Wed 28th Jan: Copa Libertadores

I took abus into Santiago this morning. It was a relatively short hop into the city. before we knew it we were at the bus station in downtown Santiago. A quick hop on a metro and a 10min walk through Barrio Brasil got me to a hostel. I checked into a 6-bed dorm. In the room there were two Brazilian lads both of whom were into their football. They were about to head over to the national stadium to buy tickets for a Libertadores cup match in the city this evening (The Copa Libertadores is the South American equivalent of the Champions League) When I heard this I was eager to join them. To get to a Copa Libertadores match would be a great way to finsih off South America. The two teams playing this evening were Universidad de Chile from Santiago and a Mexican team Temuca. It was a preliminary qualifying match for the group stages of the competition.

Most of the afternoon wsa spent crossing town to fnd the stadium and the ticket booth but we arrived back into the dorm by early evening eagerly clutching our precious tickets. I couldn't wait to get out to Universidad's ground which is out in the suburbs. After food and a quick shower we rushed to the ground, arriving late which was the fault of Raul the more laid back of the two lads - too bloody laid back when it comes to getting out to a football match. Along the way we met up with friends of the taxi and all piled into a taxi to the ground.

When we got into the ground it was already 1-0 to Universidad so the atmosphere was good. The stadium, Sant Laura is an attractive small ground housing 25-30,000 fans. There weren't any away fans and the home support was in good voice so we were treated to the full flavour of a South American football atmosphere. As with the Boca Juniors match back in November the songs, chants and gestures were different to what we're used to in Europe but the abuse of opposition players, exaggerated anguish when a chance has been missed by our own side and th outrage at refereeing decisions were familiar. The mexican keeper came in for particular attention from the fans behind his goal. Memorably, as the second half kicked off he stood brazenly in his goal facing the massed ranks of 10,000 Universidad fans on the terrace behind as they chanted some fierce abuse down at him.

Universidad won the game 1-0 but it was Temuca who looked the better team. On the final whistle the fans reacted as if they had already qualified for the competition. There was a celebratory air around the stadium and in the streets leading back to the city centre. I would suspect that Universidad will face a difficult challenge to maintain their lead in the second leg in Mexico. By then, however, I'll be in Tonga. I got back to the Hostel around midnight, humming south american chants as I tried to get to sleep.

PS: One week later Universidad travelled to Temuca and did, indeed, lose the away leg. However the score was 2-1 and so Universidad ultimately progressed to the group stages on away goals where, at the time of writing (14/04/09), after four matched they lie second in the group behind Gremio of Brazil on 7pts.

Sat-Tues 24th-27th Jan: Valparaiso

I woke up a bit ropey after the mojitos. The stomach felt a bit iffy but it soon sorted itself out. I spent the day wandering around the city. I'm staying in Cerro Concepcion a real old elegant neighbourhood. Its a very arty distract with a lot of art gelleries, musicians and jewelry makers. Its very relaxed in the sunshine as other tourists emerge to explore the warren of streets and passageways which twist and turn around the hillside. Visually 'Valpo' is quite spectacular. The ring hills form an amphitheatre around the bay. The port and the city centre line the waterfront while the suburbs hover above, clingin to the surrounding hills. There are 9 principal Barrios (or neighbourhoods) each of whic crowns a hill. Houses appear to be built wherever there is space. They huddle close together, almost on top of each other in places. Some are grand old mansions others look ramshackle. The houses are painted in all kinds of bright coolours and because no two houses are the same colour it creates a splash of colour right across the city. Some houses perch dramaticall on cliff tops. Some, in an attempt to create sufficient space are built on stilts out over the cliff edges.

The action takes place down in the city centre. Many bars and restaurants are located in a knot of streets below Cero Concepcion. The long main street Avenida Pedro Montt follows the waterfront for a couple of miles. While the town has a tough reputation, (I was warned to avoid a couple of the neighbourhoods) I like it here. One morning in the city centre one guy came up to me and admonished me for the way I was carrying my rucksack!! He advised me to keep it firmly on my back. While I appreciated the concern I don't keep any bag on my back now. In the cities I always keep it to my front. Thankfully, during my time in Valparaiso I didn't once see anything that caused discomfort. I found the people very pleasant and relaxed. As I left one restaurant one waiter shook my hand and thanked me for coming. I bought a football top in a street market and the husband and wife chatted away for some minutes asking what I thought of Chile and if I liked Valparaiso. I made a point of telling them how much I preferred Chile toArgentina. In all the places I've visited in Chile not once have I encountered anyone who was less than courteous. I have to say I've found the people of Chile, on the whole, the most pleasant of the nationalities in South America.

Of Valparaiso itself I'd describe as a cross between Galway and San Francisco. It has that kind of atmosphere. The only downside to Valparaiso were the mosquitoes which infested the dorm I was in. Their bites left an unmerciful itch. I stayed in a 10-bed dorm for the 5 nights in Valparaiso and I was the only person in the room for the duration. It was great. I had a huge room all to myself. I think had somebody come into 'my' room by the last night I'd have been outraged. Over the course of the 4 days I took it easy. I think I needed to stay in one place for a few days after all the travel through Bolivia and Argentina. Every second night there was a 15hr bus journey with little or no sleep and I think, by last week, I had worn myself out. During the days I'd have a wander. There were plenty of bars to sample the many local brews. One Irish bar offers 170 different kinds of beer. Its like going to a restaurant. You sit down and you're given a menu to choose from. In the evenings there was plenty of street entertainment, open air performances and concerts. I was sorry to leave Valparaiso.

Fri 23rd Jan: Across the Andes to Chile

I'm leaving Argentina and I can't wait to get out. I've no more interest in the place and after returning to the country from Bolivia its been an ant-climax. I'm heading for Valparaiso in Chile and I'm looking forward to it. We have to cross the Andes one more time and this turns out to be the most spectacular border crossing of them all. The mountain valleys are beautiful as we climb towards the frontier. By lunchtime we're at the customs post but there's a queue and it takes three hours before our bus gets through. Another three hours down the road and we reach Vina Del Mar at the coast. Most of the passengers leave the bus here. Most are Argentinians starting their summer holidays, heading for the resorts around Vina. Myself and an Irish couple are left on the bus, the most miserable couple I've ever seen. They don't seem to be talking to each other so it doesn't really encourage me to engage with them. I say hello but the response is lukewarm. Who cares.

Twenty mins later we're in Valparaiso. It looks good. Its an old port town built on a series of hills huddled around a crescent-shaped bay. It used to be a wealthy town. Back in the 19th Century Valparaiso was the busiest port on the Pacific coast after San Francisco but the construction of the Panama canal killed a lot of 'Valpo's' business. The port remains and, judging by the size of some of the tankers moored in the harbour, it still does a brisk business. I found a hostel on Cerro Concepcion, the old historic quarter overlooking the port and town centre.

Immediately I feel at home here. I like the faded grandeur of the place. The hostel I'm in is a grand old 19th century mansion in a grand old neighbourhood. The place is colourful. The houses are painted in all shdes of colour. Murals adorn most blank walls. The bars and cafes have character. The people are friendly. I drop my stuff at the hostel and head down town to eat. Its 8pm and I haven't eaten since breakfast. I call into a bar where there's a large group of office workers knocking back cocktails. It feels like one of the old bars you'd find in Galway. I sit at the bar and order a shrimp pasta and a couple of local brews to wash it down. The bar mans chats away in spanish asking what I think of the food and beer. Both are 'muy bien'. I become curious as to what the group of office workers are drinking. There are fresh sprigs of mint in the cocktails and it leaves a pleasant scent. I'm told they are Mojitos. I ask whats in them and then decide to try one myself. There's one guy preparing all the cocktails. A member of staff invites me over to watch as mine is prepared. Its good. I have another. They go down very easily on top of the local beers. They don't hold back on the rum in these drinks. I have one more. I didn't realise how strong they are. I do now. I feel very tired. Its been a long day but a good one. Its good to back in Chile.

Wed/Thurs 21st/22nd Jan: Mendoza

What can I say about Mendoza? I heard a lot about this place and how good it was but I'm distinctly unimpressed. I have a look around on Wednesday and the city has the feel of being one big suburb. The city centre is a non-entity. I didn't even waste my time taking a photo of the place. Its in wine country but of the city itself I don't know what all the talk is about. Having said that the people where I'm staying are lovely, very friendly. I paid up to take a trip into the mountains on Thursday and was up at 7am . I waited until 9am but the bus never arrivedand after I was refunded my money I went back to the room and took the opportunity to watch tv all day. I think all the long bus trips lately have got to me. I've done a lot of 15hr plus journeys and a good few overnighters and I think they've caught up with me. I'm very tired.

Mon/Tues 19th/20th Jan: Salta

We arrived in Salta around 7.30-8am. I walked into town and after trying two hostels which were full got a room in a gorgeous little guesthouse. It was a bit expensive for my budget - 80 pesos (eu20) but it was quality so I didn't mind.

Salta was ok. Coming back into Argentina felt a bit like returning to Europe. To be I wasn't impressed. After coming from Peru and Bolivia it felt a bit bland. Its a modern town with a busy centre and quite a few English chain stores along the high street. Probably the highlight of Salta was the food and getting two football tops, River Plate and a local team, Gimnasio y Tiro, which resembles a Cov top. There's a good cable car ride that takes you to the top of a hill overlooking the city and that was the high point, literally.

I took a bus to Mendoza on Tuesday afternoon, happy enough to be moving on. This journey turned into a little adventure as well. Buying bus tickets in Argentina can be confusing. All the companies act as agents for each other so even if you go and buy a ticket at the counter of one company they may be issuing a ticke to you for travel with a different company. This is what happened to me. I went to a counter to buy a ticket from a company called Chevalier. They issued me with a ticket for a company called Flecha Bus. Now, what I didn't see and a bus conductor subsequently missed was that the small print indicated I would be travelling with a subsidiary company called Andesmar. I handed my ticket to a bus conductor who showed me to my seat. This was a luxury bus and I couldn't believe my luck. 5hrs later we stop in a town to pick up more passengers and I'm taken aside and told there's a problem, that I'm on the wrong bus. I'm brought to an Andesmar counter in the station and its confirmed that I've taken the wrong bus. I'm told to wait here until 8.30pm when I can catch the bus I'm supposed to be on. What I don't realise is that we've changed timezones within Argentina. According to my watch its 7.10pm when in reality its 8.10pm. I have a wander around the terminal thinking I have nearly an hour and a half to kill. I consider going into a restaurant for a meal but decide against it and intead I return to the relevant platform to wait there. I see a clock which reads 8.30pm. Now I'm confused. I rush to the platform and see my bus there already. I board it quickly and am given a quizzical look by the conductor who had wondered where the person in seat 53 had gone to. It doesn't matter, I'm on the right bus now back but it takes me a couple of minutes to figure out why my watch was out by 1 hour. Roll on Mendoza.

Sun 18th Jan: Back into Argentina

I have bought a ticke to Salta. I was given to understand that the journey was 10hrs. Something got lost in translation as the trip took a long 19hrs. I don't mind the long journeys but when you're expecting make the trip in half the time it actually takes then it becomes long. When I bought the bus ticket the guy from whom I got the ticket left a lingering impression that I'd just been ripped off. He didn't smile as much as smirk as I handed over the money and looked far too happy with himself. There was something about the guy I didn't trust. I may not have paid over the odds but there was something about his expression that stayed with me.

The bus was supposed to depart around 10.30am but by 10.50 there was no sign of the bus. I bought the ticket from Balut tours who display a poster depicting a lovely luxury doubledecker coach for their Argentinian routes. Sometime around 11am a rickety, dirty single decker rumbled into the station. A woman came over to me and handed me a ticket and said 'you're on that bus'. The bus finally chugged out of town 50 mins late. It was 3hrs to Villazon on the border with Argentina. The countryside around Tupiza was spectacular, dramatic ravines and rocks of orange, purple and pink. But once we ascended on to a high plain it was flat all the way to Villazon. We had to change buses here so I collected my luggage and went looking for the bus to Salta. As soon as I got off the bus there was a gaggle of people asking me where I was going. At first I kept telling them I was going to Salta and that I had a ticket but I got tired of continuously repeating myself. It was incessant. The next time I was asked where I was going I replied "El Banyo!!", (to the toilet). That kept them quiet.

Some confusion followed in Villazon. I was expecting to pick up a bus for Salta here but instead I had to hand in my ticket, was issued with a new ticket and then told I had to walk through town to the border post, complete the border formalities on both the Bolivian and Argentinian sides and then walk up to the bus station in Quiaca on the Argentinan side. It was quite simple but the procedure hadn't been explained to me so it all seemed for a while puzzling for a while. At the bus station in Quiaca I again had to hand in this new ticket. I was now issued with two tickets. All very bizarre. The bus would depart at 9pm. It wasn't direct so I would have to change buses at Juyjuy at some point during the night. In the meantime I had about 5hrs to wait in Quiaca.

I got a bite to eat and then waited for what seemed an age. Finally 9pm came. We queued to board the bus in a torrential downpour. Lightning flashed and thunder roared. I was glad to get on that bus. Another 6hr journey took us to Juyjuy. I had been unable to sleep so by now I was very tired. We arrived in Juyjuy at 3am and now faced another 3hr wait before catching the bus to Salta

While I waited more buses from Quiaca arrived. A group of Irish girls and a lad stepped off this bus. I had seen them in Quiaca but hadn't spoken to them. God love them they stood out. I've heard how we Irish don't have much dress sense compared to other nationalities but this group were ridiculous. The lad looked like a leprechaun on tour dressed up in all the touristy 'inca' poncho, hat and jumper. It was obvious they had come down from Peru. Yer man had all the backpacker 'inca' uniform on. I don't know why so many of the backpackers buy all this gear poncho, hat, jumper etc. They look comical as they traipse around dressed up in this gear feeling as though they've somehow 'turned native' during their visit to Cuzco and Macchu Picchu. None of the locals wear this gear and, I suspect, have a right giggle at some of the loo-laas who dress up like that. The girls weren't wearing this gear but yet they still stood out in the crowd the way they were dressed. They just looked odd. I stayed away from them.

After what seemed an age the bus for Salta finally pulled up. By now I was very tired. Most people had been waiting through the night for this bus. Now we just wanted to get on the bus and sleep. A queue formed and we stood in line. Suddenly the Irish contingent pushed their way to the front brushing past an old woman standing beside me who was next in line. The old woman began to complain but, no matter, the leprechaun and banannarama pushed their way in all the same. I wanted to take a swing at the gobshite. The leprechaun was ignorant and arrogant. My temper was up. I was overtired and frustrated. I was still annoyed by that ridiculous looking fool as I took my seat. Thankfully I was so tired I fell asleep almos straight away. 90 mins later we were in Salta. I had been a long, frustrating night. No wonder the guy who sold me the ticket was smirking.

Fri/Sat 16/17th Jan: Tupiza

Tupiza is a small town. We arrived into its bus station around 7.30-8am. It doesn't take long to find a hostel. After last nights adventures I bed down to get some sleep. When I wake up and head down towards reception I'm put sitting down by one of them women who run the hostel and given a rundown on the tours and activities on offer here. Unfortunately the costs are dependent on the size of the participating group. Its very quiet here so I'm the only person intierested in some of the activities and so the cost is too high for my budget.

Tupiza is a quiet, dusty little town. The surrounding countryside is beautiful with purple coloured hills on all sides. I will spend two days here but I don't do much other than walk around the streets. To do or not to do the Uyuni tour is the nagging question in my mind. I've been mulling over this for a number of days now to the point that its beginning to stress me. Eventually I decide not to do it in favour of heading South into Argentina to visit Salta and Mendoza. In an internet cafe I find a cheap flight from Auckland to Tonga and decide to book it instead.

The highlight of my time here is a small family restaurant I discover in a street just off the main Plaza. I visited the place three times. The second time I went the owner came up and asked me to check the spelling and phrasing of a large sign he has had printed for the front of the restaurant. I also have to check the spelling and suggest alternative phrasing for another sign he wants produced as he's adding a bar to the back of the restaurant. Its a small homely place. All the family chip in with the operation and the food is great. All the food I request is Italian and each time its delicious. I call in on Saturday night for a pizza and a beer and I end up staying into the small hours drinking whiskey with the family and a couple of locals. At some point a bottle of Jameson appears on the table. Its a little gesture of respect and hospitality from the hosts which I appreciate greatly. The wife, who is a typically portly Bolivian woman, appeared quite sullen on my first visits to the place, but this evening as she is getting used to me ordering from the menu has become very friendly and pleasant. While I eat my pizza she conducts an interview on a local radio station to advertise the place. The interview is broadcast live on the radio as she stands in the middle of the restaurant floor speaking into a mobile phone as guests eat their meals beside her. Her husband chats to me and asks if I will send pictures, music and menus from Ireland when I get home. How could I refuse?

15th/16th Jan: The night bus to Tupiza

Last night was a long night. We left Sucre on a fairly rickety old bus heading for the mountains. As darkness fell flashes of lightning showed a thunderstorm ahead. As the darkness closed in the lightning got brighter. The higher we climbed the flashes became more frequent. Sometimes the sky lit up in three different places simultaneously. Clouds which sat not far above the mountain tops lit up reflecting the lightning as if they were explosions. The lightning became so frequent it appeard as though a great battle were raging in the heavens. And we were heading straight for it. As we crested the top of a pass forked lightning began whizzing down nearby. Lightning strikes lit the interior of the bus so brightly you had to close your eyes. The thunder which accompanies these flashes exploded so loud as if a tear had ripped across the sky. You didn´t sleep through this storm.

We passed through the centre of the storm and sloly the lightning began to recede. An hour later at a roadsde cafe the storm lit up the sky silently, far in the distance. We stopped for 45mins. The toilets here were so bad most of us preferred to use a ditch. It was cold tonight, very nippy. Waiting for the driver to finish his meal and unlock the bus I chatted to the lad who had the seat next to me. I had to shuffle about to try to stay warm.

Back on the bus it was still cold. One guy kept a window open which flooded the bus with sharp cold air. Protests from others forced him to close the window. All the Bolivians had brought blankets with them, as they mostly do on overnight buses. Their blankets are always bright, colourful and warm-looking. I only had a light fleece which kept the worst of the cold off me but it wasn´t comfortable. On this journey I kept having premonitions that this would be the night the bus would be held up by bandits. It happens. In Lima I spoke to an Irish girl whose friends lost everything when they´re bus was held up. With such thoughts it was hard to relax.

Despite the cold and my premonitions I did fall into a light sleep but all the while at the back of my dreams I could feel the cold. I woke up when the bus stopped. The window was open again and people were peering out into the darkness. I couldn´t see anything but I could here voices in the distance and dogs barking. I though "Here we go". But nobody came near us. Another bus pulled alongside us for a few minutes. The two drivers spoke to one another and then the other bus moved on. We stayed put. Nothing happened. Everything remained quiet save for the barking of a dog. There was no explanation for why we were stopped. The window was closed. Everybody else settled down to sleep so I did my best to join them.

I woke up just as dawn as breaking. I was cold. The window as open again, some of the passengers were watching something. On my side of the bus people were walking through fields. I had to go to the toilet so I went outside. Looking around our bus wasn´t alone as I had thought. There were about 20 other buses around us, all parked up in a long line by the roadside. I was surprised. I hadn´t hard them at all during the night, thinking our bus was alone. We were parked on an incline which led down to a river crossing. On the far side of the river about 10 other buses coming from the opposite direction were parked up. Down in the river a lorry and bus were stuck fast. Recent rains had turned this crossing into a quagmire. Everybody was up now so there was quite a crowd watching, wondering what was going to happen.

The bus at the head of the line on our side starts up. Its bright now so the driver can try and pick out some solid ground to attempt a crossing. Slowly the bus moves forward. Everybody on our bus is now standing up, watching and commentating on the action. The bus slithers and stops, a gasp from the crowd. The bus begins to move again, a couple of cheers ring out. The bus gains momentum and makes the crossing, a round of applause. All the buses now start their engines on our side and one by one we follow this new path across the river. We make it across. Behind us a line of 15 buses slowly approach the river. We drive by the unfortunate passengers of the stranded bus, relieved we´re not on that one.

From here to Tupiza the road is one big mess. There are roadworks as a new surface is being laid down but the place is a mess. We drive through a series of canyons. Hills begin to appear. The bare rock is spectacular colouring of purples, pinks and browns. A blanket of cloud is draped across the hilltops. A river bank brings us into a small valley surrounded by these purple hills. On the far bank sits Tupiza.

Thurs 15th Jan: The shoeshine boys of Sucre .

I have a bus ticket to Tupiza down in the southeast of the country, about 3hrs from the Argentinian border. On a whim I´ve decided to go there after reading Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid came here not long before they botched a robbery and died in a shoot out. I was going to go to Uyuni and do a tour of the salt flats there but no I´m torn about whether to go or not. I almost signed on for a tour from here in Sucre but just as I was about to pay the tour agent began asking for extras. That she waited until I had signed a voucher to tell me about extra costs really annoyed me and I cancelled it there and then, not trusting her. Now I can´t decide hether to go or not. In the meantime I´ll have a look at Tupiza.

Last night I was really annoyed. Between the fast talking tour agent and the two lads who tried to mug me I was.... unsettled. This morning however the weather is beautiful. I have a fine breakfast in a cafe n the Plaza. The waitress is all polite and friendly and suddenly I forget hy I got so angry. I take a walk up to a monastery overlooking the town and spend a while gazing at the scenery. I head back dow to the main Plaza. Yesterday, sitting here I was surrounded by some of the local shoeshine boys, all young lads. They go for all the gringos and try to wrangle some way of getting money out of the tourists. If its not money for cleaning shoes they ask if you have any foreign currency as they collect coins. I gave a group of them some leftover coins from The U.S., Uruguay and Chile. Each one scrutinised their coin like it as gold dust. and I slipped away unnoticed.

Today the kids weren´t so persistent. They were content to list off all the capital cities they knew. One young lad selling sweets joined the group and sat at my feet, tipping my knee as he asked for money. He wasn´t as confident as the shoe shine lads as they seem to be the ones who make the money. He was a bit more down in the mouth. As the other group moved on I asked him here he as from. He sat up on the bench beside me and told me he lives in Sucre, that his favourite team and champions of Bolivia are Universitario, actually they´re not, Potosi are but he as adamant and I wasn´t arguing. He then began to list off all the countries he had coins for. I left before he started asking for mone again. Just before I left for the bus station I passed through the Plaza. I saw the young lad wandering around. I shouted over to him "Hey, Amigo" and gave him a couple of coins as I walked by. I don´t know if I should have done this. But he was a good kid.

Wed 14th Jan: Sucre

Just before dawn the bus stopped to refuel at a roadside petrol station. I needed to go to the toilet so I left the bus for a convenient spot in the open. This sparked a mass exodus from the bus as other like minded individuals formed a atery perimeter in a semicircle round the bus. The driver asn´t too happy with this delay but, as earlier, necessity prevailed over nicety. We all tiptoed back onto the bus under the simmering gaze of the driver and as the bus pulled away everyone relaxed in good spirits.

We reached Sucre around 9am and a mini crisis hit our seat. The womans daughter who was by now standing in the aisle turned to her mothe as if she as about to say something. Suddenly she began to heave. She put her hand to her mouth as she as about to throw up. I as full sure she as going to thro up on me but fair play to her she supressed it, I don´t kno how, until her mother got an empty bag for her. It wasn´t a pleasant experience.

I got a hostel in the centre of town. Sucre is a world away from La Paz. One of the first things you notice about the place is that its a white city. Most of the buildings are whitewashed. This used to be the old colonial capital of Bolivia until this honour passed to La Paz after independence. Sucre is a very elegant city with all its wealthy colonial mansions and stately public buildings. The centre is quite small so it doesn´t take too long to get around. The courtyards of some of the mansions are particularly beautiful. The street front of these houses can be plain enough but once you pass through the foyer and into the courtyard you can get an idea of the ealth and splendour that was here.

Sucre is a young and glamorous place. It has a university and so caters for the influx of students. The bars have a familiar feel here. You could be back home in some of them. THey certainly cater for western tastes in this ton. Also, people look different here. There´s a lot of mixed blood whereas La Paz is domiated by indigenous people. People here are glamorous, confident and ealthy looking. Cars look new and expensive, so do the clothes. There are, however, a proportion of poor and vagrants. Most of these are indigenous people. While Sucre is a moneyed city it is one which I doubt holds much support for the President. Whereas in La Paz almost all the graffiti is pro-Morales. Here it is much more mixed. There is a lot of ant-constitution slogans. One passing car had a poster hich depicted Morales as a dictator alongside Pinochet.

In the evening while I was walking around town lads tried to get at my rucksack. On the first occasion I was in the main square when I felt something at my bag. A young lad had tried opening the zipper and when I turned to see what was going on he came around on my other side and started asking for money!! I just laughed at him. 15mins later I as walking around the market area which was busy. Again I felt something at the bag. I turned quickly and a lad in his 20´s pulled his hand away before brushing past me. I was ......annoyed. He was only a few yards away so I followed him. I stayed behind him as he turned up a side street. He turned and saw me following. A few more yards He looked back and I was still there watching him. He crossed the street but I kept parallel with him. When he looked a third time and saw me still with him he ran. Its just as well he did. I don´t know what I was doing. I was annoyed. I expected this in La Paz, not in Sucre. I go to sleep tonight slightly bitter towards Bolivians.

Tues 13th Jan: Tiahuanaco

Before leave for Sucre today I´m heading out to an old temple complex about 70km outside the city at Tiahunaco. I head up through the early morning bustle of La Paz to Cementario where I get a collectivo heading in that direction. Tiahunaco is an old Pre-Incan complex. A sacred site of an early culture centred around Lake Titicaca. It was a 90min drive out of town

There were 13 in the collectivo. Just before we left two lads tried to bargain 2 seats for 15 Bolivianos, the rest of us paid 10 each. Listening to this the auld women in the collectivo went bananas. Howls of derision were hurled out the door at these guys. A babble of complaints which took the tune of
" Listen Sonny, If ye young scuts think ye´re getting in here for 15 Bolivianos the pair, then ye´ve another thing coming. Yez can bloody well wait for the next one now!!"
The two lads were left looking quite sheepish on the footpath. When it was felt the driver was delaying the departure too long more howls of protest erupted from the golden girls. Banging on the windows was accompanied by "Vamos, Caballero, Vamos!!" The driver skipped around to the cab and we hit the road. You tread lightly when you´re around the auld grannies of La Paz!

Tiahuanaco was nice and picturesque rather than spectacular. Much of the temples are badly ruined so it required some imagination and model recreations to get an idea of how they looked originally. I´ve read about this place vefore so it was nice to see it in reality. One of the more impressive sights was a 7m tall statue of the Goddess Pachamama (still revered in Bolivia). It was housed in a nearby museum. Photography was forbidden but 2 German lads came in and started snapping so I took out my camera and got off a shot and popped it away again before an attendant arrived, caught the lads and gave them a right bollocking. Mr goody twoshoes here was sauntering around with an angelic innocence as I greeted the attendant cheerfully with a "Hola, Buenas Tardes!"

We got back to La Paz around 3pm so I had a few hours to kill before catching the 6pm bus to Sucre. I had some empanadas in a small cafe close to the hostel. I´d been here yesterday and the empanadas (pastry pies filled with chicken or beef and vegetables) were fantastic. I had to come back and try some more before I left La Paz. I picked up my rucksack at the hostel and walked over to the bus station, a 25min walk. I was going to take a taxi but I was told the centre was blocked off by another demonstration. This time it was car importers complaining about something or other.

The journey to Sucre was a 15hr overnighter and to my consternation I found the bus had no toilet. This wasn´t good. Also, I would be sitting beside a mother with a 6month old infant. In the aisle beside me the woman´s 10yr old daughter set out blankets to sleep there. To be fair to the baby he was very quiet, a cute wee fella. The fact that there was no toilet caused me more grief than he. After 5hrs on the road we got a food and toilet stop. Out the back of the restaurant in a courtyard there were a line of open air urinals. Beside these a line of women queued for the proper toilets which faced them. Seeing the line of women facing us myself and a young lad hesitated to use the urinals, feeling slightly bashful under the full gaze of these Bolivian Madres. An old guy pushed past and made straight for the urinals, unconcerned about who was around. Swallowing my bashfulness, I put my head down and followed suit. Necessity prevailed over nicety. The women looked unconcerned by it all anyway.

Later, after the bus had resumed the journey I managed to get some sleep. I didn´t dare move though as at some point in the night the baby ended up lying on my lap!!

Mon 12th Jan: La Paz

I got up and out early this morning. I cut across town to find out about buses to Sucre for tomorrow night. Once that was sorted I went for a wander. This morning I´m loving La Paz. Sometime last night after dinner La Paz just kinda seeped into me. The city at night was beautiful. Old colonial houses illuminated by street lights set against a backdrop of a wall of lights from the suburbs on the hills. The night air was cool at 3,600m. The streets were quiet.

This morning I wander around the eastern part of the city. Entering one plaza the national football stadium sits in front of me. An impressive looking ground. 10mins walk took me to a park I had been looking for which was supposed to have impressive views over the city. It didn´t disappoint. From the park I could hear small explosions like gunshots coming from the city centre. I headed back in that direction and minutes later walked straight into the middle of a large demonstration. Despite the explosions it was a peaceful demonstration. The explosions were firecrackers set off by the demonstrators which, in the confines of the city streets, reverberated all over the centre. I hung around to see if anything was going to happen. There were plenty of riot police but there was no animosity.

At one point things did look like they were going to kick off when the police force a group of demonstrators to move down one block so that traffic, which had ground to a halt, could start to move again. Minor scuffles broke out momentarily but order was quickly restored. Demonstrations seem to be very common in La Paz. The country is the poorest in South America despite having vast natural resources. Most of this is concentrated in the eastern half of the country dominated by the colonials and those of mixed blood. Bolivia has lost huge swathes of land in the past to Chile, Paraguay and Brazil. Chile took a vast chunk of coastal lands in a conflict during the late 19th century, leaving Bolivia landlocked. A situation for which she is still at odds with Chile.

While Evo Morales retains great popularity around the capital which seems to be predominantly indigenous. Judging by todays demonstration it seems he hasn´t satisfied everyones demands. Today the demonstrators are campaneros, farmers. I´m not sure why they are marching but the coca farmers have come under a lot of pressure in recent years to change to other crops beside the coca leaf which is heavily harvested in Bolivia, much of which fuels the cocaine industry. The American DEA has put much pressure on Bolivia to clamp down on Coca production. Claims by farmers of intimidation and human rights abuses by these agents perhaps help to explain why America´s ambassador is no longer in town. No viable alternative has been offered to the farmers. With the referendum fast approaching perhaps its a good time for interest groups to put pressure on Morales. "Gracias Evo"

The markets around La Paz are fascinating. They´re full of life. Everythng and anything is sold at the street stalls from meat to electrical. Often, in front of the stalls, sit women in traditional dress and bowler hats who seem to remain seated all day beside their wares. Along the street women prepare meals and light snacks from portable kitchens. I saw one lady hand a plate of food to one passing destitute man. At street corners women sell curious looking drinks in clear glasses. Sitting in the bottom of the glass there appears to be some sort of fruit. Shoeshine boys are found all over the city. Their faces are covered by skimasks and baseball caps which makes them look quite sinister. They look more likely to rob you than clean your shoes. I saw one toddler having her shoes cleaned. Seeing her stand attentively over the lad who was hunched down, working on her tiny shoes was quite comical.

Sun 11th Jan: La Paz

I took a bus at 9am for La Paz. Its a 3hr journey to the capital. The bus was ancient but seemed well able for the bus load of locals. I was the only gringo onboard today, crammed up against the window by the large woman in a black bowler hat who sat beside me. An hour into the journey we stopped at a small town and everybody got off the bus. I was wondering what was going on when the driver told me we had to get a ferry across a narrow stretch of water to another village and meet up with the bus on the far side. I followed the crowd and boarded a small ferry while the bus was loaded on to a large flat craft which would take it across.

Waiting in the village on the far side I bumped into a Dutch lad, Tommie. We´d bumped into each other twice before nearly two months earlier down in Argentina. Tommie was heading for Peru after a month in Bolivia. Tommie was a sound lad, big into his football. We chatted for a few minutes to catch up with each others adventures and then had to leave in order to take our respective buses.

We all piled back on board the bus and hit the road for La Paz. This was going to be interesting. When I was in argentina I´d heard rumours the country was on the brink of Civil War but anybody I spoke to since didn´t see anything which would look like a country falling apart. The country has an indigenous President for the first time in its history, Evo Morales. He came to power a couple of years ago and has set about doing something to help the indigenous majority. Virtually all the wealth and positions of power have been held by those of colonial blood. Morales did expel the American ambassador, unhappy with American meddling in Bolivian affairs. He is trying to introduce a new constitution which will attempt to redress the position of the indigenous peoples. A referendum is to be held on Jan 25th so this will be a landmark date for Bolivia.

As we crossed a flat plain on the approach to La Paz graffiti was quite common on many walls in the small towns we passed. On the outskirts of the city grafiti andpolitical posters became frequent. All were supportive of the President. Phrases like "Gracias Evo", "Evo Si por la constitucion" were common. Morales is popular in the capital. One particular poster depicted Evo being hugged by an old woman, another showed a very determined president with the slogan "Bolivia, Unidad, Grande Y......" A lot of slogans included "Bolivia Unidad....." so obviously there is a problem in term of unity. There are obvious tensions between the indigenous people and the colonials who must feel they are going to lose position and wealth by the new constitution. Apparently in September 30 farmers were attacked and killed after attending a pro-constitution rally in the city. Tensions must be simmering somewhere beneath the surface as the this constitutional campaign approaches its climax. Bolivia has always been an unstable entity. Since it gained independence in 1825 there have been 180 changes of Government. Strikes and Mass demonstrations in the capitla are a frequent occurrence.

As we passed through the suburbs I was less than impressed by my first sight of the capital. It was certainly busy, traffic clooged the streets but on this flat plain the place looked bland. We stopped to drop off passengers and then the bus turned onto a motorway. I was beginning to wonder where we were going when the motorway brought to us to the edge of a cliff. The plain simply dropped away and La Paz came into view below us. The city centre was down in the depths of a canyon, the suburbs spread out up the steep sides of the canyon and spilled out across the plain we´d just left. It was a hair-raising spectacle because it was so unexpected. I hadn´t heard La Paz was in such a dramatic location. It was the most spectacular entry to a city I´ve ever seen. Its the worlds highest capital at 3,600m and yet ironically its situated at the bottom of a deep canyon.

We descend into the city centre and as we drop down the suburbs rise up above us like sheer walls on either side. We arrive at the terminal, Cementario, a well-known landmark in the city from where many buses and collectivos depart. I get luck. I walk off the bus and straight into a taxi. The driver is a pleasnt guy. It turns out the hostel I intend staing at no longer exists. We get to the street where the hostel is supposed to be and after 10-15 mins of searching, and a couple of phone calls there is no sign of it and nobody knows it. No matter, there are plenty of other hostels in this street and the driver advises me on a reasonable one. I get a reasonably cheap room.

When I go out to look around I feel edgy. Since the experience on my first night in Buenos Aires I´m always edgy when I first arrive in big cities. I have to withdraw money from an ATM and this doesn´t help my mood. I don´t really enjoy the first hour or so. La Paz, reputedly, has a similar reputation to B.A. so I´m on my guard until I get a feel for the place.

I spend a couple of hours wandering around the centre. Its late Sunday afternoon so things are quiet. I see a military guard perform a flag ceremony in the Plaza Mayor which was quite picturesque. Later on I eat in an Italian restaurant. They make fine lasagnes in Bolivia. I´ve had a couple now and they were both great. A group of hippies came in and took a table. There was a DVD playing on tv with a Bolivian folkgroup in concert. I´ve heard these before, in Copacabana and while I wouldn´t go running out to buy a cd the music was good for the atmosphere in the place. You really felt you were up in the Andes with this kind of music. The hippies, however, had to go and ask if could be changed for Simon and Garfunkel. That bloody irritated me. I didn´t come all the way to South America to listen to those Gobshites. Bloody Hippies..... "Peace and Love for All!!" so long as its on their terms!!. Anyway, where was I??.... Oh aye, La Paz. Its cool out man! Here´s to you Mrs Robinson....

Sat 10th Jan: La Isla Del Sol

I was woken up at 1am last night. The hostel must be close to a nightclub. You could almost feel the thump of the beats. The Argentinians are out in force by the sounds of them. Its summer holidays here so all the students are travelling. Chants of "Argentina, Argentina" and "Diego, Diego" were accompanied by Olés from the street. This street party was soon brought to an abrupt halt as a big thunderstorm rolled in off the lake bringing torrents of rain. It didn´t stop the mob going back into the nightclub and continuing their singsongs there. Between thunderstorm and Argentinian songs I didn´t get back to sleep until 4am. It seemed to quiet down after that.

The boat left for Isla Del Sol around 8.30. The Bolivians don´t seem to have the same safety concerns as the Peruvians. They just piled in as many bodies as they could onto the boat and took off. The Isla Del Sol is a long, narrow island, about 13km in length and, maybe, 2km wide. We were heading for the northern end of the island which took about 2hrs. There was a big scatter of Argentinians and Brazilians on board. They are so different to the Peruvians and Bolivians. The Argentinians are loud, exuberant, confident. Very different to the more quiet, reserved Peruvians and Bolivians. There seems to be great camaraderie between themselves and the Brazilians. Both nationalities look and act more European than the other South American nationalities. No wonder there´s a bit of a gulf betwen the Argentinians and the other nations.

We landed at a small harbour at the top end o fthe island. A local guide met those of us who were visiting on a day trip. Most of the Argentinians were staying overnight and trooped off to set up their tents. We had to buy a ticket which gave entry to a small museum and a couple of Historic sites in the vicinity. This took an hour. The guide spoke in Spanish and, for myself and another Irish lad, added a commentary in English. To be honest it was easier to follow his Spanish as neither of us could understand his English. After this tour ended we had a choice to return to the boat which was heading to the southern end of the island, or to hike across the the hills which form a central spine along the length of the island and meet the boat at the southern harbour. Myself and Tom, from Kilkenny, opted for the hike.

A single path marked the route to the south. It took around 2hrs to complete. The island is divided into three zones, North, Central and South. In ancient times 2 ethnic groups shared the island and it appears that these divisions have been retained. With a population of 5,000 there are two villages on the island, one in the north, one in the South. One set of villagers speaks Aymara, the other, Quechua. At the boundary between each division we had to pay an entry tax of 5 Bolivianos (50cent) which left us more bemused than anything else. It was like passing through border controls as we entered each division. We had to show our little reciepts, pay the fee and we were then waved through. Still, the views fron the island were spectacular. I had to keep reminding myself we were in the middle of a lake and not at the sea.

Down at the southern harbour a couple of hundred tourists milled about waiting for the small armada of boats to start loading up. Very soon my boat began loading up. We were among the first to leave. We stopped off at a couple of floating islands on the way back which were so obviously fake that I didn´t bother getting off the boat. By 5pm we were back in Copacabana.

In the evening I had a last look around town. Up a the church a huge crowd was attending Saturday evening mass. THe church was crammed with people who spilled out the main doors and doen the steps. There wasn´t a whole lot to do tonight. The town was quiet. My face was bright red again after getting burned on the island.

More shots of Lake Titicaca (Peru)

Fri 9th Jan: Into Bolivia

I catch the bus to Copacabana with regret that I´m leaving Peru. Its overcast and soon starts to rain, adding to the gloom. This is a relatively short hop from Puno across the border. It takes about three hours but much of this is taken up by delays at the two border posts at the frontier.

The countryside along here is remarkably likje the west of Ireland. Its wet, green, the fields all have stone walls. Cattle and sheep graze on the grass. The only difference is the people who tend the animals and the altitude.

Once evcerybody has the Bolivian stamp on their passport the makes a 10min drive down to Copacabana which appears suddenly and dramatically on the lake shore, huddled between two hills. On the edge of town an official comes on board to collect an entry tax. This is novel. I´ve paid plenty of departure taxes in Peru but this is the first time I´ve paid to enter a town.

First impressions of Copacabana aren´t great. I´m missing Peru, its damp, overcast. Its a relatively small town and I have little difficulty in finding the Hostel I´d like to stay at. I take a small box room under a staircase. The bathroom is across a central courtyard which my room faces onto. I don´t mind though. The room is only 15 Bolivianos (less than e.u.2). The hostel is simple but quite attractive arranged around a cobbled courtyard. It is decorated simply with Inca motifs.

I walk through the central plaza from where all the buses and collectivos depart. As the buses move off the place gets choked with black noxious fumes from the exhausts. Walking up one of the main streets the place seems very touristy. There are souvenir shops decked out with all the touristy hats, jumpers, bags etc. There are no ATMs in town but plenty of moneychangers who give you Bolivianos for a hefty commission. A brief climb to the top of this street opens on to a second Plaza on the right of which stands a remarkable church which looks ditinctly like a mosque. Its one of the most unusual churches I´ve seen and dominates the plaza.

I get some money changed and sort out a ticket for a trip onto the lake to see La Isla Del Sol, the sacred island of the Incas and still home to a substantial population of 5,000. Its only 20 Bolivianos (eu 2.50) for a day trip. I´m beginning to like this place. By now the sun has come out and its a lovely afternoon. I head for one of the hills overlooking the town, Cerro Calverio. There´s a steep, twisting, cobbled path which leads to the summit. At intervals along the way stations of the cross mark the route. By the looks of thenumbers doing the stations today Catholocism is still strong in Bolivia. The path is busy with people climbing and descending. Groups of families cluster around the stations, praying. At the top a surprise is in store. Numerous stalls sell toy cars, model houses, fake dollars etc. Its like an open air toyshop surrounding the 14th station. It turns out these toys are to be used as little votive offerings to the Gods. People buy the cars, houses, dollars and place them in little plots which are allocated around the summit. I watched as extended families came placed their model houses into the plot, decorate them with ribbons, douse them with beer/soft drinks and then set off fire crackers. Sometimes wads of fake dollars are placed on the houses. It is believed that by performing this ceremony your wishes for the coming year will be granted. The family brings a picnic and drinks and has a small celebration before returning back down the hill.

As one family leaves an old guy, obviously merry with beer, comes over to me and says hello. He asks me where I´m from and told me he was Aymara ( a tribe indigenous to Lake Titicaca) and speaks Quechuan. I thought Ireland was a long way away. A lot of what he said I couldn´t understand but we just laughed. The rest of the family gathered around all laughing with me.......... or perhaps at me. Before he left the old guy got to have a photo with the gringo.

Another large family, nearly 30, took the place of those leaving and set up there little models for their own ceremony. I was joined by 6 other backpackers, all of us toting our cameras like gunslingers, waiting for a piece of the action, to get some shots of this unusual ritual. Members of the family kept glancing up at us, conscious of what we were about. I didn´t take a photo. I felt it would be too intrusive so I left the family to their celebration and hiked back down to the town.

The views over Copacabana from this hill were spectacular. The place with all its quirks is starting to grow on me. In the evening sunshine the place looks so much better than it did this morning. I´m looking forward to seeing Isla del Sol tomorow. I hope the weather stays good.

Thurs 8th Jan: The Uros and Isla Taquile

I´m down at reception for 6.30am. There myself and an American lad who´s going on the trip meet a girl who will takes to our boat down in the port. There´s about 20 on this boat. When everybody is accounted for we set off into the lake.

We follow a clear channel of open water through an immense bed of reeds. First stop are the Uros Islands, a few kms into the lake. The Uros are artificial floating islands contructed from Blocks of turf and layers of reeds which are anchored to the lake bed which is 17m deep at this point. Each block of turf is about 1.5m thick. A further 50cm of reeds laid down in alternating layers creates a fairly stable, if spongy platform. A further 50cm of reeds is added where the villagers construct their huts which helps to reduce humidity within the living space. Arthritis is a problem for many older inhabitants. Every 2 weeks a fresh layer is added to the surface.

There are around 40 floating islands in this part of the lake. The people have been living here for about 150yrs. Previously their ancestors lived on house boats. It is said these people, whose native tongue is Aymara and Quechua, fled to the lake to escape the Incas and later the Conquistadores.

The Uros remain hidden amongst the reed beds until we are quite close to them. Suddenly a wide channel opens up and the islands, with their yellow reed huts, come into view. There are many boats coming from Puno. Each makes for a different island. The villagers in their colourful dress wave cheerfully and shout greetings as a boat moors alongside. We clamber onto the island and our guide gives us an explanation on how the islands are constructed, the lifestyle of the villagers etc. Its strange to feel the lake undulating beneath you as you pad around the island. The surface is quite soft and spongy. The islanders have to rely on the mainland for much of their staple foodstuffs. From the lake they can eat the whites of the reeds. They hunt wild fowl. From their own hens they get fresh eggs. They fish in the lake and also farm their own trout within specially constructed pools within the island. On the mainland they barter for potatoes, rice, quinoa and vegetables.

Afterwards the president of the island, a portly, pleasant woman officially welcomes us to her island with a short speech in Quechua. We´re then allowed 20-25 mins to look around the place, in other words.... to run riot. A group of American women in their 50´s rampage around the island storming in and out of the huts snapping shots. Two women fight over a kid whom both wish to pose for a photo with. The child is eventually auctioned off to the highest bidder, a portly woman from Cambridge, Ohio who hauls the child away for the much sought after photo. In face of a full onslaught by these large, well-fed conquistador women the short, wiry menfolk of the island, noted for the skills in hunting wild fowl, beat a fretful retreat. There´s no escaping these strange women however, whose appetites haven´t nearly been sated. The auld guys are all coralled into one corner of the island. Its a bloody massacre as women go on a snapping frenzy, posing victoriously with their trophy islandmen under their arms.

As we left the island we had the opportunity to sail over to a neighbouring island, for a small fee, of course. I went along for the novelty of it and we were picked up by our own boat 10mins later on an island across the channel. From the Uros it was a 2hr trip to Isla Taquile, a large island out near the centre of the lake. During storms waves of up to 5-6m can generate on the open water. Today the water was choppy at worst. I don´t think this boat would have survived much over 2m.

Isla Taquile has been declared a world Heritage site due to the survival of the island´s traditional culture and the handcrafts the islanders produce. There´s a population of 2,000 scattered in small farsteads around the island´s single village. From the harbour at which we dock there is a 20min hike up to the village plaza, high up on a ridge. At this altitude (3,800m) and in the heat of the day the going is slow. By all appearances the islanders must do quite well out here as most of the houses look very decent. On the hike up and, particularly, in the plaza young island girls in black shawls try to sell trimkets to any one and everyone. And they are very persistent about it. A group of isalndmen in traditional dress of white shirts, dark trousers and bright, handknit hats wait in the plaza. They will serve as waiters later in the restaurants as all the tour groups sit down to meals. Our group too eats in a restaurant just off the plaza. We are seated outdoors and its quite idyllic if a little touristy for me. I´d have preferred longer touring the island than sitting eating. We have soup and trout from the lake and, afterwards, peppermint tea. Everythng is prepared fresh as there are no refrigerators on the island.

Returning to the boat we hike about 2 miles across the island to another small harbour where our boat picks us up. The island is beautiful. A little like the Aran islands with its stone walls and small agricultural plots. Its anidyllic stroll. I chat to a lively Korean couple who are travelling around the world. The wife is a very bubbly personality who always comes to me when she wants a photo of herself taken. Following the patths we come across groups of kids playing. One of the children, a girl of 10-11yrs has left her shawl on the ground and I have to do a double take when I see her wearing a Coventry city top. Of all the places in South America to see somebody wearing a Cov top. Out here in a small community out in the middle of one of the worlds highest lakes at almost 4,000m high.

A toddler beside this girl is the first to see our group approaching. This child, barely able to speak, jumps up and waddles over to us holding one finger up and chattering "Foto, un sole. Foto, un sole!!". He barely understands what he´s saying but he has the lingo and he knows what one sole looks like too!!

We leave the island and have a relaxing 3hr trip back to Puno and the mainland. The weather holds good until we reach the hostel. Thats it for me in Peru. I leave tomorrow morning for Copcabana in Bolivia. Its been a short month in Peru and I´ll miss it. Its a fascinating country. The only thing left for me to do is once again stroll around Puno. Taking in the evening bustle, the sounds of people and traffic, to breathe the smells of the street, stalls and cafes and try to remeber those wonderful experiences of Peru which I am about to leave behind.

Wed 7th Jan: To Puno

I didn´t get much sleep last night. It was intermittent. I woke around 6am as it was beginning to get bright. We were still heading south, following the coast. I was surprised, I had expected the bus to have turned inland for Arequipa by now. Shortly afterwards the bus did turn off the coast road and headed for the hills. For the next 2hrs we climbed into the highlands. On the steeper slopes the bus really struggled, crawling to the crest of the next hill. However by 8.20 we were in Arequipa. I collected my rucksack and made straight for the Cruz Del Sur counter to see if they had a departure for Puno. After last nights uncomfortable bus I wanted travel the rest of the way on something decent and the Cruz Del Sur buses are generally good. They had a bus leaving in 5mins. I quickly paid for my seat. The woman behind the counter got a lad to take my rucksack and we ran to a neighbouring terminal. I was the last to board. As I took my seat the bus departed. Moments later breakfast was served. Don´t you just love it when something like that happens.

The weather was beautiful this morning. Arequipa had blue skies and Volcan Misty, which towers over the city, was perfectly clear. Free of clouds at its summit. The bus climbed out of Arequipa on the same road I had travelled to Chivay some weeks earlier. Once up on the Altiplano, however, the bus veered away in the direction of Puno. For 6hrs we crossed the picturesque valleys of the highlands, stopping briefly at Juliaca and by 2.30 in the afternoon we arrived at Puno on the shores of Lake Titicaca.

Puno is a busy port and market town on one of the worlds highest lakes. This lake was sacred to the Incas and to the peoples of the region before them. Legends bound to the origins of the incas are tied to some of the islands out in the lake. There are still substantial communities living out on the lake preserving traditions and customs which stretch back in time. Ancient cultures flourished here long before the Incas so the place resonates with history. Lake Titicaca is large, more like an inland sea, extending 165km in length and over 60km wide it goes to over 280m deep. Puno is the main gateway to the islands out in the lake. Of particular interest are the Uros islands, artificial floating islands a few kmaway in a shallower portion of the lake. I´ll visit them tomorrow.

At the bus station I was met by a guy who I thought was a taxi driver. I told him where I was going and he ushered me to a taxi nearby. It turned out he was a rep who must work on commission from the hostels and tour companies. I knew what was coming. I got the whole spiel in the taxi, tours, accomodation etc. He came in with me to me the hostel to claim his commission. After I cheked in and was heading up to my room he followed me and tried to get me to sign on for other tours. After 23hrs on buses and very little sleep I was very tired. I indulged him, I stayed quiet while he spoke, remained non-commital to his questions. Then, when I had enough of listening to him and with no sign of him letting me go, I stood up, told him I was going to sleep. He asked what time I would get up. I replied "I haven´t a clue mate, Adios". I fell asleep as a thunderstorm rattled in over the town.

I got up two hours later. It was still raining but the thunder had moved away out over the lake, lighning flashes lit up the dark sky over Bolivia on the other side. I crept downstairs, peered around corners to see if yer man was still waiting on me but there was no sign of him. I signed up for a trip onto the lake at reception and then went out for a look around. The town isn´t the most attractive of places but the hustle and bustle of the place was entertaining. There were a lot of "bicycle taxis" here which I haven´t seen before. They shared the streets with regular traffic, ferrying people here and there, honking handheld horns to clear the way of pedestrians. All the collectivos departed from the street outside the hostel. Sometimes 9 collectivos were parked in a row, all with their conductors out in the streets shouting their destinations, touting for business. 9 conductors shouting in unison made for quite a chorus. Add in the sounds of passing traffic, their engines coughing, their horns beeping. Behind them the whistle of a traffic cop blew as he exerted some order on the impatient drivers. Along the streets women shouted out selling there wares of bread, pastries, fruit etc competing with the shops nearby. As it was evening portable kitchens had appeared and people congregated around these to buy cheap evening snacks. Under the street lights there was quite a cacophony of sounds and aromas to accompany the flashes of lightning in the centre of Puno.

Tues 6th Jan: The Bus to Puno

The bus doesn´t leave this afternoon until 3.30 so I have some time to kill. THere´s a pre-Inca stepped pyramid in one of the suburbs not far from here so I take a taxi over there. The taxi ride itself turns into a bit of an adventure as the driver isn´t sure where this pyramid is and ends up getting lost. The price of the trip is fixed beforehand so I don´t mind the detour. I show the taxi driver a map, he asks for directions off the street. We criss cross, backtrack and eventually the pyramid appears before us. THe driver glances at me and gestures towards the pyramid as if to say "Voila monsieur". We both smile, he out of relief, me out of amusement.

After this the visit to the pyramid was a bit of an anticlimax. It looks impressive. Its heavily restored but all ou could do was walk to the top and back down again. There wasn´t much information about the place and it was all in Spanish. This site was slap bang in the middle of a residencial area. It was unusual to visit an ancient site with high rise blocks all around.

The taxi ride back to Miraflores was a lot quicker. This taxi driver knew where he was going. I picked up m gear from the hostel and took another taxi across town to the bus terminal. The taxi drivers can be very chatty asking you where you´re from, about Ireland etc. A lot seem to be from other Peruvian cities, Arequipe, Cusco, in Lima for the work. They light up when you tell themy ou´ve visited their city, and of course its alwas "muy Bonito". You have to be careful taking taxis in Lima. There are a lot of unregistered guys operating who, on occasion, have been known to take people to parts of the city they had no intention of visiting and introduce them to friends of his for which tat person will have to pay for the privelege. However once you are aware of this the unregistsred ones stand out and you simply avoid them.

On the bus we headed south through Lima, out into the suburbs and onto the desert of the coastal plain. We passed by some more random shanty towns. Some smaller ones appeared deserted as if everybody just took off. On the tv the film "In America " was showing, about an Irish family settling in New York. This family was freshout of Ireland et they were all fluent in Spanish. Outside we were passing ramshackle housing of the shantys of Lima while on telly we had to endure the rundown tenements of the suburbs of New York. Once it got dark outside the lights in the bus were turned off and people settled down to sleep. Nothing more was shown on tv. The only distraction was the sound of the engine which struggled badly on any incline we encountered. Eventually the engine´s hum lulled me to sleep.

Mon 5th Jan: Lima

Today I have a full day ahead. Paola and Tom gave me a selection of places to visit around town so I´m up at 8.30 with a sense of purpose. I take a taxi to the suburb of Rimac just north of the centre across the Rio....... 5 mins from the Plaza Mayor. Here I visit the Convent de los Descalzos, a Franciscan house built in the 1590´s. The monastery, little visited now, used to house up to 100 friars. Nowadays there are around 30. Most of the monastery has been vacated and is now preserved as a museum. Yet it looks as though it were vacated only yesterday. It was a fascinating view of a once prestigious monastery which is bypassed by all the guidebooks. Descalzos houses in the region 300 works of art some of which are fantastic works. One particular painting of the crucifixion holds a tragic story in which the artist, in an attempt to achieve an authentic vision of the suffering Jesus endured on the cross, tortured and accidently killed the model. I was the only visitor on site. After the tour my guide strongly advised taking a taxi back to the centre as it was unsafe for me to walk through this district.

Back in the Plaza Mayor I kept an eye out for buses departing for Cerro San Cristobal, a hill overlooking the centre which has panoramic views over most of the city. While I waited a military band appeared in front of the city Hall. A crowd had congregated, separated from the band by a line of riot police. The band proceeded to play. By now the Plaza was cordoned off so there was no hope of heading for Cerro San Cristobel. Armored cars stood guard on either side of the Hall, a fairly impressive display of force in the main square. I headed for the Moansterio San Francisco which held a crypt containing hundreds of skeletons, the skulls decoratively arranged together in concentric circles.

By now it was lunchtime. I found a small restaurant close to teh Plaza Mayor which appeared very popular with the office workers who worked in the vicinity. I got a cracking wee unch for 8-10 soles (e.u.2-2.50). First up was a hot soup complete with alphabetical pasta. This was followed by banana and spinach omelette. Yep, I was certainly trying something different today but it was on the menu and it was surprisingly good. Afterwards a dessert of jelly was washed down with a fruit juice.

By now all was back to normal in the Plaza. The band had finished and raffic was back to normal. I found one of the buses I was looking for, paid the cinqo soles fare and joined 20 or so Peruvians on board for a small tour of the centre before heading for the cerro San Cristobal through the colourful streets of Rimac. We stopped fro 20mins at the topand the views over Lima were breathtaking. The whole of the city lay stretched across this desert plain and I got an idea of just how largea city of 7 million really is. By the time we returned to the Plaza it was late afternoon.

I want to go t Puno on lake Titicaca tomorrow, another long journey. I got a ticket with Civas, the company I traveled with to Lima from Chachapoyas. They don´t go direct. I have to go to Arequipa first and then switch buses. This is no problem, however, as I know from my time there that there are frequent departures to Puno. The memory of a small toddler imitating the calls of "Puno, Puno, Puno!!" is testament to that.

In the evening I met up with Paola and Tom in a bar near the Hostel in Miraflores. This suburb is so different to the centre. Lima´s centre is old and rundown. The old colonial houses in many places are vacant, rotting and collapsing. Miraflores, however, is modern, affluent, very European looking. The shops and restaurants are trendy, there´s a MacDonalds, the first I´ve seen since Buenos Aires.

Listening to Paola and Tom it was funny to hear them flick effortlessly between English and Spanish. A friend of Paola´s, Sylvia, was there as well and I felt guilty not having conversational Spanish. Sylvia ended up having to speak English. Still, it was good evening. Nice to be in a bar as part of a group for once. I was a little sad when we split up at the end of the night. I had been looking forward for a couple of weeks to meeting up with Paola and Tom. Now it was back to going solo again...... Time to hit the road again.

Sun 4th Jan: Lima

We got into Lima at 9am this morning. I took a taxi to a hostel in the wealthy suburb of Miraflores. Approaching Lima we passed some o fthe shanty towns which dot the desert around the city. Some of these shanty´s are huge with populations of up to 40,000. I´ve been told one of the older ones even has its own University now. These shanties can appear almost overnight as immigants and the landless stake claims on free lands. The ones I saw weren´t this large but one in particular was an eye-opener. We crested a ridge and suddenly it was there, spread across a dusty plain. Houses of all shapes and sizes occupied individual plots. Some were cobbled together with scraps, others were built from brick. The streets occupied dusty gaps between lines of houses. The odd car was parked outside some of the better houses.

When I reached the Hostel I had to wait while the rooms were cleaned after the previous occupants. By 11.30 I´m told the room is ready. I´m in a 6-bed dorm, the first for a while. After a quick shower I head out to phone Paola. I´m hoping to meet up with Paola and her husband, Tom, on this visit to Lima. I worked with Paola in Tralee and she´s home visiting her family with her newborn baby, Georgina. I speak to Tom on the phone and he says they´ll come into the Hostel around 2pm. Its great, I´m really looking forward seeing them. Its nice to be meeting familiar faces for once instead of the hit-or-miss nature of meeting other backpackers. It feels good.

I have 2hrs to kill before meeting the Kennedy clan and there´s an old pre-Inca temple 10 mins up the road. Its a vast temple complex with a big, central pyramid on which rituals and ceremonies took place over 1,000yrs ago. The tour of the site took about an hour. It was a beautiful sunny day and I forgot to put on suncream so I was nice and red for the arrial of Paola and Tom. This was the first time I´d seen Paola since the birth of her daughter, Georgina, so it was great to see the radiant mother again.

We took a taxi over to a seafront restaurant which Paola recommended. This place was a number of notches up from the kind of places I´ve been eating in Peru, in fact, all of South America for that matter. There was a buffet and Paola made sure I got all the best Peruvian dishes. It was gorgeous but I filled up far too quickly. Halfway through the second plate I was stuffed while Paola and Tom tucked happily into theirs. My eating habits have become a bit erratc with al the long bus journeys and bugs so it doesn´t take much to fill me up at the moment. I had to leave most of a plat behind not because I didn´t like the food but because I just could not eat anymore.

Afterwards we went over to Paoloa´s home for the evening and I got to say hello to litle Georgina. She´s a cute wee thing, still at the stage of sleeping a lot but she id wake up and gives us a big smile before announcing to her parents that it was time for food. While Georgina fed I felt it was time I should head back to the Hostel. We arranged to meet up again tomorrow evening.

Sat 3rd Jan: Leaving the Highlands

This morning I had a hot shower and a shave before catching the 11.30 bus to Lima. I´ve been having cold showers for the best part of the last 3 weeks, not realising how to operate the showerheads here. Last night I discovered you have to flick the top of the shower head in order to get warm water. I´d never noticed this before. It felt so good this morning. My future in D.I.Y. has been confirmed.

Today I begin the journey south which will eventually bring me to Santiago for the flight to New Zealand. Chachapoyas marks the most northerly point of the trip. A pity I didn´t make it to Ecuador or Colombia bu I think I underestimated the size of this continent.

At the bus station the place is throged with people. We have to queue up to regster our luggage for carriage and this is painstakingly slow. The amount of luggage some people have is a bit of an eye opener. My own rucksack seems tiny by comparison. I don´t know how it will all fit. Whn the departure is called masses congregate around the bus. It turns out most of the crowd are family and well-wishers biding farewell to loved ones making the long journey down to Lima. As the bus pulls away it seems as if half the town has lined the streets to wave farewell to us. I find myself waving and blowing kisses out the window along with everyone else. A little toddler in his mothers arms cries as he sees his father leaving on the bus. Its a 21hr journey down to Lima so its a long way from home for those who have found work in the capital.

As we head down into the valleys outside Chachapoyas I´m very content in 1st class. The seats here are large and comfortable. There are only 9 seats in this compartment. Upstairs there are usually 40 seats. Down here there is so much space to stretch out. After 2hrs we stop in a small town in the valleys. I get out for a stretch and a quick look around. Its a small, sleepy town surrounded by mountains. Nothing much seems to be happening here other than the traffic passing through. We pile back on board and the bus continues. For hours we pass through high valleys, descending gradually. We pass paddy fields of rice, some of which are bordered by coconut trees, a novel sight. The vegetation in these valleys is lush sub-tropical.

By 7pm its dark and the friendly hostess hands out dinners of rice, chips and stringy beef. A DVD is showing, "The Passion of the Christ", a most odd choice of film for a bus journey. I forgot how violent the film is. Some of the scenes are painful to watch, leving most of the passengers squirming and grimacing. The scene of the scourging draws gasps of shock from some of the older passengers. As Jesus delivers himself to the heavens I try to sleep. A ridiculous South American comedy which follows ensures that I nod off. I manage to have the best sleep on an overnight bus so far.

Fri 2nd Jan: Kuelap

I was up at 3am and went out into the dark, almost deserted streets to find the collectivo. I find a driver who´s heading for Kuelap and take the front passenger seat in the car. We wait for about 30 mins while he rounds up fares and we leave with a full carload of 5 passengers.

Its a 2hr journey on increasingly narrow roads and then dirt tracks. The journey passes by in darkness. We´re heading up to over 3,000m and the driver whizzes along unnaturally fast for the size and condition of the roads. We seem to be the only vehicle in these parts maybe thats why the driver feels he can go at such speeds. As we approach the jump off point for the hike up to Kuelap the first streaks of light begin to show in the sky. I´m the last passenger in the car. A misty, foggy dawn breaks as I´m dropped off. I´m told the driver won´t be coming back here. If I want a lift back to Chachapoyas I´ll have to hike 15km down the other side of the mountain to Tingo, a small hamlet, where I can get a collectivo going my way.

I´m met by a guide at the foot of the slopes which lead up to the still-hidden Kuelap. We discuss and agree a price for the guide. Its 6 o´clock. I´m the only visitor onsite. Walking up through the fog we arrive at the southern edge of the city. The city is fortified by 25m high walls and runs for 600m North-South, 120m wide along the crest of a ridge which dominates the surrounding valleys. Its a pre-Incan city, built approximately 1,200yrs ago. It was later taken by the Incas and abandoned at the time of the conquistadores.

First impressions of the site weren´t great. We were hidden from the main entrance by the narrow southern city wall. THe guide toook me around to the main city gate and suddenly the full length of the main walls were revealed stretching away into the fog at the northern end. This was more like it. The main gate gave access to a long narrow cobbled passageway dominated by high walls on either side. We emerged into the centre of the settlement with circular house sites surrounding us all around. This was very different to Mach Picchu. The remains of buildings huddled together everywhere within the city walls. The place held a sizeable population of over 4,000 with the remains of houses in little suburbs scattered outside the walls.. It must have been a busy place in its heyday. There was a scared area with a small, pretty temple built in the shape of an urn. The rest of the city dwellings were organised on three ascending levels, following the contours of the ridge. At te northern end was a fortified citadel. The guide pointed out rectangular houses built by the incas after they took control of the city.

We spent over two hours wandering amongst the ruins as the fog flowed and ebbed like a tide. Sometimes clearing before rolling back in to cover the place in a damp twilight. The city has only been partially excavated and partially cleared from the trees and vegetation. So with the combination of fog and vegetation spilling over the site an air of tranquility and mystery pervaded the place. The only people onsite were myself and the guide. Even the ticket office hadn´t yet opened.

As I left I paid the entrance fee. I now had a 15km hike down to Tingo. The fog still clung to the hillsids so I couldn´t see very far ahead. I followed a narrow path . I had been instructed to keep following the path to the left as it twisted around the mountain and so I did but I wasn´t 100% confident I was following the right path. The fact that I couldn´t see the countryside ahead didn´t help. Scattered along the track were a number of homesteads. Each family was up and about. A gaggle of young kids seemed to be running around each home. I got a friendly "Hola, Buenos Dias" from each homestead I passed. Some of the menfolk were preparing their horses, obviously getting ready to ride down to Tingo for supplies. No vehicles can drive up to these homes. Everything has to brought up on horseback. The path is narrow and rough.

I kept following the path through the fog. By 9.30 the fog was lifting and I began to see the terrain I was passing through. It was a lot steeper than I had imagined. I could see a road far down in the valley bottom. Presumably this was lead me to Tingo. As The last of the fog burned away under a hot morning sun I met two couples hiking up to the city, A young peruvian couple and a pair of European girls. I was glad I was hiking down and not up. They had a long way to go.

By 11pm I reached Tingo, a tiny dusty hamlet. As I walked into the village I was met by a taxi driver who asked if I was going to Chachapoyas. I said yes and he ushered me to his car. I got into the back seat along with 4 other passengers and we left. I couldn´t believe my luck. I expected to have to wait a couple of hours before getting a collectivo but this guy seemed to be waiting for me. Perhaps he had been speaking to the driver who brought me up to Kuelap.

An hour later we were back in Chachapoyas after whizzing through some spectacular valleys. I was back in town for midday. Seeing as I was back so early I set about getting a seat to Lima. There are a number of bus companies in town but all were booked out for today. I did, however, manage to get the last seat out of town for tomorrow. It was in first class with one of the cheaper companies, Movil Tours, so it wasn´t too bad (130 soles). I haven´t gone in 1st class so far so I´m looking forward to seeing what this will be like.

Chachapoyas was busy today, everything back to normal after the New Year. The streets of the market area were thronged with people stocking up again after the festivities. People were going about with bags of groceries, large sacks of maize etc. Taxis were in big demand as families piled in with their shopping heading back out to the surrounding neighbourhoods. Old women sat alongside stalls or on the street beside their wares for sale, spread out on the footpaths on blankets or canvas sheets. The new year continued as the old one ended. Dark clouds drifted in over the town. Thunder rattled and rain began to fall. I went for a lie down.

Thurs 1st Jan: Chachapoyas

I didn´t manage to get up to Kuelap today. I was too tired. I was kept awake for much of the nnight by local party goers who decided to extend their celebrations and for one reason or another I´m kept awake until 7am. Town is closed so I spend most of today snoozing or reading. My new Years resolution is to get back on the bike and follow the "De Cuellar trail" -retrace the journey of a shipwrecked spanish sailor of the Armada from where he landed on the Sligo coast to his home town in Spain.

In the evening I eat again in Tushpa. The town is wet and quiet virtually everything has stayed shut iuntil well into the evening. I head back to the room and get to sleep early. I´m determined to get up to Kuelap in the morning.

Wed 31st Dec: New Years Eve Chachapoyas

I´m woken up at some point during the night and I don´t get back to sleep. I doze intermittently but we´re back in the mountains now. You can feel it. The road is no longer straight and the bus has to twist and turn on the windy mountain roads. The windows steam up with condensation which always happens when we go to high altitudes.

We arrive in a wet Chachapoyas just before dawn around 5am. My rucksack is one of the last to be retrieved from the luggage compartment so most of the taxis have left with passengers by the time I emerge. A loan taxi man looks at me and says quietly "Taxi?". I say "Si" and he takes me to my hostel. Its a cheap, bare bones joint at 15 soles but right now I don´t care. I´m back in bed after a 13hr bus journey, relieved that my stomach has held up. I pop another tablet from Trujillo and try to get some sleep.

When I get up later the weather has cleared. Chachapoyas is a relatively small, compact town of 40,000. Its a busy market town for the region. Its actually the capital for the Amazonas province, the northern province of Peru which extends beyond Iquitos far into the jungle. You can almost sense the proximity of the jungle here. Its green, lush and quite humid. My purpose in coming to Chachapoyas is however not to enjoy the delights of this relatively sleepy backwater. There´s not a whole lot to do in the town itself. I´ve come to visit the ancient city of Kuelap. Its considered one of the greatest ruins in south America and within Peru a rival to the grandeur of Machu Picchu. Yet very few people visit this site.

I go down to the market area looking for a collectivo heading towards Kuelap. I find one guy whos leaving in a couple of hours, around 1.30-2pm. Its a 3hr journey in through the mountains to Kuelap which closes at 5pm so thats no good to me. I decline the offer. I´ll have to try and get up there tomorrow. A collectivo goes up towards Kuelap every morning at 3.30am. I´ll try and make that. In the evening I find a little restaurant caled Tushpa. Its a family affair, run by a husband and wife. The husband does waiter while the wife takes the money. Its nice inside, cheap, and the food is good. I have steak, chips and salad and it hits the spot. Its the first full meal I´ve had in days and boy, does it feel good. Afterwards while buying knick knacks in a grocery shop cum cafe three locals who are having some beers wish me Happy new Year and invite me over for a drink. One is a photographer, some of whose photographs are on the wall. One of the other guys turns out to be an anti-narcotics agent who works with the Americans on raids into the jungle. Apparently one of this guys colleagues was killed on a mission into the jungle. The guys top up my glass and then order more beer I have to insist I´ve had enough. My stomach isn´t ready for a big feed of drink yet. I´m invited to a party in the cops house but I really don´t fancy it. I don´t feel comfortable around the cop who´s a little too macho for me. They don´t have much english and my spanish isn´t exactly conversational. I find a convenient moment to make my excuses and leave. I´m not feeling great, still low on energy. I go back to the hostel and while the New Year is rung in I´m asleep. Over in Cusco crowds are leaving the pubs in the centre of town to run around the central Plaza. Apparently it brings good luck.
Feliz Año.

Tues 30th Dec: To the Northern Highlands

Today I´m supposed to catch a bus up to Chachapoyas at 4pm but I´m not sure I´ll be able for it. I had a rough enough night with the stomach bug which has lingered into this morning. Thankfully I don´t have to check out until 1pm so I have a few hours yet to see if the stomach settles down.

I do checkout, just before 1pm. I reckon if I encounter difficulties over the next couple of hours I can check back in. I leave the rucksack at reception while I´m out. The stomach holds up but by now its completely empty anyway. I must be dehydrated as well. I find a pharmacy and explain to the assistant my problem. We have a little difficulty with language but he understands and gives me two courses of tablets and a litre of electrolytes. I reckon I´m sorted now.

I take a taxi to the bus station with an hour to spare and sit in the waiting room until the departure is called. We leave at 4pm. I´m up in the front row for a change so I have a grandstand view of the road ahead. Out of Trujillo the landscape is mostly desert though we do pass through a few colourful fertile areas. Its pretty featureless, enlivened by the odd small mountain or the few small towns we pass through. 3hrs later we arrive at Chiclayo one of Peru´s major noerthern cities. We stop here briefly to pick up passengers. I´m joined in the front row by a Canadian lad who´s come down through Colombia and Ecuador from Panama. My stomach is holding up but I´ve eaten nothing all day bar a few crackers and a small bread roll. I´m just supping on water and electrolytes. A film comes on the tv, "The Scorpion King". I half watch it before drifting off to sleep.

Mon 29th Dec: Trujillo

I have a good room in this hostel with an ensuite and a TV. Its the most expensive place so far in Peru at 45 soles (eu 11). This morning I end up watching the Full Monty before going out for a look at Trujillo. This place has an interesting history. Its an old colonial town, founded by Francisco Pizarro, leader of the conquistadores. Its named after his home town in Spain, a home from home as it were. It also happens to have been built close to a very wealthy native city called Chan Chan which he looted of all its gold.

Trujillo has a pretty central Plaza which, last night, was closed to traffic when I arrived. A selection of musicians and groups were playing in various corners of the plaza for the crowds of people who were congregated there. A preacher occupied onlookers in the centre of the plaza, a had a long beard and was dressed like Jesus. He had a small following similarly dressed reading the bible while he preached. He seemed to be talking about the rnd of the world or something. I left him to it. There was a very pretty crib close to where the preaching was taking place. A larger crowd queued up here to have there pictures taken beside the baby Jesus. The nativity scene was obviously a lot more appealing than images of impending doom.

This morning the Plaza was a lot quieter though there were plenty of people about. I needed to sort out a ticket for the journey tomorrow up to Chachapoyas in the north so I found out which bus company served that route. I had to take a taxi out to the offices of Movil tours but paying for the ticket became a hassle. I didn´t have enough cash on me so I paid by credit card. After 30 mins of waiting for the transaction to go through I was told there was a problem with the line. It would take another 30 mins to fix. I didn´t fancy hanging around so I asked if they could hold the seat until tomorrow and they said they would.

I wanted to visit Chan Chan. It was the largest adobe city in South America and the ruins are supposed to be impressive so it looked worth a visit. Collectivos run out to the site so I went looking for where they depart from. Walking up one street a guy came up to me and indicated my rucksack was open. I immesiately thought someone had managed to open the bag but one of the smaller zips was only partially open which was a relief. (Thieves tend to target you in busy streets and at street crossings where you are less likely to notice them opening the rucksack. In cities I mostly hold my rucksack to my front but the odd time I forget.) I thanked the lad and kept walking but he stayed with me, all friendly, asking me where I was from, did I like Peru etc. By now I was very wary. You never know if its a scam artist or if the person is genuinely friendly in these situations. Apparently he was in Trujillo with a salsa group for the past couple of days. We came to a small plaza at the end of this busy street. By now he knew I was going to visit Chan Chan and indicated I could get a collectivo on the far side of the plaza. This wasn´t where I was told I could get them so I said thanks but I had other things to do first and backed away. He said he was keen to practise his English and asked if we could meet later. to be polite I said ok and suggested 6pm. He said fine, he´d be outside the cathedral in the main PLaza. We shook hands and parted.

As I walked back down the street I began to feel a wave of tiredness hit me. My energy just disappeared. I decided to head back to the hostel and lie down for a bit. The rest of the day was spent in bed. I felt as though my stomach was about to start acting up again. I was conscious of having arranged to meet that lad. When 6pm came I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. I got up and walked into the main Plaza. At the cathedral there was no sign of yer man. I was relieved and didn´t hang about for long but at least I felt I´d made the effort. I warnt looking for a place to eat. I hadn´t eaten since morning and while my stomach didn´t feel great I needed to eat something. In one of the side streets I found a nice small restaurant with a good priced menu posted up.

Inside I asked for the menu del Dia. The waitress brought me a bowl of soup that was the best I´ve had since leaving home. It went down great. You could feel the goodness in it as it hit the stomach. This was followed by steak, chips, and a salad. I even had a dessert afterwards. It felt great. Afterwards I went to an internet cafe for a short while. No sooner was I typing out an email than my stomach began to rumble ominously. My heart sank. Here we go again, I knew what was coming. I rushed back through the streets, into the room and literally jumped onto the toilet. This set the tone for the rest of the evening. I watched tv for a few hours and then tried to sleep in between trips to the bathroom. Thanks to the tum tum there would be no visit to Chan Chan.

Sun 28th Dec: Through the Canon Del Pato on the Yunguy Express

I´m looking forward to this journey down to Chimbote. We leave good and early around 7.15am. I´m travelling on the Yunguy express. The name alone suggests an adventure but conjures up images of Mongolia and China rather than Peru. However from the Cordillera Blanca to the Canon Del Pato the landscape is pretty spectacular on any continent.

The Yungay express bus was itself as regal as the name suggests. King of the road back in the sixties it still retains a whiff of royalty as it burps out black exhaust fumes along the road beneath the peaks of Huascaran. Its an old single decker. All the luggage is pile up top on the roof. A tough plastic sheet covers all in the event of rain. As we leave Huaraz there are 7 people on board this 40+ seater. I can´t help thinking how much this contrasts with the 22 people crammed into a tatty Hiace van a few days ago. The first 90 mins are spent passing comfortably through the towns at the base of the Cordillera Blanca, Yungay, Caraz etc. At each town we pick up passengers and the conductor, with help from some others climbs up onto the roof and loads up with every assortment of luggage from a mountain bike to a couple of chairs, bags of cereals, boxes of groceries, rucksacks and a net bag belonging to an old woman containing 8-9 live guinea pigs. The largest of the goods requires 2-3 people to haul the load up to the conductor who heaves the load onto the roof to secure it with an assortment of cables. In Yungay 13 sheep and goats are loaded into a compartment at the back of the bus. Here I saw the extraordinary sight of an old woman carrying a bag of cement up the street. She was bent low with the cement on her back and she was going like the clappers!! I don´t know, these old peruvian women are fierce tough.

The last town on the approach to the Canon Del Pato is Caraz. Leaving here the bus was full. There were now 70 on board. 40 seated and 30 standing. 2 young lads perched themselves on the roof for an adventurous ride home. A couple of mile out of town we left the paved road and trundled along a gravel surface by the banks of the river which would take us through the canyon. The mountains closed in on either side as we entered the canyon. At times it was breathtaking as the canyon narrowed to 20-30m in places. The walls of the canyon ran vertical and the bus was forced to proceed through a series of tunnels until the canyon widened out again. At its narrowest there was a mere 10-15m between the walls. As the canyon widened we passed through a town deep in the base of the valley beside which there was a large electricity station.

At times the road was distinctly dangerous. Perched 100m over the fast flowing river the edge was crumbling away and in some places threatened a major collapse. Looking out the window as the driver dropped into 1st gear there was no road visible beneath me, merely a 100m drop into the swirling river below. A sense of relief would follow as the driver successfully negotiates the narrow stretch and accelerates to a wider strech of road.

I had been told the journey to Chimbote was 5hrs. By midday we were still in the middle of the canyon. There were high mountains all around and no sign of us nearing the exit which would bring us to the lowlands. On the radio Peruvian Folk/country music had been playing incessantly for a number of hours now and I was beginning to tire of it. At 2pm we stopped in a small dusty town of Chocqui....... This was a food stop. Everybody piled into the roadside restaurant and happily tucked into meals of chicken or beef with rice and chips. I didn´t sample what was on offer as I wasn´t eating or drinking as there was no toilet on board. I hadn´t drank anything at all so far today yet I´d had to go to the toilet three times. It was somewhat uncomfortable at times. We were a lot lower now, nearly out of the canyon. It was a lot hotter here than at Huaraz. The air here was noticeably thicker than the cool mountain air.

40 mins later the bus resumed its journey. I did buy some bananas and took the hunger off me with some crackers and yoghurt I´d brought with me. We rejoined a good quality surface and the bus zipped along so smoothly after the slow lumpy surface of the last few hours. I began to doze in the heat. When I awoke we were passing through a green fertile plain full of crops growing. This green plain brought us to the outskirts of Chimbote. Most of the passengers left the bus here. It took a good 30mins to unload all the gear from the roof. The guinea pigs, sheep and goats all seemed to have survived their ordeal unscathed as they were deposited on to the pavement.

I and a few others remained onboard as the bus crossed town to the main terminal. Chimbote is a fishing port, the Killybegs of Peru only much larger. The stench of rotting fish which hangs over the place is strong and unpleasant. Getting off the bus I was hoping I wouldn´t have to stay here. Thankfully there was a bus to Trujillo leaving within minutes. I got my ticket and had just enough time to go to the toilet before the bus took off. We followed the coast for the next 2hrs, arriving in Trujillo as darkness was falling. I took a taxi to the centre through heavy and agressive traffic. It looks like the drivers in Trujillo take no prisoners. Getting into the taxi the driver made sure all the doors were looked which was less than reassuring. He seemed to be impressed that I had come from Ireland. Apert for the odd near miss with other taxis the drive to the centre of town was uneventful. I was dropped off at Hostal Ayacucho.

Sat 27th Dec: Huaraz

I wake up starving. I hadn t eaten anything since lunchtime yesterday. Thankfully the headaches are gone. At breakfast I ask for a pancake in addition to the regular breakfast. Much of today was spent on the blog, eating, getting laundry done and sorting out a bus ticket for the next place to visit. I m going to head up towards Chachapoyas in northern Peru but first I want to stop off at Trujillo on the coast. There s a route through the mountains to the lowlands which passes through a spectacular canyon so I have to find out which company serves this route. I buy a ticket on the colourful named Yungay express which travels that route down to Chimbote, on the coast two hours south of Trujillo. I ll have to change there for a connection to Trujillo.

In the evening I decide to try a restaurant as opposed to the Pollerias which ive tended to eat in recently. I want to try a local delicacy, "Cuy Picante" - roast guinea Pig in a sauce with spuds!! I m also going to try Pisco sour, a Peruvian cocktail, a spirit blended with egg whites. As for the guinea Pig, it was served with its head attached but minus its lower jaw. There wasn t much meat. I kind of lost my appetite when it was served but at least the spuds were good. The Pisco sour went down very smooth.

Fri 26th Dec: The Cordilleras Blancas

I´m up before the guide arrives. I´m just finishing my breakfast as he arrives. His name is David, a fulltime guide and glad of a days work in the offseason. Without delay we head down town and get seats in a collectivo heading to the town of Yungay, a 60 min drive from Huaraz. Its a bright breezy morning which is good. I´m looking forward to gtting into the mountains and while my hip is stiff its certainly not as painful as yesterday.

In Huaraz everything is back to normal this morning. The streets are full of people heading to work or going about their business. The collectivo we´re in is a Hiace van. A total of 17 people pile in and as we´re full we head off down the road to Yungay. 20 mins later we´re stopped by traffic police and a delay ensues as they question the driver. As the interrogation drags on most of the passengers who are going to work begin to complain loudly. In the face of this barrage from angry passengers the cop lets the driver go.

When we reach Yungay we have to change collectivos to another one which will bring us into the mountains. Its busy enough here while we wait for the collectivo to fill. Yungay sits at the base of the cordillera Blancas. Dominating the town is the western flank of Huascaran, Peru´s highest mountain. David tells me that the present town is not the original Yungay and is only in this location since 1970. In that year a strong earthquake triggered a massive avalanche of rock and ice from the slopes of Huascaran. Most of the towns 18,000 inhabitants were buried by the slide. The new town was built but its location shifted to its present site out of the path of any future avalanche.

The morning stays fine with blue skies overhead. After all the rain we´ve had lately I´m prepared for bad weather so I have my waterproofs and layers but it looks like I won´t need them. We take our seats in the second collectivo which is smaller than the first. As we leave Yungay 22 people have crammed into the vehicle. It hilarious. THe seats are designed for the shorter Peruvian build. I squeeze uncomfortably in my seat. Beside me is a 6´4 German who has even greater difficulty than me. We just laugh and it is funny to see how they can cram so many people with all their goods into these collectivos. Its a great experience. Bernhardt, the German, ids from Munich and has just come off a 4-day trek through the mountains during which he saw nothing. Fog, snow and rain clogged the mountains for the duration so he´s now back for another 2-day trek in the hope of finding some good weather and spectacular mountains. He´s delighted with the blues skies and sems to view me as some sort of lucky omen.

We bump our way into the hills on some pretty rough roads. The driver swerves over and back across the road to avoid the large ruts and potholes in an effort to find the smoothest route. How these collectivos simply don´t fall apart I don´t know. They must be driven to their absolute limit. This van is decorated with a lot of religious imagery. Pictures of OUr Lady, the Sacred Heart and the Holy Family abound around the interior. Many collectivos and trucks are similarly decorated. Many have dedications to Jesus and Our Lady across the front window. We stop to pay an entrance fee as the mountains are in a national Park. THere is an elderly woman selling snacks by the side of the road. For 1 sole (Eu 25c) I get a warm hard boiled egg and a hot boiled potato in its jacket. I feel a bit like me Mum and Dad when they were young heading of to school with their baked potato in their pockets!! Others tuck into freshly cooked cobs of sweetcorn (Choclo).

We all pile back into the van and 25mins later David, myself and Bernhardt are unloaded at the jumpoff point for our trek. We are heading up to a lake, Laguna 69, 8km away in the mountains at 4,600m. Its supposed to be spectacular. We start off in the shadow of Huascaran which towers over us at 6,700m. All around us are snowcapped peaks. We start by following a gently rising river valley at the head of which we hit some steep climbs which should bring us up to the lake. The first 2-3km are easy but David moves fast and soon I´m huffing and puffing in the altitude. We hit the steeper slopes and my breathing becomes laboured. We stop for a break and it takes a few minutes for my breathing to reurn to normal. Bernhardt joins us keeping a slow steady pace. You can see he´s experienced. He does a good deal of hiking in the Alps.

David is too fast for me. I keep a slow steady pace so my breathing can adjust and I just let him go ahead. He soon cottons on and slow his pace. The steeper parts get to me. Its an eye opener to experience the effects of altitude. It makes you feel so unfit and slow. However, the sights are spectacular. Its no real difficulty being out here. The air is so clear and cool. The scenery, stunning. Eventually I began to adjust to the altitude. As long as I kept a steady, even pace it was ok.

It didn´t take too long to get to Laguna 69. We had a last, stiff 20 min slog up rocky slope and the lake emerged in a hollow beneath three high peaks. Large glaciers which hung down the sides of these mountains fed the lake which was a beautiful aquamarine colour. THe meltwaters cascade down the slopes and over vertical cliffs to fall directly into the lake itself. There´s a constantly sound of cascading waterfalls. The three of us sat down for lunch after getting our required shots of the moment. We were happy out. It was a beautiful location. After lunch we split from Bernhardt. He was heading higher to a refugio up on the next peak a 90 min hike from the lake. We wished him luck, bade farewell and turned to head back down the valley.

I was running out of water so I refilled by bottle directly from a fast moving stream which drained from the lake which David assured me was fine to drink. The return was easy, so easy compared to the uphill slog. We flew back down the valley. We met a group coming up and while I thought I had struggled on the way up it was nothing compared to what some of theis group were going through. Two of the girls looked dead on their feet.

We were back at the road in plenty of time to meet a collectivo heading for Yungay. Sitting in the sun waiting for our lift I began to get a headache. By the time we got back to Huaraz around 5pm it was very uncomfortable. I wasn´t sure if it was dehydration or altitude sickness but it was so uncomfortable that back in the hostel I took some painkillers and went to bed. Once the painkillers kicked in I fell into a deep sleep.

Thurs 25th Dec: Christmas Day in Huaraz

A lazy day today. The 25th isn´t as significant here. Its a public holiday but last night held the real festivities. It was very quiet early on, nothing was open down town. Families strolled around quiet streets. I lazed around the hostel for a while reading. There´s a single P.C. in the hostel and a had to wait for over two hours while a Swiss couple mucked about. Eventually I had to ask them how long more they were going to be as it was well into the evening at home by now. So with a touch of temper I phoned home to find it was engaged. When I did get through a Belgian girl came and interrupted me while I spoke to Gabe to ask me to finish up as she had arranged with her family she´d phone home at this time. I told her I´d just spent nearly two and a half hours waiting to make this call. But she was adamant she had to phone home. I let her on to make her call to which there was no reply. My temper was up now. She did thank me as she left but you could say the look from me was frosty, a bit unfestive of me but she crossed me at the wrong moment. She made a hasty exit.

In the afternoon I went out to look around. The weather has improved today, no rain like the last few days. I intended hiking up to a viewing point on a hill overlooking the city but my hip was playing up. For the last couple of days it has become increasingly stiff and sore. This morning I spent an hour doing exercises to try ease the stiffness but after half an hour walking through the streets I decided to take a taxi up to the top as it was too uncomfortable to walk. I feel as if I´m beginning to fall apart slightly at the moment with all the aches, pains and sickness. The road up to the viewing point was so bad I felt a bit guilty asking the taxi man to drive up there. At one point I honestly thought the car wouldn´t make it began down in one piece. The road was that bad.

In the evening the town opened up again. Street traders reappered on the main avenue. Internet cafes, some restaurants and pharamacies in particular were all open. Lots of people came down to stroll around town. In the main plaza parents brought their kids to look at the crib there and let them play with some of their new toys. Street vendors began to do some business. It was starting to feel like a regular evening.

Tomorrow I head into the high mountains of the Cordillera Blanca. I will meet a guide at 6am so I have to be up early. I´m a bit concerned about my hip. If its as sore as it was today I´ll be in trouble. As I have an early start tomorrow I go to bed early. It seems to be a quiet day all round really.

Wed 24th Dec: Christmas Eve Pt2: Huaraz

Back in Huaraz I decided to go to mass tonight. Evening mass was at 8pm and this is the big Christmas mass here. Christmas is celebrated on the night of the 24th here rather than on the 25th with us. We always tend to go together as a family at home so I thought it only appropriate to go while I was away. I was also curios to see how mass is celebrated here. After a quick wash and shave I ran around town and ended up in Iglesia San Francisco. Due to my detour I arrived a little late. Mass was already under way.

The church was full. A large crowd had congregated at the back just inside the main entrance. Pepole were standing up along both side aisles and through the centre aisle. I moved through the crowd to stand just at the back of those seated. There was a choir, 4 altarboys, 2 priests celebrated mass. Eventhough the mass was in spanish it took the same format as home so it was easy to follow. It was a lot slower than at home though. This mass would run to 2hrs. A group of dogs wandered in during the gospel and made for the altar. It was a pity one of them was in heat. They were ejected unceremoniously to muffled laughter from those near the door. One small dog lingered around until the sermon was about to begin, obviously looking for its owner who must have been in the congregation but who declined to reveal himself. The priest, preparing himself for the sermon, was singularly unimpressed by the distraction and asked for the dog to be removed. Three women rushed out of the front seats to confront the wee dog who, naturally, began to dodge them. One of the women aimed a kick at him and missed again, bringing out laughter from the crowd at the back. As the women retreated a young fella ran out from a pew, picked up the dog and carried him out.

With all distractions removed the priest proceeded with his sermon. He approached the podium confidently with a hint of a swagger. He flicked his hair dramatically and began. The sermon was tame enough to begin with but soon the priest warmed to his subject. His voice rose, his expression became more intense. Soon his hands were raised, gesturing and pointing to the heavens. The whole tempo of the sermon rose. The congregation was swept along by the fervent ardour of their pastor. This priest was taking on the demeanor of a baptist minister Any moment I expected him to shout out "Halleluja brothers and sisters. Come on down bretheren. Everybody in the house come on an´let me hear ya say A-men.

Ironically in the middle of this I began to feel a strange sensation in the pit of my stomach, this quickly spread through my arms to my finger tips. I began to feel faint, not, unfortunately because of the zeal of the sermon, but because I was badly dehydrated. I d hardly drunk or eaten much throughout the day. I had to leave the church for a few minutes or I would have collapsed. I sat down on the steps of the doorway, held my head in my hands and breathed in deeply. In the cool fresh air I began to feel better. After a few minutes I was able to return to the back of the church where I stayed for the remainder. The sermon was over, a small blessing because it was going on and on.

Mass proceeded without further mishap but when it came to the "peace be with you" section I turned to shake hands with the person next to mewho promptly turned and embraced me. I then had to hug all around me. Just before communion there was an adoration of the child jesuswhere everybody went up and kissed the baby s feet. At the conclusion of the mass I made for the exit. Along the way three-four people came over and shook my hand wishing me "Feliz Navidad" which was quite nice.

Back in the hostel the Christmas celebrations were in full swing. Shortly after I got back the kids were given their presents so there was a good deal of excitement. I made myself a big mug of sweet tea and sipped it gratefully as I watched the kids gleefully show their toys to the whole family. When the excitement died down dinner was served and wasn{t I glad!! The family occupied the main dining table while those of us guests presents (there were 4 of us) were invited to have some dinner in the lounge area of the same room. It was very nice of the family and they continued with their meal as if we weren{t there at all. It was good to see christmas in a family situation here. Dinner consisted of turkey and a potatoe/apple puree which was actually delicious. Dessert consisted of hot chocolate and Paneton (a light fruit cake). Outside fireworks and bangers were being set off in the streets. These impromptu fireworks reached a climax at midnight with a mass of explosions to mark the hour. Shortly afterwards I went to bed. I was still feeling a bit lightheaded after nearly fainting earlier.

Dec 24th: Christams Eve Pt 1: Chavin de Huantar

Today I head in to the mountains to se an ancient site at Chavin approx 120km from Huaraz. To be honest I´m not fully sure what I´m actually going to see but people have said its impressive and it will be nice to go acroos the mountains. I turn up for 9am, the appointed time but end up hanging around for an hour waiting to leave. It turns out I´m the only person on board. Its a nice sunny morning as we head out of Huaraz. On the outskirts of the town we pick up a woman and her daughter. They would stay with us for the rest of the day, the lady acting as conductor later on.

We passed through acouple of small towns before getting into the high country. A couple of lads took a ride getting off along the roadside and heading towards a small cottage across a few fields. The day which had started out nice was now clouding over. We followed a valley into the high mountains. Heavy cloud was descending from the tops of the mountains as the bus slowly wound it way upwards. At 4,600m we passed through a tunnel for a short distance which brought us to the head of a neighbouring valley. As we emerged a large statue of Jeseus greeted us. Beyond the statue the valley fell away. The bus began a long descent to Chavin. THe quality of the road and the frequent switchbacks kept the speed low.

One valley led into another and once again we were perched high on a mountainside looking down into a valley bottom far below. The mountainside here consisted of soft brittle rock which was crumbling away. Rocks and boulders littered the road. Some of the boulders were large, the siz of a small car. Occasionally we encountered the remains of rockslides. One recent slide still blocked most of the road. A narrow passage had been cleared just wide enough to allow the bus to pass through. For another hour we passed down through this valley. Along the mountainside small seams of coal were visible in many places. Galleries had been cut into these seams by the roadside to extract the coal. Small caves showed where the seams had been exhausted. Others were larger their chambers disappearing into the darkness of the mountain. A few were still active Scaffolding had been erected to give access to seams high up. Wooden supprts were wedged into the clefts in the rock to prevent collapse. Black coal dust littred the slopes.

In the rain we passed some small settlements. It was very different up here. The houses were made from adobe bricks and mud plaster. Some were painted but most retained their natural colour. Ancient women in traditional dress sat outside their cottages either on small chairs or on their haunches. Small kids walked along the roadside carrying freshly cut reeds. One lad sat on top of a wall tuning in a hand held radio while nearby a man slept, hunched up hidden under a poncho and wide-brimmed hat. On the far side of the valley small fields extended high up the mountain slopes. Terracing supported the fields where the mountainside became too steep. We got to Chavin and the driver dropped me off at the archaeological complex. I had an hour and 20 mins before meeting up down in the main square.

At first glance the site didn{t appear to be much at all but following a pathway I was led around to an impressive plaza and temple complex. This temple was over 3,000 yrs old and in a country where everything is portrayed as Inca this, Inca that everything else can appear to be sooooo yesterday!! This was impressive Its age showed there was so much going on in Peru and in this valley in particular millenia before the Incas carved their empire. The most impressive part of the temple was its underground passages and corridors which riddled the interior of the temple. I stayed here for as long as possible before dashing down to the plaza to meet the bus.

Chavin is a small rural town so there was no difficulty in finding the plaza. I met the driver and he told me to hang on for another 30 mins and look around town. He was doing a nixer and acting as a collectivo for the return journey to Huaraz. He had a bus to fill to pay for all that petrol he was using climbing up and down those high mountains. I went off bought a bag of buns, a bannana and a bottle of water from and old woman at a street stall and had a look around. There was a decent crowd in town. All in for the christmas rush. One lad passed by me with a load of shopping strapped to his back walking out of town. Many young girls in traditionalt dress were in town. Their hats were immaculate. Some of the girls had clear plastic wrapped around them to protect the hat from the rain. Old ladies an old men congregated near to where the collectivos were chatting and laughing, all seemingly in good spirits given the occasion that was in it. As the collectivos filled up they left town, the conductor shouting over the crowd, hoping to get one more body into an already full minivan.

Despite all the hustle and bustle about town there was no sense of rush or impatience amongst the people. They did what they had to do in town. If they had to wait around then the did so chatting to friends and neighbours who were also waiting. It was funny though to see the contrasts that have been developing in Peruvian life. There were many in traditional dress, many in modern clothes. A couple of lads sauntered around looking like gangster rappers with baseball caps, chains and white tracsuits. One guy wore a green acrylic jumper over a shirt with flared collars and flared trousers. He looked like he d just dropped out of the sixties. People were carrying their goods on their backs, others took taxis. One old man blocked the traffic on the street out of town as he rode his donkey, loaded with groceries, up the middle of the street. It was fascinating to watch. I wondered if rural Ireland looked like this 40yrs ago. There seemed to be a different sense of time here. You could almost see it in the way people looked. It was more distant. People here didn t seem to be tied down with schedules, timetables or deadlines. There just didn{t seem to be the urgency you get in the big cities.

It began to rain again. I made my way back onto the bus. Chavin has a very pretty plaza but little else so I d seen all I wanted to. I stayed on the bus until it had filled. The driver shouted out we were leaving and as nobody else boarded we left. Out of town the driver fairly hit the accelerator and we took off up the road. Whereas the journey up to Chavin had been a jolly spin into the country. The return leg was a mad dash home. There were other buses on the road and judgin by their attitude towards our driver they weren t happy with him poaching passengers.

As the rain increased and the gloom descended we backtracked through the mountains. Four times we were stopped by traffic cops who gave the driver grief. Perhaps what the driver was doing wasn t wholly legal but each time he seemed to be able to talk his way out with merely a reprimand. By hook or by crook we got back to Huaraz by 7pm. It was dark now and the town was absolutley thronged with shoppers. It was jammed, uncomfortable to walk up the main street. Amongst the crowds a blind female busker sang into a small portable microphone. Judging by the amount of change in her box she was doing very well. The town was too busy for me. I went back to the hostel.

Tues 23rd Dec Huaraz

The bus arrives in Huaraz early, around 7am. Its raining as the bus manouvres through the streets. At first glance Huaraz doesn t look the most attractive of towns but it is a dark, wet overcast morning. Leaving the bus depot I m greeted by the now usual choir of taxi men singing "Taxi, taxi, taxi....." I stand in the middle of a bunch of short peruvian tenors and smile as they serenade. I spot a taxi approaching in the street. I go over to him and he whisks me away as the taxi singers, huddled together, click their fingers and complete a soulful chorus. "........and darlin, Da-rlin stand.....by me......" drifts in to the background as we turn a corner. Two minutes later we arrive at Alojamiento Soledad, a family run guesthouse/hostel. I get a room for 35 Soles and heads to bed. I sleep for the next 6 hrs.

I get up at lunchtime and go out for a look around town. Its still overcast and wet. Huaraz is a decent sized city up beside Cordilleras Blancas. It sits in a valley at around 3,000m. Its a busy market town for the mountain region with plenty of smaller towns scattered around the area. There s a population of around 40,000. The air is a lot cooler and fresher here after the congestion of Lima. I get a breakfast in an american owned cafe and have a look in the centre. The town is compact it only takes a few minutes to reach the main centre around its plaza. Its busy with christmas shoppers. I find out about a ruined temple at a town called Chavin 120km away across the mountains and sign up for a tour tomorrow morning. The guy I talk to outlines mountain treks that are run from here. Loads of companies run them but its off season now with it being the rainy season. Im not really interested in a 4-day trek. Not with being dosed with the flu and also I don t fancy the kind of weather we seem to be having at the moment. As I wander around plenty of reps come up offereing treks and tours. Non Gracias.

I buy some tablets for the flu in a pharmacy. The girl behind the counter offers me ant-hystamines which I refused. I had explained the symptoms correctly so eventhough I accepted the second batch of tablets from her I m not holding out much hope for them. Town was busy with the Christmas rush. There s not a whole lot to see in Huaraz so I didn t have to spend too long wandering around. It was interesting to see the mix of people milling about. Some in traditional dress others very modern, people sitting beside there wares under colonnaded walkways on either side of the main street. Amidst all this on the street taxis and cars whizzed up and down beeping, swerving to avoid each other and pedestrans. On one street corner an old guy was selling young pups, some of the cutest I ve seen and a large crowd had congregated as a mother haggled for a price and a child tried to decide which pup to take home for Christmas.

As darkness fell on a damp evening I d seen enough. I bought some groceries, brought them back to the hostel and ate. I went to bed hoping the flu would lift for tomorrow.

Monday 22nd Dec; Meet the Fokkers

I wake up feeling rotten. I have to check out of the room at 11am but I don t fancy being on the streets all day until 10pm when the bus to Huaraz leaves. I decide to pay for an extra night and it means I can stay in bed until the evening.

I read and doze. I picked up Robert Harris latest novel, The Ghost in a book exchange in Cusco and I begin to fly through it as I turn the pages, lost in the story. Sometime towards midday I m shaken from the world of Robert Harris novel back to the present as the sounds of a couple in the room above...... ¨being very noisy¨. The noise they make seeps into my room and begins to fill it. In fact their noises are seeping into virtually every room in the hostel, moaning and groaning, moaning and.....groaning. The hostel has three floors and all the rooms face out on to the same side of the building. Each room has an open wooden grille running along the top of the room over the door and window. Sounds move in and out of these room very easily.

This noise continues off and on all day. It becomes irritating then annoying. Everybody can hear it. There are families staying here staying semi long term. There are children and old people as well as backpackers. This couple make the place sounds as if its a brothel. 3 times people go and tell them to be quiet but its as if they want everyone to hear them. It was bordering on public disorder. It was ridiculous, ignorant. It turns out they re French.

In between times I manage to finish the ghost. In the evening I take a taxi out to the Cruz del Sur depot and board the bus to Huaraz.

Sunday Dec 21st: To Lima

As dawn broke we had come through the mountains and were on the outskirts of the town of Nazca, famous for the Nazca lines. We were low down on the coastal plain now which we would follow for the next few hours up to Lima. This was mostly barren flat desert interspersed here and there with pockets of fertile valleys. In the desert we passed through a few strange looking settlements, shacks scattered across the sands. There were no paved streets, no cars, no lighting. They looked deserted but here and there a person appeared wandering between shacks.

Everything had calmed down on the bus after last nights shenanigans. At one point I went to the toilet and passed the lady and toddlers who had kept us all awake. One glance at the kids was enough to make you forget they had ever annoyed you. They were the cutest wee things playing together and giggling away. Two little girls with lovely brown skin, dark eyes and long black hair. You wanted to pick them up and cuddle them. Little feckers!! Eventually we hit the outskirts of Lima and in good time we hit the Cruz del Sur terminal. Bus terminals can be a confusing business in Peru. There is usually no single central bus station in a town. There can be many. Each bus company might have its own depot. On this occasion in Lima I discovered even Cruz del Sur has more than one depot and I wasn t at the one I thought I was. However I got sorted and a taxi brought me to the hostel I had picked out in the centre of town. It ws a secure looking hostel in what is supposed to be a rought part of town. I m only in town for a day so I reckoned I d be ok.

I need to sort out a plan for the remainder of my time in South America. I intended being in cuador for Christmas but loking at what I want to do with the time I have left it doesn{t look feasible. I realise I ll have to drop Ecuador and head for northern Peru instead. I should have enough time then to do what I d like to do.

I go out to look at Central Lima and buy a ticket for tomorrow to Chiclayo on the northern coast. From there I want to go to Chachapoyas and be there for Christmas. At the station I m told all buses to Chiclayo are booked up until after christmas. Immediately my plan has to change. There are buses to Huaraz which is up in the mountains, 10 hrs north of Lima. There are seats available so thats where I m going to be for Christmas. Tomorrows bus leaves at 10pm so I{ll have an extra day around Lima.

As I wander round Lima I m approached by loads hawkers selling computer software, knick knacks, shoe shiners, kids selling sweets. The centre is very busy, crammed full of people, shopping, buying stuff, selling stuff, strolling around. Between Plaza San Martin and Plaza Mayor is a pedestrian street something like Grafton street. Its packed with people, uncomfortably so, and again people are continually approaching me offering this or that. I m tired after the bus journey and getting fed up with the hawkers. You try to be polite but eventually your patience wears thin. Its been like this in all the big towns since I came into Peru.

In the PLaza Mayor some sort of event is going on. There s a stage with musicians performing for a sizeable audience in the square. There s a large police presence here. Riot police stand around as well as regular uniformed police. It feels uncomfortable so I leave the Plaza. In a nearby street a religious procession is taking place. A statue of our Lady on a large platform is being carried by 16 men neatly dressed in fine suits. Accompanying them is a brass band playing sombre latin music. In front of these is a group of samba drummers and dancers dressed up with faces blackened. Its an unusual looking accompaniment to such a formal religious procession.

I have a flu coming on. I can feel it in my head and in my breath which feels unnaturally hot. Im tired and impatient. I decide to return to the hostel and head back the way I came, back through the crowds. The hawkers gather again and swoop. I m really resenting them now. An old, stooped, shoe shiner approaches me as I wait to cross a street. He s wearing a grey jumper and ragged brown trousers, stained and 2 sizes too big for him. His shoes are worn but shiny. He offers to clean my runners and despite saying Non Gracias twice he persists, a little too much. I turn to him and say angrily Bastante, Enough!! I emphasize this with a slashing gesture. The old man retreats a step, apologises and shuffles away. Immediately I feel bad at my outburst. After all the old guy was only trying to earn a little money. A few minutes later I try to ease my conscience by giving a young lad whose selling sweets some soles.

I return to the hostel quickly and lie down. In the evening I go out and eat in a nearby seafood restaurant, a cevicheria. Afterwards I don t linger about and I m back in the room early. I read a little and try to sleep but its not easy as I m all bunged up and hot with this flu that now taking a grip.

Sat 20th Dec; The problem with overnight buses

I woke at 6am to rain. It continued to rain until lunchtime. I had a quick last look around Cusco before getting the bus to Lima at 2pm. This is another long stretch of a journey, 21hrs. As I left the hostal the two girls who work there, Sonia and Rosio, had a big goodbye for me. Earlier, Sonia had asked if I would bring her to Ireland. I didn´t understand and it had to be translated for me. I replied diplomatically "Next time".

Leaving Cusco the bus took the road to Abancay which meant we would be cutting straight through the mountains to the coast. This is reputed to be a spectacularly scenic though unreliable route in the wet season due to landslides. For 4 hours we climb slowly into the mountains and the route becomes increasingly spectacular. We pass a couple of small,poor looking mountain villages. These are agricultural communities and, judging by the large groups of people out tending to the crops together, it must be a communal effort. The ground appears very fertile here as all kinds of animals can be seen grazing here. cows, goats, sheep, pigs etc. It seems the younger kids and older women tend to the animals while the adults work on the crops.

By 6pm we cross a high mountain pass. Down in the valley below lies Abancay. It takes us nearly 40 mins to descend the mountain as the road switches over and back constantly. The bus is still in bright sunshine but down in the valley Abancay is in a twilight with darkness about to descend. We reach the town in darkness and stop for 20 mins before continuing.

The curtains were pulled shut onthe windows for the night. We had dinner and afterwards the hostess handed out bingo cards for the now customary game after-dinner game of bingo. Later after the last film on tv had ended the lights were dimmed and everybody tried to get some sleep. I had difficulty getting to sleep. I was sneezing. I could feel a flu coming on. I managed to doze for a bit but the bus was back crossing some more high mountains so it was constantly twisting and turning through bends. If you got comfortable you were soon shook out of that position and had to shift again to get comfortable.

Two small children were travelling their mother and sitting a few rows back. At some point the kids began to cry. After a few minutes they were settled but soon the wailing began again. This continued off and one for a couple of hours. Initially there was sympathy for the mother but this gradually dripped away as she failed to settle the children. She hadn´t brought any drinks for them and other passengers had to give bottles of water to help. The mood changed from one of discomfort to frustration, to torture. As the toddlers kept a running commentary amidst their cries open revolt broke out as passengers complained loudly and mutter angrily. The hostess could be heard softly asking the mother to try to keep the kids under control. The mother began to cover the toddlers mouths toshut them up but this only made it worse. In the confined space of the upper deck of this double decker everybody was awake...... except for the old guy next to me.

Two mothers went downto help out. One of them must have had something which they gave to the kids and miraculously the settleddown a few minutes later. At around about this time the old guy next to me began to snore. We had just been tortured for the last 3 hours by young kids. I was not going to tolerate this not from the old guy next to me.

With my temper rising I sat as he snored into my ear. I tensed up as each snore rattled through me. I decided to hit him with my shoulder to see if a jolt would cause him to shift position and stop. I hit him gently at first, almost politely, but he didn´t stir from his slumbers. Each time he failed to respond I hit him a little harder, and a little harder until I was rocking over and back hitting into him. But this did no good, it was ridiculous. My frustrations piqued by his ability to sleep through almost anything. I began to wonder if I should punch him instead. I closed my eyes and wondered if I should, weighing upthe possibilities.

Once again the old guys head lolled onto my shoulder. Snoring loudly, his mouth open and saliva dripping out one side. I punched the guy on the shoulder. The old procedure now repeated itself with punches. Still no response. My temper was at boiling point now. What did I have to do to make this guy stop snoring?? I was almost shaking with temper when once again he gave out a deep rasping snore. That was it. I´d had enough. I snapped. I hit him. My fist shot out sideways catching him on the jaw with all my strength. The bus shuddered, I jolted with shock. I couldn´t believe what I´d just done. I opened my eyes wide. I looked across at the old guy. He was still sleeping peacefully....and quietly. I´d been dreaming?? Thank God. I had been dreaming. Relaxing, I smiled at the vivid dream I´djust had. Just then the old guy opened his eyes looked at me and saw me looking at him smiling. He looked surprised then frowned, quickly turned his head and leant away from me, crossing his arms defensively. My smile froze. Dumbstruck at what had just passed. I thought to myself "I bet he thinks I´m a pervert". Cringing with embarassment I twisted in my seat to look out the window. I definitely couldn´t sleep now.