Wino's & Parklife

Exhausted from 4 days of treking in the highlands of Peru it seemed sensible to get on a bus and travel 1,960 miles in one go. Cusco, Peru to Mendoza, Argentina, piece of cake. Its a similar distance from London to Istanbul in Turkey, although according to Google Maps, that journey takes only 34 hours. My journey was double that at 68 hours, 57 of which were on buses and 11 in bus stations. I travelled south 20 degrees in latitude, effectively driving from Summer into Autumn. Look on the map, it's quite a distance.

Arriving in Mendoza the best part of three days later, I'm understandable a little tired, but for rest, recuperation and red wine, I'm in the best possible place. The next week is a battle like haze of sizzling steaks, intoxicated Dutchmen shouting Blur's "Parklife" and all to the soundtrack of gun-fire-like pops of bottles of Malbec being opened every thirty seconds.

Thankfully I kept a diary.

Expectations are strange and dangerous things. When you have high ones, they can be unmercifully dashed (like the last dozen England managers) or when you have none you can be left surprised and speechless (like meeting Ameican that is both intelligent and doesn't have gun). I had high expectations of Mendoza, and despite being half asleep as I arrived, I was none the less a little hesitant. Mendoza did not disappoint, it was Officially Awesome. Fact. Capital Letters Mandatory.

Mendoza's reputation for red wine is well justified, as for for 15 pesos (about 2 or 3 quid) I was made very happy, and fairly merry too. But it's a city that is more than just affordable delicious wine, it's a city that doesn't have to rely on foreigners empty wine bottles to sustain it, it's destination for Argentinians themselves. From Buenas Aires it's a short flight or an over night bus journey landing you in a leafy city of only 110,000 people close to ski fields, countless vineyards and the most beautiful parks and streets I have seen.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5593858288/in/set-72157626649599379/

For me it's the gateway into a country a world away from the Latin America I've so far experienced. The roads are now paved properly, stray dogs are non-existent and people don't have their donkeys/cows/goats tied up in the front garden. Their donkey is more likely to be a shiny saloon, the dog is probably being walked by a paid-for dog walker and the cow is roasting on the BBQ.

Argentina is more affluent than its neighbours, but it's worth comparing it not with other Latin American places, but with European ones. Every street in Mendoza is lined with trees and looks more like France or Italy than South America. For a city in the desert Mendoza is amazingly lush and green. Not only is there a canopy on every street, but on the edge of the centre is the Parque San Martin; a park that rivals all of London's put together.

I hired a bike and spent a few days just cycling, picnicking and reading in this vast park on the edge the city as if I was a world away from the nearby buzzing metropolis. For someone who values the beach being very close by, I was surprised to be so content so far from it. The designer clothing shops of the city displayed warning signs that winter was well on it's way, but like a lazy squirrel I was content to bake in the hot sun lying in the park, thinking "if only London got this hot or looked so good". 

Come eventide, and it was time to cook up a storm, and I impressed a fair number of the hostel with my Peruvian cooking, and ability to always have a glass of wine in one hand and a ladle in the other. A few nights out were had, but my fondest memories were with the Dutchmen Sander and Ivo in the club opposite the hostel. It was like stepping into a indie disco in North London, but a few years behind. The pair of them screaming the chorus to Blur's Parklife and me pretending to be Phil Daniels in my best cockney accent will sit long in my memory.

Finally on my last day I got myself together and went on a bike tour of the nearby town of Maipu, the heartland of the local wine industry. Despite getting lost on the bus system, I finally got myself on a bike, and with a map of the bodegas (vineyard or wine cellar) and an empty backpack (to accommodate lots of wine) I set off to explore without incurring a drink-riding fine.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5593982920/in/set-72157626649599379

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5593991472/in/set-72157626649599379/

The fields of Maipu, could be easily mistaken for those of Southern France or Italy and cycling in the intense of the midday sun it's easy to forget that I'm a few thousand miles from the French countryside. The area of Mendoza is magical, and although it' my first taste of Argentina, I have the feeling this will be a country hard to leave. 

By the end of the afternoon, I've collected three bottles of vino, drunk the best part of two and my bike's ability to turn my wobbles into seemless cycling makes me think it's carried a number of slightly merry tourists in the past. I thankfully make my bus that evening to Buenas Aires and surprisingly I manage to sleep rather well...

photos in the usual place
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157626649599379/with/5593858288/

Yo estoy agotado y quiero una cerveza

(means I'm exhausted and I want a beer, which I was after this...)


When I was planning my jaunt around the world there were only a handful of things that I simply had to experience; the wine of Mendoza, the coffee of Colombia, the Mayan ruins of Tikal, the surf of El Salvador and of course Machu Pichu in Peru. I had so far chanced upon a lot of amazing experiences through out my travels, but I enjoyed planning on the move and not knowing which sights I'd be unable to forget when I left a place. So it seemed very strange when after travelling for over 5 months, my Dad, my brother Nick and I were finally on the bus heading to the start of the trail to one of the world's new seven wonders. 

Our road to Machu Pichu is a long and wet one, and takes us 4 days. We soon realise our porters are undiscovered pro-athletes, as not only do they run past us carrying two to three times the weight of our backpacks, but we learn that when they have nothing to carry, they run the 26 miles of the Inca trail in under 4 hours. Baring in mind the trail is over 10,000 feet, this is quite a feet and if I see any Peruvians debuting at the London Marathon next year, I wouldn't be betting against them!

Our own plight was barely underway when the inevitable rain started. We all knew we were in the midst of the wet season, the trail only just having re opened a few days before having had a month to rest, but after 5 minutes, my jacket was already starting to leak (two months later this jacket was stolen in New Zealand, so I thoroughly hope the culprit gets rained on, as the jacket will make sure they get a good soaking). thankfully we are all equipped with 30p plastic ponchos, which keep the rain off and the heat in, so after a day of trekking they make a good boil-in-the-bag backpacker.

When we make camp every afternoon, the superhuman porters have already arrived, set up camp and started cooking. The days of them carrying insane loads are now long gone, but none the less, they put our fitness to shame. Despite the trail being the world's most renowned, the facilities have failed to keep pace. It's a home from home for Frenchies as we're treated to the latest in hole-in-the-floor toilets. Perfect for dropping alcoholic hand wash down when you really needed it.

The second day is a beast, as it's uphill nearly all the way, to 4,200m and the crossing of the Dead Woman's Pass. The trail is all steps, so whilst conforming to most western countries health and safety standards, its a thigh burning walk up, and as the rain increases and the temperature drops at the summit, we're only to eager (post photo opp) to continue down the other side and onto the second nights camp. Now that we are suitably shattered each night, sleep comes very quickly. Even Nick is sleeping through Dad's snoring, which whilst surprising, is surpassed by Nick's cheeriness first thing in the morning (even more surprising).

The food on the trek is always something to look forward to. Nick, Dad and I agreed before hand to all go veggie to aid our stomachs, but regretted the decision for 4 days, as the most delicious meat was cooked up for every meal. Cooking for 16 people and 22 porters is no easy task, but after spotting the chef cooking on just two small gas burners, we were left in awe. With 4 hobs and clean kitchen I struggle to knock up anything near as tasty. Despite no meat, we were never left hungry, although I think one porter should be charged with carrying a keg of beer for future trips. Beer was rather hard to come by in the middle of the Peruvian highlands, however, they did manage to produce some Pisco Sours on one evening.

Up at the crack of dawn again and on the road for the third day, nick-named the Gringo Killer, as it was pretty much all down hill and was the main cause of complaints of sore knees from pathetic tourists. So off we stomped in the intermittent rain, through tunnels and through ancient Inca sites with secret paths tucked away in the tightest and narrowest of places. After lunch, the descent really kicked in, as the path was steep, tough and also the new route for what I think was the nearby river. The water poured down over the steps in torrents, but this did little to deter the porters whose break neck-pace turned out to be more a break-ankle pace, as one of our group tried to keep up with them only to be left hobbling 30 minutes later.

Towards the end of the third day, Nick and I were privy to something that simply nobody sees on the Inca Trail. Our guides had been walking the trail for over 8 years, and they told us they had never seen them and we should not expect to see any... Spectacled Bears. Walking around a corner, an hour or two before arriving at the campsite, we were confronted by a mother and cub crossing the path. Seeing Paddington (for that is the type of bear that he is) and his Mum cross in front of us, was truly amazing, and extremely special, given that no one ever sees them. They're not huge and are extremely shy, and I am still kicking myself for just freezing at the sight of them and neglecting to take a photo. Like all things on the trip so far, memories last a long time, shame I can't put them on Flickr mind.

The animal documentary continued down to camp, where we saw a raccoon and a bunch of courting toucans. Potential post-travel career #17; being David Attenborough's replacement is now top of the list. Finally arriving in camp, to a rapturous applause it was time for a couple of beers, to take off walking boots and watch them steam and reflect on the bulk of walking now done. It was also time to sort out a thank you speech for the porters, chefs and guides. Having already introduced myself to the porters in Spanish, I was nominated, but thankfully with a lot of assistance from some of the other travellers, we sorted out a lengthy speech which I read out in my best (not that good) Spanish, devoid of Spanglish, gesticulations or any of Dad's Italian.

The following morning we were up at 3.45am and off to Machu Pichu. The rain had returned with renewed vigour and we were all sheltering at the control point before we got under way. It was that time of morning where the first light is making everything slightly creepy, you can see other people, but not their expressions, the mist was causing the light to fade in and out and rounding one corner, out of the mist there stands defiant, a rather large llama, blocking our way. He gives us a feeling of foreboding, as if to say, "Who goes there and what brings you to my mountain?" or "The way is shut, it was made buy those who are woolly". Apologies the second one is a ripoff of a quote from Lord of the Rings as I'm currently in New Zealand...

Anyway, thankfully llamas cannot talk nor charge tolls or prevent us from continuing, which we do for a couple of hours before we arrive at the monkey steps. We'd heard about them before the trek, very steep metre-high steps that prove a tricky challenge to the weary. Having set off near the front of the line and in anticipation of seeing Machu Pichu, Nick and I effectively ran up them with ease, in fact our whole group was pushing such a fast pace we all cruised up. 

We were minutes from the top, when our guide William turned around to Nick and me claiming he was too tired to continue. In the moment in which we paused to laugh, he'd got the drop on us and was sprinting the last hundred metres up hill to the Sun Gate. Keen to show the Gringos still had stamina after 3 and half days we hooned it up in close pursuit to get through the Sun Gate (entrance) both out of breath but also breathless at the view. We´ve all seen photos of Machu Pichu, but from the Sun Gate the combination of finishing 3 days of very damp trekking and the most beautiful sight I have ever seen go beyond any impact a simple photo can ever do.

Photos will do this more justice than I can, and thankfully my brother took some belters. My photos were corrupted but having taken 1300 photos in Machu Pichu alone Nick has selected a handful of the best ones through the following link.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/nicksmith95/sets/72157626257665621/

Our guide William took us around the city, telling us an array of stories from the ancient Incas to a more recent tear-jerker of a tale from the 70s that left us all in no doubt how meaningful this trail can be, and how finishing it even for the second time can be overwhelming. You´ll have to wait until I get home to hear that particular story, but for now I can assure you that as tourist heavy this trail people incorrectly think it is, and despite so many gringos having already been before and despite losing my photos, I will never lose the memories of the moment I crossed the Sun Gate and saw Machu Pichu for the first time.

Incan Aliens & Italian Spanglish

It had been five months since I said goodbye to the family and Mum had been extremely keen to send the troops out to make sure I was being fed properly, particularly after I'd already sent clothes home some months back having lost a few pounds. As I stood waiting for the first troops to arrive at Cusco airport I was naturally looking forward to seeing them, but more importantly, how much tea and chocolate and they'd brought out. When finally they'd finished faffing inside the arrivals hall, they emerged, both with super short haircuts identical to my own, my only saving grace was that I had 5 months of tropical tan to tell me apart from the two pastie Smiths. I could clearly see what I'd be looking like in 5 and 30 years time, but as my brother inspected my scalp, he reminded me that I wasn't far behind.

 

The three reunited "baldys" hit Cusco and settled into accommodation far exceeding any luxury I'd previously experienced. After handing over the goods (two giant bars of Cadbury's best, two packets of breakfast tea and two moleskin diaries) we headed out into Cusco to be fed. Cusco is head and shoulders above the rest of the country when it comes to tourism and given they have one of the new wonders of the world in their back yard, it's not surprising. I think there are more restaurants here than there are people in central Cusco and more touts here than in Leicester Square, although nowhere in London does anybody ask if you want a massage or your photo taken with a baby sheep. Clearly there are some parts of Soho that I need to spend more time in...

 

After a much needed catch up and thorough feeding at a place overlooking the "Plaza De Armas", I'd had a chance to demo my Spanish and after 5 months in the Americas I thankfully impressed both Dad and Nick, and much to Nick's relief as in their last few days in Lima, Dad had apparently kept speaking Italian, instead of Spanish. I put this down to getting used to the altitude, although Nick was quick to point out he'd been speaking French as well. Over the next few days we saw the various sights on offer around Cusco and acclimatised to the altitude which is around 3,400 m (11,200 feet) in the world's highest Irish Bar.

 

The history of the Incas is hard to miss in Cusco, but here more than most places I'd been to before, could you get a real sense of how things used to be before the Spanish came to town. Like many places in the Americas, the Spaniards were brutal in their mission to conquer and nick as much shiny stuff from Cusco as they could, but within the many churches, the Spaniards' inability to stifle indigenous customs was easy to spot. In the Cathedral in particular, the need to convert the locals whilst keeping them happy meant a significant compromise between Incan and Catholic beliefs. With a different person/saint/God to pray to depending on what you wanted, what day of the week it was, whether you wanted a husband or to be rid of your wife, or possibly what colour socks you happen to be wearing, the blend of beliefs was quite considerable, and far from what I thought Catholicism was all about. The price of the Spaniards occupation of the area was however far higher than the impact of the belief system, and when the Incans brought knives to the Spaniards' gunfight, things were fairly one sided and many of the Incans were killed, and those that remained repressed.

 

Their legacy, however is not forgotten, and despite how touristy they maybe, the different Inca sites are something to behold and not to be missed. The only one I can remember the name of was Sacsaywaman (you pronounce it Sexy Woman, sort of...) and the scale of what they built truely humbles what you thought was possible without specialised tools. The cries of "aliens!" and other stupid conspiracy theroies from even stupider Americans is quite frustrating. Conspiracy seems an easier thing to say rather than admitting that a race that died hundreds of years ago was more intelligent, could build better and did it all without needing to go to Walmart. 

 

The Incans deserve praise for their achievements, and we'd set out to achieve our own glory, but taking on the 4 day Inca Trail to Machu Pichu... We'd heard about the gruelling second day of walking to 13,800 feet and the evil third day of walking down hill that was nick-named the Gringo Killer for the state of people's knees after ward. We were also aware that we were walking the trail at a rather soggy time of year... things were against us, but the Smith's could not be deterred and set off regardless.

 

photos are unfortunately lacking at present as the my memory card wasn't working. Photos from my brother to be released with the next blog...which will be here soon...

Peru... hmmm tasty

In my last job, I remember my superiors used to chastise me when I was ever so slightly late. One boss would even put the talking clock on to speaker phone to let everyone know when I was late by even just 1 or 2 minutes, but I think my blogging has far exceeded any previous tardiness as I find myself a month and a half behind... 

To bring things up to speed quickly, the next blog will be all of Peru except the Inca Trail and will take on a foody theme... as it was here that I learnt to cook Peruvian style...

Mancora - like a dodgy mutton vindaloo

Just over the border from Ecuador, this dish is like a vindaloo the health inspectors wouldn't need to try to know it was not fit for consumption. Hot, spicy, no taste and will definitely irritate you for a few days. Everyone who's had it brags about it, "if you love surfing you simply have to go to Mancora man, the place is amazing, such a party vibe". But like those who know their  curry, I found Mancora to be over hyped. Crowded surf with grumpy locals who say one thing, do another and expect you to stand there and take it doesn't make for a place I want to sample again. Incidentally, Mancora was one of the few places I visited and did not get sick from eating bad food... 8 hours further south was...

Chiclayo - like a Chinese Take-away

A dish you know you shouldn´t request as you can never be sure if the meat will turn out to be dog, opposed to the chicken which you ordered. In Chiclayo, the contents could be far more exotic, ranging from monkey paws, stuffed eagles, snake blood or llama's feet. The reason being is that Chiclayo is famous for its witch's market, where sellers hawk the answer to all your health problems with the most popular products being alternatives to Viagra. Speaking of which Jonny, I got you a present. An otherwise unexciting dish that comes with a side of transvestite hookers. 5 hours further south was...

Trujillo - like a McDonald's Big Mac

As is the case with Macky D's, you're not sure why you ended up in Trujillo. The clever marketing campaign has done a number on you, and the delicious photos of a mouth watering city turn out to be that feeble and squashed burger you see in your greasy mitts.  You're also not convinced the place is not going to make you ill as many a fast food jaunt can do, and after witnessing some Trujilo locals getting a touch stabby I'm feel my health is in better shape by leaving promptly. 

Huanchaco - like a Chicken Cottage (or poor man's KFC)

Huanchaco is a surfer town that is forever in the shadow of the infamous point break Chicama down the road as the latter is reputedly home to the longest wave in the world. Huachaco is however, far from being a second place destination, as it sports one of the longest waves I've ever surfed and is a great place to relax for a few days. As in the past where I have failed to persuade my shocked work colleagues that Chicken Cottage really is as good as KFC (for post night-out grub that is), Haunchaco is a destination that far too many under estimate and pass by for Chicama. I should concede the point that as with my favourite fast food, the threat of food poisoning is alas very real, which my time in both Tooting and Huanchaco can attest to.

Terrible analogies to food aside, you can guess some of these places were not the best I´ve been to, but the time spent in Huanchaco, despite the umpteenth case of dodgy stomach, was time very well spent. Beautiful Spanish girls I failed to flirt with, long powerful point break waves that I rode, amazing live Peruvian music and fantastic weather all made for a fantastic few days. My last surf on the western seaboard of the Americas was made all the more memorable by the most vivid sunset I have ever seen; the sun set and the sky turned bright pink and with calm water between waves, it was impossible to see where the sky finished and the reflection on the sea began. There may not be any photos, but its one image i will never forget.

It was now time to head down to Lima, to the central highlands where I learnt how to cook, to Huacachina to learn how to sand board, before finally heading to Cusco to meet my brother Nick and my Dad to retrace the steps of the Incas, Condors and Spectacled Bears.

There are a few photos from Peru but my memory card is currently refusing to yield them, so for only a couple of snaps see below:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157626452689758/

Peru... hmmm tasty

In my last job, I remember my superiors used to chastise me when I was ever so slightly late. One boss would even put the talking clock on to speaker phone to let everyone know when I was late by even just 1 or 2 minutes, but I think my blogging has far exceeded any previous tardiness as I find myself a month and a half behind... 

To bring things up to speed quickly, the next blog will be all of Peru except the Inca Trail and will take on a foody theme... as it was here that I learnt to cook Peruvian style...

Mancora - like a dodgy mutton vindaloo

Just over the border from Ecuador, this dish is like a vindaloo the health inspectors wouldn't need to try to know it was not fit for consumption. Hot, spicy, no taste and will definitely irritate you for a few days. Everyone who's had it brags about it, "if you love surfing you simply have to go to Mancora man, the place is amazing, such a party vibe". But like those who know their  curry, I found Mancora to be over hyped. Crowded surf with grumpy locals who say one thing, do another and expect you to stand there and take it doesn't make for a place I want to sample again. Incidentally, Mancora was one of the few places I visited and did not get sick from eating bad food... 8 hours further south was...

Chiclayo - like a Chinese Take-away

A dish you know you shouldn´t request as you can never be sure if the meat will turn out to be dog, opposed to the chicken which you ordered. In Chiclayo, the contents could be far more exotic, ranging from monkey paws, stuffed eagles, snake blood or llama's feet. The reason being is that Chiclayo is famous for its witch's market, where sellers hawk the answer to all your health problems with the most popular products being alternatives to Viagra. Speaking of which Jonny, I got you a present. An otherwise unexciting dish that comes with a side of transvestite hookers. 5 hours further south was...

Trujillo - like a McDonald's Big Mac

As is the case with Macky D's, you're not sure why you ended up in Trujillo. The clever marketing campaign has done a number on you, and the delicious photos of a mouth watering city turn out to be that feeble and squashed burger you see in your greasy mitts.  You're also not convinced the place is not going to make you ill as many a fast food jaunt can do, and after witnessing some Trujilo locals getting a touch stabby I'm feel my health is in better shape by leaving promptly. 

Huanchaco - like a Chicken Cottage (or poor man's KFC)

Huanchaco is a surfer town that is forever in the shadow of the infamous point break Chicama down the road as the latter is reputedly home to the longest wave in the world. Huachaco is however, far from being a second place destination, as it sports one of the longest waves I've ever surfed and is a great place to relax for a few days. As in the past where I have failed to persuade my shocked work colleagues that Chicken Cottage really is as good as KFC (for post night-out grub that is), Haunchaco is a destination that far too many under estimate and pass by for Chicama. I should concede the point that as with my favourite fast food, the threat of food poisoning is alas very real, which my time in both Tooting and Huanchaco can attest to.

Terrible analogies to food aside, you can guess some of these places were not the best I´ve been to, but the time spent in Huanchaco, despite the umpteenth case of dodgy stomach, was time very well spent. Beautiful Spanish girls I failed to flirt with, long powerful point break waves that I rode, amazing live Peruvian music and fantastic weather all made for a fantastic few days. My last surf on the western seaboard of the Americas was made all the more memorable by the most vivid sunset I have ever seen; the sun set and the sky turned bright pink and with calm water between waves, it was impossible to see where the sky finished and the reflection on the sea began. There may not be any photos, but its one image i will never forget.

It was now time to head down to Lima, to the central highlands where I learnt how to cook, to Huacachina to learn how to sand board, before finally heading to Cusco to meet my brother Nick and my Dad to retrace the steps of the Incas, Condors and Spectacled Bears.

There are a few photos from Peru but my memory card is currently refusing to yield them, so for only a couple of snaps see below:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157626452689758/

A Room With A View

"Don't stay anywhere too grotty, and be sure to treat yourself to a decent hotel every now and again"...

...were the words my Mum said to me before I left England some 5 and half months ago. I recalled their importance whilst searching for a hotel I'd been tipped off about called "Quatro Estrella" (means 4 Stars) in a quiet surfing village on the Ecuadorian coast.

Still in possession of my sea-legs from the Galapagos, I eventually wobbled up to the front of Quatro Estrella to discover the penthouse was available. Spectacular 360 degree views, a stone's throw from the beach and all for just $1 a night!? I was certain that this qualified as a treat and also a bargain. However, there was a slight snag... and unsurprisingly, as with many hotel descriptions, the truth is never what you expect...

Quatro Estrella is known locally as a bit of a joke, as after 10 years, it's still not finished. My penthouse suite was indeed on the top floor and sported panoramic views of the beach, but there was a general lack of hotel essentials... walls for one thing.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5469270850/in/set-72157626147682729/

Finally with an excuse to finally use my hammock and also save some money I was quite at home in this small surfers heaven. Whilst it took a night or two to master sleeping in a hammock, I can think of no view better to wake up to every morning

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5469268974/in/set-72157626147682729/
and a close up
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5469291062/in/set-72157626147682729/

The tip for this village had come from my friend Dani, a Swiss ex-fighter pilot (I know, I thought they were neutral too) I'd been climbing mountains with in Cotopaxi. After wandering around the village and avoiding the Hitler-esque dogs that guard every corner, I eventually found Dani in between his yoga and Spanish classes. Dani's schedule was far too hectic a lifestyle compared to most travellers here, but when the rest of your day is spent on a board or in a hammock, its understandable to not be too lazy.

The place I'm staying is no secret to those who've been to the area (between Guayaquil and Manta), but given its such a peaceful place with only a handful of surfers, I'll try and keep it that way and not give away the location and maybe it will stay tranquillo for a few more years. Although, as I was leaving I heard that Surfer magazine was visiting shortly after I left, so I'll revise that time length to 6 months. Oh well.

The break out front of my luxury apartment was a rogue of a beach break. Not sheltered by headlands, it was a break of shifting peaks that picked up every ounce of swell going. I was on a shortboard recently acquired in Montanita (imagine a town where they can actually turn the volume up to 11 and you've got some idea), and for the first couple of days, the swell was gentle, producing lefts and rights around shoulder height, a great way to get used to my knackered old God-squad board.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5411327858/in/set-72157626147682729/

Day three and the swell hit. Quite a view first thing, but when it took an age the night before to get the balance right between not falling out of the hammock and not realigning my spine, the prospect of getting up no matter what the surf was doing, did not really appeal. I can hear a collective "Blasphemy!" from the London Surf Club...

Seeing some of the other travellers going down to the water was enough to inspire me, and as the waves were in the range of head to head and a half (for a short person), I was glad of the company. My little board (6'1") nipping under each set was a blessing, but with waves reminiscent of high speed French beach barrels, trying to actually surf was proving tricky. For those unfamiliar with the waves of France, the conditions were akin to trying to juggle giant greasy kippers the size of water melons, if that helps.

Having had a fantastic work out but no waves, it was time for breakfast and to nurture my wounded pride with the best American style pancakes at La Buena Vida Bungalows. Upon chatting to the owner Kevin, he helped me put my poor performance into perspective and that at least I'd gotten good practise for duck diving.

That afternoon after Dani was fresh from class, we tried a second attempt at the beach break which was by no means smaller, but was appearing to be more friendly given the tide was now mid to high. As many surfers can testify, appearances can be deceiving. Dani, who was riding a minimal (big board) tried to paddle out twice but with no luck. My matchstick of a board got me out back, and after a few failed attempts I caught a wave. Anyone on the beach with any doubts as to who had caught it were quickly informed by my trademark scream. I may not have the best style of surfing and I'm never going to pick up a sponsor, but I challenge anyone to holler as loud as me when they finally catch a wave!

Exhausted but elated, it was time to dodge the shore break, shower up (this consisted of a hose pipe at my luxury penthouse) and hit the restaurant up on the point ran by my personal taxi driver Mariscal (whenever I was waiting for a bus, he would mysteriously appear from nowhere and give me a lift!). I made some wonderful friends over the course of the next 5 days, and with a routine consisting of eating, sleeping and surfing (oh and drinking) I could quite easily settle, as a few ex-pats already have, into life on the coast.

The next afternoon, we were all a bit fed up with trying to surf the washing machine of a beach break, so when an offer came along to surf the more relaxed beach break down the road, we jumped at the chance, and all piled into Mariscal's 4x4 and zoomed off for the easy option. Again, no names, but I'll give you a clue; if you see a giant killer whale out of the water... you're getting close. Seek and ye shall find, guessing by the numbers in the water, lots of other people had.

It was a relief to be surfing a wave with an easier take off and wasn't going to pitch me over the falls like had been happening in the last few days. The waves were shoulder high, breaking left and right, and the vibe in the water was fantastic, brilliant sunshine, everyone was chilled, sharing waves and having a good time, the only problem being having to get out of the water when you're suffering from "One more wave" syndrome. Now almost blinded by the setting equatorial sun, I caught my last wave (screaming all the way in) and I was done.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5469289020/in/set-72157626147682729/

Sleeping in a hammock is tough, but when you've been surfing all day with your friends in tropical water and have the biggest grin on your face, sleep comes quickly. Which is handy as you'll want to get up and do it all over again the next day. Some people say surfing is addictive, I think sleeping in a hammock for a week for $1 a night to wake up to the sound of pounding waves kind of says it all.

Why I had to leave paradise I'm not sure, but after a week it was time to get a room that actually had walls and a more sophisticated shower but more importantly to get to Peru for the next adventure....

photos in the usual place
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157626147682729/

Cuddly Cute & Razor Sharp

So it was time for 8 days at sea and begin my life as a pirate, to do battle with elderly German tourists, to conqueror new lands in the name of England, to drink too much rum and call everyone "matey"...

 

Well, that was the plan, and its amazing how short of the mark I fell, but I soon learnt that there are some consolations on offer in the Galapagos. My career as a pirate may have been thwarted my by inability to drink rum whilst coping with sea-sickness, but my career as the next David Attenborough/Steve Irwin is definitely not off the cards yet.

 

The format of days aboard our catamaran La Galapagos Vision were that we'd visit a couple of islands and snorkel twice each day. Our guide for the trip was the legend that is Danny, who's knowledge of everything that moved on the islands, nay the entire earth earned him the nick-name "The Internet". Our chef would surprise us everyday with delicious dishes that included the local delicacy of Ceviche, a medley of seafood cooked in lime juice, delicious. Life on board the catamaran was not the cosiest, but was definitely a great setup to avoid the typical tourists. Steep steps, cabins where yoga moves were necessary to get into and out of bed and a lack of wheel chair access meant that our boat was full of young backpackers and lacked the hordes of German grannies and grandpas who filled up all the other charter boats.

 

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5410713751/in/set-72157625851099551/

 

Snorkeling is something I'd done little of before this trip, but I was soon diving deep, chasing reef sharks and photographing everything that moved. I would apologise for having 4 photo albums of seals on Flickr, but I'm not going to, they're awesome.There were times in the first snorkel, where we were all keen to be the first to see something, when I'd surface for someone to remark loudly:

 

"Did you see that seal?" 

"What bloody seal?"

 

Thankfully this trend was reversed for the rest of the trip, with me managing to spot most of the exciting wildlife. Incidents where I swam eyeball to eyeball with seals and turtles were definitely highlights I experienced by myself, much to the jealousy of my crew mates. People who think it's all sea lions, seaweed and seagulls, are alas mistaken, with a haul of animals including; Blue Footed Boobies, Stone Fish, White Tipped Reef Sharks, Dolphins, Giant Tortoises, Sally Lightfoot Crabs, Iguanas, Octopus, Green Turtles, Orcas, Galapagos Sharks, Lava Lizards, Sting Rays, Eagle Rays, Penguins oh and a few thousand sea lions (pause for intake of breath) to name but a few, make this place the place to see wildlife who are only too happy to see/eat/play with you.

 

You read the words "eat", and no, you're not reading a typo from a severely exhausted traveller fighting yet another bought of food poisoning, but something that very nearly happened to our guide. On one particular day, we were set to disembark on the inflatable boat when someone spotted dolphins storming their way through the channel. We sailed off with snorkeling gear for our guide to realise they were actually Killer Whales. With our hopes of a dip with dolphins put to one side we were treated to a very unique experience, as these four Orcas were in the middle of devouring two Galapagos Sharks and a Green Turtle. This started a feeding spree as hundreds of Frigate birds and Boobies swarmed all over the sea's surface for a piece of the action. The smell was horrific, (shark blood is rich in ammonia) and as we watched these killer whales dipping in and out of the water, their immense size and grace reminded us that it was far safer to be on board rather than over it.

 

With a million photos taken and all the sharks devoured we cruised back to the catamaran, wondering exactly how big Galapagos Sharks are, that they qualify as fodder for Killer Whales. We didn't have to wait long, as getting back on the catamaran we noticed two of them taking refuge from the Orcas around our boat. I remarked to the guide that one was over 6 foot long, and after responding that they don't get that big, he came up on deck to gulp audibly. Two 6 foot Galapagos Sharks (that are unfortunately the spitting image of Great Whites) were circling the boat, carrying injuries from the run-in with the Orcas. They were nervous and potentially aggressive and our guide Danny had realised that he had to help remove the boat's rope tethered to the mooring buoy some 15 feet from the edge of the boat. Hence the gulp.

 

Whilst our very nervous guide was over board trying to free the boat, the Captain thought he'd help the situation by throwing lumps of tuna steaks over board at the opposite end of the boat as a distraction. Yelling at the captain that he was effectively chumming the water with blood, turning nervous sharks into eating sharks, Danny was understandably uneasy as two sharks known to take lumps out of people were not too far away. As we tourists looked on (taking photos of course) Danny was thankfully hauled clear of the water by the crew, shaken and pale but importantly unscathed. The Galapagos... not just cute and cuddly, but razor sharp and with a taste for blood.

 

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5416063635/in/set-72157625851099551/

 

The islands are more than just cute photos of sea lions, the men in grey suits, blue booby jokes and the impact of some guy called Charlie. The islands have a history that include murder mystery, an ancient postage system and is a key outpost for any navy worth its salt would kill for. We would hear all these stories from our resident tour guide Danny, who made our voyage far more than the elaborate zoo, a lot of people imagine this place to be.

 

For example, if anyone receives a Galapagos postcard that's stamped from the UK, its not a ruse. There is a postal system set up on one of the islands by whalers over a 150 years ago. The system works that you drop your postcards or messages for home in the box on Post Office Bay, and whalers (or tourists) passing in the opposite direction would pick yours up to be delivered home on their way home. So if the post mark is labelled as Basingstoke, don't worry, although you should worry about the poor bastard living in Basingstoke, that's not a great place to live.

 

With many of us budding to spot the next wildlife spectacle on our trip, there were understandably, rooky mistakes made, most notably by our youngest passenger, Adele, a dutch guy possibly straight out of kindergarten ("pot-kettle-black" I hear you cry). Two particular incidents of note, were

 

"It's a nesting turtle!"... turned out to be a sea lion waving behind a sand dune... and

 

"Its a giant sting ray!"... after standing on the 5 foot wide sting ray for 2 minutes, he still didn't believe me when I told him it was actually a large rock.

 

To be fair, I used my snorkel to imitate a sea lion to try (successfully) to encourage one to swim with me, so we all regress when surrounded by wildlife that act like giant Labradors.

 

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5410675747/in/set-72157625851081393/

 

The Galapagos, is a trip, many pass up for fear of hordes of ancient German tourists, not only stealing sun-loungers but also all the good snorkel ling gear, but my experience of these islands is going to be one very hard to beat. Surfing is by far my favourite past time, but for 8 days at sea thanks to the most friendly wildlife, this was a trip any surfing jaunt would struggle to beat.

 

People who think Labradors/Retrievers are the most adorable, lumbering, clumsy and smelly animals in existence, need to come here to be corrected. The film Marley and Me, needs to be remade featuring this fella with horrific breath, who was only too keen to make friends.

 

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5410699063/in/set-72157625851099551/

 

Apologies for the long blog, the videos and photos do justice to this more than I ever could:

 

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157625851037969/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157625976482178/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157625851081393/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157625851099551/