Eurogays, Living in a cave and the Costa Del Crime

So after 8 and a half months of backpacking, bunking, ducking and diving we eventually boarded our Air Iberia pigeon from Lima to Madrid and in 15 hours time would be back in Europe, only one hour away from Greenwich Mean Time. Time does indeed fly, but god knows how Air Iberia do, they have to be one of the worst airlines I have ever had the misfortune of flying with. Can you believe that Spains national carrier still has those TV's that everyone has to share and only shows one film on a 15 hour flight! And that's just the half of it. Mind you you can still smoke, no you can't really, but it wouldn't have surprised me if you could as I felt like I was being slung back ten years into a Spanish frenzy of Sunglass wearing, shoulder jumpered, pastel panted arrogancias and all they were lacking was the customary Marlboro Red drooping from their lips.

Spanish efficiency continued upon touching down in Madrid although we were lucky that it was only 2 hours before the baggage boys could be arsed to bring us our bags. The track next to us had already been there for 4 hours with still no sign. Siesta whatever, herherher Ingleesh Peegs!

I hadn't been to Madrid before and I tell you I was bowled over. I fell in love with the place immediately which may have had something to do with the weather but also to me Madrid sums up all that is good with Spain. The buildings are majestic, the people are beautiful and walk with grace, elegance and a sense of superiority hard to find anywhere else. The weather is deliciously warm, the bars and plazas are magnetically inviting and the whole buzz of the city is pulsating. We had arrived on the weekend of Eurogay, the Gay Pride annual march where she/he's, mincers and madams skip merrily down the Gran Via and then get well and truly trousered in a party to top all parties.

It really was a great welcome back to the warmth and reality of Europe and poverty was nowhere to be seen which was nice to see. It was a great buffer before heading back home. However we weren't stopping there, we needed more sun and so with car duly hired we headed south and first stop was Granada where a friend of a friend had very kindly offered to let us stay in his cave for three days. It may sound slightly disconcerting but beggars can't be choosers and when we got there we found that the cave had been converted into a home and we were staying directly opposite Alhambra in the beautiful suburbs of Granada. It was absolute bliss, the weather was in the high 30's and we managed to sneek into a hotel 2 days running and use their pool and loungers. The experienced travellers had no fear now and blagging had become pretty much part of day to day life. Never really been a problem anyway!

To finish our Spanish invasion we headed to Puerto Banus darling to join the costa del cockneys and the rest of the 80's Brit gangsters and see my mate simsy for a few days. He had sorted out a villa and 13 of us ploughed into this mock Espagnol version of Big Brother and had an absolute riot. We partied, lounged, danced and lounged some more but mostly we drank and as we had arrived bang on time to experience the fiesta we also made twats of ourselves. With most of the locals being English anyway it barely mattered but the fairground was a riot, the girls turned it into a drunken impromptu hen night and I won two teddy bears on a shooting gallery for the first time in my life! It was sad to leave everybody and head back to Madrid but we had a car to take back and a couple of days left before our return home. Spain was a perfect tonic before the sad gin that was awaiting in England. The next two days were quite solemn as the grim reality of both me and Emily returning back to England hit home but then again after 9 months away there's no grounds for complaint.

Incas and Yanks

So the end of chapter 3 was almost upon us. We had shivered through Chile, ridden the length and bredth of Argy, bundled through Bolivia, nipped into Uruguay and chilled in Brazil. Peru was the final stop and with thoughts of the roasting sun in Spain we legged it straight to Cusco and headed straight for the big one. No point pissing around, it was Machu Picchu and those talked about Inca ruins we were after a glimpse of and as soon as we arrived at our family run guest house it was time to book the train up to the ruins and go and see the bugger.


Now I didn't realise it was a 4 hour train ride to get to this sacred place, it makes you wonder how the bloody Incas got up there in the first place, I mean I'm not overly sure the trains were running back in those days and this place is so high up you're virtually kipping in the clouds. But the train ride was painless and gave you time to sit and watch the world go by, admire the beauty of this land and have a good panoramic look at the tourist mecca that is Cusco.

Every man and his dog had decided to see Machu Picchu this day and I was a bit surprised how many of the buggers were American, and I mean stereotypical brash, baseball cap wearing, salad dodging, I love Peru T-Shirt wearing folk. They were everywhere and there was just no getting away from them. Now don't get me wrong through my travels and meeting many of our migratory cousins along the way I had changed my views on the US and would go so far to say I was actually developing a liking for them but my god was this view to change over the next 8 hours.

Allow me to state this first, Machu Picchu is gorgeous, the Inca ruins are amazing and there is no doubt that this is truly one of the greatest works of the human hand I have and will ever see. But imagine seeing this and almost every 10 yards the view being spoiled by a chubby yank shouting "Honey get one of me and the Llamas", You want fries with that tubby? I'm telling you I half expected to see the golden arches up there. It put a bit of a dampener on the day and clarified that the only way to see this and truly enjoy it is to do the 4 day Inca Trail which was something that we did just not have the time and money to do and also something that needs to be booked at least 3 months prior. Booking 3 days prior is tricky enough so you can guess that this option was never likely to be a path I would be following.

Post Picchu we headed off to Lima desperate to get to the sun and sand of Spain and after being refused a standby flight on day one, we managed to get one the day after giving us 11 days to chill in Spain and try our damndest to get back to England with at least a little bit of colour in the cheeks.

Anyone for a Brazilian?

So after waving adios to Smithers, Big Si, Joker and Caz, myself and Em set sail to Brazil on the absolute dogs knackers of a luxury bus. I shit you not the leather recliners turned into beds, we were served a 3 course meal and they even had English films en route. Bit different to the night bus to Tooting I can tell you!

First stop in Brazil was to have a quick shifty at Iguazu falls and what a hell of a water feature it is. Titchmarsh would have a field day here and it pisses all over Niagara for sheer size and beauty. There's almost 200 different falls and you can't fail to be impressed, even if you have seen more bloody waterfalls in the last 9 months than most people will in a lifetime. A bit of jetboating through them added to the fun and then it was off to the crime capital of the world to try and dodge bullets in Rio.

Now you may think i'm exaggerating with my bullet dodging quote but the night we arrived lo and behold a bloke was shot dead 20 yards from our hostel! No word of a lie, and one of the young English lads from our place tried to give him mouth to mouth and watched him die in his arms! Nice intro but c'est la vie and next day we awoke to the sun shining so Em dusted off the bikini and I found my one remaining pair of ageing speedos and it was off to the beach to try some power tanning. Ipanema beach is fantastic, if only for the people watching quality although for some reason we set up camp in campsville, right between the rainbow flags in the middle of gay central. I have never seen so many stacked and vain raving queens in all of my life, it was like being on the England football team bus. The blokes were strutting around lording it for all they were worth and creeping onto the beach with beer gut proudly slumped I felt like I had clearly turned up at the wrong party.
Needless to say the next few days saw the reintroduction of exercise into the freel diet and the time in Rio was sensational. We had some good nights out but mainly chilled on the beach and had some real rest and relaxation time. Visting Christo redempto and looking over all of Rio was amazing and we also stopped in the national park at a spot where all the murderers discard their dead bodies. The place reeked so bad I almost projectiled my breakfast up and it was a harsh reminder that this city is clearly not one that you want to be strolling around in alone.

The whistle stop tour of Brazil was over far too soon and the place definitely needs to be redone in detail. The one shite thing about Rio is the bloody airport though and after 20 hours of waiting for a flight we eventually got out of there on a mission but still on schedule and headed back to La Paz en route to our final destination in South America. The land of the Incas and magical Macchu Pichu were destined to be the piece de la resistance of this chapter.