare for our New Year's Eve celebrations. The boys drank beer while the girls sipped frozen Cosmos while they did their hair. All the while, snow fell down outside, silently coating the streets in a blanket of white.We had been torn about whether or not to join the cast of millions that would be descending on Times Square on New Year's Eve. We'd heard it was hell - no toilets, no booze and lots of waiting in the freezing cold for hours on end just to see a ball drop. Then again, how often were we going to be in New York on New Year's Eve?We compromised and decided to go and check it out and then head to a bar on the Lower West Side. Times Square is on 42nd Street and by the time we finally arrived at about 7pm, the closest we could get was 58th. There was a sea of heads as far as the eye could see - and we could only just make out the ball in the distance - but the energy was amazing. So. Many. People. We took some snaps then caught a train to Greenwich where our first stop was a cosy bar called The Slaughtered Lamb. Yes, it does sound a little bit Goth, but it was actually quite nice with wood fires and fairy lights and helium balloons sprawled across the ceiling. We drank there until 11pm then headed down the road to another bar called Oliver's, where we rang in the New Year by watching the ball drop on TV, singing Auld Lang Syne and wearing silly hats we'd picked up for everyone in Peru.Many drinks later and it was time to go home. We'd heard it would be impossible to get a cab, but we went outside to wait anyway and BY GOD it was cold. Like, the coldest cold we have ever felt in all our lives. The wind ripped through our coats, chilling our bones to the very core. Fortunately we only had to wait about 15 minutes but had one not have stopped when it did, there was a very good chance we'd have died of hypothermia. We found out the next day it was 0 degrees Fahrenheit. That's -17 Celsius.The next day was spent in typical Boxing Day style, sleeping in, eating and going to the movies - a double header of <i>The Day the Earth Stood Still and <i>The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.On January 3, it was time for Chris' parents and Laura to go home and for us to farewell the luxury of the apartment and return to hostel life. We bid our farewells and left in separate cabs - the others to the airport and us to Harlem.It was certainly a different neighbourhood than we'd grown accustomed to over the past two weeks but with New York's over-inflated accommodation rates, it's all we could afford.We spent our remaining two days in Manhattan crossing the final items off our sightseeing list. First up was Tom's Restaurant - the diner made famous by the TV show Seinfeld. We called in for supersize breakfasts, followed by a final walk through Central Park.We checked out the Alice in Wonderland Statue, the Observatory overlooking the frozen lake, the sea lions at the Zoo and, of course, squirrels (though this time from a safe distance).We peered through the window of Tiffany &amp; Co., a-la Holly Golightly, and hoped to catch a glimpse of an <i>Apprentice reject or Donald and his much-celebrated comb-over at Trump Tower door.And Caroline enjoyed a private moment of pure caloric bliss with a famous frozen hot chocolate at Serendipity Café. Heaven.And then it was time to leave. We'd had such a magic time in New York - being completely spoiled - and it was going to be hard to return to the life of dirty backpacker's once more. We were due to cross the continent and fly to Seattle on January 5, but there was another, er, "incident" with the oh-so-friendly staff at American Airlines and we were denied boarding. We flew out - after a last-minute decision to skip Seattle and go straight to San Francisco - the next morning. That and the story of our journey through California and our roadtrip to Vegas (baby, yeah!) up next.Until then, Chris and Squirrel Girl xxP.S. Dad/John and Mum/Joyce: We can't even begin to explain how grateful we are for everything you did for us while we were in New York. It was the experience of a lifetime and one that we would never have had if you hadn't been there. It was so great to share such a magical Christmas with you both and Laura. A much needed "holiday from our holiday". We can never repay you, but from the bottom of our hearts, thank you, thank you, thank you.Jen and Shane: Congratulations on your happy news!Andrew Simpson and Dave Turner: Happy Birthday guys - we hope you celebrated in style. Colleen and Steve: We hope you have an amazing time destroying your livers in Mexico. Sorry our schedules didn't coincide - but we can't wait for hot-tubbing in Canada in April.Soph: Thanks again for all your New York tips!HIGHLIGHTS:Hovering over the Manhattan skyline in a helicopter, feasting on lobster in snow-covered Central Park on Christmas Day, watching the sun set and the lights of the city begin to flicker from the Empire State Building, seeing a show at Radio City, shopping in SoHo, ringing in the New Year in Greenwich sucking back helium from balloons, eating, drinking and being merry with family...it was all amazing. WHAT WE LEARNED IN...NEW YORK:New Yorkers fit into one of two categories - Extremely Rude or Terrifyingly Helpful. There is no middle ground. And don't expect a "please" or a "thank you". Ever.If hot dog making is an art form, New Yorkers are the masters.Christmas is the absolute best time to be in New York. Magic.Americans really do wear earmuffs when it's cold.There's no such thing as too many Cosmos.Don't feed squirrels.
]]> THE GRINGO TRAIL — Lima, Peru http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1229557440/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1229557440/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/cc_world_tour/1/1229557440/tpod.html Sat, 03 Jan 2009 11:42:29 -0500 CHRIS & CAROLINE'S WORLD TOUR 2008-2009
Lima, Peru

Hola everyone, From the white sandy beaches of Brazil and the big city lights of Buenos Aires, to the misty mountains of Peru and the steamy jungles of Bolivia, we've covered it all in South America in the past seven weeks.Our last update left us dropped in the middle of sticky Rio after nearly six months in Europe.WAXING BRAZILIANWe landed in Rio on November 6 after an 11-hour haul from London during which flight BA429 suffered the unfortunate predicament of running out of alcohol somewhere across the Atlantic. "Even beer?" "Yes sir.""What about vodka?""Yes, m'am.""What about wine?"I'm really sorry, but there's nothing left."  So, jet-lagged and thirsty, we found ourselves on Ipanema Beach in Rio, where we spent three nights, swinging in hammocks, sipping Caipirinhas and watching the beautiful people swagger by on the beach. On our second day there, we signed up for a tour of Rio, undoubtedly one of the most spectacular cities on the planet, with its sparkling ocean and lush suburban rainforests enclosed by gorgeous mountain ranges.  We covered quite a bit of territory, hiking through the enchanting Parque Nacional da Tijuca - a huge tropical rainforest right in the middle of the city and drove through the sprawling favelas (the poor areas of the city) in Lapa. We wound our way up the surrounding mountains to take in the million-dollar views from Corcovado, atop which sits magnificent Cristo Redento (Christ the Redeemer) statue. We gaped at the towering Sugarloaf Mountain and checked out Maracana Stadium, Rio's enormous football shrine... ...where we walked the same path as some of Brazil's greatest players. We also stopped by colourful bohemian area of Santa Teresa and checked out the famous tile steps.  This well-known walkway is comprised of thousands of mismatched tiles created by a local artist who changes his "exhibition" regularly (and which features in the opening scenes of The Incredible Hulk). Perhaps the highlight of our visit to Rio was hang-gliding over the city. Having stayed an extra night due to poor whether on the day of our scheduled take-off, we took a wild ride up 700m to Pedro Bonita, were strapped into a set of giant wings and then told to run off a perfectly good mountain. Caroline, who is completely terrified of heights took the plunge first, closely followed by Chris who secretly pretended he was Superman. It was an exhilarating experience, gliding over the jungles, the favelas and the highrises on the beach. We circled over the ocean to land safely on the golden sands of Praia do Pepino where we celebrated with a couple of cold beers at a little beach bar. On November 9, we headed south along the coast by bus to Angara, where we took a local boat two hours to the island of Ilha Grande.  Arriving at the jetty at the tiny town of Vila do Abraao, we had a 1km walk along the beach - with our heavy packs - to our little hostal overlooking the water.  Needless to say the beers were well deserved by the time we finally arrived. Vila do Abraao is a great town - a long beach, one main dirt road and no cars allowed.  Our arrival in South America had coincided with the start of rainy season, so we spent four days here, relaxing in hammocks, eating cheap seafood with locals in little shack restaurants and trying to avoid the afternoon storms. One afternoon, with a couple of beers, we sat on the jetty watching local boys play a heated game of football. As the mist rolled in over the rainforest-covered mountains behind the beach we considered our current situation. "Life", we thought, "is good". On November 13, we caught the ferry from Ilha Grande back to Angara and then headed further south along the coast by local bus to Paraty (pronounced Parachee).  With its cobbled streets (made of stones bought from Portugal - they were brought over to weigh down the boats the would return with gold collected from the Brazilian state of Minas Gerais), this colonial town is one of Brazil's hidden gems.We stayed at a hostel right on the beach and spent our time - as had become the custom - sitting in hammocks and drinking cold beer at little shacks overlooking the ocean.Unfortunately we were only in Paraty two nights as we could have stayed much longer, but with so much to see, and relatively a short time to see it all, we had to keep moving.On November 15, we took a bus six hours to Sao Paulo, then hopped on an overnight coach for a 15-hour drive to Foz do Iguazu in Brazil's south west. It was during this journey we hooked up with Pink, a journo from Hong Kong who we met in Paraty who would travel with us for the next 12 days.The three of us arrived in Foz do Iguazu at around 11am the next day and set about making our way across the border to Puerto Iguazu in Argentina. After some searching, we found our point of departure (a ramshackle little bus stop with a tiny, hand-painted sign that read "Argentina" - how obvious!) where we caught a local bus to the border where we were stamped out of Brazil. We then waited by the side of the road for an hour for another bus to take us the rest of the way to the Argentina border where we stamped into country 25 for this trip. Highlights:Hang-gliding over the jungles and white-sand beaches of Rio - terrifying and utterly exhilarating.Standing in the shadow of the giant Cristo Redento and gazing down upon one of the most beautiful cities in the world. The all-you-can-eat BBQ extravaganza at Aquario Hostel in Ilha Grande. So. Much. Meat. If there is a heaven, that was it.Swinging in hammocks with cold beers.People watching on Ipanema.Things we learned in...Brazil:They don't speak Spanish in Brazil, Portuguese is the local lingo. Don't expect a bargain in Brazil - it's about on par with Australia and no, Havianas aren't 50 cents a pair as the rumours suggest (though we did pick up a few pairs at $5). The best way to secure a cheap feed it to find a por kilo restaurant. Grab a plate, load it up with all sorts of delicious buffet options, weigh your takings and dig in.Griminess = freedom. After all the effort of having to look and smell half decent for our time in Europe, the impossibility of adequate personal maintenance in a humid, dusty country is somewhat of a relief. There's no point trying to look good, because it ain't gonna happen. Accept it and move on.The local dish is rice, black beans and fish or chicken. Get used to it.Buses in Brazil (as we discovered in most South American countries) are great - not the chicken-transporting, bone-rattlers we had expected.DON'T CRY FOR US, WE'RE IN ARGENTINAOur reason for visiting Puerto Iguazu was to check out Cataratas del Iguazu (Iguazu Falls) - one of the world's natural wonders (depending on which list you are looking at).The second biggest waterfall in the world, we'd heard they have to be seen to be believed and, by god, they do. You can view them from both the Argentinean and Brazilian sides, but the general rule of thumb is, if you only have time for one, which we did, then the Argentinean side will blow your mind.We took a day trip with Pink, arriving at Parque Nacional Iguazu at around 10am. The park is divided into three sections, the Circuito Superior (upper circuit), the Circuito Inferior (lower circuit) and the Garganta del Diablo (Devil's Throat) accessed by a train ride through the rainforest.We decided to tackle to Circuito Superior first, making our way across walkways beneath which flowed gurgling rivers that would eventually turn into great, gushing waterfalls. You could hear the sound of the falls before you could see them but when they first came into view, the scene was breathtaking. They were so big, so powerful, so noisy. They curved around the horizon for as far as the eye could see, and that was only part of them.Standing there, mesmerized by the beauty of the thundering water, we wondered for the first of many times that day, "where the hell was all that water coming from? And where the hell was it all going to?"We continued along the circuit, passing several coaties (strange creatures that looked like a cross between a cat and a bandicoot that seemed unfazed by humans as they scavenged for food but are apparently quite vicious when provoked) along the way.We crossed the vast, gushing mouth of the Salto Bernabe Mendez and sat in the shade eating the lunch we had packed, watching the water cascade over the cliffs as colourful butterflies curiously fluttered by.After lunch we headed back along the upper circuit to the Estacion Cataratas to catch the train to the Garganta del Diablo.The minute we stepped from the platform, we were literally engulfed by butterflies of all sizes and colours - electric blues, bright purples, fluorescent oranges and stunning reds. Pink and Caroline "played" with them for a while (Chris stood by and watched...apparently butterflies aren't really his "thing") and then we made our way across four long catwalks spanning a great brown river that would eventually spill over into the waterfalls.Again, we heard Garganta del Diablo well before we saw them, and the giant sprays of mist gushing high into the sky would bee seen from more than a kilometre away.As we drew close to the lookout, we began passing people returning in various forms of saturation and wondered exactly how close we were to get to this Devil's Throat.The view from this lookout was even more spectacular than our first sighting - a giant waterfall curved around in a giant horseshoe shape with water cascading over the edge in a velocity that's we'd never imagined could exist. At times the mist was so thick, there was almost zero visibility making it impossible to see Brazil directly in front of us on the other side of the falls. Rainbows appeared from deep within the "throat" and birds swooped and dived precariously though the spray of water.Within seconds we were soaked through, it was hard to hear anything above the thundering sound of the waterfalls. It felt so...powerful. Again we were memorized, but eventually we had to tear ourselves away to make our way back along the series of catwalks to the station where the little locomotive transported us to our final destination, the Circuito Inferior were we were to get up close and personal with a waterfall.We followed the path through rainforest as it hooked around the headland until eventually a great panorama of the falls opened up before us, looking back across to the Garganta del Diablo where were had been standing. We saw speedboats rushing underneath the cascading water and could hear screams across the great canyon as their passengers and thrill and a soaking.As we rounded the last bend of the path, the thunderous roars of the great Salto Bossetti become clear. And then, there it was. At the end of a 20m catwalk, the enormous face of the falls, tumbling at a frightening speed, For a few moments, it was just us there, not another single tourist in sight. As we stood at the edge of the railing, staring into the face of the falls, arms raised to the heavens, screaming at the top of our lungs and our hearts pounding, we had never felt more alive.There is a theory that the cascading water creates negative ions, which make people happier, and we have no doubt that is true. We were energized. Invigorated.Sunburnt, mosquito-bitten and completely soaked to the bone, we squelched out way back to the main entrance and caught the bus back to town, utterly content.The next day, November 18, we caught an overnight bus 20 hours to Buenos Aires on the east coast of Argentina.We only spent two nights here, which was enough time to check out the local sights and sample the world-famous Argentinean steak. Our key sightseeing was done at La Boca, a working-class suburb located at the boca (mouth) of the Rio Riachuelo, settled by Italian immigrants.  The neighbourhood's main attraction is the Caminito, a pedestrianised area lined with colourful buildings with vibrant corrugated iron roofs and larger-than-life characters protruding from upstairs windows observing the tourists below. Another highlight was the El Ateneo, an awesome bookstore housed in a former theatre, complete with it's original stage (now a café) framed by huge red curtains, VIP box seats-cum-reading rooms and the ambient lighting created by hundreds of fairy light like globes positioned around the tiers. It was here we farewelled Pink, who had been our traveling partner for almost two weeks, and headed to the airport to catch a plane to Lima, Peru.Highlights:Feeling the force of Iguazu Falls - like nothing imaginable. A highlight of our entire trip so far.Playing amid a cyclone of butterflies at Cataratas del Iguazu.The all-you-can-eat Argentinian BBQ extravaganza at a little restaurant called Puerto Leyenda (noticing a trend?)Taking in our sumptuous surroundings at El Aterno. A visual feast.Things we learned in...Argentina:Waterfalls and butterflies are among the simplest pleasures in the world.DEEPEST, DARKEST PERUWe arrived in Lima on the evening of November 21, which was to be a one-night stay before heading south to Nazca to fly over the famous Nazca Lines. However, the one night was full of more excitement than anticipated, discovering our visit had coincided with the APEC summit and not only was our own Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd, in town, but so was George Bush, on his last official business as US President (incidentally, it was the second time we had been breathing the same air as Bush, with him also being in Bled in Slovenia while we were there). But the excitement didn't stop there. During the night, Caroline awoke to what she thought was a large truck rumbling past the hostel and shaking the window and walls. The next morning we found out Lima had been rocked by a small earthquake. It was out second earthquake for this trip (after the one we experienced while we were in Fethiye in Turkey). It was also the second earthquake Chris had slept through!On November 22, we caught the bus south to Nazca via Ica (where we finally came across noisy live chickens in Hessian sacks that were also about to board a bus - thankfully not ours).We arrived in Nazca in the evening and booked ourselves a flight for first thing the next morning. Spread across an area of 500sqm, the Nazca Lines are actually around 800 lines, 300 geometric shapes and 70 huge animal and plant drawings. They were accidentally discovered in 1939 when an American scientist, Paul Kosok, flew over the desert and noticed the strange marks, which were created by removing stones to expose the lighter soil below. There are many theories as to what they actually mean, and who created them, ranging from a giant astronomical calendar to extra-terrestrial landing sites, but no one knows exactly what they are or who created them. More importantly, it's not known why anyone would create such large, complex designs that could only be seen from the air. We had been advised not to have breakfast the morning of the flight and as we took off in the tiny six-seater plane (that's six seats including the pilot's seat), we understood why.  The flimsy plane - roughly the size of a bathtub - shuddered and lurched with every pocket of air and as we dipped and banked to give each side of the plane a view of designs with names like the Whale, the Trapezoids, the Astronaut the Monkey, the Dog, the Condor, the Spider, the Tree and the Hands. It was an interesting, albeit stomach-churning, experience. On November 23, we caught another overnight bus (yes, we were getting very used to them by this stage), east to Puno, some 3800m above sea level.It was here we got our first taste of altitude sickness - which, for anyone who hasn't experienced, feels like you are both drunk and hangover simultaneously. You feel slow, lethargic, heavy, light-headed and like you are about to have a heart attack and/or vomit at any given moment. It's really hard to breath and you have a constant headache. Walking, carrying packs, even rolling over in bed send you into a wheezing fit.Thus we spent our first afternoon there in bed, shoveling altitude sickness tablets and aspirins down our throats while trying to recover.Our main purpose for visiting Puno was as a jumping off point for a side trip out to the islands of Lake Titicaca. The day after we arrived, we headed down to Puno dock, collected supplies of fruit, vegetables, pasta and rice as gifts for the host family we would be staying with that night and hopped aboard a boat, stopping first at the floating islands of the Uros people. In an effort to escape the Incas living on the mainland, the Uros people began their floating existence, living on islands built using layers of the buoyant totora reeds that grow in the lake. As the reeds rot away from below, the layers are replenished. The people who live on the island use the reeds to make their homes and boats.  Their main food source is fish (they even have fish farms on the islands) and the reeds themselves (we sampled them - raw - and they taste much like lettuce with the texture of soft potato) as well as supplies bought from the mainland. The chief of the island talked to us about how the islands are built and joined or carved up when families marry or are fighting and we inspected their tiny homes (one even had a solar panel and TV). We took a reed boat to another reed island and then a proper boat to the village of Santa Rose on Isla Amantani, where we were met at the dock by a group of buxom "mamas" - cute little Peruvian ladies with red checks and long black plaits protruding from beneath their bowler hats, dressed in colourful skirts and white blouses - who would be hosting us in their homes for the night.As the last two to be allocated a mama, we ended up with a "papa" instead - Victor, whose daughter Marleni had already taken two girls we had made the trip to the island with under her generous wing.The six of us climbed trekked up the mountainside for about 25 minutes until we reached Victor's little mud-brick home, which he shared with his wife Luisa. Marleni lived next door. We were shown our little room, complete with two single beds and a table, upstairs from Victor and Luisa's room. There was a small courtyard at the front with a kitchen off to the side that they shared with their daughter.  Luisa and Marleni prepared a delicious lunch of vegetable soup and then we hiked up the hill to 4100m (by now we were really out of breath but put to shame by tiny old ladies practically running past us carrying gigantic sackfuls of water, vegetables and even sheep on their backs) to check out the ruins of Pachatata (Father Earth) and Pachamama (Mother Earth) which had once been used for religious ceremonies.We spotted Bolivia on the other side of the vast expense of Lake Titicaca and nibbled on Picarones (Peruvian doughnuts) from a small mountainside café as we watch the sun set over the lake.However the highlight of our adventure was still to come. Every now and then, we will marvel at how, at any given moment, no one else we know has any idea where we are. That night really felt like one of those moments. As we sat huddled together by candlelight (there is no electricity on Amantani) in the tiny, dirt-floored kitchen at Victor and Luisa's house - Louisa and Marleni cooking dinner on an open fire - we felt completely detached from the world we knew. It was terrifyingly freeing. This was why we travel.We ate the dinner they had lovingly prepared right there in the kitchen, somehow managing to converse in their very limited English and our very limited Spanish as the candles burned down. Afterwards, they dressed us up in traditional Peruvian clothes, took us down the mountainside to a little hall lit by a generator, where a band played traditional Peruvian music (and some better known classics) and we danced and sweated until it was time for bed. The next day, our host family walked us to the dock and waved us off as our boat chugged back across Lake Titicaca to our final stop at Isla Taquile, where we did even more trekking up mountainsides which, we were later to discover, was to be excellent training for the Inca Trail in the coming days.On November 27, we took yet another bus, this time north-west to Cusco, where we would spend a few more days acclimatising before tackling the trek to Machu Picchu in a few days.It was during this bus ride that the reality of our surroundings started to hit home. We have seen so much poverty and sadness on our trip that we have almost become a bit immune, possibly for self-preservation reasons. You can't help everyone, and that can be quite depressing. There have been times when we have felt guilty for having money to spend on this holiday - enjoying ourselves while we pass people in the street who haven't got enough to eat. Yes, that is life and yes, we have earned every cent we are spending, but it really was just through pure luck that we were born into a country where we have such opportunities. We understood, but it can be hard to always remember not to take this for granted.It was the face of a young boy who drove this message home harder than anything else on this trip for Caroline. He'd boarded our bus and was busking, singing and banging some shells together for money. It was dreadful. We plugged our iPods in and tried to avoid his eyes as he collected money from other passengers, until he got off the bus about 15 minutes later.But as he stood on the side of the road, watching the passengers getting off and on, perhaps wondering how he was going to get back home, guilt began stirring and unfurling it's tendrils in the pit of Caroline's stomach. It was his face. His face was sad, but accepting. He didn't necessarily like his lot in life, but what else could he do? This was a poor country and he had to survive.The guilt turned into a sick feeling. We'd ignored him, choosing instead to listen to our iPods. A few Peruvian Soles to us was nothing, to him it could have meant food for his family for a week.But the realization came too late, the bus pulled away and he was left standing by the side of the road.We immediately resolved to be more generous and aware.Neither of us is overly selfish, but it's easy to get caught up in commercialism and things that don't matter at home. This trip is constantly giving us harsh reminders that there are more important things to worry about. Ever since that little boy stood on the side of the road, we have both tried to be better at being human. We hope we can continue when we finally make it home. We had four nights before the trek began, which we spent relaxing. One morning we took a horse ride through the mountains surrounding Cusco, taking in the Inca sites of Saqsaywaman (pronounced Sexy Woman) and the Temple of the Moon. It was a casual trek through the bush (which, surprisingly was full of Eucalyptus trees), just us and the horse guide, but at times we broke into a canter as we emerged in to open fields and valleys. We also spent some time looking around the markets full of colourful scarves and blankets and all sorts of alpaca wool products, and sampling the cheap local eats whenever the appetite reducing effects of altitude sickness has subdued.Then, on December 1, the four physically hardest days of our life began. On the bus we met our guides, David and Juan, and the other 10 people who would be joining us on the trek - a few Aussies, a few Americans, an Irish girl and a Swede.We drove four two and a half hours, taking in spectacular views of the snow-capped Andes, to the mountain town of Ollantaytambo where we stopped for breakfast. From here it was another hour to Km 82 - the start of the trail. We had hired one porter (Cesky) between us, who would carry an extra 6kg in special bags on our behalf on top of whatever else we wanted to carry in our own daypacks. At Km 82, the Cesky bags were weighed, we coated ourselves in sunscreen and insect repellant, gave the hiking poles we'd hired from a local camping company a quick test and then we were off. The first few hours of day one were relatively easy and surprisingly, we lead the pack for most of the way. We passed little houses along the way, as well as various animals such as donkeys, chickens and the odd goat. Eventually though, the track began to climb steeply and within minutes we were puffed and sweaty and at the back of the pack. The path ascended steeply up a mountain and when we finally made it to the top, the view was incredible, looking back over the valley though which we'd just walked. After a rest, we walked along the ridge, and spotted our first Inca ruins sprawled out in another valley far below.A further 5km, we stopped for a late lunch in a tiny village and it was here we got out first glimpse of how efficient the Ceskys really were. We had seen them on the track, tiny men with spindly legs carrying 30kg packs the size of beanbags on their back, or sometimes, stacks of 20 plastic chairs, or gas bottles, passing us at almost sprinting pace as we puffed and panted with our tiny day packs, dragging ourselves up the hill with our walking sticks.When we were to stop for lunch, we expected a tarpaulin on the ground and perhaps some soggy sandwiches, but we were completely shocked by what was awaiting us. Our group of Ceskys had set up a giant dining tent, complete with tables and chairs, a table cloth, silver cutlery and napkins. There were several hand basins of warm water, soap and towels for us to wash up before we ate, and something that smelt amazing cooking on a portable BBQ nearby.  As we stumbled into the campsite, the Ceskys clapped us in and we took our places, shocked, at the table. One by one plates of the most gourmet food we had seen in almost 10 months began being delivered to the table - avocado and Parmesan salad, baked trout, steamed vegetables and pasta. It was incredible.We finished up and as we rubbed our full bellies and comprehended the three-hour trek still before us, the Ceskys had cleared away lunch, washed up, packed up the dining tent and were already on their way. The rest of the final 7km was spent trekking a slight incline and by the time we arrived at the tiny hamlet of Wayllabamba, the Ceskys were of course already waiting, the dining hall and the hand basins ready and waiting, our own personal tents for the night erected in neat rows next to a paddock full of donkeys.We dropped to the ground, removed our sweaty shoes and socks and enjoyed a cold beer as we watched the sun set over the snow-capped mountains peeking through the valley below. We ate another gourmet dinner and almost immediately retired to our tents, all of us fearing the next day, which every backpacker who had attempted the Inca Trail had reported was the hardest of the trek. We were woken at 5.30am by David and Juan who came bearing hot Milo. We dressed and ate breakfast in the dark while the Ceskys dismantles our tents and by 6am, as we were putting on our daypacks the Ceskys were already on the road. To say day two was hard is an understatement. We were all allowed to walk at our own pace and never once told to hurry up. Which was good, because the increasing altitude combined with our general state of unfitness, meant we had a permanent spot at the back of the pack. The 12 km trek was divided into three sections, with all of us meeting at each checkpoint for a brief rest and a cup of coca tea (which, like chewing coca leaves is supposed to help with the altitude sickness).  But while it was grueling, the scenery was spectacular - rolling green hills and rugged mountains capped with mist, eventually turning into lush green rainforests with waterfalls. We even saw some hummingbirds. Our destination was a summit, Dead Woman's Pass at 4200m above sea level. For a good few hours it was just steps up. We thought we were going to die. And then, finally, with the air so thin we could hardly breathe and the rain pelting down around us, we reached the summit. We stopped briefly to give each other a pat on the back and then began the long knee-jarring descent down the other side. Much easier, though hindered by the limited visibility caused by the rain and Chris snapping his walking step after just a few steps. We arrived soaking and exhausted at the campsite perched on a mountain overlooking another valley with snow-capped mountains in distance in the early afternoon. We ate lunch, slept for a few hours, woke only to eat dinner and then went straight back to sleep at around 8pm. Day three began at 4.20am with tent-delivered Milo and a hearty breakfast in the dining tent. By 5am we had slipped on our cold, wet clothes that still hadn't dried from the day before and were on road to conquer what was to be the longest day of the trek - 16km - some very steep up, some very steep down and quite a bit of in between. It was this day we decided the Incas were really crazy. Loco. We were following the ancient Inca Trail. The trail they used to make their four-day pilgrimage to Machu Picchu.  Of course, there was a path they could have taken that would have had them there in less than a day, but no, they chose to do it that hard way. Something about being "at one with the earth".  And they'd build these giant stone structures as places of worship on the mountainsides along the way. On the mountainsides. Not in the valleys. Up great flights of stone steps and around precarious paths. Loco. On day three we saw quite a few Inca ruins as we made our way along the track, as well as passing through an incredible cloud forest of flowers, colourful moss and tree ferns.  At times the mist in the mountains was so thick you could only see the path directly in front of you, with an endless sea of white on either side of the path. As we traversed the rugged terrain, we also encountered several alpine lakes - one of which resembled our home country. The last section of day three involved another knee-jarring descent down literally thousands of stone steps. It was a pleasure to finally be heading downhill after three days of up, and we decided to celebrate by descending at almost lightening speed. This, we were later to discover, was to be the end of our kneecaps as we once knew them. As we neared our campsite for day three, we journeyed through an Inca "greenhouse" - tiered terraces used by the Incas to experiment with fruit and vegetable growing conditions built, of course, into the side of a mountain. Our campsite for the final night was just outside the main gate to Machu Picchu. We ate our final dinner, had a sing-along with the Ceskys and personally thanked them and the guides for all their hard work over the past couple of days.Day four, the final morning, there was no messing about. Despite severe protest from our knees and thighs, we were up and waiting at the gate to the site by 4.45am. From here it was a one hour walk (mostly flat but with a brief hands-and-knees climb up a steep stone staircase) to the Sun Gate where, if the weather was co-operating, we would get the classic postcard view of sunrise over Machu Picchu. Turns out, the weather wasn't co-operating, and there was no view. Nor a sunrise. But the sight of the mist lifting over the famous stone ruins as we made the final descent was unforgettable. Filthy and stinky after four days trekking without showers, we checked into the site, scowling at the fresh-faced day-trippers who had just arrived by train, secretly declaring them undeserving of being there. The past four days pain, the blood, the sweat and the tears, vanished the minute we took in our first sweeping view of Machu Picchu. It was so huge, so well preserved.  The colours of the grey stones and the impossibly green grass. The mist was clearing but would sweep in every now and then giving it an enchanted touch. We wandered around as our guides pointed out ancient sewerage systems, toilets, mummification rooms and houses. We were completely in awe.  Afterwards we all passed out on the grass in the middle of the ruins. We were all exhausted, but it has been one of the most amazing experiences of our lives.After a rest, we all made our way down the mountain to the nearby town of Aguas Calientas where we had lunch and a few of us rested our tired muscles in the thermal springs.  It was a strange place, with a working train track slicing the narrow main road in two. It was odd experience, sitting at an open-fronted restaurant for lunch and having a train pull up next to your table.At 6pm we caught a train, then a bus back to Cusco where we checked into the hostel and promptly passed out for 12 hours. On December 5, after one final day in Cusco, we were back on an overnight bus, this time for 17 hours, crossing the boarder into Bolivia. Highlights:Machu Picchu. The pain of four of the hardest days of our lives and the indescribable pleasure at watching the mist clear over one of the world's most breathtaking sights. Unforgettable.Bouncing our way over the springy floating islands of the Uros people - such a wonderful insight into a alternate way of life.Horseriding through the Eucalyptus-scented forest in the mountains behind Cusco and being reminded of home.Dancing with locals to The Beatles in the mountains on an isolated island on Lake Titicaca in a tiny hall lit by a generator. Experiencing real Peruvian hospitality and sharing a meal by candlelight in a tiny dirt-floor kitchen.Soaking away our aches and pains in the odd town of Aguas Calientas. Things we learned in...Peru:The Peruvian people, while among the poorest we have met in the world, are probably the happiest. From their rosy cheeks and smiling eyes, to their endless generosity and kindness - we have so much love for them.The Peruvian delicacies are guinea pig and alpaca. We tried neither.Beer does funny things at altitude. It's really hard to pour without filling your glass almost entirely by froth and when you drink it, it tastes fizzy on your tongue - kind of like liquid alcoholic sherbet. "On-board meals" on buses often means an entire lamb, bought on the coach in a paper sack and carved up right there in front of you.That we are tougher than we thought...but we are still learning ultimate human compassion.VIVA LA BOLIVIAThere are subtle changes once you cross the border into Bolivia. It is a poorer country than Peru and thus, everything is slightly less reliable. Buses breakdown, official processes are less formal (we walked across the border and we were asked for bribes when we wanted to use a pen to sign our customs declaration forms). It was going to be an interesting stay.We arrived in La Paz (altitude 3660m) on December 6 and spent two nights staying at the Adventure Brew Hostel (microbrewery on site and a Nintendo 64 with Mario Kart in the bar...booya!) organizing tours to the salares (salt flats) in Uyuni and to Rurrenabaque in the Amazon Basin. We also checked out the Mercado de Hechiceria (Witches Market) where, if the urge had of taken us, we could have picked up all various spells, pastes and potions to make this grow bigger, or that grow smaller or so-and-so acquire a bad case of warts. All sorts of herbs and ingredients were on sale, from Viagra to llama fetuses. On December 8 we took yet another overnight bus to Uyuni. But this one was different. Out of every bus trip we have ever taken in our lives, this had to be the worst. Unsealed road in a bus with shot suspension for 12 hours straight. If you can imagine sitting in one of those vibrating chair you can pay to use in shopping centres, strapped to the back of a camel galloping through an earthquake, then you'll be half way to imagining what this bus trip was like. Just watching the seat vibrating in front of us, put us in danger of suffering an epileptic fit. And neither of us have epilepsy. After a night of no sleep, we arrived early the next morning and hooking up with a couple of other travelers for a one-day tour out to the salt-flats. We stopped briefly at the Cementario de Trenes (Train Cemetery), 3km out of town, and then to a salt "museum" (read: shop) where everything was on sale - from dice to ashtrays - were made of salt).  And then we hit the salt flats.  We hate to be so repetitive, but they were like nothing else we had ever seen before. Once an enormous salt lake, from which the water had evaporated, there was endless white as far as the eye could see. If it wasn't boiling hot, you would have sworn you were on Antarctica.Puddles from a light shower that morning were shimmering in the sunlight and casting perfect reflections of the blue skies and fluffy white clouds above.  We stopped at a few houses and hotels made entirely of salt, including the furniture, and then continued speeding across the white expanse. After a while a large rock appeared on the horizon and increased in size as we drew closer. After an hour we arrived at the rock, which turned out to be a massive island in the middle of the salar, completely covered in nasty looking cactuses.  It was here we had lunch and spent a few hours taking funny photos making use of the odd perspective the endless white created.  You know, us with giant Kit Kats, us jumping out of Pringles containers, Chris surfing a thong (flip flops for our overseas friends), Caroline emerging from a banana... ...Chris giving Caroline a boost and......Caroline giving Chris a prod. After several hours in the scorching sun reflecting off the brilliant white, we headed back the way we came, stopping twice for two flat tyres (a common occurrence in Bolivia that usually requires waiting by the side of the road until a passing can pulls over and lend you their spare). And that was the Salar de Uyuni.  Making use of Bolivia's lax over-the-counter drug laws, we headed to the chemist, bought a local version of Valium and popped a couple for a surprisingly restful overnight trip back to La Paz. We arrived back in town at 6am the next morning, December 6 and promptly headed for La Paz airport for our flight to Rurrenabaque for our three-day Pampas tour in the Amazon Basin.  We had the option of an 18-hour bus trip, but, with limited time left in South America, we decided to pay the extra for a 45-minute flight. The only problem was, with Rurrenabaque airport being little more than a tin shed and the landing "strip" being just a paddock, flights were often delayed or cancelled because of rain. Fortunately, that morning, we were in luck, and we made our 11am flight without any dramas. We spent the afternoon checking out the tiny three-street town of Rurrenabaque and dozing in hammocks, unaccustomed to both the heat and the normal atmosphere at just 400m above sea level. The next morning at 9am, we took off by jeep (along with an Irish couple and a German girl, our driver, our guide Yuri and our cook Thomas). It was a journey of roughly three hours, along a bumpy, dusty road to Santa Rosa de Yacuma on the banks of the Yacuma River. We loaded up the long canoe and then we were off. We had hoped we might see a couple of the alligators promised in the brochures but within minutes we were seeing hundreds - lounging on the riverbank, resting in the murky brown water or just a pair of yellow eyes submerged just below the surface.  There were squeals of delight and nervousness (and that was just the boys) as the 'gators swam out to inspect our canoe.Coming from Australia, we expected to be snapped up and swallowed whole at an moment, but we learned that 'gators would leave us alone unless they felt threatened as we were just too much effort. Which was lucky because for the next few hours, as we cruised slowly down the Yacuma, we saw thousands of alligators who could have decided we could make a worthwhile lunch. Fish plopped in the water while turtles lazily sunned themselves on logs. We also came across strange creatures called capibarras that looked like oversized wombats lounged in the mud on the riverbank. We saw loads of amazing bird species - colourful chicken-size things that gathered in flocks in the trees and huge storks that stood on needle thin legs taller than a human, as well as all sorts of eagles, vultures and hawks. We even fed tiny squirrel monkeys that raced down from the trees and jumped aboard our canoe the minute a banana was produced.  However, the pink river dolphin, also mentioned in the brochures, remained elusive. For the next three days we cruised the Yacuma by day... ...and slept on the riverbank in a wooden lodge on stilts by night.  We were stalked by psycho cows that glared at us as we glided by on the way to the "bottleshop", a riverside shack run by local Amazonians who crushed us several times at volleyball. We fished for piranhas and ate them for dinner ......and walked through the steamy pampas in search of anacondas (we eventually found a rather large one curling itself around a tree).  We had beers and watched sunset at a bar on the riverbank and took respite from the heat in hammocks back at the lodge.  And we met Frederico, the enormous 'gator who lived below the jetty at our lodge. He seemed friendly enough, but we couldn't help but notice the desirable way he eyed us off every time we disembarked the canoe. One night we piled into the canoe with our torches for a bit of alligator-spotting. It was an unforgettable experience as we cruised in silence down the river in the pitch-blackness, a thousand glowing eyes staring back at us like floating candles. By day three, now unfazed by the alligators that shared our surroundings, we dared to take a swim in the river.  First, our guide, Yuri, enticed a 'gator the locals had named "Pedro" to the shore with a meal of leftover piranhas from our fishing adventure. Yuri showed us how to "pat" Pedro on the nose - between the eyes and well away from his frighteningly sharp teeth. So, after plucking up the nerve, we did too. Our courage now well-and-truly bursting over, it was time for a swim.We quietly slipped into the murky water, fully aware of the piranhas and alligators that would be swimming, unseen, beneath us.   It was completely terrifying, yet we were so glad we had done it. What a rush! With overnight rain on our last night in Rurrenabaque, our flight on December 14 was delayed by a few hours until the runway (paddock) dried up.  It was slightly off-putting to see a couple of blokes scooping water out of puddles on the paddock with a cup and bucket when we arrived at the airport, but we were just glad to be getting out of there without to much of a delay. We initially had just three nights in La Paz, but decided to stay extra two nights so we could visit San Pedro Prison.We know, it seems like an odd addition to our sightseeing list but from what we'd heard, it was definitely a worthwhile expedition.If anyone has read or heard about the book <i>Marching Powder by Australian journo Rusty Young about prisoner Thomas McFadden, you'll know all about San Pedro.If not, here's the basics:It's not your usual prison. Like everything in Bolivia, San Pedro is a corrupt system. Prisoners buy their own cells, much like you would buy a house. And, just like any housing market, there are certain areas, or sectors in the prison, that are more exclusive than others. Prisoners can own TVs, microwaves, fridges - pretty much anything they want to pimp up their cells - as long as they can pay for it. Prisoners have their own keys to their cells and the guards don't go in except for role call in the morning. There are restaurants and shops and entire families live on the inside - kids and wives mixing with prisoners incarcerated for all sorts of crimes. Rusty Young spent three months living in the prison with Thomas McFadden, writing his story - a Scouser arrested for drug trafficking.You can go on a "tour" of the jail by bribing police and tipping bodyguards to ensure a safe passage. Enough money will even buy you a night's accommodation there, if you so wish.We weren't up for a night behind bars, but, having secured a copy of the book while we were in La Paz, we were keen to see this strange place for ourselves. After following the advice of other travelers who had been to San Pedro, we took enough money for bribes, headed to the prison and loitered out the front, waiting to be approached for a "tour". Almost immediately a lady called Liz approached s and took us through the gate and to a small room just off to the left. Here we met with a couple of other travelers who were there for the same thing, and we paid our "bribe" (250 Bolivianos each, roughly $50) which would go to the guards to turn a blind eye as we walked through the main gate. We were introduced to Phillipe, our friendly guide, a Portuguese prisoner who was also in for drugs... ...as well as three burly bodyguards who would be escorting us on our "tour". For two hours we wandered through San Pedro, checking out the various accommodations and sights we'd read about in the book. We ate lunch at one of the prison restaurants and watched a game of football being played between two prison teams (they even had uniforms).  For the most part, the living conditions were fairly basic (there was no hot water - prisoners had wired up an element to the power lines to boil water in a bucket), but it seemed everything we'd heard was true. Prisoners were free to roam around - smoking, watching TV (ironically 'The Shawshank Redemption' was playing while we were there) and playing pool kids. Women worked side-by-side in shops and children played with toys in the courtyard.We wondered about the kind of childhood these kids would have living in a prison, but we were told that living on the outside, the prisoners' wives would struggle to support their family and their husband in jail so the children would be forced to work. But when the wife and children move into jail, the family stays together and the husband and wife are both able to work in shops and restaurants while the children go to school (it's compulsory).We never once felt threatened or unsafe. Though we must admit, it was a bit unnerving standing on the edge of the "swimming pool" talked about in Young's book. Apparently the small pool is used during times of in-house justice, when criminals of a certain natural - pedophiles, rapists etc. - are convicted and the prisoners administer their own form punishment, usually by drowning them. The tour itself ended in the cell where Rusty and Thomas had lived while they were writing their book. It was completely surreal and despite it all being a bit strange, we are glad we did it - a fitting way to end out time in Bolivia and a great conclusion to our South American chapter. Highlights:Swimming with alligators, fishing for piranhas, floating down the Yacuma. Our few days in the Amazon were absolutely incredible.Drinking 12-year-old Scotch and having Spanish lessons with Marta, Harry, Sylvia and Max, an aging hippy who was a dead ringer for Mick Jagger at the La Luna bar after hours.Being smuggled into one of La Paz's most exclusive clubs, Ruta 36 and emerging in daylight the next morning Tearing across the white expanse of the Salar de Uyuni. Wicked!San Pedro Prison. You have to see it to believe it. Things we learned in...Bolivia:Everything you hear about Bolivia is true. The things that we saw might have struck us as bizarre in other countries, but in Bolivia, they don't even warrant a comment.We had an awesome time in South America and our only regret is that we couldn't stay longer. The things we saw, the people we met - it is a chapter of this trip that we'll remember forever.But on December 20,  after seven weeks on the continent, it was time to leave. we spent one night in Lima before flying overnight to New York where we were to meet Chris' parents and sister for Christmas and New Year's Eve. That update, up next.Until then, Chris and Caroline xx P.S. We hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, wherever you were in the world! Happy Birthday to Beck, Carlos and Vanessa and belated wishes to Dave B, Dara, Lou, Patrick and Jen (and anyone else we missed!). We hope you all had a wonderful day and celebrated in style. Very special birthday thoughts to Caroline's little brother Johnathon who is now finally able to drink legally. Happy 18th Birthday Jack!
]]>