Things I've Learned in South America

I have learned a great many things.

Please to enjoy.

• The usefulness of a big friendly smile.
  This cannot be understated. A big charming smile and a bit of Spanish and one will find many pesos cut off their cab fare, maps drawn for them, or even an escort to the bus station through tear gassed streets of a beach side town.
• The South American personal space bubble differs greatly to that of the Australian personal space bubble.
  This especially evident on public transport and during public events such as Inti Raymi.
• You WILL get pick-pocketed in South America.
  During my time in Peru and Bolivia, my friends had all manner of things stolen. Cameras, replacement cameras, phones, backpacks, their entire Big Pack. I didn't. Thinking myself indestructable and vaguely non-gringo, I let my guard down. As soon as I got to Argentina, things stolen. Lots of things. I now have nothing of value worth stealing and thus the space around my bunk is a bomb sight of clothes and food and assorted shit.
• After spending time in Peru and Bolivia, I will never, EVER take a clean toilet for granted.
  For that matter, I will never take for granted free available toilet paper, and a toilet in which one can flush said toilet paper. I think when I return to Australia I'll be puzzled by the absence of a bin next to the toilet for the paper.
• I will never take a hot shower for granted.
• But having said that, I am now completely comfortable with not showering for days on end.
  Speeding your way through Bolivia? Pfft, 'sif shower. Can't be bothered showering? You don't need to shower, dude. Haven't showered for a few days? One more won't hurt. I kid you not, I didn't shower for over a week in Bolivia. And I was fine with that. Arriving in Salta (Argentina) however, the presence of wi-fi, cafes and designer stores made me feel like more than a little bit of a bum. I had a shower at that point.
• If you're a gringo in Cusco, the phrase you will utter more than any other on any given day is, "No, gracias".
  You will be offered hats, llama jumpers, weed, coke and massages at every corner. As well as in between every corner. I mean, of course occasionally you'll say yes to one of these offers, but there's only so much I can stand and only so much money I have to burn. And I'm going to go out on a limb and say that when I'm about to get into a cab with my pack and I'm in the middle of a tearful goodbye, it's probably not a moment when I want drugs.
• I love travelling alone.
  At first I was somewhat apprehensive about travelling by myself for a few months after hanging with Linc, especially leaving Cusco, this place that I'd come to call my home. My fears turned out to be unfounded however, as it soon became clear how much I prefer doing it solo. Honestly, I don't think I could go back to having a permanent travel buddy on a trip.
  Travelling solo you're forced to introduce yourself, to make friends. You end up getting to know cities better. It becomes incredibly simple making split-second decisions and changes of plans. Stay in Salta one more night to watch the Argentina game with some friends? Why the hell not? Go to Uyuni instead of Tupiza cause I met a cool guy on the bus on his way there? Fuck yes I will.
  Travel buddies picked up for a few days, a week, fun had then good byes said. I tell you what, never have before have I met so many incredible, interesting people in such a short space of time than during these three and a half months. And never have so many comfort zones been barrelled through, so many stupid risks been taken to amazing, lovely, ridiculous results.
• So on that note, I have learned exactly how goddamn interesting people are.
  They are. Everyone. People are fascinating.  
• I'm interesting too.
  That may seem like a stupid thing to say, and an incredibly dumb thing to have discovered, but it's true. Apparently I'm interesting, and I shouldn't be shocked when people want to spend extended amounts of time with me. It's a nice discovery to have made.
• Judging a book by its cover is a bad move.
  Which is not to say that I was a judgemental person before I got here, but certainly occasionally I would look at someone and in spite of myself, make a snap judgement about them. Interesting People come in all shapes and sizes though, kids. I met a bunch of boys in La Paz, who a few months ago I may have dismissed as a bunch of irritating 'Gap Yah' dudds. However, a night spent with them ended up being some of the best fun I had in all of Bolivia. I ended up staying another night in the city (albeit not in a bed for a second), enjoying all manner of incredible conversation, dingy nightlife and weird experiences one can only really have while on the road, in Bolivia. 
• There are no problems, only solutions.
  Phone got stolen in a crowded club? Wallet too? Don't cry about it, pussy. Deal with it. 
• Argentinian guys are very often completely gross and disgustingly forward. 
  Walking down the street, expect yells, loud kissy noises, assorted shit, from hoardes of men. 
• Irritatingly, Argentinian men are also the best looking I've come across in South America.
  Soz, Bolivia and Peru and to a lesser extent, Chile. 
• Booze is cheap. So are cigarettes.
  As such, it's incredibly easy to succumb to peer pressure. A favourite phrase of my main Chilean pal is 'PEERPRESSUREPEERPRESSUREPEERPRESSURE'
• Tattoos don't hurt that much. Tear gas does.
• Cities at high altitude mean that you won't be able to climb a hill in one go, stairs will be a challenge, slight inclines are irritating, and hangovers are excruciatingly horrid.
• South Americans like football.
  I knew this before. It just became all the more clear upon going to a Copa America semi final in Argentina. It was intense. 
• Argentinian steaks are incredible. 
• There is never pepper on the table at Chilean restaurants.
• Chilean wine is great.
• They weren't kidding about Chilean smog.
• There's a lot to be said for a good house party.
• Climbing a volcano is hard.
  It is.
• Peruvians, Bolivians, Argentinians and Chileans are some of the most lovely, hospitable and generous people you could ever find. 
  Which one can forget momentarily when your phone, iPod, camera and wallet are stolen in quick succession. One is quickly reminded however, when a lovely stranger goes out of their way to help, or when one meets a group four Argentinian buddies travelling through SA in an old '67 Bedford and one spends a night hanging out with them in said awesome bus.
  

I'd add more things to this list but I hear goings-on in the kitchen of the hostel I'm in at the moment. This hostel, which has become my home for about three and a half weeks, full of the craziest, strangest little family  of guys that make up the staff. Of all the places I've been, I'd venture to say that this place - the Moai Viajero Hostel - is up there near the top of the Places I'll Miss the Most. 

Chilena

First of all, yes I am still alive. Yes, I am still in South America. I have HONESTLY been meaning to blog more, and I have a back log of things I want to jot down for y'all on here but ... you know. Things to see, places to be, people to meet. But here I am in Pucon, with a day to kill. I was going to climb Volcan Villarica (that's a volcano, for those of you playing at home) today, but unfortunately after hauling myself out of bed at 5:30 (in the AM, for those of you playing at home) and getting to the office at 6:45am, I was told by our French guides that there was snow falling today. I had planned to be in Valdivia by tonight, but you know what? I want to climb this goddamn volcano. This'll be my fourth time seeing snow up close and personal, and my first time 'mountaineering'. How very out of character for me. We'll soon see how this little flight of fancy pans out.

At any rate, I'm in Chile.

Chile is a great many things. It's long and thin, with the Andes looming down upon it on one side, and the Pacific Ocean on the other side. There are deserts up the top, and the glacial, volcanic tip of the earth on other end. In the middle, are mining towns and tourist towns and big cities that withstand earthquakes, and indigenous people that withstand centuries of every invading force imaginable (seriously, the Mapuche are badass). Chile is the last country in South America that I'm visiting before I return to Australia, and it's also the country where my parents, and their parents, and their parents' parents were born. Needless to say, it's been interesting to be in Chile.

Whilst growing up (for lack of a better description), I had a strange relationship with my heritage. One one hand, I was proud of it, was proud to have a family history steeped in a culture more interesting (in my opinion, at least) than that of white Australia, that I got to eat far more interesting food on the weekends with my hoards of rowdy aunts, uncles and cousins. My parents told me of how their parents had packed up their families and all their worldly posessions to come across the seas to a strange country in order to escape a very rude dictatorship, and to give their kids a chance at a better a life. They told me this and I'd feel epic buckets of love for my grandparents. On the other hand however, I took pride in how well my folks had then assimilated, at their flawless English. I was pleased that they have Aussie friends, and that they sent us to a school with a broad spectrum of pals and a good education instead of occasional gangster delusions. I take that back. That's incredibly snobby and a gross generalisation, so allow me to explain.

I suppose it's a result of my folks speaking with irritation at their fellow Chilenos in Australia who only associated with each other, only speaking Spanish. I suppose it's the result of so many of the distant relations we have sending their kids to school in places that are conducive to wannabe gangstas driving horrid hotted up cars. I suppose it's my love of the skinny nerd whiteboy. But into my teens it became clearer and clearer that I (and my brother, for that matter) stuck out at gatherings of extended family that we rarely saw. Not only because of the things I would wear and my hair, but because my lack of any skill in speaking Spanish and my complete inability to remember the names of anyone I'd met in the family.

I tell you what, it's a strange headspace to be in. On one hand, I'd wear my Australian-ness and well-assimilated family as a badge of pride, but on the other hand I longed to spak Spanish and occasionally inwardly shook my first at my folks for not continuing to teach me when I was a kid. I was almost pleased with how much I stood out at family gatherings, yet was also pleased with my not-overly-Australian accent and my hatred of Vegemite. My eyes swell up when I watch someone dance traditional Chilean dances, and I get choked up at ANZAC Day services.

So. With all of that in mind, it's been interesting as hell to actually be in South America. My first run-in with Extreme Emotion was one afternoon in Cusco. Walking through the Plaza de Armas I saw one of the many parades/dances that occurred during the most festive of months for Peru. It was the beginning of June, so I hadn't really seen any properly at that stage. I saw the men and women dancing in their traditional Andean dress and I couldn't help but burst into tears. Of course, I was feverish, had just thrown up, and hadn't eaten in about two days (I was on my way to the doctor), so that may have been it.

I know I've mentioned in my previous (sporadic) blog posts written whilst I've been over here that I feel like this is exactly where I'm supposed to be at this exact moment. It's true, and I'm going to have to reiterate it. In a bus bumping and flying over the rocky terrain of Bolivia, chatting to a kid on my way to the Argentine border, swimming in an Amazonian lake, watching a football game in La Plata, down a mine in Potosi ... everywhere, I've found myself constantly having moments in which I can scarcely believe what I'm doing, and where it is that I'm doing it. At the risk of sounding cheesy as fuck, I'm a hell of a long ways from home yet equally, I feel incredibly close to it.

I'vemet a grand old big chunk of my family over the past few weeks. It was fascinating. The brothers and sisters of my grandparents, some of their kids, and in turn some of their kids. Tia Lucy, whom my mum and her siblings always speak of so warmly, lovingly, proved to be an absolute blast. This tiny tiny lady declared "I'm the oldest!" as she burst in the door and gave me a big hug. She then demanded to know who looked more like my grandpa, her or their brother, Manolo. The day was full of loud Chilenos talking over each other constantly, with a gigantic paella too big for the table feeding us all. Frankly, it reminded me of a weekend get together back home. My mum's cousin's husband (I don't know what on earth that makes him to me) played the piano and everyone sat around and sang me a traditional folk song about a woollen beanie. I videoed it, a little choked up, thinking, "Mum will SHIT BRICKS when she sees this". My broken, grammatically feeble yet vastly improved Spanish served me well, with glowing reports soon getting back to my parents through the grapevine of relatives.

It again served me well when I journeyed an hour or so south to Rancagua, to meet a portion of my dad's family. I admit that at one point on the train journey I wished I was back at the hostel, warm in bed, with no pressure to be on show for two days, "representing the Australian offspring". As soon as my dad's cousin began showing me around however, I felt otherwise. I saw the street, the house where my dad had grown up. I saw the mechanic in which the men of the family had worked. I saw the ice cream shop where a young Panchin would buy snacks. Holy jeezum crow Batman, that shit is priceless.

I had no idea I'd feel this way when I got to Chile, and to South America as a whole. That's not to say that I've spent the entire time being sentimental. I'll have you know that there have been myriad ways in which I've shown my badassery. But at the most curious of moments, I'll feel really in touch with my South American side. Like crawling through a mine in Potosi, barely being able to breathe. Like standing under Iguazu Falls. Seeing some tango in Buenos Aires. Like being on this horrid, horrid bus on my way out of Uyuni, Bolivia, and I happening to look out the window after literally getting air during one bump in the road and I seeing pretty much every star, ever. During that same horrid bus, I happened to find myself chatting to a little girl travelling with her even younger brother (seated on the floor amongst the boxes and bags of shit knows what) from Uyuni to some other town. She asked how I'd liked the salt flats. I said they were amazing. She looked pleased, and assured me that they're much, much better during the summer months.

Throughout my trip here, I've been struck by how proud South Americans are of their countries. I mean, I'm a proud Aussie I guess, but this is different. Maybe it's a result of having been through many years hardship over the years (when I told a local artist in Valdivia the year my parents came to Australia he shook his head sadly and replied, "Mm. I went to Paris"). My Tio Juan spent HOURS proudly explaining the history of this building, of this statue, of that park, during our tour of Santiago. Every cab driver I met in Bolivia genuinely wanted to know what I thought of his country, his town. That little girl seemed chuffed as hell when I said I loved the salt flats. I met so many Peruvians that were incredibly proud to still speak Quechua. I guess if your heritage and your history is that interesting, it'd be hard not to be. And it appears that upon seeing it for myself after all of this time, I am too.

In front of the house where my dad grew up.

Phew. No time to proof read, am using a hostel computer.

Argentina, hello.

Things that are the same, wherever you go in the world.

• The way loud, obnoxious teens will congregate at shopping centers and in front of things. Especially during the holidays.
• Hangovers.
• Hangover cures. My remedy of choice: bacon and a trip to the cinematorium.
• A love of Harry Potter. Went to see the last installment (HP7.2) a few nights ago. Children and adults alike cheered when Neville engaged in badassery, when Ron and Hermione kissed, when Harry did something epic. As the credits rolled, the crowd applauded. It was good stuff.
• Clubs. They will be full of douchebags. 
• Music at clubs.
• Australians getting wasted.
• The feeling of accomplishment upon finding free wi-fi.
• Warm showers. They're incredible.
• Dealing with phone companies. It's always an ordeal.

Greetings from Buenos Aires!
I speak to you amidst a cloud of sleep deprivation. Argentina is not a place conducive to sleeping.

Things I have lost: my phone, my camera, my iPod, my brain.

Still, my mood isn't dampened in the slightest. This city is superb. This country is great. I'm absolutely loving it, I'll tell you that much for free.

After spending a few days longer than I'd meant to in La Paz I sped my way through the rest of Bolivia, spending a split second in each town then racing to the next one. Through northern Argentina, to BA. It's lovely now, having a base, being able to spread out, not having to think about my next location (for this week, at any rate). I almost feel like a local, now having mastered the subway. Funny how things like that produce such a sense of accomplishment.

This computer's terrible. Will write more later.

I left my heart in Peru.

I did.
I'm in Bolivia now, about two weeks after I'd initially itended to leave that dear country of Peru. Funny, how one can grow so attached to a place.
Cusco became my base, my home of sorts, the place where I constantly ended up returning to, for whatever reason I might choose to use to rationalise the decision.

After leaving Arequipa, I returned to gather my thoughts and regroup. I went to the jungle, only to return to Cusco for Inti Raymi (which was great fun, just quietly). Then when it finally was time to have a Proper Farewell after all of those 'fake farewells', I found myself almost overcome with sadness. It's not because Cusco is the most amazing city in the world (although it certainly does have a lot of charm, and quirks out the yin yang). Nor is Peru the most amazing country in the world, although it is spectacular in myriad ways. More so, I was astounded to find how attached I had become to the friends I'd made during my time at Amauta-the-Spanish-school, and the weeks afterwards when I kept returning.

Yesterday was my last day in Cusco. It was spent in the sun, catching a bus and taking the scenic route to some mediocre hot springs with three friends. We were the only gringos, we took a little taxi, the four of us crammed into the back seat through a windy road where a landslide seemed to have just occurred. At the warm springs (tepid at best springs) we bobbed up and down in the murky water, we were conspicuous, we drip dried in the non-sun then took a little car back to Calca. Then we went to Urubamba. We bought stale bread and awesome avocado and sat in the sun, eating sandwiches while listening to creepy carnival music. It was a hippy market. I bought a ginger cupcake and shared it with someone spectacular. The bus ride back was long and tiring and silent but content with hands held and napping on shoulders. Shit, son. Then it was dinner at The Israeli Place one last time, playing Pigs one last time, hanging out at the school one last time then GOODBYE, time for a huge hug. Saying, "Keep in touch" and actually meaning it. On the other hand though, don't farewells while fighting back tears at five in the morning at the edge of the Plaza de Armas make you feel kind of alive? I'd venture to say yes.

If you're wondering about the jungle, it was amazing. It was exactly what I needed at that stage, time to relax, to be away from the maddening crowd, to sit in the wilderness and just think for a little while. We swam in an Amazonian lake under the moonlight, trouped through the jungle, saw monkeys and parrots and otters and all manner of birds. Tarantulas and those little crocodile things as well. It was sweaty and hot as fuck and I got attacked by mosquitoes and I fell through a bridge but goddamn, was it ever incredible.

Bolivia? It seems quite a bit like Peru so far, but slightly different. I'm fairly exhausted, not having slept much at all in the past few days. I wandered around the city tonight, wrote, ate some brie, then bought a minature Millennium Falcon, becuause that's just the way I operate, guys. Tomorrow I'll probably book a tour to the salt flats. I might take my Millennium Falcon.

I'm tired, and kind of sad, but at the same time I'm excited. I'm excited because I've got three more countries to get to, over two months. No time for hesitation son, no time for tears or moping because that phase has finished and there's a new one about to begin. CAN YOU FEEL IT?

Anyway, apologies for the lack of photos. They're a bit of a bitch to upload from shitty internet cafes. Hold on tight, I'll upload some eventually. At any rate, I'm sure most of you that read this have me on Facebook anyway, and are up to date with my photographic adventures.

Sleep is for chumps.

I´ve had a total of three hours of sleep in the past two days. I´m exhausted.

Last we heard, the hero if this moving picture was about to head to Puno. For those of you playing at home, that´s pretty much on the border of Peru and Bolivia. I went to the bus station and asked around. The roads between Cusco and Puno had been blocked, but a couple of companies were still going to the town, just via a different route. The scenic one it seems, turning a seven hour journey into a twelve hour one.

Anyway, I spent the day hanging out with friends, eating a giant sandwich, not catching up on sleep. Then someone informs me, "Puno´s fucked". I ask someone else. "Yeah, it´s pretty much a revolution now." Well, great. I asked some more people.
"Yeah, I was going to go on Monday. Now I´m not."
"Shit. I was going to head there tonight."
"Have fun with that."

I cursed the universe. Is it that hard for the universe to let me catch a break? I'd already checked out of my hostel, and put all my bags (packed incredibly, I'll have you know) in the room of a friend, ready to catch my bus at 10pm. With four hours until that time, I decided instead that I'd head to Puerto Maldonado, a jungle town that from all accounts seems quite pretty. The plane's at 10am. I tried to book my flight, but the internets just weren't having any of that. Let me book a flight? Fuck that. I take the scenic route, bitches.

So I decided, WHATEVER! I won't pay for a hostel! I'll just stay out all night! Easy, right?
I'll have you know I made it to 4am. Which I think is admirable. I then snuck myself (a feat unto itself given the hardass doorman) into the school I stopped being a student at about three weeks ago and crashed. For two hours. Then hauled myself out of the nice warm bed and into a taxi, to make sure I got there quick enough to buy a ticket. It may seem overly early, but given how good I am at screwing things like that up, and given my propensity to have awful luck, it seemed the only course of action.

Anyway. I've spent the last hour or so searching for malaria tablets at various pharmacies, sitting around, looking spaced out and zombie-like, and smelling terrible. I've got another half an hour or so to kill. I need to sleep. I might. But then, I might not wake up for hours. I'll watch some Digimon on my iPhone.

Oh, and in case you were at all interested, it was a wonderful night out. I haven't had that much fun dancing in a truly obscene amount of time. And as sure as a bear shits in the woods, I don't often feel inclined to dance, unless it's flailing around to Limp Bizkit, or being an obnoxious twat.

GODDAMN I AM TIRED.

This was probably a completely incoherent post, but at least now you've got something to procrastinate with, Fish.

I just can´t seem to leave Peru...

Hello to my small yet loyal readership!

I´m still in Peru. I´ve got half an hour or so to kill before I meet some friends for funtimes here in Cusco, so I guess that´s a good an excuse as any to blag blag blag my little heart out to you all.

I tell you what though, these South American keyboards will be the death of me. Granted, it´s a little easier (certainly faster) than typing on my iPhone, so I shouldn´t really complain.

So. Update. Last time I wrote we were in the Sacred Valley. We headed back to Cusco, oh city where I will leave my heart, for some fun and frivolity and friends and farewells. As well as obnoxious amounts of alliteration. Then Linc and I set off to Machu Picchu, by way of a four day trek through the Lares Valley. Those of you who know me well, your minds should be boggling at the fact that I was wearing grubby clothes, not showering, not brushing my teeth and walking for quite obscene amounts of kilometers up mountains. It was ridiculous. If it weren´t so disgusting, I´d post up pictures of the myriad bruises that are on my ass. I already posted a picture of my disgusting big toe on Facebook (sorry, Fish) so I think that one will have to be given a miss.

So the trek had its amazing points and dudd points and I did have some small child steal the case that contained my sewing kit, battery for my camera, toothbrush, toothpaste and hand sanitiser. So that was irritating. But something certainly has to be said for the feeling one gets (especially if one is incredibly unfit, like yours truly) when one reaches the top of a huge mountain and you can look down and think, ¨I FUCKING DID THAT, BITCHES.¨ We actually did the trek with two AWESOME Austrians, who happened to hire horses for the duration of the trek. I was jealous at first, but I think the feeling of accomplishment may have been worth it.

Machu Picchu? It was great. All those things that people say about it? Tick all those boxes. Yes, it´s touristy. Yes, it´s spectacular. Yes, it´s amazing. Definitely glad we went. It would have been a crime had we not gone.

Post Machu Picchu, Linc and I headed to Arequipa, which is a gorgeous city. More European than Cusco. Prettymax. Not really much worth noting though, given that we didn´t go to the Colca Canyon, nor did we go out on the town. Mostly, I just went to various cafes and wrote. Wrote and wrote. A lot of drivel, some shit worth keeping.

After Arequipa I was meant to go to Buenos Aires, and Linc was meant to go to Columbia. Linc did go to Columbia, I didn´t go to Argentina. Thanks to the Chilean volcano, my flight was cancelled. Awesome. Then it became actually slightly awesome, because that meant that I was put in a five star hotel for my trouble, with obscene amounts of free food, as well as running hot water and a working shitter (with toilet paper provided, unlike much of Peru). YES. I had the longest shower I´ve had in a month, I ate way too much, and I had a glorious nap with the TV on in the background. Cheap thrills, y´all.

Anyway, I didn´t end up getting on my flight to Buenos Aires. I´ll be doing Argentina in about a month. For now, I´m back in Cusco, then heading to Puno tomorrow. Then I´ll be back here for the Inti Rami festival which will be all manner of radfun, then I´ll head to Bolivia properly. I know it´s a hell of a long time in Peru, but I´ve grown rather attached to this place. I´ll be glad to get to the next country, but there´s plenty here that I´m fond of.

Okay, I´ve successfully killed about twenty minutes. Ugh.

I´ll tell you a little about Cusco. Today I went to a market, and across from the beanies and jumpers and a little internet corner, there was a TYPEWRITER CORNER. A bunch of typewriters. Ready to be typed with. I thought, ¨Fuck me, I want to type something on a typwriter.¨ ... so I did. I typed it good, I´ll tell you that for free. The man asked me if I wanted him to type something for me, and I was all like, ¨BITCHNAH.¨ ... to be honest that might have been the highlight of my day. Cheap thrills, y´all.

Cusco is full of stray dogs. But believe it or not, maybe one in fifty could be described as ¨manky¨. They´re all pretty cute to be honest. Some of them hang out in posses of three or four. They´re mostly really friendly. I´ve seen maybe three get mad at people. Well, apart from this one night. I was wandering the streets with a pal of mine, and suddenly we hear barking and running footsteps. Look up at the plaza, there´s a gang of about five dogs cracking the shits at this man, who´s running backwards as fast as his legs will take him, pulling off his jacket and whipping it at the dogs, trying to keep them at bay.
Needless to say, we bailed.

Also, the dogs are tough as fuck. Same night, same pal, different plaza, we laughed at this one badass boss dog running alongside, sprinting alongside this taxi. It wasn´t happy. Then oh god the taxi rounded the corner and the dog was under the car. I screamed and was ready to burst into tears. But lo and behold, the dog was fine. It gave a little whimper, then got up and trotted off. Barely limping. I kid you not, this dog hit the bumper and went under at least one of the tyres. Granted, the cars here are pretty tiny, but it was INSANE, the toughness of this dog. We saw it later, and it was fine. Honestly, what the poo.

On that note, I´ll sign off.

Just quickly, I've fallen in love with Peru.

I'm writing this from my iPhone, so it's going to be slow going, as well as badly formatted. My apologies. But I felt like I'm letting down (slightly) the handful of people I know actually read this. So! Here we are. In a hotel lobby, awkwardly stealing internets in el Valle Sagrado (thats the Sacred Valley for those of you playing at home.

I've well and truly fallen in love with Peru. It's beautiful, and fascinating, and all manner of fun. It's rolling sand dunes and deserts with dotted oases and colorful little towns, and cities teeming with life. I fell asleep on the bus from Nasca, then woke up amongst mountains and snowy peaks in the distance, with jungles and rivers around me.

Linc and I have spent the last week and a bit in Cusco. A week with the sweetest Peruvian family, who brought me tea when I got food poisoning. I was vomming my guts up, but that won't taint my thoughts of Cusco. I've met so many interesting people, it's obscene. We're the only Australians at Amauta. It's full of Germans, Dutch, Americans, Belgians, Swiss. It's amazing, how traveling is so conducive to chance, short encounters with the most fascinating people.

I'll tell you this much for free, I haven't been this happy in a long, long time. Months. Ages. Aeons. But fuck me gently with a chainsaw, I was on the bus to the Sacred Valley and I just couldn't stop smiling. It was truly idiotic, my face. But I was just SO GLAD to be here, I put on some Elton John ("Philadelphia Freedom", for whoever's interested) and just grinned the trip away.

I have not the slightest inclination to go home. This is just way too much fun. And if this is the happiest I've been in over six months, then who am I to fuck that up? What am I, some sort of chump? Haha.

Anyway, we're heading back to Cusco for a couple nights on Friday, then we're beginning a trek to Machu Picchu, for four days. Then it's off to Arequipa, then country number two. I think I'll be ready to leave by then, but I tell you what, Peru's gonna have a special place in my heart. Aw. Isn't that nice? It is. Time for lunch.
Xx